Wines Constantly

If You Make a Bacon Grease Fire Big Enough That The Fire Department Shows Up, Have The Balls To Come Out Of Your Apartment To Tell Said Fire Department Where The Damn Fire Is

2011-03-29T09:42:00.000-05:00

The title pretty much tells the entire story of how our downstairs neighbors started their stove on fire and never came out to explain themselves even as the fire department arrived and looked to the rest of us for direction on where to put out the fire. Very smart, no? If I ever start a kitchen fire I think I'll just hide shamefully inside and let it continue to burn and just hope that the guys in the red truck find it eventually.

I think we've finally gotten the stink out of our place. That, or we're just used to smelling melted stove/burnt grease.

I absolutely cannot wait for the day when we don't have to share walls with idiots.

Tip It

2011-03-23T09:32:00.000-05:00

The boxed wine, that is. It's amazing how I don't even cringe at the taste anymore.

I've also stopped cringing at some of the extremely bizarre kid's programming on in the mornings. Superbaby cracks up at Curious George, so I've been letting him watch 5-10 minutes in the mornings while I get my own breakfast ready. I am so completely over the whole TV ruining babies thing. I don't see how a few minutes a couple times a week can hurt, so don't even start with me. I think it's adorable to watch him talk to the TV and laugh and kick his little feet with excitement. And I need absolutely every single happy little moment lately.

There is currently a bill going up for vote in our state senate that could render my industry (and D's) obsolete. I'll know within the next month if it passes. If so, hopefully the house will shoot it down. I should be much more worried than I am, but at this point, what's one more thing? D's boss thinks he stands a better chance than most to land a job in some other area of law, and I'll at least have some good references.

We haven't had any more showings of our condo, but that's to be expected. I'm now off to clean some more, because the one day I leave a dirty pot on the stove or hair in the shower drain will the the one day someone actually serious about buying will come through and write us off as slobs. Eh. Oh, and add cat puke to my list...someone is horking up downstairs. Awesome.

Buy My Condo or I'll Shove This Stick In Your Eye

2011-03-16T14:40:00.000-05:00

If only threats worked.

You may have guessed that our condo is on the market. It is sadly underpriced, thank you stupid real estate market that does not seem to be improving despite what the experts tell us. The only positive out of this is that I am living in unfamiliar clean-house territory and am too busy picking up crap, vacuuming, and shining appliances to eat. I lost 2 lbs. I still don't fit into most of my closet. Eh. Baby steps.

One thing I never realized would be so hard is doing laundry while in selling mode. I pretty much air-dry all of my clothes and all of my underthings (I do not need the dryer shrinking the few things I can still wear) and I do not feel comfortable leaving those underthings hanging dry if strangers are going to come creep through my home. I've been hanging things in the closet, but they take longer to dry that way, and of course people are going to look in the closets. Thanks to HGTV I have also moved and hidden my underwear drawer to avoid any of that kind of creeping, as well. I would never think to look through someone's dresser, but apparently it happens? Ick. We've already had a couple showings, so fingers crossed there will be more. Hopefully the next ones won't leave dirt on my freshly-cleaned stairs.

Superbaby turns 1 in 15 days!!! I can hardly believe it. I can also hardly believe what a craptastic mom I am in failing to plan his party. The invites just went out this past weekend. I had them addressed and in my purse for a week and a half. I even spilled water on most of them. I spent morning naptime browsing Etsy today and finally bought a cute centerpiece and will probably to back to buy a cute banner. Thank you, mastercard. I would love to craft things myself, but that would only make a mess that I'll have to clean up. And probably result in catastrophic failure, let's just be honest here.

Anyway, today is a bright sunny day, and now that most of the house is clean, after a morning of trailing behind my superspeedracercrawler and his endless supply of crumbs (seriously, how does pancake end up EVERYWHERE when he eats it in the kitchen?) , I'm taking Superbaby out to run some errands and we WILL enjoy the day. Just as soon as he wakes up from his nap. Have I ever mentioned how thankful I am that he naps?

Something Stinks & It Isn't Dirty Diaper

2011-02-25T10:00:00.000-06:00

Just in case money and condo-selling stress weren't enough, last weekend my neighbor decided to blow something up and stink the entire building up like sewage.

Early Sunday morning I woke up to the smell of burning prune poo diaper . That is the best and most accurate description I can come up with. Yes, it was that bad. I mean, it woke me out of a dead sleep, after spending the previous night lying awake on an air mattress in the freezing cold living room (D had painted in the bedroom) and I was practically in a coma at bedtime. Anyway, back to the smell. At first I thought D had bad gas, but the smell wasn't going away, so I got up to look for cat shit/vomit. There was none, and when I walked out into our hallway the smell got worse. It smelled a little like burning, so of course I panicked and started unplugging things that seemed a little warm to the touch. I also inspected Superbaby's diaper genie, to make sure nothing spontaneously combusted in there, but that was a whole different stink. I climbed up on furniture to feel the ceiling. I went out into the building's lobby and tried smelling the neighbor's doors. There seemed to be no specific source of the stink, so I woke up D to investigate. His verdict? "It smells biological. Don't freak out, but something probably died in the vent."

Don't freak out?

Fat fucking chance. We're supposed to have our place on the market in less than 2 weeks and there is something dead in the vent? How do we get it out?? Who gets it out? Because I'm sure as shit not going to do it, and then how do we clean the vent out so there isn't nasty dead-thing residue stank? Barf. Barf. Barf. We cracked the windows, turned on the DVR, and eventually went back to sleep.

The next morning, it still stunk, the house was an icebox, and there was a super serious-looking plumbing truck with a big, fat hose running into the neighbor's front door. I stopped my google search on what meth labs smell like (hey, have to cover all bases) and who we could call to investigate our vents for dead rodent. We still don't know what happened, but strangely enough, there was a peculiar brownout the afternoon before the stink and we have some theories. Most of them involving a dumbass attempting to do some work on a unit that's for sale and possible electrocution. How that involved the plumbing, god only knows, but maybe he blew up his toilet?

Almost a week later, we can still smell the stink. It's better, but it lingers, and it's fucking gross. So for everyone who is stressed out like me right now and praying to whoever you pray to for a money tree to pop up in the backyard, just be a little happy that you do not have to smell your fucktard neighbor's sewage through the walls today.

The Next Happy Person to Cross My Path Gets a Throat Punch

2011-02-18T10:38:00.000-06:00

Because I certainly feel like I've been throat punched, kicked in the teeth, taken a boot to the ribs, and generally been hit by a truck, eaten by a coyote, and shat off a cliff. Emotionally, that is.

A few weeks back, on the day of the Big Terrible Earth-Swallowing Snowstorm in the midwest, while everyone else was leaving work early and stockpiling bottled water and canned foods, our whole little office was called into a meeting with the bosses. We thought it must be about the apocalyptic snowstorm fast approaching, and were feeling psyched about getting home before things got messy. Instead of an early release, however, we learned we were the recipients of a Big Terrible Lifestyle-Altering Paycut. Temporary, of course, but there's no expiration date on the horizon yet. Anyway, things were hard enough as they were, and now things are pretty well fucked.

***For those of you who know me in real life, please be discreet with this information. We're not advertising.***

"At least you're still employed." Ah, the reaction of the very few who know about this. Yes, there is that. But there is also the problem that we can't afford to stay in our current home at this rate. And while we've been planning to put it on the market this year, anyway, there is a whole new urgency now. Not to mention the delay of our plans to move into my parent's house and buy it from them as soon as we could get the mortgage. The moving in with my parents will have to happen, now, but as more and more condos in our neighborhood go up for sale with more and more competitive pricing, we'll be lucky to escape without paying out of pocket. Which does not help our nonexistent savings grow into a down payment. I know we'll have a roof over our heads, and worst case we can rent something, but it really makes me depressed to think that we have to give up having a home of our own without knowing when we'll have that again. It makes my heart sad. It makes me feel like a failure. And it makes me feel embarassed. And like I'm letting down our son, who hopefully will never have to understand how badly mom and dad suck at money.

Now that I've covered the sad news, here's the throat-punchy part.

Life has been hard on a lot of people close to D and I lately. But I am having a hard time sympathizing to their woes, which just make me angry. For example, I am very sorry that my good friend can't build exactly the house she and her family want because their HOA is run by controlling, opinionated lunatics. And that they have to delay the building of their deck in order to fancy up the front of their house and move the placement so that the yard is in a different place. But you know what? They still CAN build a house of their own, which still be pretty damn nice, regardless of where on the lot it is. I am sorry that they will have to dip into their savings. At least they HAVE a savings to dip into. And I am sorry for my old co-worker who hates her job, and that my old office has become a stressful place to work. But she still has a full-time job, and might be up for a raise if she stays, and she can still afford to go out to drink the stress away. I am sorry for my good friend who is not sure if she likes her promotion because she's stuck at a desk all day now. Guess what, honey, you just got a RAISE.

I am bitter and sad and just had to agree to give up getting my hair done by the one person who has ever made my mess of frizz look classy because Superbaby can't not have diapers just because mom wants her highlights touched up. I stopped breastfeeding (not by choice) and lost the metabolism that came with that, so I now fit into exactly one pair of my jeans. ("Hurrah, she's getting fat", scream the crowds...) And of course paying the bills comes before new clothes, so one pair of jeans it is!

I'm sorry this is long and self-indulgent, but since I'm pretty sure almost no one reads this anymore, it's one place I can vent without shaming myself. Because life could be so much worse. I just have to stay thankful for my wonderful husband and our most amazing little Superbaby. He stood on his own for the first time last night. He's incredible.

We did it...

2010-12-24T10:28:00.000-06:00

A successful Santa picture!

Per Santa, "This kid has an evil look in his eye. He's eyeing my beard." We got a smile out of him, anyway.

Wishing everyone a safe and happy holiday!

~WC

Winter Can Fuck Itself, and Other Merry Tales...

2010-12-17T09:37:00.000-06:00

Ok, so just completely disregard my post about loving winter, even for a split second. Despite having grown up in the midwest, I do not own a jacket nearly warm enough to keep me from becoming a walking popsicle on days with weather reports including the words "wind chill" and "below zero" and "bitterly cold". I have asked Santa to bring me this for Christmas:

...but he just rolled his eyes and told me to wear layers.

I am probably in the minority in that I've done hardly any Christmas shopping. 8 days left...I know. Someday we won't have to wait for payday to do the shopping, but for now we just live on the edge and pray to not need rush shipping. So far, so good.

The biggest project D and I have taken on this season is a photo calendar featuring Superbaby in 12 different Halloween costumes. Completely cheesy, yes, but given D's known obsession for all things dressing up, this is no surprise to any of our family who will be receiving one. While we finally have a good camera, we have shit for lighting in our house and a baby who does not enjoy sitting still when he could be on his tummy, army-crawling and desperately trying to figure out how to do the real kind of crawling. Good thing he's cute, so that even the crappy shots will be adorable. I have a few costumes left to shoot today, and hopefully we'll be done by tomorrow.

Speaking of Superbaby, he now has 3 whole real words: "mama", "dada", and "hi". He also says "ahhht" and a few others repeatedly, but we can't for the life of us figure out what they mean. Tomorrow we'll take him to visit Santa at the mall and hopefully I will have a good picture to post. For now, here's the shot that will adorn our photo cards. Yes he's the cutest thing ever. Be jealous.

Peace, love, and babies.

Sometimes, in the morning (just for a moment) I love winter.

2010-12-01T13:20:00.000-06:00

And then I remember that I will be walking for approximately 24 more minutes through said winter to reach my destination, at which point I won't be able to feel my fingers to finagle my key into the office door and will look like a drunken idiot trying to pick up my keys off the ground without taking off my gloves, dropping purse and pump bag on top of the keys, and stringing enough curse words together to single-handedly (mouthedly?) bring on the apocalypse. Bonus points if anyone crosses the street to avoid my morning ritual/spectacle.

I'll back up. See, this sparkly new job I have requires something else new to me: an actual commute. Having a drive of exactly 11 miles each way to my old job for seven years, I never grasped the journey D has been trekking since law school. I am now one of "those" people: lugging around close to my body weight in too many bags to haul the essentials of my work day, bundled up as if suddenly I might find myself in the arctic circle, wearing an expression of abundant discomfort, running like hell to or from the train station, and lord help anyone who gets in my way and causes me to miss the 5:00 departure.

However. The Great Hall looks lovely this time of year. I wanted to take a picture, but D intervened ("What, are you from Idaho?") No offense to Idaho, of course. Bursting through the doors, out onto the street, is a blast of cool, crisp air. Never mind the background smells of urine and exhaust. As I walk down the street, I see twinkle lights strung through the trees, pass fresh pine branches stuck awkwardly into planters (they had corn stalks for fall), and I can marvel for a moment that it is winter. And it is beautiful. And then the homeless dog lady shakes her cup of coins at my knees (she's sitting) and I remember that it's truly, disgustingly, horrifically, fucking COLD outside. And I thank someone, somewhere for having a warm home to go back to, and a warm place of employment complete with cushy chair and fresh-brewed coffee, and I go back to hating winter, hating that I forgot to wear waterproof boots as it starts raining, and praying for spring.

100 Posts! I'm such a superstar.

2010-11-19T15:38:00.000-06:00

So Superbaby is down for a nap and I was going to finally finish a lame post about how I knocked myself silly getting into the car, after an embarrassing mommy fail in the checkout lane involving a baby drool and a package of paper towels, and before dropping groceries like a trail of breadcrumbs all the way up the stairs trying to haul 21+ lbs of baby in his infant carrier + Target bags galore up to my condo. (Just another typical day.) And then I saw the little counter informing me that I have 99 posts. I would love to just ignore this milestone, but there's a little bit of an attention whore inside me that kind of wants to pop a cork and yell about how fabulous I am. Too bad it's taken me like 2 years to get to this point? Whatever.

I smelled my smoker ghost again this morning in the kitchen. Until I went to throw something in the trash and then I smelled gross broccoli stems from the other night. Barf.

And now I'm going to attempt to paint my nails, because I'm going to a wedding tomorrow and have to attempt to look like a grown up instead of a sweats-clad panhandler. And probably my gross, dissolving fingernails which have suffered extreme sadness from being constantly immersed in dishwater scrubbing bottles and pump parts (I have never loved/hated anything quite so much as my breast pump, but that's a whole novel in itself) are not a good representation of adult, dressed-up, or proper to be seen in public by people I actually know.

Random thought of the day: (Not a new feature, just a random thought): I am greatly disturbed by the number of babies born in toilets on that I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant show.

The End. **

**This is me acknowledging the lameness of my 100th post and not quite giving two shits.

Let's talk about ghosts

2010-11-17T11:31:00.001-06:00

I've been meaning to post this since Halloween, but being that there are Christmas gifts from 2009 in my closet still waiting to be mailed, a few weeks late is sort of impressive. Anyway.

Let's just get it out there: I think I'm being haunted by a cigarette-smoking spirit. (Also, I jump to conclusions and overreact.)

About a month or so ago, D and I were hanging out, watching TV and enjoying a baby's-in-bed glass or several of wine. I had just gotten up for a refill when D looked at me accusingly and asked, " Have you been smoking?"

"Uh, no. Have you?"

"Well, you smell like smoke. Or something smells like smoke," he said, ignoring my attitude problem as I suddenly realized it smelled like someone had just exhaled a lungful into my face. Gross. So we bantered back and forth trying to figure out where it could have come from when as suddenly as it appeared, it was gone. Weird. If it were somehow from outside, or coming through a neighbor's wall (none of our current neighbors smoke, which I know because I could smell the last one who did, constantly) then shouldn't it linger a bit, dispersing itself through the air until we eventually stopped noticing? I opened our door and sniffed the building's lobby. Someone had fried something for dinner, but no smoke. I sniffed my clothes, his clothes, my hair, our shoes...nothing. Huh.

We eventually became distracted by whatever we were watching/drinking and forgot about it. Until a few days later, when I was in a completely different part of the house and it hit me. The same, blast in my face, onslaught of cigarette stink. I yelled for D and he came running. By the time he got there, the smell was gone. And I started wondering if we knew any recently dead smokers.

Fast forward to a couple of weeks later. I was at work, plodding through some dictation and once again - nose full of smoke. What the hell. Dave was down the hall, so I ran and got him. He said he maybe smelled it, but it could be my imagination. Huh. Fat chance. Brain tumor? Maybe. But there was no dreaming up that smell.

My powers of deduction, honed through years of reading and watching ghost stories (followed by nights of sleeping with the lights on), tell me I might be haunted. I also might have a defective brain, but since D smelled it first I don't think that's it. Coincidence involving randomly-placed smokers and some kind of ventilation oddity in my building and at work? Most likely, but not nearly as exciting. So there you have it. My smoking ghost friend. In league with the watch-beep ghost? Maybe, but I haven't heard the beeping in awhile. Maybe he/she has changed tactics?

Aaaaand, now I've spooked myself and need to go turn on all the lights.

Happiness is a baby in a lobster costume

2010-10-27T19:42:00.000-05:00

At least for this mommy. After a few glasses of pinot, I apparently feel the need to share with the blogging world, despite my embarassingly long hiatus:

Thanks to everyone who reached out while I've been away. Everything is great here, but extremely busy. I do plan to eventually finish one of the "real" posts that I've started and I even occasionally have time to read your posts. Yep, I lurk and don't comment. For shame.

Until next time...

Have a safe and happy Halloween!

Don't be that asshole neighbor. Ok? Just don't.

2010-07-07T10:10:00.000-05:00

Did everyone have a nice 4th of July weekend? I sure did. No work for 6 days. It was kind of glorious.

Not a whole lot happened most of those days. I had some quality baby time. Watched entirely too much True Blood. Ate 2 whole packages of chocolatey cookies (Did you know that the evil elves ripped off the Girl Scouts' Samoas? I think they're called "Coconut Dreams"...something like that. I ate them too fast to really pay attention to the box.)

On Saturday we buried Fat Cat. It's actually kind of nice, when not thinking about the gross stuff. See, D's parents wanted to plant a tree for Superbaby in their yard. So each year we can take a picture of him in front of his tree, oooh and ahhh over how much they've both grown, and someday he can be like his mom and break some bones falling out of it. (Well, hopefully not that last part.) D had the nice idea to bury Fat Cat under the tree. I was all for it. All of it. Except for the part that meant we had to keep a dead cat in our garage freezer for 2 weeks. And then transport him in the coffin D built for him (D is surprisingly awesome with a circular saw) in our trunk an hour north on a 90+ degree sunny day. It took 3 grown men, 3 shovels, and 1 pickax to get the coffin and tree in the ground. It looks beautiful. And now I can walk through the garage without getting the heebie-jeebies again. Success.

Sunday was our usual pool-keg-grill-fireworks extravaganza. D's childhood friend J's family has this huge and awesome celebration every year. This year their evil trashy-bitch neighbor really outdid herself. See, each year she bitches about the fireworks. Which neighbors on all sides are blowing off. Because that's just what we do. She takes particular issue with J's family blowing shit up. (This is a woman who had extra floodlights and security cameras installed last week, and who parked her cars outside of her 4-car garage and turned down the sensitivity on the car alarms on purpose. Oh, and she was wearing tye-dye.)

So it got dark Sunday night. As it tends to do. The boys grabbed their lighters and started the show. Bitch's car alarms start to go off. She doesn't turn them off. In fact, it quickly becomes obvious that she's just re-starting the alarms on purpose. What the fuck? She opens her bigass front door eventually and informs us that she's calling the cops. (Go for it! We'll let them know how long your car alarms have been blaring.) We shoot some more stuff off. She yells some more. D decides to grab the man of the house and walk up to the fence to try and have a rational discussion about her crazy. She responds by screaming (slurring) that we are going to set her cars on fire (??) and that there is debris damaging the other side of her house. (How about taking that up with the neighbors on the other side, who are setting their shit off into the wind that is blowing that way?) Anyway. Our party had some rowdy teens who taunted her back. It looked like there might be a riot for a little while, but eventually things calmed down. The cop who came out didn't give two shits about our fireworks. But, since he showed up, that meant if the crazy bitch called us in a second time there would be a mucho $$$ ticket. And that was the end of that. Oh, but I'm pretty sure there's a political party somewhere who would love to know about her anti-fourth-of-July stance.

I have some more exciting news that I'll share soon. I promise it'll make you want to drink with me.

This is why I have a drinking problem, a.k.a. RIP Spooky Cat =(

2010-06-23T13:16:00.001-05:00

So life is pretty much shitstorming on everyone I know right now. Hopefully you can consider yourself excluded from the festivities. Just in case you feel left out, though, here's the menu at my pity party:

Let's start with work. I'm working part time now. Because the economy sucks, I'm not able to go back to full time. Which is fine and awesome with me, because it means more time with my little man. However, it is not fine for household finances, and if you know anyone who wants to overpay for a condo in the suburbs you just let me know and we'll make a deal. Our "oh shit' plan is to ditch the condo with the first taker and move in with my parents. Which I'm sure they would totally love. And which will be fabulous when it's time for child #2 next year. Because probably I can't be the pregnant mess I would want to be, walking around in my underwear, unable to see my feet, with a melty carton of ice cream and a giant serving spoon while screaming profanities at dustbunnies that refuse to clean themselves. (Well, there are no dustbunnies under my mother's watch, so maybe that one resolves itself.) Anyway. I can't even process this scenario. So I drink to make it disappear.

I also drink because our cable box keeps shitting out and they won't send us a new one, our dvd player broke and now I have to use a fucking playstation remote to watch bad movies, it's hotter than fuck outside and our A/C is completely useless, and because a skanky ho Target cashier got away with my $80 and there's nothing else I can realistically do to get my money back. Always get a receipt, people. Always.

Ok, so moving on to last Tuesday. I spent the day home alone with superbaby and a sick cat. You remember fat cat? Well, he wasn't doing so hot two Sunday nights ago. Monday he was worse, so D took off from work early to take him to the vet. D was in charge of the vet stuff, because he grew up with the old guy, who has had a very fat 15 years of life, and I was not going to be the one to make medical decisions about his old feline friend. Seriously, it was so bad that I was huddled under a blanket on the couch, terrified that he was going to die before D could get home. All I could think about was what the fuck was I going to do if he croaked on my watch. Of course I felt bad that he was suffering, and checked on him constantly, but every time I touched him I was shaking with fear that he was already gone. Prognosis at the vet was not good and D wanted to let him pass peacefully at home. So we had a week of depressing sadness and very real terror that I was going to be home alone with him when his time came. More drinking. (Please note, I was not breastfeeding while drinking. This is what freezer stashes are for. Also, there is always at least one sober adult present to mind superbaby. So put down the phone and stop with the child services nonsense.)

Fast Forward to Monday night. Spooky finally passed, in D's arms, after I pussed out and left the house mid-day because I could not stand to be in our depressing home for one more fucking second. I dare you to judge me. But I couldn't do it. I could not be the one there when it happened. Especially with superbaby needing me to keep it together for his sake. And now, because I know where it happened, I can hardly stand to be in my own bedroom. I tried cleaning. I cleaning binged my way around baseboards and under sofas, I washed curtains and scrubbed the stovetop.

None of this made anything better.

Thank god for baby smiles. And baby laughs. And, seriously, please buy my condo.

Or just send wine.

I'll admit it: I slept through the last 1:30 of the Hawks game and entirely through OT.

2010-06-10T12:24:00.001-05:00

But luckily my loving husband filled me in on the Blackhawks win (!!!) when I woke up. Because apparently I do care about hockey. Who knew?

In other news: I need to step it up. Seriously. My readers are abandoning ship at an alarming rate. Obviously it's time for a quality post. None of this 3 sentence spewing on random topics I've probably overstayed my welcome on.

Which bring us to baby brain. BB means I have no coherent thoughts of my own and need prompting. Or wine. But, since I kept my day job and all, the wine right now is not so much an option. Help a girl out? What would you like to hear about.......ghosts, my appalling lack of proper dinner foods for dinner, the gross bug in my bathroom this morning, how my cats are so desperate for attention that they now run ahead of me in the hallway and lay down like furry little speedbumps...? (Clearly, nothing much happening in my head.)

Now, I am off to indulge in $1 Jimmy John's. A #6, no sprouts, no mayo. In case what you wanted to hear about is my lunch. I won't get chips, because I already had popcorn. Pre-lunch snack, for those keeping score. If there are cookies left, you bet your ass I'll have one. Eat it before my sandwich? Definitely.

Something Smells

2010-06-03T15:48:00.000-05:00

You bet your ass it's me!

Ok, so I promised to cover a number of topics and will try to remember what they were. Yes, I could go look at my previous post, but probably you'd rather I just type. (Or not.)

Starting with the obvious: Gas. Yep, still got it. Hate it. Have turned red on multiple occasions as the entire office wants to come and stand in my space to catch up now that I'm back to work and not as frazzled and insane as I was a few short months ago. Well, the insanity likely stayed, but whatever. I don't look like I'm about to tip over anymore, so standing close isn't such a hazard. Except that it is. To the nose. And probably it's time for me to cut out dairy or something, but I've already cut out meat and just can't really deal with any more change.

Boobs. Or should I say: BOOBS!!! Breastfeeding has given me a centerfold-worthy rack and I want to keep them forever. Minus the leaking. And the smelling like sour milk. And the having to pump 3x a day at work. I may have an office to hide in, but these walls...they are not soundproof. Whiir-thunk-whiir-thunk-whirr-thunk...

Zits. I was going to post a picture so we could try and make pictures by connecting the dots on my zittage...but then decided that I don't want you all to just think of me as some kind of Proactiv "before" photo disaster. Remember the last pepperoni pizza you ate? That's my face. I'm pretty.

Baby + Liquor Store. I had to wedge wine bottles around the carseat in the cart. Poor baby's first memories will be of Binny's. Surprisingly, the man in line ahead of me at the checkout also had a baby with him. Probably he was stocking up to try and bribe his baby mama to put out.

Office Ghost! I think he/she/it is gone...Because my office is no longer freezing. Even with the A/C running and the thermostat set the same as always. My theory is that he/she/it got bored without my nosepicking/farting and moved on. Sad.

Ok, that's enough for now. Can't overwhelm ourselves.

Backity back

2010-06-01T14:20:00.000-05:00

Still here. Committing to posting again. Sort of. For various reasons, I ended up taking an extra month off from work (yippee!) and just started back today (boo). So, I have reclaimed my serious attitude problem and have plenty of nasty smelly things to say about life again. Also plenty of gagalicious ooey-gooey gushy baby stories. Because life should have a balance.

Right now I get to alphabetize shit. A biiiig fucking stack of shit. So get a good grip on the edge of your seat, because once I'm done re-living a portion of kindergarten, I can tell you about how I took my baby to Binny's, aka Heaven (I was not the only one, please note) and how a skanky Target cashier tried to steal $80 from me. Also, we can examine the patterns and play connect-the-dots with my post-baby acne and marvel at the hairs that still grow out of my chin while I pretend I don't still have gas. Can't blame it on the pregnancy anymore. (Maybe dairy?) Because gross body humor never goes out of style. Unlike some of the clothes I bought pre-baby and am stuck with now that they fit again and I have no shopping allowance. (Um, just a reminder that I accept any and all nominations to What Not to Wear, because they will not allow me to just sign myself up for free crap. Assholes.) On a happier note, we can discuss whether or not the weird noises L makes are giggles or seriously bizarre breathing spasms. And maybe look at some more pictures. I can and will make you puke with his cuteness.

Until then...

Picture update, since I'm far too lazy for words...and so you know I'm still alive

2010-05-07T11:58:00.000-05:00

F-Bomb Friday: Fun @ the ATM!

2010-04-23T11:41:00.000-05:00

Let me just start off by saying that little man let me sleep 8 hours straight last night (well, D helped with that, so I'll give credit) and then I had another 2 hour nap. Most sleep ever with a 3-week old? Quite possibly.

Which means I am bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and ready to tell you about how I may have committed an ATM crime last Friday. Totally qualifies for MiMi's F-Bomb Friday, so *gasp* I will actually participate for once. Wheee!

So, last Friday my awesome replacement co-worker K was kind enough to hand deliver my paycheck. The last paycheck I will get until I go back to work. Good thing I'm going back so soon? Apparently. Anyway, pissing and moaning aside, that was pay for my 2 weeks vacation and it really needed to get to the bank.

After K left, little man and I piled into the car and drove across the street to the bank. (Shut up, it's a busy street and my crotch may fall apart entirely at any given moment - no way was I walking!) My bank has this new-fangled ATM contraption that supposedly allows you to insert your cash or check into this little scanner dealy, and whooptipoofmagically knows how much you are depositing. Seemed much easier than going inside, so I decided to give it a try.

I insert my card, make my selection, and insert my paycheck. It doesn't go in. ATM machine is impatient and begins beeping at an alarming volume. I try again to insert my paycheck. I use some force. It won't stop beeping. Finally I hear mechanical whirring. But my check still isn't going in. I shove harder. It beeps some more. Check goes partway in. More whirring. IT GETS STUCK. What the fuck.

So I take my driver's license and try to get a grip on the one little corner I can see inside the slot. IT TEARS. Fuck. Meanwhile, cars are lining up behind me and the stupid thing is still beeping. Double fuck. I can still see a little piece of the check. The machine stops beeping and informs me that my transaction has been canceled due to technical problems. I now have a screaming infant in my backseat, a small pissed off army lined up behind me waving their arms and waiting for the machine, and I am terrified to drive away from the machine to go inside because my check could become lost forever. Or sucked into someone else's checking. Unacceptable.

So I did what any resourceful woman would do: dug in my purse for reinforcements. Tweezers? Too big. Safety pin? Too small. Bobby pin? Perfect. Which means there is now security footage of me jabbing various items into the deposit slot of the ATM machine while I curse it loudly into the inner circles of hell.

BUT. but. but buttttttt.

I got my check out!!!!!!!!

And then deposited it to my account via a real live teller person.

Win.

How the hell is my maternity leave already almost over, and other shit

2010-04-22T13:35:00.000-05:00

It's been a blissful 3 weeks of baby time. I am still getting more sleep than I ever did in college. I want to quit my job and make babies full time. (D says not an option. Sadness.) Which is why I can't even fathom that I only have one more week left of this. Little man is all sacked out in his swing right now (hence the free hands) and I am procrastinating because I don't want to make the call to my boss that I have to come back the first week of May.

I blame student loans. They have already raped and pillaged our household income and are now ruining what is supposed to be dedicated baby time. I blame D for insisting that we have to pay our bills and that I can't spend the next 5 months assplanted to the sofa with baby on my boob. I blame work for existing at all, and myself for not figuring out how to accumulate a savings account that could have saved me from baby separation this early.

Anyway, I've been slowly starting to read and comment on your blogs again, just as I attempt to nap to msnbc, with the hopes of ever having a clue what is going on in the outside world. It took me days to notice the volcano headlines, and don't get me started on how I had no idea that the baseball season went and started. I have, however, now watched a sick number of What Not to Wear episodes while consuming an embarassing quantity of children's cereal. Cereal is my new wine. I can't drink wine yet because I'm either sleeping or nursing or it's 8am and just not really practical because that's coffee time. So Count Chocula it is. That shit's good. Lucky Charms, however, are not magically delicious after age 8 and do not have nearly enough marshmallows to even pretend.

Oh! I was going to talk about how I may have accidentally committed some kind of crime against the ATM machine last week, but so far no one has showed up at my door to ask what the hell I was trying to do with the bobby pin, so probably I'm in the clear. Fingers crossed. I'll talk about that tomorrow. Or whenever the hell I get around to it. Stay tuned.......

He's Here!

2010-04-07T13:01:00.002-05:00

Logan made his debut on 3/31.
8 lbs 12 oz (yes, ow)
20 in long
Looks just like his daddy =)

And thanks to everyone who left comments over at *uncorked. I'll give a more detailed update later, but, you know, things like the cutest baby ever are sort of keeping me busy. I'm so in love!

I have a ghost stalker, and he beeps

2010-03-30T12:35:00.000-05:00

Yes, I know this makes me sound like a crazy person. Shh, don't tell anyone, but I totally am.

So. Ever since I finally told you all about the weird nighttime watch alarm I have been hearing random beeping noises EVERYWHERE. Parking lot, grocery store, in my office, in the bathroom, in the car, at the movie theater...It's seriously getting strange. That, or I'm seriously ~~becoming~~ still paranoid and need an intervention. (Can I just blame this on hormones, too?)

Some of the beeps are singular. Some are two or more in quick succesion. Some repeat. All are probably easily explained by things like other people's cell phones or the like, but IMO, everything can always be blamed on ghosts and we just can't be too careful. The weirdest part is that I haven't heard the watch alarm again, and none of the random stalker beeps sound anything like it.

Weird.

On top of that, D tells me as he's getting ready for work this morning that he woke up to growling sounds in the middle of the night. My mind immediately remembers every freakish Paranormal State episode and I may or may not have freaked the fuck out thinking he was being haunted by scary demon ghosts. But, luckily, he quickly managed to spit out that it was because he had rolled over onto Fat Cat and the furtank was having none of it.

Crisis averted.

Puffy (haunted?) Feet

2010-03-24T16:09:00.001-05:00

Holy fucking cankles, Batman. It is beyond time to get this kid out. I'll take the fat thighs, the inflatable ass, faucet boobs, and mysterious gaseous happenings, but water retention in my ankles, feet, and toes at the beginning of sandal weather is unacceptable. 11 more days....(+/- 2 weeks...)

We won't discuss how wearing cute flats makes the tops of my feet rise up like baking loaves of bread. Which makes the whole effect entirely not-cute.

On the bright side, I managed to put a bright, fresh coat of red on my toes over the weekend. And have mastered contortionism enough to use the pumice stone on my heels every day in the shower. So at least they're soft, polished sausage-a-likes. And now my neighbors probably think we're keeping livestock in our bathroom, on account of the grunting.

I'm still working, and still slightly petrified of the watch alarm ghost. My co-worker with the nosy-neighbor tendencies has taken to laughing whenever she sees me. Debate is still out on whether punching is an acceptable response. Have not heard the watch alarm again, BUT, have started hearing weird random singular beeps at odd intervals in completely random places, so maybe it's trying to communicate with me? Very strange. More on this later.

If my life were a movie, we would find a body in the attic

2010-03-16T09:12:00.002-05:00

Because we all like talking so much about my office ghost, I am now going to tell you about my watch alarm ghost.

Hubs and I have lived in our condo for about 6 years now. Ever since we moved in, he has made the occasional odd remark about how he heard my watch alarm going off again in the middle of the night. D is kind of an insomniac/night owl, so he tends to stay up much later than me reading in bed until the wee hours. Anyway, time after time, I reminded him that the only watch with an alarm on it that I have ever owned has not had a functioning battery since sometime in the early 90's. And I'm pretty sure I dropped it into the lake one time while out fishing. "It's coming from your closet" he always responds. "Must be the neighbors..." I say, and then ignore him, because obviously he's just being difficult and/or hearing things.

Well, it turns out that this middle of the night beeping does in fact exist. I heard it myself last week for the first time, after lying awake until sometime around 12:30am. A very faint beep-beep...beep-beep...beep-beep...that beep-beeped for at least an hour. It sounded very much like it was coming from my closet. The only problem? I completely cleaned out my closet a month or so back in a fit of nesting instinct, and barring the space between our neighbor's wall and ours, there is no place a watch could possibly be hiding.

This could mean ghost, people.

Well, that, or our neighbors routinely sleep through their own alarm, which must be louder on their own side of the wall, and have done so since spring 2004. Because D says no one ever turns it off.

(And wouldn't the battery run out?)

The even weirder part? It doesn't happen every night. I always assumed it did, but this whole pregnancy insomnia thing has me up more nights than not, and I have not heard the alarm since it's initial introduction to my conscious ear.

How does a watch alarm KNOW to go off only occasionally, if it is not being set by someone who wakes up when it beep-beeps and TURNS IT OFF??!

This could mean body in the attic, people. Because if this were a movie, you know that the watch is on the wrist of some poor victim who has been left to rot in the rafters. Or between the walls. And maybe it's set to some kind of code relevant to how they ended up there. Creepfuckingtastic.

Now, D has been up in the attic (not very far in, mind you), and says it is all partitioned off. So just because neither he, nor the dryer duct cleaner guy, found any odd smells or deadness, doesn't mean that behind some partition up there isn't something horrible. And yes, it could mean that someone at some point or another just happened to lose a watch up there. Would be easy for it to disappear down in the insulation. But still...

Google searching my address turns up no unsolved crimes or missing people reports. And we hear the neighbor's louder, non-watch alarm go off in the morning, followed by shower-taking, so it's obvious that there is normal alarm usage going on over there.

I should mention that we are very much not friends with these neighbors. Our building is divided into two 4-condo units with separate entryways, and they are on the other side, so we don't even know who they are. Well, aside from knowing that they blast music on Saturday mornings and can really get a headboard banging against the wall. So it's not like we can just go and ask them "Hey, what is the deal with the watch alarm?"

Total mystery.

Yes, these are paperclips on my shirt, would you rather see my ugly yellow bra?

2010-03-11T08:55:00.003-06:00

Today can just go fuck itself.

It's raining. It's pouring. I woke up approximately much later than I was supposed to in a puddle of my own drool. Apparently I do not hear the alarm clock, ever, especially after not being able to fall asleep until sometime after 1am. In my hurry to get out the door, I not only left with scary product-less frizz hair, but also with boobs that have somehow overnight grown out of the last non-maternity cami shirt they used to fit into, which means that the supposed bra-covering barrier under this "boobalicious" (that's D's word for it) cleavage-showoff of a shirt is showing off one very ugly yellow bra that just does not match anything else about my outfit. Being that I am at the office, this is extremely inappropriate. I would zip up my hoodie/rainjacket (cannot button real rainjacket over belly, of course), however, the zipper might not hold and I kind of don't want this particular hoodie to die that way. A search for safety pins came up zilch. Scotch tape is worthless crap. So paperclips it is. I would post a picture, because it probably IS that funny, but probably I don't want my paperclippy boobs on the internet.

My morning has also been accosted by a broken umbrella, an unseen puddle in the parking lot (stupid not pregnant people take all of the close spots) that assaulted my right shoe and pants leg, and a new, painful asshole forehead tumor (zit) which will not be covered up by concealer.

I was going to tell you about the creepy middle of the night ghost alarm that I finally heard for myself earlier this week, but that will have to wait until tomorrow. Or until I can stop bitching enough to finish typing up the story. Which may involve a dead body in the attic. But probably not. Because a watch battery would have died out by now, I think, if it has been running its alarm nightly since 2004? .................

Still alive, still pregnant, and Easter puked on my stomach

2010-03-10T10:36:00.003-06:00

I've been slacking. I blame this devil cold that's had me on my ass since Sunday. There is just no redeeming fun in getting sick at 36 weeks pregnant...mere weeks before Nyquil will be a possibility. It's a cruel world.

On Saturday, pre-devil-sickness, some girlfriends came over and painted my belly like an Easter egg. Because my due date is Easter Sunday. And with a Superman "S". Because my hubs is a lover of superhero people in capes. We are decorating baby's room with framed comics. Anyway, because my head still hurts and continues to expel distractingly disturbing quantities of mucus (probably should have put a vomit warning on this post...too late?), I will stop typing and leave you with my festive stomach:

I am sick to fucking death of being nice to everyone. Yes, this includes you. Nothing Personal

2010-02-26T09:18:00.004-06:00

We all know I'm a big fat mess of hormonal rage. Add on top of that nausea, back pain, heartburn, sleep deprivation, and a rampant asstardation infection in my workplace, and it's seriously lucky that I haven't gone psycho bitch and ended up in a straight jacket.

Let's start with my dear co-worker C. While I have always genuinely liked her, I cannot get behind her current campaign to record the comings and goings and lunchtime and bathroomtime of all the other women in the office (There are 4 of us). Each of the 2-3 days a week C works, she records on her little desk calendar the time we each show up to work. Because we suck hard at getting to work on time. This is just how it is. But, because we are honest people, we make up the time either at the end of the day or in our lunch hour. (Exception: When C is late, she only writes down what we do with our time the rest of the day. I smell hypocrite.) Earlier this week, C noted how our receptionist arrived to work at 8:36am and that she immediately went to the bathroom. WTF.

This, dear readers, is crossing some kind of big brother line. I am sure of it.

C also notes what time we go to lunch, what time we return, and if we bring food back with us. Oh! And if we bring food back with us, she will also note whether or not we ate it. For reals. Serious detective work going on.

***Confession Interjection: I have thoroughly inspected my office for a Nanny Cam, convinced that she probably also wants to watch me fart and pick my nose throughout the day. Because of the whole bathroom interest. You know. Can't be too careful. So far - no camera found. But that doesn't mean I've stopped performing for it.***

Anyway, the funniest part is that C has no kind of authority over any of us. She's just got some kind of stick up her ass about the rest of us getting to work hours that she isn't. Which is dumb, because she chose to be p/t. Whatever.

I think this should mean an office war, but I don't quite know how to go about starting one. I would TP her desk, but then she might count up the squares used and report me as a wasteful tree-killer. Ideas??

I had something else in mind to throw at the end here, but baby brain killed it. Eh. Probably nowhere near as interesting as the wedgie I'm about to stand up to pick. From multiple directions. Just in case someone is watching...

Zantac is my new best friend and cab drivers don't like your bike violence

2010-02-23T16:39:00.003-06:00

Baby continues to sit his wiggly little butt directly on my gallbladder (apparently the source of my heartburn and acid reflux issues), and so every time I bend over at the waist I throw up in my mouth a little. There. Now your day is a little brighter.

Tonight I am very excited to see one of my favorite authors do a reading at a nearby high school. I would love to tell you who, but I don't want you all to come and gawk at my stomach. Cashier woman at the Target today did enough stomach gawking for everyone. I promise. Perhaps she mistook me for a starving third world country child, malnourished to the point of sad tummy bloat? Or maybe she thought I was shoplifting a puffy winter coat out under my t-shirt? In any case, I don't want to be looked at any more today and can't remember if I've already shared the story about how the last time I went to see this author I accidentally opened a cab door in a way that an idiot guy on a bicycle sort of ran into it full speed. Hint: Cab doors are Indestructible. For real.

Also, helpful note to anyone who bikes in the city: when a cab pulls over, usually someone is going to get out. Please account for this and adjust your steering accordingly. Cab drivers everywhere will thank you. Because they really, really don't like it when asshats hit their doors.

That is all.

Because Cats = Smiles

2010-02-15T15:52:00.000-06:00

The story of my weekend, or, how life sucks w/o real wine and only one toilet

2010-02-15T08:52:00.005-06:00

Yes, yes, the hubs and I did in fact do our taxes last night. Yes, it was on Valentine's Day, and no, we did not celebrate in any other way aside from ordering pizza and eating too much of it before chasing it with a healthy dose of made-with-3-sticks-of-butter chocolate layer cake. Because I know a lot of people have it much worse than we do, I will not go into specifics, other than to say that I cannot think the words "student loans" without punching something and re-bruising my knuckles. I would actually hug my mortgage lender before I would not drag a Sallie Mae payment check across fresh cat shit before mailing it. (In other words, they are SO lucky, hygienically-speaking, that we pay online.)

Aside from the non-celebrating of V-day and accidentally seeing where all of the money I work for goes (Don't recommend looking at those statements. Let someone else who won't show you the numbers do it...or at least make sure you're allowed to be drunk first), and re-thinking my decision to bring a kid into this world where he will be encouraged to go to college, which will present him with the options of choosing either financial ruin via loan repayment or missing out on everything else the opportunity would give him, I also had a fun-filled weekend of Friday night wake-attending and Saturday's noxious-fart-inducing chili cook off. The chili cook off was fun. And quite tasty. The smells emitted afterwards, not so much.

D also grouted the new bathroom floor yesterday, and tonight we put in the new toilet. It is unbelievably difficult to have one toilet for 2 people when one of them is pregnant and the other ate five hundred pounds of chili in a span of 2 hours. In other words, we're kind of overjoyed about having a second working toilet again. Especially with tonight's dinner being leftover chili. Does not take a psychic to do this math.

Today finds me praying for hot flashes. I am so sick of being cold at work. My toes should NOT be numb after running a space heater in my tiny office for an hour and a half. Office furnace failure = probable. Supposed internal baby-furnace failure = most definite.

The walls were shaking, but no one was getting lucky. Well, unless our weird neighbors were, because you never know when you'll hear them next.

2010-02-10T10:33:00.003-06:00

No, we didn't get as much snow as all you lucky snowbound easterners. But we did get snow, and insane wind, and an earthquake.

What the hell, Mother Nature. Why the hate?

Woke up about 4am this morning in panic-stricken confusion. It sounded like one or more of the cats had been playing in the closet and someone had gotten thrown into the sliding doors. (We have horrible mirrored sliding-door closets that make a racket if you so much as look at one wrong.) Hoping we didn't need an early morning emergency vet visit, we turned on the lights and tried to locate all 3 cats. Fat Cat was easy - he just sat in the hallway glaring at us, presumably for disturbing his sleep. Danger Cat and Trouble Cat were missing. Finally found them tucked way, way under our bed, sandwiched in between the wall, dead cat toys, and a million under the bed boxes. Poor 'fraidy cats.

Went back to sleep after an hour of tossing and turning, still blaming it all on the assumed troublemakers. Woke up confused, again, when the alarm went off. Drove to work in a rage of hate directed towards people who refuse to drive normal on roads that have been cleared of snow. PSA Re: Snow - It is not acceptable to drive 25mph in a 55mph speed zone just because you can see snow on the side of the road. Do not be that asshole. Next time the earthquake will swallow you in retribution and we will all point and laugh. And finally get to drive fast again. Sucks to be you.

PSA Re: Popcorn

2010-02-09T15:11:00.006-06:00

Too much white cheddar popcorn = B.L.O.A.T.

That is all.

Reflecting - Not in a mirror, though, because I'm still avoiding everything neck-down

2010-02-09T09:01:00.005-06:00

But that's not what this post is about.

This post is going to follow suit in a slew of more serious posts that have been popping up lately. This past weekend dropped some bombs on D and I, and it's hard to keep being 100% self-centered vain and whiny when sad shit hits close to home.

My friend J's dad died Sunday morning. While I was close enough with J for him to nickname my backside and take him to Sadie Hawkins, his dad did not speak much English and the most we ever interacted was when he laughed at me hysterically every time I called the house back in the days before everyone had a cell phone. He laughed and waved every time I pulled up in his driveway, between the two lion statues, and I'd wave back at him in his short shorts and flip flops, as summers found him perpetually chain-smoking in the garage. It was ultimately the smoking that did him in. But this is not an anti-smoking post, either.

I've been very, very fortunate in life to not have seen many deaths among my friends, family, and my friends' families. Of course this can't last forever, and as we all get older, our parents will get older, and it won't always be the occasional grandparent funeral that has someone cancelling weekend plans. It will start to hit closer, and it's not always someone else's story. I guess I just hate having to see my friend go through this. I hate that I'm now at an age where figures from my childhood are going to fade away. I'm closing in on 30 (delusional denial or not), about to have a kid of my own, and still don't feel emotionally ready to handle this sort of thing. Yes, both of my parents are healthy, as are D's parents, but that's right now. And these fucking hormones just won't let me feel a day over 16, when everything tragic was the end of the world.

So mostly I'm overreacting, feeling old and terrified, and having sort of a sentimental panic attack. I want to hug all of my friends, even though we are not huggers. We respect personal space boundaries. Unless someone needs a good punch. I want to hug my parents. I want chocolate cake.

D and I spent a good chunk of Sunday afternoon sitting on the couch, eating two tons of Velveeta cheese and sour cream melted over tortilla chips (I do make the best heart-stopping nachos ever, thanksmuch), and trying to enjoy the now of things, appreciating the nachos, and each other, and HGTV.

And then he went back to cutting tiles in the bathroom. And I went back to folding laundry and baking bread and scrubbing cat vomit out of the carpet. And life went on.

Because NO ONE wants to see that

2010-02-04T10:42:00.002-06:00

Dear Victoria's Secret,

Please stop sending me emails and catalogues full of skimpy, stringy swimsuits on skimpy, stringy models. I can barely reach my toes for the belly in the way and have not seen my bare thighs since being kicked out of the master bathroom and it's over-mirrored glory for the remodel back in December. I do not want to be reminded that it will be a Very Long Time before this ass will ever fit into a swimsuit that small again. Also, it may be never that I can ever wear one in public again, so for the love of the beach, Stop Reminding Me.

Also, if your models receive several truckloads each of fried, gooey doughnuts with some not-so-subtle instructions to Eat Them All Now Before God Starts Killing Puppies, those were from me, and I would appreciate you contacting my lawyer directly because I am too full of jealous hate to respond in a way that would keep you from going for the restraining order. I promise, it's just the pregnancy hormones. I would never actually hurt a puppy. And I don't want your models to get fat. I just want my skinny back.

Sincerely,
Fat, Pregnant, and Get Me the Fuck Off Your Mailing List

Do it for the kids, or they'll turn on you zombie-style

2010-01-29T12:08:00.002-06:00

Ok, that was a lie.

But, if you are in the area this weekend, you should still check out V's Awesome Chicago Event to benefit the Bear Necessities Pediatric Cancer Foundation. I'm not one to usually promote this sort of thing, but it means a lot to my cousin V. She did a crapton of work to help pull this all together, and I am mad as hell that I am both pregnant and poor this year and can't be there.

And just so you don't feel jipped of a real entry, let's discuss my problem with Life Savers assorted fruit candy in the big bag. I bought said big bag of candy back in my morning sickness days as vomit prevention. Sadly, the flavors I had come to know and love in roll form are Not The Same in the bag. Misleading fuckers put some kind of weird purple in there, and the green is Not Lime. Not Lime is not an acceptable green flavor to me, ever, and even more so when I'm nauseous and sucking on nasty impostor green candy might do more harm than good.

Obviously I am now past that whole m/s thing, but it was a damn big bag of candy, and therefore still living in my desk drawer. (If it had been chocolate, we would not have this problem. I do not discriminate against chocolate.) As my stomach is begging for mercy and lunch time is still an hour away, I bit the bullet and ate an impostor green. Forgetting that it was an impostor green. Unacceptable. Life Savers candy brand, you are dead to me.

The End.

PS: It's the kids toys you should be worried about...remember Chucky?

No, I didn't watch the SOTU...But don't worry, my DVR has that covered

2010-01-28T14:24:00.003-06:00

Apparently I'm a bad person for this. I was trying to be a good wife (long history of drinking + prez talky broadcasts and we can't break tradition), and waiting for D (since one of us should be drinking) to finish gluing (mortaring?) the cementboard into the bathroom floors, and it took forever and a day, and so by the time he was done and wanted to watch I was pretty much passed out on the couch.

Luckily, there were some quality scary TLC pregnancy shows on. Pregnant and homeless with a douchey husband who seems utterly unmotivated to find a job? Check! Pregnant with an eating disorder and probably 20 other kinds of crazies that seriously can't be good for the mental health of the rest of the family? Check! Made me feel the normal, appropriate amount of crazy.

We'll watch eventually.

Right now, there are more pressing issues:

Who at my office had the nasty shits this morning that left the nasty smells that are STILL lingering in the hallway? I think someone passed something they should not have and there is not enough barftastic air freshener in the world that can make it stop. I was thinking maybe something was dead in the wall or the trash, but then my co-worker said she swears it was one of the bossmen who did it before he left for the day...hmm...

and...

Is it inappropriate to wear yoga pants to my baby shower? Discuss.

Keebler Elves Make My Thighs Fat

2010-01-27T12:03:00.002-06:00

Fuck those mean nasty chocolate-covered cookie devil elves.

Ever since I was declared capable of processing sugar properly enough to not be cut off from it, I have been on somewhat of a cookie bender.

It started with me feeling like hungover ass after drinking fourteen years worth of sugar in one morning and accidentally looking at the needle during one of my blood draws. I was Traumatized. My dear, dear hubs, wanting to fix the Trauma, asked me if I wanted him to get me anything at the store to make me feel better. Of all things, I said "cookies!"

Since then, I have eaten half a bag of the fudge striped ones, half a bag of the double-stuffed fudge sandwich ones, and half a bag of the peanut butter chocolate ones. I still have an unopened bag of the mint ones in my pantry, hanging out with the other half of the fudgypudgy sandwiches. At least hubs helped with the others.

Unsurprisingly, my thighs seem to have taken on the approximate size and shape of every single cookie that's been shoved down my gullet. Seriously, people, there is now a big fat DIMPLE in the middle of my butt cheek. TMI? I don't even care. My butt has a fat dimple. This is unacceptable. Also, I no longer approve of myself in skinny jeans and am thereby cut off from all my cute boots that look dumb with regular jeans.

Dammit.

The bathroom scale should consider itself thankful to be packed away for the duration of the bathroom remodel/my fat time. Because otherwise it would be flung out the window into the path of one of the five bajillion trucks that drives down the road behind our condo. Incidentally, some of those trucks are baked goods trucks and if I saw one of them coming at the right time I might try to take the truck down, too.

I've also been reading entirely too much up on how to not eat a diet of all chemicals and mutant animals, and now I don't think I can eat the chicken I'm supposed to cook up for dinner. I actually cried while deciding this. Not good. Not good, at all. Because you know what the alternative is? Brown salad (kind of forgot about it in the fridge for maybe 2 weeks...) or evil elf cookies. The cookies are 100% chemicals, but at least they were never alive. And are brown because they're chocolate, and not because they've turned to rot.

I need someone to come over and take over the cooking. And cleaning. Who wants to be my housekeeper? I will pay in cookies. If there are any left after tonight...

The mucus dude from the commercial moved into my throat

2010-01-22T16:04:00.002-06:00

How the hell do you spell phlegm? Tried to make that part of my title, but it just seems all wrong. Kind of like the stuff itself. Which does not belong in my fucking throat on a Friday, thank you much. Grossness.

Not much else going on today.

There is a stray hair in my chin mole (shut up) that I can't get my tweezers to grab. This makes me angsty. Am I the only one who carries extra tweezers at all times? I am constantly paranoid that a chin, brow, or forehead (thank you so much, pregnancy hormones) hair will sprout up and cause me public shame.

I officially put baby on a daycare list today and could not feel more guilty. Obviously, baby has to go somewhere when I go back to work, but fuck. I kind of want to die thinking that 1) I have to leave him full time with strangers, and 2) I have to pay an arm, leg, and kidney to feel said guilt. Major shitness.

TGIF? Exactly.

I want to be a quitter

2010-01-19T16:54:00.002-06:00

And they won't let me do it.

Went to quit my gym today. After almost being knocked on my ass by two wildly gesticulating meatheads blocking the entrance, the counter candy informed me that I will have to send a certified letter to their corporate address to do so. Deliberate attempt to keep my $19.95/month, much?

Also, there is cat vomit in my shoe. I cleaned it out (sort of), but decided that since it had dried, a sock was an appropriate barrier. I feel like this should bother me. It doesn't.

That is all.

My boob leaked through my shirt...and how are you today?

2010-01-19T10:53:00.002-06:00

I am SO over being pregnant. And I am beyond sick of attempting to live up to my unrealistic standards regarding things like not getting too fat for my current maternity wardrobe, putting on makeup every day (a.k.a. hiding the scary), and not belching through every conversation I've had with the area day care places. Fuck you, vain self.

For the record, I bought a giant economy-sized box of leaky boob pads at the baby stuff store a couple of weeks ago. When I actually remember to use them, they do their job. When I forget...Well, then I take trashy whoreness to a whole new level.

I also bought giant maternity underwear. As in, something that I hoped would not have my ass in a vice grip like my old non-maternity-friendly thongs. If you have never experienced maternity underwear, it is pretty much a printed cotton parachute. If I weren't with child, I might have even tested them by jumping off the balcony into the backyard snow piles. Because they're really that big. Sadly, they are also weirdly thick, or something, because hellooooo panty lines! Totally unacceptable. I would rather have raw thong ass than deal with showing my parachute panties off through my shrinking (shut up) maternity jeans. Probably I'm going to just have to buy some super-large thongs, and then cut out the tags so I can try to forget that they are super-sized. At least there will be less fabric.

To further help matters (or not), in celebration of having passed my glucose tolerance test, I had donuts for dinner last night. It was actually D's idea, so I will feel free to blame him when my ass splits open my yoga pants. Or dies from thong strangulation. I predict this will be any day now. Especially with tonight being taco Tuesday. For the...sixth week straight...um...Nope, nothing to say for myself. Pass the sour cream?

Ugh.

Die, Sugar, Die.

2010-01-14T16:02:00.002-06:00

So I survived my 3 hours of starving, over-sugared, uncaffeinated hell.

There were, in fact, 4 blood draws (thank you for the heads-up, VandyJ...and thank you everyone for the supportive comments). Hour 1 wasn't so bad. I spent some quality time with Kathy Griffin's memoir. The orange drink nearly came up during hour 2. That was a rough one, spent mostly with my head between my knees. Hour 3 was spent getting angry at everyone else in the waiting room who could leave and eat. But I didn't die, pass out, vomit, or punch the lab tech, so I guess it was a success. And I am pretty sure that I will never be able to consume anything resembling fruit drink ever again.

Now to wait for the results...

As I wait, I am torn between wanting to eat everything bad for me that could soon be taken away, and the guilt of knowing that I should really try to keep it healthy in case I do have the GD and am growing a super-sized child. Who will have to somehow exit my poor, non-super-sized vag. This is scary shit.

FAIL

2010-01-12T10:59:00.002-06:00

Worst nightmare = happening.

(Yes, I'm exaggerating.)

I failed my 1 hour glucose tolerance test. So, I get to take the 3 hour tomorrow morning. This makes me livid. Thanks a lot, body. See if I feed you any more salad if this is what you're going to do to me. And that whole exercise thing? Fuck it.

Ugh. It's not even so much the fasting (I can't not eat for 3 hours on a regular day, let alone fast for 12 and then sit at the doctor's office for 3 more...) as the fact that they are going to stick me for blood 3 more times. I may punch someone. Not even kidding. I see a needle, I make a fist and get lippy. Just how it is. Keep your sharp pointy blood-drawing shit away from me and no one will die.

Someone may die tomorrow. Might be me, with all of that not eating. I have passed out at both a Dominick's and Cheesecake Factory (2.5 hour wait, standing room only) from lack of sustenance. Not pretty.

Yes, I know like half the damn pregnant world has to go through this, but I'm too busy with the pity party to see reason just yet.

On the plus side, my hair was halfway dry when I left the house today and I even went so far as to put on eyeliner. Eye makeup = mood bandaid.

It Hurts and My Hair is Scary

2010-01-11T10:57:00.003-06:00

Kind of like what being hit by a bus might feel like? My best guess.

D and I spent the weekend attempting to make our condo not-shit. Not-shit, as in having a functional master bathroom and moving twenty tons of crap out of the library so it can become the baby's room.

When we bought our place (6 years ago-ish), we declared the master bath the ugliest one we'd ever seen. Pinkish-brown tile on the floor, weird warped shower wall, and pink and green striped floral wallpaper accented by a cobbled together vanity and cabinet made from the World's Ugliest Idea Ever. (I tried to find a picture, but no such luck. Suffice to say, it's not wood, it's not quite plastic, and it's the exact same stuff that was in my college apartment) The first remodel never happened because everything in it is made to weird/large/special-order-whoa!-expensive sizes, so we settled for scraping off the wallpaper and repainting. This made it bearable for awhile, but the weird warped shower wall had me paranoid (and kind of gave me the heebie-jeebies...I mean, it could have just been shit builders (since they half-assed pretty much everything in the place), or water damage...but what if it was actually some kind of freak-sized spider's lair? Or a body? Eep.) Best to tear the whole thing out. Which D did. He fixed the plumbing (things were gorilla glued that should never be gorilla glued and this caused a total disaster zone of the previous drain/pvc/I don't really know what any of it is) and the subfloor (had to be cut out to fix aforementioned gorilla glue plumbing issues) and has the walls down to bare studs (no water damage - it was all shit builders. Figures.) So there's progress.

Our library has been wall-to-wall bookcases, filled to the brim and then some, for years. The closet is full of my dresses and jackets, and also a seriously ridiculous amount of random crap that doesn't have any other place to go. I filled a LOT of trash bags, even more boxes, and probably experienced a slight Sharpie marker high as I labeled every last thing. There's still no place to put any of it (Garage is full of sofas waiting patiently to be picked up by D's friend K...someday...), but at least we know what all of it is. Success!

Clearly this was entirely too much physical activity for me, though, because I could not lift my arms long enough to blowdry my hair this morning. I left the house in 14 degree weather with a drippy mess. Which has dried in a very interesting (artistic? definitely not.) design of half-curls and full-frizz. And also makes my haircut look way uneven. Probably using hair product would have prevented this. Or a comb.

Eh. Time for more Tylenol.

The Day Sears Made Me Cry

2010-01-06T09:49:00.003-06:00

Don't upset the pregnant lady. Just don't.

Sears did not understand this. Usually I heart Sears for things like new appliances and D's tools (well, he hearts them for the tools, I heart the home improvements he does with them...obvs.), but they have some serious logistics issues and some bad attitudes working in customer service.

It was the Saturday after Christmas. It was dark. We had friends from D's hometown over, and one friend visiting from Norway. D got the call: My treadmill was going to deliver between 7:45 and 9:45 Sunday morning. After the guys cleared out a lot of our random liquor (liquor storage has been downsized to accommodate baby bottle storage - sad day), killed zombies via xbox, and we all killed each other in a mafia-themed card game, it became 3am. The boys were kicked out. D and I went to sleep. (Well, I had to get up off the couch where I had fallen asleep and move to bed. I'm a very rude host. Whatever.)

Fast Forward to Sunday: 7:40am. D gets another call. This one is not so friendly. This call tells us that our treadmill is unavailable for delivery. The warehouse does not have it. The warehouse doesn't know when they are going to get it. They will call us back in 48 hours to let us know when we might expect to see it.

Unacceptable.

We try to go back to sleep, but our tempers are awakened. I become unreasonably loud and angry. See, it's not that I absolutelypositivelyHAD to have my treadmill that day. It's that they told me it was coming, and we had plans for the next couple of weekends that would prevent delivery, and we paid extra to get it on a weekend so we didn't have to take any time off from work to be home for it. And, you know, I'm kind of full of hormonal rage to begin with.

D calls every customer service number he can find. It's like 8am, and the Sears store itself can't help us until they open at 11. Fuck. So after everyone tells Dave he's just shit out of luck and money in this situation, we drag our sleep-deprived butts over to Sears. I should mention that it's now 11am, and D's parents are supposed to come over around noon for belated Christmas, which was cancelled on Christmas Eve because of the rain/ice/sleet/shit weather. We wait about half an hour for anyone to help us, and then for awhile longer. What do you know, they have our treadmill in stock. Bring it over NOW, D says. He even plays the pregnant wife card (while I stick out my stomach as far as I can and try to look miserable/scarypissedoff). Surprisingly, one of the sales guys was willing to throw it in the back of his truck and follow us home with it. He stayed and put it together with D. This took nearly 2 hours. And was very loud.

And you know what? Apparently this sales guy does this quite frequently, because Sears cannot get their shit together and fucks up deliveries all the time. They don't have your shit when they make the delivery appointment, and they can't track where you shit goes when it arrives. Could be any one of several warehouses in the area, and if you are a betting person, just don't. (Straight from the mouth of several employees - Sorry if I'm offending anyone who works there, but this system is nearly comically faulty.)

So that is the story of my treadmill. I am positively in love with it now that I have it. The cats are medium scared of it still, and my whole condo smells like a plastic factory on account of the mat underneath. Whatever. I can now walk and watch my dvr recordings simultaneously and it is Glorious.

Apparently I Stopped Updating

2010-01-04T11:02:00.002-06:00

Consider it a late (early?) Christmas present.

Things that prevented me from actually posting one of the fifteen saved partial blog entries I attempted to piece together over my holiday break (har har) include the following: Mad Rage directed towards Sears for trying to ruin Christmas (DO NOT hold my new treadmill hostage or people will die), Mad Rage directed towards my workplace for insisting I be here last week to accomplish exactly nothing of actual work-related importance (I did spend about 20 minutes filing my nails, and thus have to acknowledge that one little accomplishment), Mad Rage directed towards my hubs for spending an absolute shit ton of money (that I could have used on ME) at the liquor store for shit I can't drink, Mad Rage directed towards the weather (cold, ice, snow, cold, and more ice and cold), and Mad Rage directed towards people who drive too slow in the cold/ice/snow situation when I just want to get the fuck home and go to sleep.

I also slept a lot, used my new awesome no-longer-a-hostage Christmas miracle treadmill, took some naps, ate a bag and a half of chocolate chips, and spent a long weekend up in the middle of nowhere with my phone turned off (we call this place heaven).

I would tell you about my Christmas, but I think we're all sort of past that shit. My New Years Eve consisted of excessive cookie and meatball consumption, excessive baby talk, actual real live babies who were more entertaining than whatever the fuck musical specials were on TV (Um, did anyone else happen to catch the J-Lo camel toe experience? Yikes.), and my hubs singing along to the South Park Movie sometime around 2am. Which was incidentally how late I somehow remained awake. Probably thanks to the cookies.

This week my Mad Rage will be directed towards the stupid ass blood glucose test that is required of me in exactly 5 days. Given my diet for the past month has consisted of sugar x 500000, I am a tiny bit worried that the glory days are over. Hence, this week is sugar-free and this will not be pleasant for my hubs. Because if he thinks the pregnancy hormones are bad...he has surely forgotten what sugar withdrawal does to my attitude.

Stay tuned for the True Stories of how my hubs saved Christmas when Sears made me cry and how much I love having to pull over to pee every 30 minutes during a 5 hour drive.

Bah Cat-bug

2009-12-22T09:25:00.006-06:00

Just in case I never finish an actual holiday post, here is Santa Cat, hating everything about the season that brought this evil hat and beard upon her. (Obviously, the furry matching booties were a total fail.)

Merry Christmas!

Here's Where I Tie Up Some Loose Ends

2009-12-15T10:46:00.003-06:00

Oops. I suck at blog continuity, apparently.

Remember last week when I was a greasy one-woman crazy show without running water? Thankfully, that all ended early Friday morning. I jumped about ten feet out of bed (pretty good for a preggo), upon hearing quite possibly the scariest loud, grinding, screeching noise ever. As luck would have it, instead of it being the sound of a million bursting ceiling sprinkler system pipes (my worst nightmare), it was the sound of running water muscling its way back home.

As I totally lamed out on the gym shower option, that Friday morning shower in my own clean tub ranks up there with one of the best ever. Never mind that I was a half an hour late to work: I was CLEAN!

Yesterday's soul-crushing reveal of no NYE vacation became slightly less painful when my hubs offered to drive us up north on NYD, instead. Only a 3-day weekend, but it's better than nothing. Someone has to help eat the brisket.

Things were looking down again last night when Sephora's website crapped out on my retail therapy. Yes, it's unhealthy to buy myself things every time I feel like it/am sad, but it makes me oh so happy! Seriously, though, Sephora, you sent me the damn $15 off card in the mail, and then the checkout is broken on the last day I can use it? Not cool. We're officially on the outs. (Until you ship me all the crap I ordered today because I just had to make sure you weren't still broken...)

This morning I am trying to remain positive, and holding onto the thought that the nail polish I put on Friday night is still unchipped. Christmas miracle? Perhaps. Because this is for sure the cheap shit. Clearly my priorities remain fucked.

I'll close this random rambling that probably didn't actually tie up anything with...well, nothing came to me while typing those words, so we'll use the kitten photo fallback:

My Holiday Spirit Died Today

2009-12-14T09:38:00.008-06:00

Just found out my last child-free NYE plans have been gutted, crushed, kicked off a cliff and left to die by the ragged teeth of hungry wolves. Not even chocolate peanut butter cookies will fix this. Have been dreaming all year of our traditional long weekend up at the snow-covered cabin, in the peaceful woods (well, except for the gun-happy locals), toasting the New Year in my pajamas by the fire with my family and the freezer full of awesome food waiting for us...

Now my parents will have to eat the 6 lb bison brisket all alone. Because I'll be working the week we alwaysalwaysalways have off at my office. I know I should count my blessings to be employed, and that most of the rest of the world works that week between Christmas and New Year's, but it's the one thing I can always look forward to. Especially this year, because all of my vacation time for 2010 will be spent attempting to afford to take a couple of weeks off for maternity leave. And without rhyme or reason, today they took that away from us. As if my hormonally-overloaded emotions needed anything else to set them off.

I'm terrified that this means bad things for my annual review, which will also be sometime this week. No one here has had theirs yet, so we don't know what to expect. Last year was a pay cut. I guess I should anticipate more of the same. Way to pick an awesome time to get knocked up, A.

Happy Fucking Holidays.

Send happy thoughts? I'd ask for wine, but, you know, then I'd really be up shit creek.

I'm Leaking - (Guaranteed Overshare) - And Winter Can Blow Me

2009-12-10T11:38:00.004-06:00

So from past bitchings and moanings we know that I have had the super delight of prematurely leaking boobs. Yet another clue that my body must hate me. My bras have little stains in them. My husband still wants to squeeze them, to which I can only respond by recommending protective eyewear. (I told you this was going to be an overshare.) I am so not cut out for this pregnancy thing.

Today it is getting especially bad, because I can feel them leaking. Like, trickle, trickle, ohshit.

This makes the gym right out. Because no way am I going in there with the high school giggle bitch squad and the meatheads in neon green pajama pants (really just the one wears them periodically, but, come on...) only to risk showing tit juice through my tshirt as I walk slower than an octogenarian on the treadmill. No way. It's bad enough to show up with chronic noxious gas, and I am going to need to be able to show my face there in the spring when it's time to run this preggo ass back off.

But...I'm wondering...is it bad to show up at the gym, anyway, just to shower? I would judge me. And while I am normally terrified of public showering (college dorm life traumatized me for life...I mean, hair fucking everywhere, and none of it mine = EW), I woke up this morning to learn that our stupid ass condo association has learned nothing from last year's bursting pipe water damage fiasco and let the pipes freeze. This time, like all the way freeze, because none of my faucets would work.

Bad enough I overslept to the extreme for the past few days and am now on day 4 of the unwashed hair chronicles (I have nothing to say for myself, but please know that I did at least step into the shower each of those days), but I now feel completely gross and ooky with the leaking problem on top of this and don't know when we might have running water again. Especially if I come home today to an epic flood. Good thing we live on the second (of 2) floors.

After my hubs (who was good enough to jump out of our warm bed at the first sound of my hysteria) dumped most of our limited freezer ice into the cat's water dish (which I had foolishly poured out intending to refill when whoa, I learned about the whole no water thing), I melted the rest (yay microwave) to wash my face. There is definitely still facewash stuck under my makeup. I can tell because it itches. And then there wasn't anything left for toothbrushing. So I had to bring toothbrush and toothpaste to work and pray that the 100+-year-old plumbing would be in better shape than my 18-year-old condo's. (Success!)

Now I am *this* close to driving over to Target for flip flops and shampoo so I can sneak them into the women's locker room for a little de-greasing.

I'll debate a little longer, and will probably ultimately choose being dirty over being judged and subjected to mystery floor hair.

Winter = Shit

Sending You On a Treasure Hunt...

2009-12-08T10:03:00.002-06:00

...over to Lessons Learned to see my guest post on Working Mommy's fantabulous blog. The kinds of crazy this lady gets into...well, go check her out and see for yourself!

I'm off to a lunchtime schmoozing visit with some colleagues. Fingers crossed the snow does not further insult the remaining dignity of my hair. And hopefully I won't be forced to use my middle finger.(Don't know what I'm talking about? Stop slacking and find out!) Everyone around here somehow forgets how to drive in snow every year. Because last year's excessive white dumping wasn't enough of a crash course? Blech.

PS: Yes, I am wearing the same leggings I wore yesterday. Yes, they're clean. Yes, I put them in the dryer and quite possibly created a camel-toe danger zone. Stupid shrinking fabric...

She'll Bite Your Face Off

2009-12-07T16:52:00.005-06:00

She really will.

But, this is not about my sweetest furbaby (she only plots to kill me while I'm sleeping). This is about what I think of the horrible, vile snow forecasted to ruin my week:

The End.

The Big Baby Reveal & Why I am in LOVE w/Maternity Leggings

2009-12-07T09:47:00.004-06:00

First things first: Why wouldn't I be in love with maternity leggings? Lots of stretch, both backwards and forwards. They tuck into all of my fabulous winter boots without bunching (so-called "skinny" jeans, I am calling you out...), and they make me feel like I'm wearing pajamas to work. Perfect. Especially with the insane length of these maternity sweaters. It's like I'm in junior high all over again. Except that I no longer find red, purple, silver, and white to be acceptable colors for my pregnancy thighs (or, ever...), and these leggings do not have awesomely fashionable elastic stirrups. Also, I lack the huge dangly Vegas-would-be-proud multi-colored dice earrings that were, like, my favorite accessory ever at age 11:

Secondly, and what I know you've all been dying to know (unless you're related to me and I only made you wait until Thanksgiving).......

IT'S A BOY!

Better send me some protective eyewear because another little pisser will be entering my household in the spring.

I wish I could say he's cute, but so far he just looks like a creepy smiling skeleton in his ultrasound pictures. I love him anyway, and can rest assured that he most likely won't end up with mommy's butt.

In other news, I have some beef with BRU (Babies'r'Us). Yesterday morning, my mom, my hubs, and I ventured over to get some baby shopping done. My mom is buying baby his crib for Christmas (best. mom. ever.) and my grandma wanted us to pick out a Pack n' Play. Let me just say that for every fifteen heavily accented sales guys (I can usually give two shits about accents, and only noted this because it was kind of eerie that every single guy had a different one) in the PnP aisle, there were ZERO in the furniture section. Apparently they do not wish to sell cribs. Special order? Good fucking luck. Want to apply for their store charge card? Fifteen more people show up. Even if you say "No, thank you."

So after waiting around long past my morning snack time (they are SO lucky I did not resort to chewing on the displays), we finally managed to drag one of the accented guys over to place our crib order. My hubs chased the flock out of the PnP aisle long enough for us to have space and silence to breath/discuss/pick one out, and we even made it home in time to watch some Sunday football. And by watch, I mean sleep through the entire afternoon. And evening. Oops.

Now it's back to work. Which will probably involve more time spent obsessing over leggings than it should.

This Kid Isn't Even Born & I'm Already In The Crib!

2009-12-04T08:48:00.002-06:00

Come see me featured at Speaking From The Crib! Just the thing to brighten your snowy (fuck you, midwest weather) Friday morning!

I think over half my followers came from her blog this morning (Welcome to the Party!), but for those of you who have been with me for awhile and are not Crib followers...Go read my guest post, then read her posts. Enjoy. And then comment. And follow. You know the drill. Guaranteed hilarious and likely to cause bladder failure, especially for those of us with a dancing fetus in our bellies.

What are you still doing here? Go read!!

Smells Like a Sharpie Factory Collided With 2 Tons of Nestle Quik

2009-12-02T13:18:00.014-06:00

The lobby of my office building, that is.

I have a break from training New Girl today (possibly requested by her, and I wouldn't blame her a bit given yesterday's flatulence), but it sure hasn't been sanity-friendly. See, when I pulled into the office drive today, it was blocked by a full-sized semi truck. My first thought was Movers! Because the toilet-clogging bitches renting the upstairs office gave notice that they're leaving. (Boohoosobsob) Alas, it was nothing more than a delivery of cocoa powder (15 or so giant boxes) for one of my co-workers to drive up to his customer. Why not ship it straight on to someplace actually equipped to handle large trucks and deliveries, you may ask? (Remember, I work in a 100+ year old house and the "drive" is approximately wide enough for a fat horse or compact car.) Because each box needed some "altering" via the largest Sharpie markers I have ever seen, of course! (Picture a giant dildo. Now make it a Sharpie. Now you've got it.) After sad Sharpie failure and the addition of quick-dry spray paint, this place is one match away from kablooey. Have I mentioned the intense chocolate smell? It's sensory overload here. And there isn't enough Extra Strength Tylenol in the world to make the headache go away.

As bad as my office currently smells, it is not a smidgen better back home. Remember Fat Cat? Well, even with a brand new litterbox (which my hubs has been scooping twice a day), he's still peeing on my fucking carpet. All over the dining room. Right next to the kitchen. Which puts it smack dab 10 feet away from where I pour/drink/comebackfromthedeadwith my morning coffee. Ammonia stink for breakfast, anyone? Cat piss is easily my least favorite smell in the entire world. Even worse than Sharpie fumes + chocolate, which I didn't even know could mingle so well until today. Gag. I'm not even going to talk about the puddle of pee that appears next to the litterbox every night. Because it's now the norm. We've watched him do it - walk into the shit box, squat (or not squat, the fatass), and whoosh! Straight off to the sides. Or to the back. Or to the front. Whichever direction he points that butt. Stupid cat. This is the largest litterbox I've ever seen, and could fit 3 of his giant selves easily and still leave room for peeing properly. But, of course, he won't. I wonder if we could rent him out to the military for some kind of new-age weapons development program?

So today (quite seriously) stinks. The good news? My Clinique goodies come in the mail today. New makeup is the perfect cure for a cat piss and toxic-marker-fumes kind of day.

Watch Me Eat! And Other Office Fun...

2009-12-01T13:05:00.002-06:00

Today I have been training our newest employee. In the inevitable event that I spit out a screaming kid this April, she's going to be covering for me while I'm out on maternity leave. As there is no training manual for my job, and as most of it I just kind of made up as I went along, I have no formal filing system. I put things where I know I'll have a shot at finding them again. Maybe. Kind of like my organizational system at home, come to think of it. Which is more or less pick a junk drawer/closet to hide said item from view and hope for the best if/when I need it again. Efficiency is not my style. New Girl is screwed.

This also means that New Girl gets to sit in my office while I explain everything I'm doing. She didn't bite at any of my "screw this, let's read celebrity gossip online" bait, so the internet is pretty much out. And of course I went all overachiever yesterday and did all of that actual work. Which sadly leaves us with...data entry. Data entry makes me want to gouge my eyes out, and, seriously, this is not a trainable talent. You can either read and type, or you can't. With a lack of any actual work to do that might help me show New Girl the ropes, this morning was reduced to her observing my very disgusting display of the following: data entry, eating my morning oatmeal, data entry, burping, data entry, eating my mid-morning orange, data entry, burping, emailing my mom, drinking a lot of water and peeing it out every 30 minutes, more data entry, burping, bitching about data entry, snotting all over myself (and being out of tissue), burping, and farting every time I said burping.

New Girl has also had to witness my hand lotion (mmm, vanilla!) and lip balm (mmm, korres!) addictions. Seeing myself through someone else's eyes has brought about the realization that these OCD tendencies are much worse than previously acknowledged. Also, there are enough crumbs in my keyboard to feed a small family of mice for a month and there is no human way to remove all of the spilled coffee from the keypad of my sad, sticky calculator. I am clearly not fit for public view and it was very wise of my bosses to hide me away in this frigid and tiny cave.

I think I just heard New Girl return from her lunch break, so I guess that means it's time to Febreeze this place and say goodbye to perez for awhile. Which gross bodily functions will reveal themselves this afternoon? Only time will tell...

Yes, I Disappeared for the Weekend

2009-11-30T09:21:00.002-06:00

It's just how I deal with the hellish phenomenon they call Black Friday. You would run, too, if you lived backside to the main road in a town that breeds strip malls and chain stores like rabbits. It's frightening. Sometimes traffic is so bad we can't even make the turn out of our neighborhood.

After a fantastic Thanksgiving meal and some very child-unfriendly conversation (you name the inappropriate topic and we've covered it one year or another), being groped by my grandmother, and attempting to sleep in my childhood bed with both Hubs and my body pillow (I may or may not have fallen out of bed...twice...), we fled with my parents up to their secluded cabin in the woods. It was glorious. Fresh air. A warm fire. Good food. Lots of napping. Not a shopping center in sight.

Which just makes the return to reality that much more painful. I hate traffic. I hate crowds. I hate getting up early and driving home in the dark. I also hate pregnancy gas, because I'm 80% sure I'm asphyxiating back here in my little office cave. Not a glamorous way to go. At least I'm wearing cute underwear?

Oh, Just You Fucking Wait 'til It Happens to You

2009-11-18T16:16:00.002-06:00

Dear Rudely Ignorant High School Girls Sharing My Gym Space,

Yes, maternity pants look funny. I wouldn't have wanted to wear them at 16, either.

Yes, having this much belly would in fact be motivation to work out every single day. If only I weren't, you know, 5 months pregnant. But you just think I'm weirdly fat, and of course that is absolutely hilarious. I mean, who gets stuck looking like this in real life? Gigglegigglesnortsnortgiggle.

You know what would motivate ME to work out every day, and maybe run more and chat less? Having an ass the size of yours, and NOT being pregnant. Seriously. Mine has doubled in size this past month, and is still half the width of yours. Ha! Now that really is funny. My turn to giggle and stare! Wow, this is fun!

Until we meet again, and my willpower to push you into your equally delusional and booty-challenged friend is re-tested, have fun being 16 and dumb as rocks! Let me know how you feel when you get knocked up at one of those parties where you got so drunk you almost *giggle* did it with him.

Cheers!

Pregnant Bitch

ps: Fat does not equal deaf. Just, you know, in case you forgot that somewhere with your manners.

(pps: When did all the teenage stereotypes start coming to my gym? Ugh!)

Everyone Wants to Use the Treadmills Next to the Pregnant Lady

2009-11-17T09:59:00.003-06:00

Until she inevitably blasts them away with her noxious pregnancy gas. It's getting to be somewhat of a game. I'm totally winning.

I am Miss Popular at the gym these days. They're even stopping in their tracks to gawk at my belly. Which protrudes so curvaceously (ghetto-y?) out of my normal-people-sized workout clothes. (Tacky as hell, but I refuse to spend money on maternity workout wear until seams start splitting.) Well, only until they inhale, because I am my own walking cloud of methane doom.

Speaking of which, I was also Miss Popular at the grocery store last night. You want attention? Get knocked up and spend 15 minutes in the shit and gas help aisle of the pharmacy. You'll get the store manager attached to your hip. And he'll look at you doubtfully as you try to explain that, no, you aren't trying to laxative your baby to death in an ill-fated attempt to avoid those hemorrhoids. It's the other kind of help that's needed. See, my poor hubs did a sad thing Saturday night. He ate chicken in a dark theater at our local "brew & view"-type movie theater. Which proceeded to come right back up violently all Sunday night long. Neither of us slept, and he was in sorry shape all day yesterday. So I sucked it up and volunteered to go out and find him something to, um, help with the lower-half-expulsion of the chicken. I've never spent time perusing these magical aids for leaks and clogs, and doing so with a generous estimate of 2 hours sleep and inability to process the written word after 8 hours of order entry made this a challenging task. Nevertheless, I eventually figured out the appropriate remedy and proceeded to check out with the following: shit medicine, ginger ale, gloriously superextradupergreasycheesy frozen pizza (hey, one of us could still eat), and the largest bottle of extra strength Tylenol they carried. Fun filled night, anyone? I even saved $3.63 with my special store values card.

I win again.

I Know Something You Don't Know! It's a.....

2009-11-12T09:58:00.004-06:00

Pain in the ass tease who isn't going to share the news of her 20-week ultrasound. Girl? Boy? Kitten?!!

I'll tell you all after Thanksgiving, which is when I'll finally let my long-suffering family in on the secret. At least I'm not making them wait until the end, like my cousin T did. My fragile patience can't handle that kind of suspense.

So of course now all I want to do is go shopping. I am in love with Target's baby section and want to take it all home with me.

D just wants to buy Halloween costumes, but this is not news. He somehow convinced me to order my She Ra costume for next year. In a very tiny size, as apparently this will be good motivation for me to not get fat? Possibly an excuse to strangle him with it next fall when it splits at the seams as I try to squish into it. Because if my love affair with Candy Cane Joe Joe's continues, I will not fit through my door, let alone into a little white skirt.

Because You All Love My Cats

2009-11-09T15:29:00.002-06:00

And because we are so completely due for a non-bitchfest entry. I present you with an update on my lobotomized (we can only assume) cat-infested condo.

We have abandoned The Diet. Fat Cat is down to a slender (*ahem*) 14.8 lbs and I just can't fucking take having to feed them all separately. Pre-vacation, my evenings had deteriorated into watching cats eat, walk away, eat, walk away, eat, knock food all over floor, eat everyone else's food, barf it all up because we ate too fast, etc.........Not what I signed up for with this whole diet stink. So into the communal food bowl it is. They get less, they apparently share (no ribs or extra fat rolls visible), and life goes on.

The unfortunate side effect of the controlled eating experiment is that they all now seem to need me in the room to eat. While they leave a decent layer of food in the dish every night (my mom's bff of the "always go to bed hungry" motto would be so proud), they still wake me up in the morning by standing on my ribs and kneading on my bladder. And laying across my face in just the right way so as to block off all my airways. Smart cats. (Devil Spawn) And do not let up until I've added more food to the bowl. And wait in the kitchen for them each to get a turn. Oh, and have I mentioned the MEOWING? It's quite intense. And we either have intruders, ghost intruders, or some kind of kitty eating disorder going on. All night long. Oh, cats.

The best part about cats in cold weather is their increased snuggliness. There's something wonderful about falling asleep on the sofa (at 7pm) and waking up a few hours later (to the sound of my poor hubs trying for the fifteenmillionth time to wake me up to get me into bed) covered in warm, snuggly, sleeping cats. Sometimes I secretly wish my baby would magically end up a new kitten. Until the bladder-kneading starts. Then I wish we had gone for something smaller and containable...like tropical fish.

You know what sucks the fun out of everything?

2009-11-09T08:43:00.002-06:00

Being pregnant.

Yes, I'm still stuck on this.

Was I seriously this mind-numbingly boring before the hubs knocked me up? (Don't answer.) I can't fucking stand myself. No energy. No fun. My mind is a complete blank aside from wanting to kick everyone who annoys me in the teeth (which is pretty much everyone, because let me tell you how much fun hormones are...ugh.) I can't follow the simplest of conversations, because all I ever want to do is sleep. And whine. This is shit.

The best part about growing this kid so far has been the boobs. My whole pre-baby life had been spent measuring in at a nonexistent negative cup size (Thank you, oh confidence boosting VS for your super sizing formula), and apparently I've been mislead thinking I needed to wear bras when I should've just saved the money and gone for a roll of scotch tape. Now, however, I have an actual cleavage line. Awesome. But for the fact that this past week they once again look puny in comparison to ye olde baby bump. Which, if you don't know I'm preggo, apparently still just looks like a post-college beer gut. Fail.

The good news is that nonalcoholic wine does not completely suck. And is fantastically cheap. And low calorie. Thank you, Binny's. It may not give me that warm wine glow, but at least it's slightly less horrific than pouring skim milk into stemware.

Also, I've learned it is impossible to muffin top out of maternity jeans. This makes shopping SO much less traumatizing as there can be no failure to button. I may never switch back, honestly, because I'd rather be caught with an elastic waistband than showcase a bad fit.

Ok. Next post must be about something uplifting. Or, at least, not be about my bad attitude. I'll hold me to it.

Carrot Penis

2009-11-06T09:39:00.002-06:00

About a month ago, I had an embarrassing fit of the giggles while changing in the gym locker room. Periodically, my gym likes to post fliers promoting personal training sessions, their tanning beds, membership specials, etc., and there is always a line at the bottom of these that reads "Contact xxx for details." Well. On one such flier, someone had crossed off the name of the male gym employee (we'll call him Tim) and written above it "carrot penis". I immediately had a picture in my head of what might qualify such a nickname. And thus began the hysterical giggling. I am so mature.

Of course, as I am nothing if not bored out of my mind while treadmilling my evergrowing butt away, I've since made it a point to figure out which guy is Tim...aka Carrot Penis. Yesterday I think I hit the jackpot. "Hey, Tim!" called one of the trainers, who as far as I can tell lives to ogle himself in the wall mirrors alongside the free weights. A face that could only be attached to a carrot penis turned around and replied "Yeah?" Oh my god. I had another embarrassing giggle fit and nearly tripped off the treadmill. Carrot Penis lives.

Because I'm Not In the Mood to Write Stuff Myself

2009-11-04T16:30:00.002-06:00

The story of holiday sweatpants, as told by my cousin V.

Go read it, and be jealous, because our family kicks your family's ass when it comes to the holidays.

Smell My Feet

2009-10-30T13:36:00.004-05:00

Because "trick-or-treat" is too obvious a title.

Also, probably don't smell my feet because it's fucking pouring outside and I had to walk through a lot of puddles in the parking lot. In very non-water-resistant sneakers. Gross.

So tomorrow is the day of reckoning. The day 30+ costumed fairy tale characters descend on my tiny ass condo, we drink (read: they drink), we eat, we cab to the bars (read: my sober ass lugs people around), we show off our lovely costumes and numbers, and pass out on the floor. (Crawl into my bed and I will stab you with my stripper heels.) Hmm, I still sound kind of bitchy about the whole thing, so we'll just blame the hormones.

I'm actually getting more excited than terrified about the whole deal. It will be fun to see everyone (including skinny and V, let the cross-referencing in our blogs continue!)), my mommy girlfriends have sitters and can enjoy themselves, and my dear husband is at home today cleaning the house and doing the last minute shopping. (True love.)

Tonight I'll be baking: chocolate chip cookies and pumpkin bread. (Hmm, opportunity for cream cheese frosting?) I'm considering adding caramel corn to the list, but as I have never made it before and don't tend to do well with anything candy-related (someday I will tell you all how I turned the jr. high home ec kitchen blue), that's going to remain a big Maybe.

Tonight I will also find out if I still fit into my costume. I haven't tried it on since the day I bought it, and have sort of been avoiding confirmation that I will feel bloated and frumpy at my own party. Cinderella is supposed to be blonde, not pregnancy-invoked au natural and half grown out non-blonde. Cinderella also never had a belly that stuck out farther than her freshly grown busom. I would love to give you some more TMI about how I feel about this entire ordeal of being overtaken by a tiny alien parasite that is turning me to zitty mush, but then someone might alert child services to my condition and ban me from chocolate for the next 5+ months at which point they steal the kid away. And I want the kid....just not so much this process of growing it.

We'll end this pity party there.

Oh, and because cats in hats are my favorite:

End of Vacation = Depression

2009-10-28T11:01:00.003-05:00

Every time. Home does not have 80 degrees and a pool. Home does not make me lunch and clean up afterwards. Home definitely does not smell like coconut sunscreen. (Um, overused cat crap box, anyone? *Gag*) Bikini sunbathing in my backyard would result in pneumonia and/or being run down by a crazy driver from the main road about 3 feet away. And no tan.

The end of vacation also means a shit ton of work. Shit to catch up on at my job (heaven forbid I leave for 3 days without some kind of oddball request causing officewide panic) and shit to clean at home. Cats, when left to their own devices for a long weekend, make one hell of a mess. Food everywhere, because apparently they are too cool to eat out of their communal bowl and prefer to stomp crumbs all over the kitchen. Ingesting my fall decorations and throwing them up? The perfect homecoming gift. Barfing furballs all over my new black (suede) flats? Why not! And then there is the laundry. I have never had so much room in my closet. Because every fucking thing I own is dirty. I've broken out the maternitywear box this week, because I figured it has to be more work-acceptable than flannel pj's. Thank god the only clean item I need for Saturday is my still-on-a-hanger slutty Cinderella dress. Because I'm pretty sure I'll need the rest of the time to de-fur the furniture and window treatments. How does cat hair ball itself up and cling to cathedral ceilings? I blame cruel magic. Or ghosts.

Vegas was, of course, awesome. I do not gamble. Gambling makes me nauseous. I would rather go shopping or splurge on dinner. Vegas weather, however, I completely agree with. Hubs and I spent 3 glorious days poolside. I even have tan lines for the first time since my honeymoon. We attended a lovely wedding and celebratory dinner. I watched my husband finger feed cake to his boss. I broke the rest of the unbroken bones in my feet hiking around for hours in 5-inch heels. We met the 2nd place world champion Monopoly team in their matching track suits and treated ourselves to a late fancy anniversary dinner at Mesa Grill. Naps were plentiful. Cell phones were (mostly) ignored. My fantasy football team FINALLY won. A successful weekend.

Give me your pumpkin pie blizzard and no one will die. (A random update)

2009-10-20T16:30:00.006-05:00

Drank a Sharps last week. Did not hate it. Obviously it has been too long since my last real beer experience.

Have yet to investigate supposed nonalcoholic wine. Suspect it is more or less like sparkling grape juice, minus the sparkling. Also suspect I might not mentally survive the trip to Binny's to purchase said imposter juice. Too much real wine may sway my thoughts about how bad it could really be to get my growing fetus drunk. Best to avoid the situation altogether.

No further creepy ghostie activity at the office. But for the extreme cold in my office last Monday. Which was just crappy boss activity involving the off switch and the furnace thermostat. And has since been rectified. Office sink remains dry. Garbage does not move itself. Wall randomly buzzes. Wait. That one is still creepy. I hope it's just bad wiring? Better a fire than a haunting? Perhaps.

The hubs and I go to Vegas this weekend. Aside from the impending fear of having to walk around in a bikini with what appears to be a beer gut (please, please let it look more baby-bump-like by Friday), I'm pretty excited. And ready to battle germs everywhere with the largest stock of Purell my quart-sized carry on plastic baggie of liquids and gels can carry. If you never hear from me again...I either snapped and tried to drink the Purell for it's alcoholic content (sorry, baby. sorry, god), or died of scary flu. (And hey, don't beat me up. I wouldn't actually drink the Purell. If I'm going out, it's going to be with the good stuff.)

Brain wiring continues to disintegrate. Bladder continues to overreact to the smallest quantities of liquid intake. Can't stay awake past dinnertime without a nap. For some reason decided it would be a good idea to paint my nails smurf blue. Need an intervention.

Scared of my office (yes, still) pt. 3

2009-10-08T16:14:00.002-05:00

For the past fifteen minutes I have been pretending that after walking through the swinging lobby door on my way to the bathroom, it did not loudly and abruptly stop swinging upon reaching the threshold as if stopped by a hand.

On any normal day, it swings through both ways a couple of times until it slowly stops.

Yes, obviously, I am closing up the office solo. Again. I am not cut out for this.

There's a ghost in the garbage...office haunting cont'd

2009-10-06T10:11:00.003-05:00

Seems the office spooks are in the Halloween spirit this week. After being the last one out of the office last night, I was the first one in this morning and found everything just as I had left it. Before bolting out of here like an Olympic sprinter upon completing my previous post, I turned off the water underneath the sink, as a precautionary experiment. I figure, if the water runs now, I will be spending the day ripping it out of the wall instead of doing order entry.

As I type this, the air around my fingers feels increasingly cold. This is probably just falling temperatures as there is no heat in my office (We have radiators throughout the building, but none for me) and my space heater is off. This does not explain why, no matter how much I run my space heater during the summer and winter months (summer to counteract the A/C that blows on my head, winter because it is my only source of heat), I always have a cold, runny nose and icy fingers.

But, anyway, we want to hear updates on this morning's spooky happenings! Yes??

Ok.

So, after investigating the insides of my sink after my arrival to work (dry), the bathroom sink (dry) and the neighboring office sink (dry), I sat down, booted up my computer, and texted this news to my hubs. Shortly thereafter, I heard our receptionist enter the building. She was on her cell phone, so I figured I would tell her about last night's experience a little later. Well. Maybe 20 minutes passes, and she buzzes my phone. There was a styrofoam cup in her trashcan, and it was moving. She was sitting at her desk and heard a rustling, like maybe a mouse in the garbage. This would be news, as we have never had a rodent problem, but wouldn't be unheard of given that the mice probably want to be indoors with the colder weather. So she gets up from her chair, the rustling stops, and she looks into the trash. She kicks the trash, thinking if it's a mouse or a large bug, she'll hear it move around. Silence. She pushes at the cup, and it makes the same sound she had heard from her desk. Clearly the cup. She looks under the cup, and kicks the can again. Nothing.

What the hell.

As of this post, the cup has remained silent. But, as the only 2 in the office today, we are on high alert for any more happenings. The girls who rent one of the upstairs offices are in, so at least we're not totally alone down here. Plus, they're closer to the attic. Heh. That just means we're closer to the basement. Speaking of which, I am suddenly curious as to which part of weird and twisty basement is underneath my desk. Probably I won't have the balls to go investigate.

I'll keep you all posted of any other weirdness. Wish me luck.

Someone send the Ghostbusters...

2009-10-05T16:49:00.002-05:00

I've long held the belief that my office building is at least a tiny bit haunted. I think they are friendly ghosts, and I have adjusted to the creepy factor that goes along with feeling like someone invisible is sharing my space. However, every once in awhile something truly odd happens and I have a bit of an episode.

Let me set the scene: I work in an old Sears kit home, built approximately 100 years ago. During this time, the house has been a home, a funeral home, a doctor and/or dentist's office, abandoned, and now houses the small company I work for and a couple of rental office suites upstairs. My 4 walls and a door are located in the center of the building. I have the only office without windows. Leftover on the walls are the remains of some cabinetry and a small sink. The type of sink you'd find in any doctor or dentist's office. Well. Ever since I moved in, the water will randomly run for a few seconds at moderate force. I've experimented, and do not think that this has any timely relation to when I've personally turned on the faucet. (If your shower ever has a little last spurt of water after you turn it off? That's what I originally thought it was.) I decided it was old plumbing or spooks, and got over it. Well, today turned things up a notch. Instead of water coming out of the faucet, it came spraying out of the drain. You know how sometimes a kitchen sink will gurgle while the dishwasher runs? It sounded like that, only much louder, and water shot up a foot in the air. Three times now. The first time it smelled like rotten fruit vomit. The subsequent times did not emit any noticeable odor.

Old plumbing problem? Most likely. However, I am now alone in the office and am really, really feeling like it is time to book it the hell home. The last time I got this spooked (well, I was decidedly more panicked the last time, but equally spooked), I was alone in the office after 5:00 and a radio in the closed, locked-up office upstairs suddenly turned on full blast. I may or may not have left the contents of my bladder on the hall runner as I ran like hell out of here and sped home in record-breaking time.

So why am I still here telling you all of this? I admit I'm half curious as to whether the sink will spray more water. I am also a little afraid to leave my little bubble of an office for the great big hallway where anything could be lurking to get me.

Time to lay off the ghosty shows on Discovery and A&E? Most assuredly.

5 Things That Make Me Feel Sexy, and 1 That Doesn't

2009-09-23T12:08:00.004-05:00

I've been tagged by V over at *uncorked to list 5 things that make me feel sexy.

Before we begin, let me tell you what does NOT make me feel sexy: Being bloated,broken out, exhausted, and pregnant. I would love to live under a paper sack for the next 6 months, but apparently that's not an option.

On to the fun part!

1. A really good workout. While it will obviously be a loong time before I get one of these in again, there is just something about really pushing my body to its limits, getting good and sweaty, and feeling strong and in tune with every part of myself that makes me feel like a sexy goddess.

2. Quality bedsheets. Especially sans clothes. There's something about slipping under the covers into that marvelous high thread count and feeling all that silky goodness that makes a girl feel like a million bucks.

3. Fresh highlights. Another thing I've given up until April, but I absolutely love a fresh coat of blonde. My hair is shinier, bouncier, and it makes me feel so much more like myself.

4. Pretty dresses. And all of the primping and prepping that goes on before slipping one on. Throw in matching underthings, and it's game on, from head to toe.

5. The perfect jeans. I only ever have maybe one pair at a time that I consider "perfect", and then before too long they are worn out, too big, too small, or too blue. But when they're just right, I love my jeans. And I will prance about in them like the world is my runway.

We all know I don't make a habit of tagging others, so just feel free to chime in if you haven't already done this post. Just not too loudly, at least not today, because my head may split in two. And we can't have that.

Fat Cat Strikes Back

2009-09-21T11:26:00.003-05:00

Taking to heart some recommendations left after my last blog post on this subject, I picked up some fancy shmancy natural kitty food for my fat baby and his two tiny sisters. We now have a bag of weight control and a bag of regular. Oddly enough, the Fat One doesn't want to eat the weight control food, and the Little Ones don't want to eat the regular food. They would rather switch. And pout. And turn the kitchen floor into a waterpark using only their water dish. Ugh. I would leave it all in one bowl, half and half, except that while we were away at a wedding overnight Saturday, my Hubs poured them about 3 days of food to last them the 36 or so hours we would be gone. (Paranoid, much?) When we returned, Fat Cat was back to his usual food coma, and the Little Cats were starving and clingy. Guess we know who ate ALL the damn food. So that won't be an option yet.

In other news, because I can't ever just buy what I go into the pet store for, Hubs & I also got a fancy high-sided litter box. We have previously tried, and failed miserably, at getting the cats to use a covered litterbox. Fat Cat apparently gets claustrophobic, because after using said covered litterbox just fine a few times, he decided that he would prefer to pee on the living room floor. Over. And Over. And Over. It took months to get that carpet clean and un-stinky, so we abandoned hope that the litter could be contained, and went back to the usual mess. I don't know about all cats, but all 3 of mine kick litter like it's their job. It ends up EVERYWHERE, because apparently playtime is never so good as it is in their peebox. So, upon discovering a box with wonderfully tall sides and back, and an open top and fourth side to enter from, we thought...YES!!! Which was great, until finding a replica of Lake Michigan on the laundry room floor this morning. At least it wasn't the carpet this time...?

I'm thinking a baby should be rather straightforward compared to my cats. And please don't tell me otherwise (I LOVE being in denial), because I really don't much want to know how much messier my house can get.

My Fat Cat & His Stupid Ass Diet

2009-09-16T13:15:00.003-05:00

We love him just the way he is. Our vet begs to differ, as the good doctor is apparently on some kind of one man campaign to end feline obesity. This is how poor 14-yr-old Spooky Cat ends up on a diet that has completely fucked up our household.

Let me start by saying that I have always consciously measured out daily food rations per the instructions on the cat food bag. The 2 little ones remain little. Spooky is just a food hog. That remaining half bowl of food left in the communal dish overnight? We can only guess it all goes directly into his tubby tummy.

Which brings us to our current situation: Feeding the cats separately. This sounds easy in theory, especially when the vet explains it, because we're of course terrified of disagreeing with his logic that it is absolutely possible to feed them at set times and elminate the whole grazing thing. We don't want to look like bad kitty parents. So we buy 3 cute little bowls and I artistically (or not) write each cat's name on the lids. Day 1 of Operation Slenderize Spooky begins. We measure out breakfast rations. Set them in front of each cat.

They look at me like I'm out of my mind. Claire turns her nose up at her own bowl and dives for Spooky's. Izzy just looks pissed and wanders off to look out the window. Spooky yells at me for a few minutes and then sticks his face in Izzy's bowl.

FAIL.

I should mention that I only got up about 15 minutes early for this process, thinking that after I took away their leftovers the night before they would be hungry enough to eat breakfast.

About 20 minutes later I have redistributed rations to my best estimate of who ate what out of who's bowl, followed the cats around the house begging them to eat, and no one is cooperating.

I say fuck it, cap the bowls, put them in the pantry, and get ready for work only a few minutes behind schedule.

As I shower, the cats yowl.

I make another attempt to feed them. This time they each take a few bites. Spooky is the first to walk away. Izzy immediately goes for his bowl. Claire seizes the opportunity to steal Izzy's food. And apparently everyone is going to go hungry, including me, because I have to take the food away and leave for work, ASAP. This will be the first day in the history of my entire life that I leave for the office sans makeup.

The evening is filled with more failure. No one will eat their own food. I wash the bowls. I mix them up. I try feeding them each in separate rooms. This is ridiculous. I call D and tell him to bring home canned cat food. This makes for loud cats, who lick the little bit of canned I mix in with their dry food off it (out of every bowl but their own) and leave the dry. What. The. Hell.

We are now on Day 9. Spooky has lost an entire pound. This cannot be a healthy weight loss rate for a cat, but if he keeps refusing to eat, he'll reach his goal in no time.

The cats are incrementally improving their ability to eat more in one sitting. No one is throwing up food, which I consider a plus. By around 11pm they have more or less eaten their recommended daily food intake. Sloooooooooooooowly but surely.

However, I am now followed around by mewing cats EVERY WAKING HOUR. They are hungry. They won't eat when it's put in front of them. Pretty soon they will figure out how to open the pantry doors and will have their way with it. I can't even bring myself to care. I wake up to cats standing on my head at 3am. Cat breath in my face, cats leaping onto my stomach, cats biting my toes and my ears. Hungry cats. Who. Won't. Fucking. Eat.

I may strangle the vet when I bring Izzy in next week for her shots. Surely a little extra fat is better for all of us than this insanity.

Less Wine, More Whine

2009-09-11T10:15:00.003-05:00

I have a confession. I've been hiding it for weeks, for fear of scaring off my fellow alcoholics-in-training, but the lack of wine combined with the hormones are making me just about angsty and impatient enough to finally share: I'm Pregnant.

That's right. No more wine for this girl until next spring. I'm not sure my sanity will survive this in tact, but, for the fear of deforming my kid into having extra limbs or something, I'll have to power through.

It's been difficult to write entries that didn't give away my condition. I mean, how could I go to a winery and not have hundreds of words to say about the wines and my subsequent drunkenfoolishness? I might have been able to get more creative had I been able to stay awake past 8:00 in the evening. But that just doesn't happen much these days.

They say you don't know tired until you have a kid. I would like to say that I never knew tired until about 5 weeks ago, when I lost the ability to think past 4pm, started forgetting entire drives to and from work, and fall asleep on the sofa immediately upon sitting down. There are piles of laundry on my bathroom floor, which I figure I'll get to some time next year. Hell, I won't fit into most of it before too much longer, so it may as well cushion my fall if I sack out while brushing my teeth some sad night.

So, there you go. Expect a lot of nonsense and complaining in the coming months, as my poor shriveled brain attempts to dry out. On the plus side, my liver is probably the happiest it's been in years. Eh.

Birthdays and Bachelorettes

2009-08-28T16:07:00.003-05:00

Last Sunday was the third anniversary of my 25th birthday. Yes, I did become rather upset upon hitting 25. I figured it was a good enough year to repeat indefinitely. Or at least until I have kids and the math raises too many eyebrows. At 25 I got married, had a drunken beachfront honeymoon in Mexico, and really, really loved my hair. Priorities, people.

So what did I do to ring in this redundant celebration of age? I did what all old people should do. (Shut up, we are all entitled to our own definitions of old.) Went camping in the cold. No, it really wasn't ever below 50 degrees, and my wonderful hubs even bought us an air mattress to sleep on. Get it all out of our systems before the kids and/or arthritis kick in, I say. We went with a group of a dozen or so friends. D was of course in charge of the cooking. And you know what he did, with a dutch oven? This:

I'm so freaking impressed. In case you can't tell from the photo (you can't), he made a fucking layer cake. Yellow cake w/pudding and chocolate fudge frosting and sprinkles. Despite the camping crowd, no one much partook in the cake-feasting. Which means that I ate about three-quarters of that cake all by myself. In 2 days. It was delicious.

This weekend will not be spent outdoors, but it will be a battle of nature. My tired, old, and boring-ass nature. A battle of little me vs. the Bachelorette Party. We all know I struggle to stay up past 10pm on weekends, even after 10 straight hours of sleep and an afternoon nap. This one will end at a winery, and probably will find me face down on a stolen picnic blanket before we're through the sweet whites. Wish me luck. And send me your energy.

Anxiety

2009-08-20T13:58:00.003-05:00

So, I'm having some issues today. For those who know my husband and his everlasting love for all things Halloween, you may know why. I'm trying to imagine just how in the hell we are going to accommodate 30+ costumed people in my tiny ass condo for the massive fairytale character themed shindig he has been planning since about September of last year. That's the "confirmed" count, and he's invited at least twice that.

And, to backtrack, yes, it was in September of 2008 that he started planning this. A month before the Halloween party we had last year. No, it's not normal. Yes, I'm stressed out.

I think we (read: HE) may have gone overboard this time. The last time we had a party near this size it ended in bloodshed, George Lucas bashing, broken glass, cops at the door, me spending the night at a friend's after an apocalyptic shouting match, and someone leaving in an ambulance. That was about 4 years ago (5? I can't even remember) and I am absolutely terrified.

I'm excited, too, of course, because it should be a very fun time. Last year certainly was. I am excited for my costume (Cinderella!), and that so many of our friends want to come out and celebrate with us. I'm already planning the food and decorations and drink menu.

But...

...if anyone breaks a fucking light fixture this time, I am deadbolting the door and never socializing again.

Toilet In A Box

2009-08-17T21:04:00.003-05:00

Here you go. Toilet in a box. A wonderful $49 Menard's find, which was especially appreciated because we didn't account for a new toilet in our bathroom project. Works like a charm!!

Updating...

2009-08-11T09:04:00.002-05:00

...without sufficient caffeine intake, even.

Before I get into my daily whining (sadly, no wine-ing at work *sigh*), I would like to thank Yankee Girl and V for the generous awards they recently awarded me. FYI, I just tried to re-read that sentence and my head half-exploded. Next.

As soon as I am a little more awake and a little less distracted by my migraine-inducing business acquaintances who seem intent on reaming me out for their lack of knowing the status of some things after being on summer-long holidays, I will figure out how to display them and pass them on to others. Thank you, girls!!

OK, on to the bitching. I kind of want to punch everyone, again. But, as V has previously noted in her blog, which I would link to if my brain weren't self-destructing, it is not wise to allude to wishful-thinking violent acts in one's blog given recent current events. Micro-managers make me stabby, to borrow a great word, and there are much more important things that we all could be doing with our time than to get all panty-twisted over how many hours it took for someone to send someone else an email that had approximately zero value to the world.

I've been very out of touch in the blog world this past week, as I've been busy figuring out how to decorate the new bathroom my hubs finished on Saturday! I promise I will post pictures, as soon as I take some, which will be when I can get all the GD wrinkles out of the new shower curtain. And I don't iron, so we'll just have to use the contents of my hot water heater to steam them out. Plan! Toilet in a box pictures are on the camera, and I totally intended to upload them last night...until I passed out during Maddow. And woke up around midnight. I suck.

Saturday night I drove out into the corn to hang out with M. We finished our friend L's baby quilt (Very Hungry Caterpillar, the cutest baby quilt, EVER, to be honest.) and delivered it to her and baby L. We had dinner at one of our favorite college bars. It sounds like it should be gross, but it's seriously awesome, grease-laden pizza. Add seriously strong drinks, people-watching of the locals, and it was a fun time.

My fucking knee still hurts, and keeps waking me up at night. I'm sort of an "active" sleeper, and rather combative with the covers. This means my knee bumps into cats, hubs, and myself and if the bruises weren't starting to fade I would be quite concerned with this level of OW.

Our new sofas are pretty fucking fantastic, and likely the reason I zonked out so shortly after 8pm last night. Hard to stay awake on real sofa-sized cushy softness. Our last sofas were midget-sized. And vinyl. Sweaty ass all summer long? Check! Such a wonderful improvement.

Alrighty, enough with the nonsense. Back to some kind of attempt at work.

Bathrooms & Sofas

2009-08-06T11:44:00.002-05:00

This week has been epic in terms of new additions to my condo. First, there was last Friday's transportation of the borrowed table, chairs, & hutch from my dear SIL. Saturday night saw my hubby's sudden desire to remodel the guest bath. We've got it mostly complete, but for mounting the sink on top of the cabinet, a small bit of trim left to paint, and installing the new toilet (Toilet in a box for $49? Thank you, Menard's!) It's been so much fun to pick out a new rug, new towels, new trash can, new towel bars, etc. What I can't find is a shower curtain that I like, but that's a long and boring story.

This upcoming Saturday will see the addition of a giant and fluffy new sofa and love seat, as well as an end table and sofa table from the ILs. Their furniture is not at all old or worn out, and is quite possibly my favorite sofa ever, so this is an awesome surprise. The only problem has been finding an affordable rental truck or van to transport them, since we have my Ford Five Hundred and D's baby Corolla to work with, neither of which we could tie anything as long as a sofa on top of. Ohh, the visuals on that. U-Haul is a fucking joke. There aren't any rental centers anywhere near our route, which means that our stupid mileage cost would be double what it should be just to pick up and drop off. Lame. Also, because we really wanted to do it in one trip, and the sofas are very deep, we needed something wide enough to fit them both side by side. This meant a much, much too long truck and a higher rental rate. More lame. I guess we wouldn't mind so much, if we didn't just shell out all our expendable income for the month on the new bathroom. Planning fail.

I tried getting quotes from a variety of car rental companies, some which offer commercial vans. None of which are fucking available for Saturday, apparently, so we've finally found a truck place with the best coupon and a big chunk of free miles to rent from. It's out of the way, and we'll have to make 2 trips in under 3 hours to have it back before closing time, but it'll have to do.

Photos of the toilet in a box to follow, eventually, because it's really just the funniest thing. Or maybe it's just me. Whatever. Yeah, yeah, and the rest of the new stuff, too. Because it's pretty, and because I can.

OW

2009-08-03T09:30:00.004-05:00

Pavement: 1,000,000
A's Knee: 0

Last night I thought it would be a good idea to rollerblade around my neighborhood. I usually go out a couple times a week, in the evening, because traffic is light and the temperature drops. Unfortunately for my knee, it would seem that this morning was brush pickup day. Which meant that last night, every non-lazy homeowner littered the street with their yard clippings. It also appeared some had taken down entire trees. Ambitious. I should have sensed the danger potential here, but after eating my weight in italian food earlier in the day (baby shower...V, please note that it did have an open wine/beer bar), and cookies for diner (shut up) I didn't want to run (too much bouncing on an iffy stomach) and really felt like a good sweat.

About halfway through my exploration of side streets, I came upon a pack of 10-year-old boys. One of them said "hi", so I said "hi" back, and could not believe my ears when one boy turned to another and said "You are SO much better than that dumb girl." WTF. Who says that? Anyway, I was deep in thought pondering the rudeness of kids in my neighborhood (during the school year, those waiting at the bus stop like to try and stare me down on my morning runs..."So, you like running lady?"...again, wtf??) when I turned a corner and saw a car speeding around the same corner from the opposite direction, coming directly for me. With nowhere to go but the curb I was practically already in, I had to throw myself into, what else, stupid yard clippings. I took a knee, to try and minimize the sprawling out in front of fast-approaching tires, and have been cursing my decision to skip the knee pads ever since.

Of course the car didn't slow down to ask if I was alright after it tried to kill me. Of course. And neither did the pack of 7-year old (they looked really young) boys & girls who witnessed my gracelessness. However, these kids at least had the decency to not laugh. They just sort of lined up and watched me limp on by. A, the traveling neighborhood freak show. My knee is swollen, won't really bend, and will likely have a new scar to match the one from last fall's running incident, (2 scraped knees, an infected scraped hand, and a trip to the ER for a tetanus shot...much more traumatic, and witnessed by bus stop kids. I didn't run again outside for the rest of the year.) which was not nearly as painful, but was definitely more bloody.

On a more positive note, my husband decided on Saturday night that we would re-do our guest bathroom over the weekend. While I was at the aforementioned baby shower, he ripped down the shell-themed wallpaper (much rejoicing), pried off the excessive wall-mirrors (don't really need to see myself from every direction, thanks), tore out the old sink/cabinetry, and installed a new gorgeous fan. Last night he patched up the walls and painted the ceiling. Tonight he'll prime & start painting the walls, and hopefully tomorrow night we'll have the new cabinet and sink installed, as well as the new light fixture. We'll also have to put in a new toilet, because in all of the wallpaper removing excitement, the top of the toilet tank took flight and broke into a million pieces. Now to pick out my new shower curtain...and accent colors. Exciting!

I pretty much want to punch everyone right now

2009-07-31T16:08:00.002-05:00

Please, for the love of Friday, can my customers please chill the fuck out??

Have had enough of today. My plan to hide in my office w/order entry has backfired. I'm being bombarded with email accusations about an order that was somehow lost in the shuffle and I DON'T FUCKING CARE WHY OR HOW IT GOT LOST B/C IT IS FUCKING FRIDAY. Seriously. It got lost. We're dealing with it. E-mail bitching won't solve a damn thing. Go run out into the road and get hit by a truck if it will make you feel better. Wait...that will only make ME feel better. Totally acceptable.

I'm a genius!

2009-07-31T10:04:00.002-05:00

I *finally* figured out how to fix the damn company web pages that were botched by my inexperience/impatience yesterday. No husband help needed! Well, it would have made it quicker, but I sort of got distracted by moving furniture (aka directing the hubs who did the lifting) and doing laundry last night, then completely forgot to ask him, so whatever.

Today is PAYDAY!!!!!!!! Which means I am in a particularly wonderful mood despite it still being before lunchtime on a Friday, and that I get to go shopping! Mostly for a baby shower I'm going to Sunday, but also for some outdoor chair cushions for the wrought iron lookalike cafe table and chairs that have found their new home on my balcony. The set looks adorable out there, and maybe now we'll actually use the space. Well...maybe if they just redirect all the heavy/noisy/smelly traffic that is about 5 feet away from my back door...can only enjoy the ourdoors so much when it requires inhaling car fumes and listening to every doucheface's too-loud music...

Happy Friday, everyone!!

Fuck Computers

2009-07-30T11:03:00.002-05:00

One of the helpful little things I do for my company is tweak the website when needed. We're a rep firm, and sometimes need to update the lines or descriptions for what we're selling at any given time. I know exactly nothing about actual code, and only by the kindess of my patient hubs do I know anything about swapping in new photos, logos, word changes, etc.

I volunteered for the spectacularly fantastic job when I was newly hired and wanted to make a good impression. It was shortly after my aforementioned hubby had made me a website of my own as a Valentine's Day gift...he put up this lovely little note to me and then showed me how to add in my old blog, etc...I thought it was fun until things got complicated, abandoned the whole project, and then let the domain name lapse.

Now, unfortunately, we're getting into some scary changes. Which makes me want to kick whoever designed the outdated and craptastically unworkable format in the motherloving teeth. I should mention that I have *zero* actual web editing programs on my computer. Not even Front Page. Now, I have absolutely no idea what else I would even want to use, but I know that Microsoft Word is not it. I had to download Open Office awhile ago to help with some of the other minor changes, but, after editing, that program refuses to re-open the damn files.

On top of having just spent 3 hours trying to add a line into our craptastic list of manufacturers (because somehow NONE of the formatting can be copied? WTF.) in Word, I've been charged with turning the whole thing into a .pdf document to be emailed to the new manufacturer for approval. Sadly, there appears to be no way for me to get the damn pages to NOT cut the new description in half at the page split...so the people who we're apparently trying to "impress" with this draft of the updates will get to see that we have chopped their little sales blurb in half and omitted their logo. Awesome.

I hate my life. I hate computers. And I really should be charging the going rate for this kind of nonsense. The frustration alone may kill me. I'm too blonde for computers. No offense to blondes, but seriously...Fuck. They should at least let me drink on the job.

Friday!

2009-07-24T12:45:00.002-05:00

Lunch w/my Mom & SIL shortly, then girls night tonight! It's been much too long, and we are seriously in need of girl time/margaritas.

Cheers, and a very happy Friday to you all!

Survey!

2009-07-23T09:23:00.003-05:00

Survey fun, courtesy of skinny's tag:

Make a list of things you can see without getting up:
Typical office things...

What were you like when you were five?
Adorable. And obnoxious.

What are you wearing now?
Jeans + big white summery shirt.

What color is your bedroom?
Green. Looks like a granny smith apple threw up on the walls. Seemed like a good idea at the time I picked the color swatch...

What’s the last thing you read/are currently reading?
Currently reading What the Dead Know, so I can get it back to skinny before she moves away.

Do you nap a lot?
Naps are my favorite. Sadly, I don't get very many anymore. Well, except for when I accidentally fall asleep at my desk. Oops.

Who was the last person you hugged?
I hugged Dave before he left for work this morning, and Isabella before I left for work this morning. Yes, she counts as a person. A very furry person.

What’s your current obsession/addiction?
Ice cream.

What was the last thing you said aloud?
Mmmm. (a result of thinking about ice cream)

What websites do you always visit when you go online?
Oh, boy...gmail, facebook, cnn, msnbc, dailykos, goodreads, amazon...etc.

What was the last thing you bought?
Gas.

What are you listening to right now?
The bitches who work upstairs loudly clammoring their way downstairs for a smoke. It's been years, and neither of them have ever mastered walking in heels. Sad.

What is your favorite color, and has it always been your favorite color?
Yellow. One of my first memories of the first house I grew up in is my mom asking what color I wanted my room painted. I picked yellow. And have loved it ever since.

What song are you currently listening to a lot?
I'm still angry with the radio. Have been for the past 2 years or so. Shit music, replayed a shiteous number of times = conversion to talk radio. Which also pisses me off sometimes, but that's a whole other issue.

If you could have any super power, what would it be?
AmEx Black Card. (And someone to pay off the balance for me?)

What is your favorite weather, and why?
Warm, sunny, low-humidity heaven. I'll be at the beach, thanks.

What is your most challenging goal right now?
Staying awake. Oh, and convincing the hubs to paint our bedroom a more neutral color. Stat.

If you could have a house–totally paid for, fully furnished–anywhere in the world, where would you want it to be?
The beach. I don't even really care which beach, but FL is probably out on account of the humidity.

Favorite vacation spot?
The beach. Obviously.

What is your favorite children’s book?
The Runaway Bunny. I don't remember what it was about, but I remember loving it. Oh, and I also was obsessed with Goodnight Moon for ages.

Name one thing you just can’t resist no matter how bad it is for you:
Online shopping.

If you could meet anyone famous - dead or alive - who would it be?
My fairy godmother.

If you could have any job in the world, what would it be?
I reallyreallyreallyreallyreally want to open my own bakery someday.

Now I tag....Whoever reads this and hasn't yet participated? Sounds fair!

Another Monday...

2009-07-20T08:29:00.003-05:00

...another mysterious case of exploding oatmeal.

This past weekend was exactly what I needed: a relaxing and planless couple of days to finally recover from the Hell Cold.

Saturday morning I did something I haven't done in ages. I slept for a good 12+ hours straight. Unfortunately, this meant waking up after noon and missing the farmer's market. I live for those strawberries, and this makes 2 weekends in a row I'm without. D and I did do a little bit of grocery shopping, came home, put our jammies back on, and watched movies all night long.

Sunday found us driving through cornfields to visit my friend M in her new house. She's only been there a few weeks and has already done wonders with the outside of the house and yard. She's got a green thumb, that one. Makes me long for a yard (and a house!) of my own. Condo living certainly has its advantages, but I miss having a yard.

Going back in time, since I completely suck at updating, last Thursday D took me out to see the new Harry Potter. I won't say much about the movie (which I very much enjoyed), but I will comment that I have absolutely no idea wtf was up with the number of people dicking around with their cell phones throughout the movie! Screens lit up all over the theater. Such a waste, I think, to pay $10 for a 2 hour movie and to spend that time fucking around on facebook (as the guy sitting next to D was) or, even worse, apparently taking pictures of the movie as it played! I do not understand this phenomenon, and can only conclude that these idiots are somehow even more ADD than myself. Tragic.

I've found it

2009-07-15T14:12:00.002-05:00

The one thing more mindnumbingly-boring than order entry....

...order entry while sick and taking good-for-crap-expired-2-years-ago cold medicine.

Snotfest

2009-07-15T09:25:00.002-05:00

Gross title, I know.

But that's excactly what's going on in my head and I just don't feel up to much more than complaining about it. I nearly choked myself to death this morning via neti pot disaster.

Today is payday. Tomorrow it will all be gone, because paying bills can kiss my ass. Being sick can also kiss my ass.

Know what would be absolutely wonderful right now? A hot mug of glogg and some Nyquil.

It's good to be a purrball

2009-07-14T22:07:00.005-05:00

Reasons Monday Sucked

2009-07-14T08:38:00.002-05:00

I was going to post this yesterday, but never finished it and then just plain forgot. Eh. Edited from my Tuesday POV, here we go...!!

Every few weeks, my boss sends out an email updating the office of our status as the economy continues its reign of suck. Monday, we got another one, and I can't say it's done much to make me feel good about my job. Of course I am dedicated to the company, want it to succeed, and will do what I can to try and eek out sales...but there is only so much anyone can do right now in these conditions. And I'm not going to lie and say I haven't freaked out about where I last saved my pretty resume format, just in case. Yes, I am late to the panic party. Doesn't make it fun.

Monday also apparently confused pretty much everyone driving along my morning route. I say confused, because these idiots seemed to think it was still Sunday, and were doing their best to Sunday-drive at a good 5 mph below speed limit. Now, I know the weekend seemed especially short this time around, but hell, it was not at all cool for this girl who overslept in traditional Monday fashion and had a need to speed recklessly for my 11 mile drive. Which took 28 fucking minutes. Ugh. (Yes, I know my commute doesn't suck, but it's still frustrating. And no, I would not last a day with a REAL commute. I would road rage myself directly into a lawsuit.)

Guys at my gym also didn't seem to realize we'd hit Monday. Judging by the club music playing on the loudspeakers, and the overabundance of bad cologne, some of these poor schmucks were still stuck on Saturday. One of these nose-assaulting specimens decided to grace me with his presence on the elliptical machine directly next to mine. Never mind that there were 8 other unoccupied ones in the row on his other side. So rude. And thus begun the headache I'm still dealing with today. Thanks, stink-man!

So far Tuesday is marginally better. I took the expressway to work (alternate route!), and while everyone was still driving slow (It's not a real construction zone to me if there isn't anyone working on it...), at least they were moving. For once, my oatmeal didn't explode in the microwave (someone please explain this annoying phenomenon to me), and my inbox was free from angry email. Wheee!

Chocolate Chip Cookies

2009-07-12T19:28:00.004-05:00

Better late than never, here is the result of a new chocolate chip cookie recipe I found after an online search for something new and fabulous:

I found the recipe here.

And of course I couldn't wait to try it out. They were crunchy on the outside, chewy on the inside, and everything I wanted them to be. Of course, I will always rely on my old standby Nestle Tollhouse "grab a bag and go", but will definitely make these again if I have enough planning time. I doubled the recipe (actually had to make 2 separate batches, so not to kill my poor Kitchen Aid), and holy damn did this make a LOT of cookies. Because I was pressed for time the morning I baked them, I rotated 2 cookie sheets on the top and middle racks of my oven and had no problems.

Now that it's been a couple of weeks, I want more...and after spending this afternoon stuffing my face with taco dip, pasta salad, mini burgers (YUM!), sangria, cherry pie, and brownie bites...probably I should try to forget that I want more...Yeah, right.

I've been tagged

2009-07-09T08:23:00.002-05:00

Blame/thank skinny for this one. "10 honest things about myself"...that will surely be TMI, knowing me:

1. I get more upset over an empty wine rack than an empty fridge. There is something so sad about all those wine bottle slots sitting empty! At least with the fridge, the door stays closed.

2. I'm pretty sure I pee more often than most pregnant women...which only leads me to believe that I will end up in adult diapers when the hubs eventually knocks me up. I am a one-woman environmental disaster with all that flushing!

3. I screen ALL of my calls. Which is code for, I leave my cell phone at the bottom of my purse when I get home from work and don't look at it until the next morning. Where it sits on vibrate (sometimes silent), because there is nothing more annoying than sitting upstairs and listening to the phone ring when I am most absolutely not getting off my ass to answer. I would blame laziness, but I apparently have no reservations about going downstairs for more pinot.

4. I only recently discovered how to properly apply eyeliner. Which means I am now addicted to it, and will leave the house with "teenager-face" just because I can.

5. I will eat healthy all day, bitch to anyone who will listen about the stupid additives and sugars in food, only to come home and demolish half a pan of homemade (by my own hand, nonetheless) brownies. And then go for a run, because I don't want my heart to die from all that butter. I blame the chocolate for causing temporary insanity.

So there you go.

And now I tag...whoever else feels like oversharing! A Happy Thursday present to you.

Chocolate Cupcakes

2009-07-03T11:49:00.007-05:00

I found a winner.

Modified from this Martha Stewart recipe, they are rich, dense chocolatey goodness:

3/4 c unsweetened cocoa powder

1 1/2 c cake flour

1 1/2 c sugar

1 1/2 t baking soda

1 1/2 t baking powder

1 1/2 t salt

2 eggs (let sit out at room temperature for 30 min)

3/4 c warm (not hot) strong brewed coffee

3/4 c plain nonfat greek yogurt

3 T canola oil

1 t vanilla extract

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Line muffin tin with muffin cups.

In a large bowl (I used my Kitchen Aid), whisk together dry ingredients. Add wet ingredients and blend together for about 3 minutes. (Note: It will be VERY runny. I was worried, but you need not be.) Pour into muffin cups and bake for ~ 17 minutes, or until a tooth pick comes out clean and/or the tops are springy. My batch made 16 cupcakes.

I'm frosting them with my old reliable cream cheese frosting, as it isn't too sweet and is a nice balance to the richness of the chocolate:

1/2 stick unsalted butter, softened

3 oz. cream cheese, softened

1 1/2 c powdered sugar (more or less, depending on the consistency you like)

1/2 t vanilla extract

With a handmixer, blend together the butter, cream cheese, and vanilla for a minute or two. Add the powdered sugar, and beat for a few more minutes, until fluffy.

These will accompanying me to a going away party tonight.

And these:

...are in my fridge, to be made tomorrow for the 4th. Recipe details to follow, just as soon as we know how they turn out.

Hope everyone has a great holiday!

More Cute

2009-07-01T21:35:00.002-05:00

The Point

2009-07-01T11:53:00.005-05:00

A facebook friend of mine recently put up a status asking what the point of R.S.V.P.-ing is if there are no consequences.

He received a whole slew of responses covering all of the expected: it's rude not to, it helps the host plan, it helps the host not to waste money on people who won't show, the consequence is that your friends will be mad at you...etc. His reaction? He still doesn't care and doesn't feel the need to R.S.V.P. Because he flakes out so much, anyway, that really it's irrelevant.

Skinny's post on manners really got me to thinking about all of the things my mother told me were only "polite" but are nowadays thrown to the wayside. So I thought I would elaborate on a few things that just really get my panties in a twist:

Thank you notes. As a kid, every time I got a birthday check in the mail, or my grandmother's neighbor baked me cookies, I was expected to send a thank you note. Expediently. People do talk about not receiving a thank you after a gift is given at a wedding, or a shower, or whatever. I nearly had an ulcer after my wedding upon learning that a number of people never received the cards I sent out (culprit seems to be one particular mailbox which loses/crushes most things sent out of it...which is why I now go directly to the post office), and I am still mortified that there are unknowns out there who never spoke up and were left with the impression I'm ungrateful or rude. It's easy, stamps are cheap, and, hell, it can even be done via email if you're lacking an address. Send them.

Holding the door open for people behind you. It takes no more effort to hold the door than it did for you to open it in the first place. No, this isn't a girl thing of expecting the guy to hold the door for me, it's just a decent thing to do. Especially if the person behind you has their hands full. Or is pushing a stroller. Or is me with a full cup of hot coffee and encumbered by 5000 bags, now all covered in dark roast with a splash of cream.

Phone manners. As the rest of our office support staff has gone to part-time, I find myself answering phones more frequently. You know what's inexcusably rude? Making a phone call while you are eating, then putting the person you are calling on hold (a.k.a. setting the phone down) while you noisily bite, chew, and swallow your breakfast. Eat first. Call later. Or vice versa. You called me, buddy. Why the fuck would you think that I want to listen to you eat? I also don't quite understand callers who refuse to identify themselves, or get attitude when I ask them to spell their names. If you tell me your last name is Bimbo, I am sure as shit going to ask you to repeat it. And if you call me "dear", "honey", or "sweetie", I reserve the right to respond in turn with a derogatory "cupcake". It's only fair, buttercup.

So, dear facebook friend who does not read my blog (at least, I don't think he does)...The point is that there is enough rudeness going on in the world, that it is the least you can do to be polite to your fucking FRIENDS, who were kind enough to want to include you in the first place.

Now I've ranted enough. It's your turn to vent. What are your biggest pet peeves in the world of rude today?

A nightly dose of cute

2009-06-29T22:54:00.002-05:00

Words from the cave

2009-06-29T11:45:00.003-05:00

In an effort to conserve energy (since we really blast the A/C in here), my bosses have decided to turn off all nonessential lighting. This means the hallways, the lobby, and not replacing burnt out bulbs.

The result is more or less depressing. And headache-inducing.

Because one of those dying flourescent light bulbs is in the office across the hall from mine. And it's flashing like a damn strobe light.

My opinion (which clearly counts for shit): Turn down the A/C to a temperature that does not require half the employees to wear jackets. I've more or less given up on shaving my legs during the week because it grows back faster than Pinocchio's nose in this icebox.

Update: The light finally stopped seizuring. However, I've now done so much order entry that it's become a struggle to keep my eyes un-crossed. As soon as I can muster up the strength to head out to my lunchtime workout, I am so very much out of here.

Banana Muffins

2009-06-28T18:18:00.005-05:00

Baking is one of my favorite things. When I'm stressed, I bake. Therapeutic for my mind and unfortunate for the size of my ass. Lately I've been experimenting with making some of my old favorite recipes into "healthier" versions. I am not an expert, by any means, but figure some of the changes are at the very least common sense.

Here is my "healthier" take on my mom's banana bread:

Banana Muffins

makes one dozen

1 3/4 c flour (I use one cup wheat and the rest white)

2 T milled flax seed

1/2 c sugar (I prefer to use agave nectar. If you do, add with the bananas and eggs at the end)

1 t baking powder

1/2 t salt

1/4 t baking soda

1/2 c plain greek yogurt (I usually use ff)

3 mashed ripe bananas (a little over 1 c)

2 eggs, slightly beaten (let them sit out at room temperature for 30 min)

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Use cooking spray to lightly coat muffin pan.

Whisk dry ingredients together in a large bowl. Add the greek yogurt and use a pastry blender to cut it in with the dry ingredients until the mixture resembles coarse crumbs. (Not as clean looking as with butter or shortening, but the same basic idea.) Use a fork to stir in the bananas and eggs, just until blended.

If desired, these also taste great with a few chopped walnuts.

Divide into 12 muffin cups and bake about 18 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean. Cool in pan for a few minutes, and then turn out to cool completely on a cooling rack or paper towels.

My husband likes to take these for breakfast during the work week. We pop them into the freezer and by the time he's made his commute they are thawed enough to eat.

When cats attack cupcakes

2009-06-28T18:15:00.003-05:00

Oooh, Friday!

2009-06-26T08:49:00.002-05:00

After spending half of yesterday forgetting it was only Thursday (gah), I am doing an especially joyful Happy Friday Dance today. Lots of things to look forward to this weekend: lunch with my mom today (!!!), my friend M closes on her first house (yes, I'm helping her move, but she's helped me move a few times and I majorly owe her), a Saturday afternoon wedding, V's party, and then....if I can talk the hubs into it...THE BEACH on Sunday. What he doesn't know he's doing clearly won't kill him yet. I have a serious need to wear my new bikinis. Yes, I might bring both and change halfway through the afternoon. Just because I can. And I don't even care that it's not a "real" beach...an old quarry pool w/sand? Works for me.

Tonight will involve a kitchen experiment where I attempt to merge two of my favorite things: pinot noir and chocolate cupcakes. I have no idea how they'll turn out (or if my stomach will have recovered sufficiently from Wednesday night to allow me to imbibe while baking) but fingers crossed they will be as divine as my wine-riddled mind thinks they should be.

I know better and did it anyway

2009-06-25T08:31:00.003-05:00

I think I may be dying. How can I tell? Well, when I put my aching head down on my desk the room spins. My tongue feels fuzzy even after brushing my teeth 3 times. One of those "probably still drunk" mornings.

Last night the hubs and I went out with a friend from downstate who was in town and a friend who is moving out of the country next week. We were later joined by some of the rest of the usual suspects, and all together I think we may have seriously wounded my poor liver. Not that it was ever in great shape, honestly, but right now it's screaming for help and all I can do is shove more Tylenol down my throat to try and shut it up.

I don't even want to tell you the number of bottles in the trash can this morning. But I will, because they nearly split the bag when I took it out. Completely obscene. We emptied beer bottles, a vodka bottle, and a wine bottle (the wine was all me, of course). Apparently we did a lot of shots, because my sink was full of shot glasses. And a shaker. Because what says mature, classy lady like deciding to make drunken girl scouts (vodka, cream, chocolate and peppermint schnappes) for a room full of boys.

In other news, I still can't get anything other than the blasted espanol-happy template to load (empty zip files galore everywhere else), and so we're just going to have to learn to love the formatting blogger gave us.

Now, if you'll please exuse me, I have to go and finish with the dying...

Whoopsies

2009-06-24T16:24:00.004-05:00

After many failed attempts to find a properly working template, I've accidentally turned my page into a high school Spanish lesson. I'm not even sure what all those words mean anymore, and can only guess based on what I think they were before the incident.

At least it looks pretty?

Oh! Before I forget...a big thanks to skinny for the title suggestion. She knows me too well.

Now it's back to the drawing board to find an English-speaking template...