Will I ever wear a button down shirt again?
Have mercy, my jugs are huge.
They are, by far, the biggest they have ever been in my life, and they continue to grow at an astonishing rate. In three weeks, I have jumped an entire cup size, and still continue to grow. At the end of my pregnancy I am going to look like friggin' Anna Nicole Smith (if she was mousy and brunette) (and alive).
At night when I sleep, I want to bind them to my body with an ace bandage because they just flop all over the place. They jump out of my tank tops, I occasionally end up laying on one of them... it has been ugly. I have resorted to wearing 2 sportsbras while I sleep just to keep these gals contained.
Man, if BJ Something-or-other could see me now! BJ was this douchebag kid (hello, his name was BJ, that should have been my first clue) who made fun of me in 7th grade because I was flat chested. By flat chested I don't mean that I had very small boobs, I mean I looked like a dude. BJ terrorized me and got a bunch of his other douchebag pals to make fun of me every day when I was walking to class. They called me pancake. Fuckers.
I didn't start growing boobs until the summer after my 9th grade year. I seriously didn't even wear a bra until then... what's the point? The boobs really blossomed the summer before I left for college, as I have a picture of my friends and I flashing a camera and my tits are round, perky, firm and beautiful (large B Cup). I think I had a good 6 months with those before I went to college and started gaining my freshman weight and they started to grow and sag a little. By my senior year in college, I had lost the freshman weight but I was a hippie-type who was so over bras. This didn't help the sag factor, but regardless, I maintained a pretty rockin' rack (small C cup).
Fast forward 6 years (wow! 6 years...) and here I am busting out of a D cup with the firmest, best looking boobs God could make. Too bad my husband is an ass man.
Friday, February 16, 2007
Thursday, February 15, 2007
Gender Heresy
Monday, we had our 20 week 3D ultrasound; this is the one where the Doctor can usually tell you if you are having a girl or a boy.
We had decided from the beginning (or so I thought) that we weren't going to find out the baby's sex, rather we would wait until the baby is born. There aren't too many big surprises left in life, and we thought this would make for oodles of excitement come baby bearing time. My mom did it both ways and told me there was nothing quite as exciting in her life as when I popped out and they exclaimed "it's a girl!" I want that!
Plus, I figure if I don't know what I am having, noone can buy me any crap. I am extremely particular about what I want my child in, from the furniture to clothes to the stroller. I want classic, sporty, gender neutral stuff. I hate when someone finds out they are having a boy and people start loading them up with blue plaid everything, clothes with numbers on them (like the kid pops out and needs a mickey mouse rugby shirt), onesies with baseballs, basketballs, footballs, etc. Or if they find out it is a girl, it's all pink and girly crap. I HATE pink. a friend recently had a girl and got several porcelain dolls (pink); those things are creepy. But I digress.
So we had decided that we didn't want to know. We go in for the appointment and the nurse takes my weight (up 6 lbs!) and blood pressure. She then reminded us that we could find out the sex today during the ultrasound and aren't we excited! So hubs is all "let's just find out!"
What?
"You have had 20 weeks to tell me that you wanted to find out, and you spring it on me right now! I don't want to find out, that's anti-climactic! I haven't even been geared up for this at all - no, we're not finding out."
This fight is happening in the room - right in front of the nurse who quickly jumps in and says that the doctor will write it down and put it in a sealed envelope for us. Hubs is all over this idea, but I am still hesitant. He says "you can just let me look at it." Yeah, right.
The nurse leaves and we continue bickering:
"Well I want to know!"
"Well, I don't, we have decided that we weren't going to find out-"
"No, you decided. This whole pregnancy is about you, what you want, how you want it. I want to know."
"No! You are pissing me off! We're not finding out-"
The doctor walks in.
We left with the sealed envelope. Dammit. I am weak.
But not so weak that I opened it.
Actually we gave it to my mom to hold (because she was such a big fan of us not knowing and we felt we could trust her), and now she is trying to talk me into opening it. The whole world is against me on this one, but I am sticking to my guns... jerks.
We had decided from the beginning (or so I thought) that we weren't going to find out the baby's sex, rather we would wait until the baby is born. There aren't too many big surprises left in life, and we thought this would make for oodles of excitement come baby bearing time. My mom did it both ways and told me there was nothing quite as exciting in her life as when I popped out and they exclaimed "it's a girl!" I want that!
Plus, I figure if I don't know what I am having, noone can buy me any crap. I am extremely particular about what I want my child in, from the furniture to clothes to the stroller. I want classic, sporty, gender neutral stuff. I hate when someone finds out they are having a boy and people start loading them up with blue plaid everything, clothes with numbers on them (like the kid pops out and needs a mickey mouse rugby shirt), onesies with baseballs, basketballs, footballs, etc. Or if they find out it is a girl, it's all pink and girly crap. I HATE pink. a friend recently had a girl and got several porcelain dolls (pink); those things are creepy. But I digress.
So we had decided that we didn't want to know. We go in for the appointment and the nurse takes my weight (up 6 lbs!) and blood pressure. She then reminded us that we could find out the sex today during the ultrasound and aren't we excited! So hubs is all "let's just find out!"
What?
"You have had 20 weeks to tell me that you wanted to find out, and you spring it on me right now! I don't want to find out, that's anti-climactic! I haven't even been geared up for this at all - no, we're not finding out."
This fight is happening in the room - right in front of the nurse who quickly jumps in and says that the doctor will write it down and put it in a sealed envelope for us. Hubs is all over this idea, but I am still hesitant. He says "you can just let me look at it." Yeah, right.
The nurse leaves and we continue bickering:
"Well I want to know!"
"Well, I don't, we have decided that we weren't going to find out-"
"No, you decided. This whole pregnancy is about you, what you want, how you want it. I want to know."
"No! You are pissing me off! We're not finding out-"
The doctor walks in.
We left with the sealed envelope. Dammit. I am weak.
But not so weak that I opened it.
Actually we gave it to my mom to hold (because she was such a big fan of us not knowing and we felt we could trust her), and now she is trying to talk me into opening it. The whole world is against me on this one, but I am sticking to my guns... jerks.
Perpetual Irritation
(originally published on 2/13/2007)
Perpetual Irritation
and my perpetual irritation continues:
we bought a new mattress. the mack daddy, pillow top, memory foam, etc, etc, etc. wer spent about $2,104,638 on it ("charge it!" is our newest favorite phrase), but the thing is damn good and i need good sleep. it was supposed to be delivered this morning - hooray, right? not so fast...
i stayed home all day (making stuff that I can tell you about tomorrow) (and working... lots of working) anticipating the arrival of the new mattress (which will be referred to as "the cloud" for the remainder of this blog). all day i was peeking out the windows, looking for the mattress (cloud) mobile. around 2:30 i said to myself "Self, we should call to see if the cloud (mattress) people are still coming."
Low and behold, they were not.
"we're going to have to resched-"
(Me) "um, no, you are coming today. that is unacceptable."
"well, we can be there at-"
"You need to be here between 5 and 5:30, I am going to the gym."
"the drivers get off at five"
"than you will pay them to stay late. i am pregnant, don't fecking feck with me!"
"yes ma'am, see you at 5."
It is currently 5:46 and they aren't here yet... we'll see.
Perpetual Irritation
and my perpetual irritation continues:
we bought a new mattress. the mack daddy, pillow top, memory foam, etc, etc, etc. wer spent about $2,104,638 on it ("charge it!" is our newest favorite phrase), but the thing is damn good and i need good sleep. it was supposed to be delivered this morning - hooray, right? not so fast...
i stayed home all day (making stuff that I can tell you about tomorrow) (and working... lots of working) anticipating the arrival of the new mattress (which will be referred to as "the cloud" for the remainder of this blog). all day i was peeking out the windows, looking for the mattress (cloud) mobile. around 2:30 i said to myself "Self, we should call to see if the cloud (mattress) people are still coming."
Low and behold, they were not.
"we're going to have to resched-"
(Me) "um, no, you are coming today. that is unacceptable."
"well, we can be there at-"
"You need to be here between 5 and 5:30, I am going to the gym."
"the drivers get off at five"
"than you will pay them to stay late. i am pregnant, don't fecking feck with me!"
"yes ma'am, see you at 5."
It is currently 5:46 and they aren't here yet... we'll see.
Still crazy
(originally published on 2/9/2007)
Still crazy, after aa-aalll these months!
Blog blog blog, blog for the public! Blog blog blog, blog.
Sorry, public, I haven't had too much to blog about this week.
"But surely something has pissed you off, Cayce?"
Yes, many things, but nothing singly worthy of 30 minutes of typing. You see, I have been busy buying designer maternity jeans on e-bay and researching travel systems and cribs. And working! I have actually worked a lot the past few weeks - feels good.
And no, I have not watched American Idol*. *Okay, I am lying. But just once and just for 15 minutes, and I punished myself by not sleeping all that night.
But here's a brief rundown of my crazed pregnant psyche's recent irritants:
Sweet Mother Of God: Must I miss every single light when I am running late? Every. Single. Light. 12 in a row. Feck me!
My husband walked down the stairs yesterday after I had just mopped them. Put his large footprints on each stair. My face got hot with rage, but I didn't yell. I did, however, launch the mop across the room, and lock myself in the office to pout.
No one wants to talk to me about anything other than my pregnancy. What will we talk about after I give birth? "How big was your placenta?" No. The baby, I guess. Is the rest of my life confined to discussions of my kid? I feel like my identity is my pregnancy and my baby, and no longer me. That sucks eggs; I am cool, too.
Who charges $30 for shipping on a pair of jeans (eBay)? Ab-feckin'-surd.
A child molester just moved in across the street and down 3 houses. I told Ashton never to talk to the neighbors that live at "that" house to which he replied "That's not nice, we should be their friends and ask them to go to the park with us." Uh, no. And have you ever seen the pictures on those child molester printouts? It appears the cops showed up during the actual act and took their mug. They all look greasy, skanky, and guilty. Eww. Look at mine :http://i56.photobucket.com/albums/g163/caycecollins/ours.jpg
And then there's this guy, a few streets over:http://i56.photobucket.com/albums/g163/caycecollins/other.jpg
Now that I have grossed you out completely, I have just one more thing to mention:
Tomorrow, I will OFICIALLY be half-way through my pregnancy! Woohoo, I am going to drink half a keg of root beer.
Still crazy, after aa-aalll these months!
Blog blog blog, blog for the public! Blog blog blog, blog.
Sorry, public, I haven't had too much to blog about this week.
"But surely something has pissed you off, Cayce?"
Yes, many things, but nothing singly worthy of 30 minutes of typing. You see, I have been busy buying designer maternity jeans on e-bay and researching travel systems and cribs. And working! I have actually worked a lot the past few weeks - feels good.
And no, I have not watched American Idol*. *Okay, I am lying. But just once and just for 15 minutes, and I punished myself by not sleeping all that night.
But here's a brief rundown of my crazed pregnant psyche's recent irritants:
Sweet Mother Of God: Must I miss every single light when I am running late? Every. Single. Light. 12 in a row. Feck me!
My husband walked down the stairs yesterday after I had just mopped them. Put his large footprints on each stair. My face got hot with rage, but I didn't yell. I did, however, launch the mop across the room, and lock myself in the office to pout.
No one wants to talk to me about anything other than my pregnancy. What will we talk about after I give birth? "How big was your placenta?" No. The baby, I guess. Is the rest of my life confined to discussions of my kid? I feel like my identity is my pregnancy and my baby, and no longer me. That sucks eggs; I am cool, too.
Who charges $30 for shipping on a pair of jeans (eBay)? Ab-feckin'-surd.
A child molester just moved in across the street and down 3 houses. I told Ashton never to talk to the neighbors that live at "that" house to which he replied "That's not nice, we should be their friends and ask them to go to the park with us." Uh, no. And have you ever seen the pictures on those child molester printouts? It appears the cops showed up during the actual act and took their mug. They all look greasy, skanky, and guilty. Eww. Look at mine :http://i56.photobucket.com/albums/g163/caycecollins/ours.jpg
And then there's this guy, a few streets over:http://i56.photobucket.com/albums/g163/caycecollins/other.jpg
Now that I have grossed you out completely, I have just one more thing to mention:
Tomorrow, I will OFICIALLY be half-way through my pregnancy! Woohoo, I am going to drink half a keg of root beer.
wanted: sleep
(originally published on 2/4/2007)
wanted: sleep
I just ended night 3 of bad, bad sleep.
Night one: about 5 hours, due to waking up in the middle of the night and watching too many episodes of "scrubs" (3 hours worth) (thanks, tivo) (i don't even really like this show).
Night two: about 3 hours, not sequential. stepson wanted to sleep with me while hubs was at work (he is a covers stealin' wiggle worm) (woke up with his head digging into my hip bone and his icy little feet in my neck) (watched 2 hours of "the sopranos") (again, tivo). hubs got home at 3:30, put him in his own bed. he was up in my face at 5:08 asking to watch cartoons.
Night three: about 4 hours. couldn't fall asleep because i freaked myself out watching shows about murder before bed ("the first 48" on A&E) (not tivoed). tossed and turned until hubs got in bed around 4. stepson woke me at 5:45 asking for cartoons (actually, he just jumped in the bed, put his icy little nubs on me and started demanding "toons!") (i wanted to punch babies).
And also today for your reading pleasure, I would like to discuss my other pregnancy beefs:
1. my bellybutton hurts2. i am growing thick brown hairs on my belly (sexy!)3. i can't drink beer today during the superbowl (well, i can, but i shouldn't)4. i have lost my appetite (or has it been stolen? hmmmm?)5. i am freakishly crazy about cleaning (nesting) and i smashed my thumb with a hammer yesterday trying to straighten a metal piece to a shelf that has been sitting in my guestroom closet for about six months so the shelf can be used 6. my back is hurting (from sitting up in bed and watching tivoed shows)7. baby has begun kicking me... all day and all night and, while this is exciting, it is a strange sensation that i am not used to
That's about it. and the sleep deprivation
wanted: sleep
I just ended night 3 of bad, bad sleep.
Night one: about 5 hours, due to waking up in the middle of the night and watching too many episodes of "scrubs" (3 hours worth) (thanks, tivo) (i don't even really like this show).
Night two: about 3 hours, not sequential. stepson wanted to sleep with me while hubs was at work (he is a covers stealin' wiggle worm) (woke up with his head digging into my hip bone and his icy little feet in my neck) (watched 2 hours of "the sopranos") (again, tivo). hubs got home at 3:30, put him in his own bed. he was up in my face at 5:08 asking to watch cartoons.
Night three: about 4 hours. couldn't fall asleep because i freaked myself out watching shows about murder before bed ("the first 48" on A&E) (not tivoed). tossed and turned until hubs got in bed around 4. stepson woke me at 5:45 asking for cartoons (actually, he just jumped in the bed, put his icy little nubs on me and started demanding "toons!") (i wanted to punch babies).
And also today for your reading pleasure, I would like to discuss my other pregnancy beefs:
1. my bellybutton hurts2. i am growing thick brown hairs on my belly (sexy!)3. i can't drink beer today during the superbowl (well, i can, but i shouldn't)4. i have lost my appetite (or has it been stolen? hmmmm?)5. i am freakishly crazy about cleaning (nesting) and i smashed my thumb with a hammer yesterday trying to straighten a metal piece to a shelf that has been sitting in my guestroom closet for about six months so the shelf can be used 6. my back is hurting (from sitting up in bed and watching tivoed shows)7. baby has begun kicking me... all day and all night and, while this is exciting, it is a strange sensation that i am not used to
That's about it. and the sleep deprivation
I heart trans fats
(originally published on 1/30/2007)
Eating my words... and trans fats
After I found out I was pregnant I posted a blog about how I really hated preggers who said the types of things I am about to say. Sorry, but I am eating my words.
I wish I would gain some friggin weight already!
I am 18 weeks and I am the same weight I was when I got knocked up. I gained 2 lbs last week (or so I thought) only to realize that Ash uncalibrated... miscalibrated... my scale. He went to the doctor yesterday and when he weighed, I eagerly weighed myself hoping for a subtle increase. But no, I am down. Actually 1 lb below my starting weight. And I was wearing jeans, a heavy sweater, and several thousand layers of tee shirts and tank tops. (Feck, it was cold yesterday!)
My mom says it is because I stopped drinking and cut out so many calories, but I can't believe that had such a grand impact that it would counteract growing a biggole being in my abdomen. If she is right, I should have tried the "no beer diet" long before the "low carb diet". Plus I am eating what I believe to be "tons" of calories... despite what hubs says. He thinks I should be eating all deep fried carbs and sweets. He believes that I am eating "too healthy" and that I won't gain unless I step it up in the trans fats department.
The belly is growing a little bit, but I have to wonder about this because there is an inverse reaction between my weight and my belly. Days I feel like the belly is poking out more are the days I hop on the scale to reveal a loss. I guess my belly size has remained pretty consistent since about week 10. In the morning when I get out of bed the belly doesn't exist and throughout the day it settles into its' "spare tire" facility around my lower abs. But in certain clothes you can't even tell that I am pregnant - at all. Which sucks when I am trying to pull the "I'm pregnant so I can't lift that heavy package" card.
Plus just about everyone who knows me knows that I am expecting. When they see me they want to talk about my pregnancy... see my belly. I have very little to offer these voyeurs. Not much weight gain, not much belly, not much else, really, other than extreme sensitivity during shows about home remodeling (I always cry at "while you were out"... it's weird) and bitchiness beyond relief. Oh yeah, and I have finally fulfilled my fantasies about fitting into a D cup... hooray.
Eating my words... and trans fats
After I found out I was pregnant I posted a blog about how I really hated preggers who said the types of things I am about to say. Sorry, but I am eating my words.
I wish I would gain some friggin weight already!
I am 18 weeks and I am the same weight I was when I got knocked up. I gained 2 lbs last week (or so I thought) only to realize that Ash uncalibrated... miscalibrated... my scale. He went to the doctor yesterday and when he weighed, I eagerly weighed myself hoping for a subtle increase. But no, I am down. Actually 1 lb below my starting weight. And I was wearing jeans, a heavy sweater, and several thousand layers of tee shirts and tank tops. (Feck, it was cold yesterday!)
My mom says it is because I stopped drinking and cut out so many calories, but I can't believe that had such a grand impact that it would counteract growing a biggole being in my abdomen. If she is right, I should have tried the "no beer diet" long before the "low carb diet". Plus I am eating what I believe to be "tons" of calories... despite what hubs says. He thinks I should be eating all deep fried carbs and sweets. He believes that I am eating "too healthy" and that I won't gain unless I step it up in the trans fats department.
The belly is growing a little bit, but I have to wonder about this because there is an inverse reaction between my weight and my belly. Days I feel like the belly is poking out more are the days I hop on the scale to reveal a loss. I guess my belly size has remained pretty consistent since about week 10. In the morning when I get out of bed the belly doesn't exist and throughout the day it settles into its' "spare tire" facility around my lower abs. But in certain clothes you can't even tell that I am pregnant - at all. Which sucks when I am trying to pull the "I'm pregnant so I can't lift that heavy package" card.
Plus just about everyone who knows me knows that I am expecting. When they see me they want to talk about my pregnancy... see my belly. I have very little to offer these voyeurs. Not much weight gain, not much belly, not much else, really, other than extreme sensitivity during shows about home remodeling (I always cry at "while you were out"... it's weird) and bitchiness beyond relief. Oh yeah, and I have finally fulfilled my fantasies about fitting into a D cup... hooray.
I hate buying cars.
(originally posted 1/25/2007)
God, is anything more stressful?
We decided we needed a new car about 30 minutes after we purchased my old car in December of 2004. Let me take you back...
Ahh, the Jetta. When I got it I thought it totally rocked. It was beautiful - leather seats, 5 speed, great mileage, sunroof. Seriously, I felt like I had hit the freakin' jackpot. The first night I owned it I went to look at it in the garage about 50 times during the night - just couldn't believe it was mine.
See, my previous car was a 1990 Volvo, red (well it had faded to a shade close to pink) with black leather, no AC, windows didn't roll down, sunroof didn't always open (or close), tape player (constantly had a Waylon Jennings tape in it), and 1 speaker that thought about working most of the time. I freakin' loved this car. LOVED IT. But in July in Florida, it wasn't practical to have a constantly open sunroof with black leather and no AC. When I traded it in they gave me 35 whole cents for it.
Back to the Jetta (which I also loved)... a few months passed and Ashton grew about 9 inches and the car started feeling really cramped. Dan's knee was always in my way when shifting to 5th gear, Ashton's feet prints became embedded in the back of the passenger seat, and several times I had to pile groceries over the poor child because I had work stuff in my trunk. The car was just too small :(
When I got knocked up I thought: Yes! Now I finally NEED that new car that i have been dreaming of... I can't fit 2 babies, a bigg ole' hunk of man meat (Dan) and groceries into this go-kart: Let's go spend some of our hard earned cash!
So we have been perusing the classified ads and talking about what we wanted to get as our "mom mobile". Dan loves mini vans (weird, huh? fetish...) but I can't possibly drive one: to do so is to admit that I am getting OLD, and that just plain sucks (sorry Lori, but you are old. I kid!). I want a practical SUV that I can fit strollers, cases of wine, and my growing family into comfortably. You know, like a Mercedes or something :) haha.
Yesterday I test drove a Nissan Murano and I really liked, but it is the wrong color (white? too tame for this!) and it smells like smoke covered with an obscene amount of cherry air freshener. Other than that, the car is PERFECT (mileage, payments, etc.).
Well, today I am driving a brand new Xterra. It's a little sporty for my taste, but I love driving it. And it is maroon, which rocks. But I really didn't want to buy a 2007 anything.
And to make matters worse, my brother in law is our salesperson. You might think that it is a blessing to have this guy on our side, but it really isn't: Typically, you tell someone "hell no" and you walk out the door and that's it - you don't have to sit across from this man at every Christmas and Thanksgiving dinner for eternity and look in his eyes. And he has been extremely cool and worked so hard to make it happen that I feel even more obligated to say yes. He has moved mountains to get our payments where we want them and to talk his bosses into giving us the "family deal"... I am pretty sure he wouldn't even make a cent on this thing... and I don't want him to get bitched at by his bosses if he "can't even make a sale to his brother", you know?
So, I am friggin torn. I like both cars, I am not in love with either of them.
Any advice, faithful readers?
God, is anything more stressful?
We decided we needed a new car about 30 minutes after we purchased my old car in December of 2004. Let me take you back...
Ahh, the Jetta. When I got it I thought it totally rocked. It was beautiful - leather seats, 5 speed, great mileage, sunroof. Seriously, I felt like I had hit the freakin' jackpot. The first night I owned it I went to look at it in the garage about 50 times during the night - just couldn't believe it was mine.
See, my previous car was a 1990 Volvo, red (well it had faded to a shade close to pink) with black leather, no AC, windows didn't roll down, sunroof didn't always open (or close), tape player (constantly had a Waylon Jennings tape in it), and 1 speaker that thought about working most of the time. I freakin' loved this car. LOVED IT. But in July in Florida, it wasn't practical to have a constantly open sunroof with black leather and no AC. When I traded it in they gave me 35 whole cents for it.
Back to the Jetta (which I also loved)... a few months passed and Ashton grew about 9 inches and the car started feeling really cramped. Dan's knee was always in my way when shifting to 5th gear, Ashton's feet prints became embedded in the back of the passenger seat, and several times I had to pile groceries over the poor child because I had work stuff in my trunk. The car was just too small :(
When I got knocked up I thought: Yes! Now I finally NEED that new car that i have been dreaming of... I can't fit 2 babies, a bigg ole' hunk of man meat (Dan) and groceries into this go-kart: Let's go spend some of our hard earned cash!
So we have been perusing the classified ads and talking about what we wanted to get as our "mom mobile". Dan loves mini vans (weird, huh? fetish...) but I can't possibly drive one: to do so is to admit that I am getting OLD, and that just plain sucks (sorry Lori, but you are old. I kid!). I want a practical SUV that I can fit strollers, cases of wine, and my growing family into comfortably. You know, like a Mercedes or something :) haha.
Yesterday I test drove a Nissan Murano and I really liked, but it is the wrong color (white? too tame for this!) and it smells like smoke covered with an obscene amount of cherry air freshener. Other than that, the car is PERFECT (mileage, payments, etc.).
Well, today I am driving a brand new Xterra. It's a little sporty for my taste, but I love driving it. And it is maroon, which rocks. But I really didn't want to buy a 2007 anything.
And to make matters worse, my brother in law is our salesperson. You might think that it is a blessing to have this guy on our side, but it really isn't: Typically, you tell someone "hell no" and you walk out the door and that's it - you don't have to sit across from this man at every Christmas and Thanksgiving dinner for eternity and look in his eyes. And he has been extremely cool and worked so hard to make it happen that I feel even more obligated to say yes. He has moved mountains to get our payments where we want them and to talk his bosses into giving us the "family deal"... I am pretty sure he wouldn't even make a cent on this thing... and I don't want him to get bitched at by his bosses if he "can't even make a sale to his brother", you know?
So, I am friggin torn. I like both cars, I am not in love with either of them.
Any advice, faithful readers?
The Bombshell
(originally posted on 1/24/2007)
The Bombshell Question
People ask you all kinds of questions when you are pregnant:
"How are you feeling?""Do you want a girl or a boy?""Are you going back to work?""How far along?""How's the sleeping/stretch marks/weight gain/sonograms going?"
And so on... I have a little routine of answering questions: I try to smile and be demure and say the types of things people want to hear so they don't get all pissed off (see blog archives). Typically I throw in something gross but funny and they usually stop asking questions ("I've been so constipated, I get excited when I have a BM!"). I am becoming quite an expert on pregnancy, and feel very comfortable answering all of the questions.
Except from my 4 year old stepson.
Ash stayed home with me yesterday. Hubs got up and went to work early, but I was very tired and couldn't get myself out of bed until 8:30. So Ash came and layed with me until I got up. We talked a little but mostly watched TV. I was flipping through the guide and I saw that "A Baby Story" was on, so I turned it over to, you know, see how it's all done. Well, it couldn't have been a more inappropriate time to turn the channel, because the lady on the screen was obviously giving birth to a small cow and wasn't utilizing any wonderful, dreamy, numbing pharmaceuticals. She was screaming and heaving and everyone was yelling "PUSH THAT BABY OUT!" I quickly turned the channel and turned to look at Ash and he was pale as a ghost. I only left it on there for about 20 seconds, but it was enough time for Ash to get an eyefull of pain. So then the questions started:
"Why was that lady screaming?" uhh, because it hurt (*cringe*). let's watch scooby doo..."Why does the baby hurt her" uhh, it just does... come on, you want some candy?"How does the baby get out of her tummy?"
Shit! I felt it coming. I had a good idea what to say but the kid is smart... he can smell lies.
well, God just makes it happen. it is a miracle.He wasn't buying it. He saw something on that TV that defied his vision of God.
"But how does it get out? does she just push it through her skin? Is that why it hurts?"
Dammit! I don't know what to say... I am panicking...
let's call dad and ask him... (no answer)
So I called my mom: Hey mom... how do I handle this?Mom: tell him that God makes it happen.Me: Yeah, that didn't work.
Crap. He is following me around the house and keeps asking: "How does the baby get out? Where does it get out from? etc." My typical question defense isn't working... I need a distraction. Something! Candy and cartoons failed, how about Playdough? I am an OCD clean freak and Playdough is the arch nemesis of clean, but it might just work... (all the while in the background he's asking questions, chasing me from room to room)
And then the absolute bombshell question I have been anticipating:
"How did the baby get in your tummy?"
Anything to get out of answering this question: Wanna play with Playdough? On the carpet? With paint and glitter?
Jeeeeezzz....
The Bombshell Question
People ask you all kinds of questions when you are pregnant:
"How are you feeling?""Do you want a girl or a boy?""Are you going back to work?""How far along?""How's the sleeping/stretch marks/weight gain/sonograms going?"
And so on... I have a little routine of answering questions: I try to smile and be demure and say the types of things people want to hear so they don't get all pissed off (see blog archives). Typically I throw in something gross but funny and they usually stop asking questions ("I've been so constipated, I get excited when I have a BM!"). I am becoming quite an expert on pregnancy, and feel very comfortable answering all of the questions.
Except from my 4 year old stepson.
Ash stayed home with me yesterday. Hubs got up and went to work early, but I was very tired and couldn't get myself out of bed until 8:30. So Ash came and layed with me until I got up. We talked a little but mostly watched TV. I was flipping through the guide and I saw that "A Baby Story" was on, so I turned it over to, you know, see how it's all done. Well, it couldn't have been a more inappropriate time to turn the channel, because the lady on the screen was obviously giving birth to a small cow and wasn't utilizing any wonderful, dreamy, numbing pharmaceuticals. She was screaming and heaving and everyone was yelling "PUSH THAT BABY OUT!" I quickly turned the channel and turned to look at Ash and he was pale as a ghost. I only left it on there for about 20 seconds, but it was enough time for Ash to get an eyefull of pain. So then the questions started:
"Why was that lady screaming?" uhh, because it hurt (*cringe*). let's watch scooby doo..."Why does the baby hurt her" uhh, it just does... come on, you want some candy?"How does the baby get out of her tummy?"
Shit! I felt it coming. I had a good idea what to say but the kid is smart... he can smell lies.
well, God just makes it happen. it is a miracle.He wasn't buying it. He saw something on that TV that defied his vision of God.
"But how does it get out? does she just push it through her skin? Is that why it hurts?"
Dammit! I don't know what to say... I am panicking...
let's call dad and ask him... (no answer)
So I called my mom: Hey mom... how do I handle this?Mom: tell him that God makes it happen.Me: Yeah, that didn't work.
Crap. He is following me around the house and keeps asking: "How does the baby get out? Where does it get out from? etc." My typical question defense isn't working... I need a distraction. Something! Candy and cartoons failed, how about Playdough? I am an OCD clean freak and Playdough is the arch nemesis of clean, but it might just work... (all the while in the background he's asking questions, chasing me from room to room)
And then the absolute bombshell question I have been anticipating:
"How did the baby get in your tummy?"
Anything to get out of answering this question: Wanna play with Playdough? On the carpet? With paint and glitter?
Jeeeeezzz....
epic baby-related nightmares
(originally posted on 1/23/2007)
epic baby-related nightmares
every night i dream about babies. actually, i have epic baby-related nightmares that typically i wake myself up from because i feel like i am being strangled by the pressure i feel in the dreams.
some nights (rarely) the dreams are vague and minor and don't have much emotion to them and others seem so real i feel like i am the director, producer and star of them.
the last two nights i have had these really interactive dreams - shockingly about babies.
Action!
sunday night's dream involved me going to work in sales right after my baby was born.
i was selling flat screen tvs and other tech related equipment to businesses. i sold to businesses along a train track in a city that resembled panama city beach and my coworkers were a bunch of stuffy suits. on this particular day we were going to have some pizza (with gross vegetables on it... eww.) back at the "office" which was a concrete block building with indoor/outdoor carpeting and wood panneling . i got in there and took my first bite of (cold) pizza and the office manager brought me my baby (i guess she was watching it while i was out selling tvs?) who was 7 months old. the baby was crying and i thought it might be hungry so i whipped out the ole' boob to, you know, feed it. well, i then realized that this was the first time i had seen my baby since it was born and it didn't know me. it didn't like me. and it damn sure wouldn't let me breastfeed. i missed the first several months of its life because i was working and leaving it with this older lady in the office.
i felt guilty and terrified when i woke up. i have to go right back to work after the baby is born (like the next day, litterally) and i guess i am more afraid of that than i realized. i can see it now: me up all night with a screaming baby changing diapers and feeding, i get ready for work, change a diaper, feed the baby, clean the floors (because i do this every morning, don't you? i am insane [OCD] for clean floors), head to work (fight the traffic, fight the traffic), pump my jugs. deal with crazy people on the phone all day, pump the jugs, fight the traffic, change the diapers, clean the floors, change the diapers, feed the baby, up all night, do it all over again. dammit, this doesn't sound like fuu-uuunnn
last night, i dreamed that i went into labor. this dream had two distinct movements: a serene one and an awful one.
the labor was peaceful and only mildly painful (crosses fingers!) and the baby just kind of popped out after 6 or 7 hours. it was a boy, he was 5 lbs 13 ozs, and he had a mound of RED fuzzy fraggle hair! he was cute and tiny and peaceful. and, i immediately got skinny after i delivered him. it was awesome.
the next day i went home (which wasn't my home, rather some brownstone in a urban area) and my mom came to help us take care of the baby. she was really pissed at the name we had given him and she refused to call him by that name. she said "that name was fine for talking about, but you need to give hime a more acceptable, common name". She was so mad at us for naming him a name she didn't like that she brought us a brand new beagle puppy. I thought: Oh great... more freakin' work! I was sooooooo pissed off at her! But she stayed and helped us even though we were mad at each other. I decided that i was going to go to starbucks and get myself a coffee while the baby was sleeping, so I left her there with the kid. I ran around the corner to the mall and was running in to get a coffee when I ran into hubby with an empty shopping cart. He was un-showered, un-shaven, and wearing clothes that smelled and looked like they had been pulled from the laundry basket (many of you are saying 'yeah? that's typical!). I was really confused and I asked him what he was doing here? He told me he had to get the baby a present, and he was all crazy about it. I was like "look, the baby is 2 days old, he will never know if you got him a present today or in a week. Just come home with me and take a shower!" and he refused. and i got really mad at him and screamed "i have a newborn to take care of and a house and a job and my mom is being crazy and i can't be responsible for taking care of you too! go home, take a damn shower, and chill the hell out!" still he refused so i dragged him into the closest store and he bought two $25 candles for the baby's room, and we headed home. when we got home, my mom was out in the street looking around for the puppy who had gotten loose and the baby was screaming. the phone was ringing. there was shit everywhere, chaos had ensued.
and cut.
how effed up is that dream! it began so nice, calm, peaceful, even happy (skinny after delivery, yesss!), and turned into a nightmare. i don't even know what to say about this one, other than that i believe it is further evidence that i am a complete whacko. maybe it means that while everything might appear fine (baby looks good, labor looked good, i look fabulous) things could still be tumultous. it is so odd, because i feel like i have it together when i am awake: i am confident about my new role and about handling all the pressures of home, working and child rearing. but as soon as i fall asleep, my confidence shifts and freddy-freakin-kruueger invades my brain, and i dream these horrible scenarios that i feel powerless to handle.
i just need a good, drug-induced sleep and i'd be fine... dammit.
btw: this album is great. i just got it after putting it off for the last year and it is remarkable listening. i can't imagine it being offensive to any ears- it's like progressive accoustic chamber-pop. wtf?
epic baby-related nightmares
every night i dream about babies. actually, i have epic baby-related nightmares that typically i wake myself up from because i feel like i am being strangled by the pressure i feel in the dreams.
some nights (rarely) the dreams are vague and minor and don't have much emotion to them and others seem so real i feel like i am the director, producer and star of them.
the last two nights i have had these really interactive dreams - shockingly about babies.
Action!
sunday night's dream involved me going to work in sales right after my baby was born.
i was selling flat screen tvs and other tech related equipment to businesses. i sold to businesses along a train track in a city that resembled panama city beach and my coworkers were a bunch of stuffy suits. on this particular day we were going to have some pizza (with gross vegetables on it... eww.) back at the "office" which was a concrete block building with indoor/outdoor carpeting and wood panneling . i got in there and took my first bite of (cold) pizza and the office manager brought me my baby (i guess she was watching it while i was out selling tvs?) who was 7 months old. the baby was crying and i thought it might be hungry so i whipped out the ole' boob to, you know, feed it. well, i then realized that this was the first time i had seen my baby since it was born and it didn't know me. it didn't like me. and it damn sure wouldn't let me breastfeed. i missed the first several months of its life because i was working and leaving it with this older lady in the office.
i felt guilty and terrified when i woke up. i have to go right back to work after the baby is born (like the next day, litterally) and i guess i am more afraid of that than i realized. i can see it now: me up all night with a screaming baby changing diapers and feeding, i get ready for work, change a diaper, feed the baby, clean the floors (because i do this every morning, don't you? i am insane [OCD] for clean floors), head to work (fight the traffic, fight the traffic), pump my jugs. deal with crazy people on the phone all day, pump the jugs, fight the traffic, change the diapers, clean the floors, change the diapers, feed the baby, up all night, do it all over again. dammit, this doesn't sound like fuu-uuunnn
last night, i dreamed that i went into labor. this dream had two distinct movements: a serene one and an awful one.
the labor was peaceful and only mildly painful (crosses fingers!) and the baby just kind of popped out after 6 or 7 hours. it was a boy, he was 5 lbs 13 ozs, and he had a mound of RED fuzzy fraggle hair! he was cute and tiny and peaceful. and, i immediately got skinny after i delivered him. it was awesome.
the next day i went home (which wasn't my home, rather some brownstone in a urban area) and my mom came to help us take care of the baby. she was really pissed at the name we had given him and she refused to call him by that name. she said "that name was fine for talking about, but you need to give hime a more acceptable, common name". She was so mad at us for naming him a name she didn't like that she brought us a brand new beagle puppy. I thought: Oh great... more freakin' work! I was sooooooo pissed off at her! But she stayed and helped us even though we were mad at each other. I decided that i was going to go to starbucks and get myself a coffee while the baby was sleeping, so I left her there with the kid. I ran around the corner to the mall and was running in to get a coffee when I ran into hubby with an empty shopping cart. He was un-showered, un-shaven, and wearing clothes that smelled and looked like they had been pulled from the laundry basket (many of you are saying 'yeah? that's typical!). I was really confused and I asked him what he was doing here? He told me he had to get the baby a present, and he was all crazy about it. I was like "look, the baby is 2 days old, he will never know if you got him a present today or in a week. Just come home with me and take a shower!" and he refused. and i got really mad at him and screamed "i have a newborn to take care of and a house and a job and my mom is being crazy and i can't be responsible for taking care of you too! go home, take a damn shower, and chill the hell out!" still he refused so i dragged him into the closest store and he bought two $25 candles for the baby's room, and we headed home. when we got home, my mom was out in the street looking around for the puppy who had gotten loose and the baby was screaming. the phone was ringing. there was shit everywhere, chaos had ensued.
and cut.
how effed up is that dream! it began so nice, calm, peaceful, even happy (skinny after delivery, yesss!), and turned into a nightmare. i don't even know what to say about this one, other than that i believe it is further evidence that i am a complete whacko. maybe it means that while everything might appear fine (baby looks good, labor looked good, i look fabulous) things could still be tumultous. it is so odd, because i feel like i have it together when i am awake: i am confident about my new role and about handling all the pressures of home, working and child rearing. but as soon as i fall asleep, my confidence shifts and freddy-freakin-kruueger invades my brain, and i dream these horrible scenarios that i feel powerless to handle.
i just need a good, drug-induced sleep and i'd be fine... dammit.
btw: this album is great. i just got it after putting it off for the last year and it is remarkable listening. i can't imagine it being offensive to any ears- it's like progressive accoustic chamber-pop. wtf?
Don't read this if you think I am cool.
(originally posted 1/17/2007)
why in god's name am i watching american freaking idol. for the second night in a row. i should be poisoned.
i am getting dumber by the second.
ooh, commercial break is over, gotta jet
*so LAME!*
why in god's name am i watching american freaking idol. for the second night in a row. i should be poisoned.
i am getting dumber by the second.
ooh, commercial break is over, gotta jet
*so LAME!*
will dance for groceries...
(originally posted 1/16/2007)
will dance for groceries...
i sure hope my baby comes out cute, or i will be forced to sell it on the black market to stay afloat...
at the risk of sounding boring and cliché: when it rains, it pours - and i am drenched and without galoshes or a slicker. wearing a white shirt. and non-waterproof mascara. carrying a purse made of tissue paper. okay, you get the idea...
just since friday we have come across an ungodly number of problems and each of them have several dollar signs behind them. we have done a pretty good job of storing up some cash for a (ahem...) rainy day, but this latest series of events threatens to suck all of it up. why, why, why! WHY?
because i am tired of thinking about all of it i'll give you the super cliffs notes version of my/our problems: traffic ticket, we're being sued (sort of), somebody close to us passed, our ac went out, and we might have sold my car which means we need to buy a new one. really, any one of these things would be upsetting by itself, but together, they are a source of moderate panic. i am losing sleep over the drama and the money and it isn't helping my pregnant psyche.
so, what are you going to do, cayc?
well, i am coming up with a creative list of ways to cut back and bring in extra money:
1. cyphen gas2. cut and sell my hair3. anyone want to sponsor this blog?4. dance erotically for groceries5. eat grass, twigs6. live by candle light7. beg8. steal garden animals, gnomes and sell them on ebay9. make handmade valentines with felt and glitter*10. hamburger helper11. make mix tapes12. sell my story to lifetime or lifetime movie network13. two words: preggo webcam**
*i heard this comedian say that glitter is the herpes of craft supplies. once you use it, you can never get rid of it.
**like anyone would want to watch me sleep, eat, vomit and scratch my belly
i figure i can do a few of these and make it work, right? hell, i have a kid on the way; I am going to have to get craftier than this i'm sure...
will dance for groceries...
i sure hope my baby comes out cute, or i will be forced to sell it on the black market to stay afloat...
at the risk of sounding boring and cliché: when it rains, it pours - and i am drenched and without galoshes or a slicker. wearing a white shirt. and non-waterproof mascara. carrying a purse made of tissue paper. okay, you get the idea...
just since friday we have come across an ungodly number of problems and each of them have several dollar signs behind them. we have done a pretty good job of storing up some cash for a (ahem...) rainy day, but this latest series of events threatens to suck all of it up. why, why, why! WHY?
because i am tired of thinking about all of it i'll give you the super cliffs notes version of my/our problems: traffic ticket, we're being sued (sort of), somebody close to us passed, our ac went out, and we might have sold my car which means we need to buy a new one. really, any one of these things would be upsetting by itself, but together, they are a source of moderate panic. i am losing sleep over the drama and the money and it isn't helping my pregnant psyche.
so, what are you going to do, cayc?
well, i am coming up with a creative list of ways to cut back and bring in extra money:
1. cyphen gas2. cut and sell my hair3. anyone want to sponsor this blog?4. dance erotically for groceries5. eat grass, twigs6. live by candle light7. beg8. steal garden animals, gnomes and sell them on ebay9. make handmade valentines with felt and glitter*10. hamburger helper11. make mix tapes12. sell my story to lifetime or lifetime movie network13. two words: preggo webcam**
*i heard this comedian say that glitter is the herpes of craft supplies. once you use it, you can never get rid of it.
**like anyone would want to watch me sleep, eat, vomit and scratch my belly
i figure i can do a few of these and make it work, right? hell, i have a kid on the way; I am going to have to get craftier than this i'm sure...
Ten Things
(originally posted 1/12/2007)
Ten things
Ten things I hate about this week:
1. Stupid National Champions of every-feckin'-thing, the Florida Gaytors.How, Cayce, can you hate with such powerful fervor the team that just creamed the favored Ohio State Buckeyes. Well, I hate their fans. I have alot of "friends" - mostly highschool and MySpace aquaintances that are fans and these people are rub-it-in-your-face pricks. They were the ones drunkenly slobbering "Gaaaww Gayters!" until 4am Tuesday morning and posting bulletins reminding everyone that the Gaytors won. Great, they won. They played amazing and Chris Leak? Pretty effing cute taboot. But you guys have to learn to win gracefully. I am extremely familiar with the concept of winning gracefully: I went to Florida State in the late 90s.
2. Slower traffic that does not keep right. I am in a hurry, folks. Get the hell out of my way. I am considering mounting a LED sign on top of my car facing the car in front of me reminding the driver he is wasting the "fast lane". My husband thinks this is illegal, but I have some plans in the works.
3. Having a cold. I went through several hundred kleenex brand tissues this week and watched too many surgeries on daytime tv. Screw being sick.
4. Commerce and my inherent need to spend.I broke down today after 5 days and made one purchase of a non-necessary item, something which I am pretty proud of. I plan to examine my spending and cut out any excesses I can live without. Thanks to Dan for pointing this article out that will hopefully inspire a change in consumerism as we know it.
Read about it here!
5. Prime Rib.Uggh, I think I am almost over red meat. I ate a huge and wonderful slab of this fatty meat on Thursday night and felt like I had ingested guanno. I felt sluggish and awful and fat and uncomfortable... and...
6. My car. Anyone want to buy a 2004 VW Jetta 5 speed with leather and low miles? It's fast as hell and gets killer mileage... I just want my payoff... Hell, I'll throw in a brand new iPod if you are interested. It is too small for my growing family (and my growing body... I can hardly get out of the damn thing).
7. The John Mellencamp song "This is our country"I am pretty sure I don't even have to explain this one... this is the absolute most irritating song anywhere right now. I am going to sue.
8. Not being able to drink a beer.I LOVE beer. I just want a Guinness. Or a Newcastle. Or a Sam Adams. Dammit five more months...
9. Cheese that has not been melted. Don't give me hard cold cheese... gross. I want my shit melted.
10. People that try to jerk with my husband.I fight dirty when someone screws with people I love... so lay off, hoes :)
Ten things
Ten things I hate about this week:
1. Stupid National Champions of every-feckin'-thing, the Florida Gaytors.How, Cayce, can you hate with such powerful fervor the team that just creamed the favored Ohio State Buckeyes. Well, I hate their fans. I have alot of "friends" - mostly highschool and MySpace aquaintances that are fans and these people are rub-it-in-your-face pricks. They were the ones drunkenly slobbering "Gaaaww Gayters!" until 4am Tuesday morning and posting bulletins reminding everyone that the Gaytors won. Great, they won. They played amazing and Chris Leak? Pretty effing cute taboot. But you guys have to learn to win gracefully. I am extremely familiar with the concept of winning gracefully: I went to Florida State in the late 90s.
2. Slower traffic that does not keep right. I am in a hurry, folks. Get the hell out of my way. I am considering mounting a LED sign on top of my car facing the car in front of me reminding the driver he is wasting the "fast lane". My husband thinks this is illegal, but I have some plans in the works.
3. Having a cold. I went through several hundred kleenex brand tissues this week and watched too many surgeries on daytime tv. Screw being sick.
4. Commerce and my inherent need to spend.I broke down today after 5 days and made one purchase of a non-necessary item, something which I am pretty proud of. I plan to examine my spending and cut out any excesses I can live without. Thanks to Dan for pointing this article out that will hopefully inspire a change in consumerism as we know it.
Read about it here!
5. Prime Rib.Uggh, I think I am almost over red meat. I ate a huge and wonderful slab of this fatty meat on Thursday night and felt like I had ingested guanno. I felt sluggish and awful and fat and uncomfortable... and...
6. My car. Anyone want to buy a 2004 VW Jetta 5 speed with leather and low miles? It's fast as hell and gets killer mileage... I just want my payoff... Hell, I'll throw in a brand new iPod if you are interested. It is too small for my growing family (and my growing body... I can hardly get out of the damn thing).
7. The John Mellencamp song "This is our country"I am pretty sure I don't even have to explain this one... this is the absolute most irritating song anywhere right now. I am going to sue.
8. Not being able to drink a beer.I LOVE beer. I just want a Guinness. Or a Newcastle. Or a Sam Adams. Dammit five more months...
9. Cheese that has not been melted. Don't give me hard cold cheese... gross. I want my shit melted.
10. People that try to jerk with my husband.I fight dirty when someone screws with people I love... so lay off, hoes :)
Grammar Police
(originally posted 1/5/2007)
Grammar Police
Wheeeeeeeewwwwww!
Wheeeeeeeewwwwww!
*blue lights flashing in your proverbial rear view mirror*
It is the Grammar Police, here to hand out citations for dumbass use of apostrophes. Jesus, people, didn't anyone learn when it is apropriate to use an apostrophe? I certainly did, and other people I know did, but I guess most people just forgot... or something... I don't understand how most people even made it through 7th grade by their current misuse of this important punctuatory device.
I am not perfect. I misuse commas constantly. I ramble and decide to, you know, add commas, you know, as often as it feels, I mean, necessary. I am falliable (me, imperfect!?) and therefore subject to the scrutiny of others, but I feel I must scrutinize on this matter. MUST. FOR MY OWN SANITY.
I come across at least 3 misuses of apostrophes a day, depending on how much I read. There are misuses in restaurant menus (no not menu's, friends, just menus), in the newspaper, in advertising copy. There are misuses on Christmas cards (to the Collins's, love The Smith's), on signs, on television. But more than all of that, I see misuse in the everyday writing of adults. I direct a non profit Foundation of mature community leaders and some of these (very well educated) people have serious difficulty with apostrophes! I do not get it. I always point them out to my husband (who thinks I am the unholiest, nitpickiest bitch to walk the planet. Sadly, he is probably correct.) and we laugh disgustedly at the follies.
So as a public service, I will attempt to help the misusers and post the rules of apostrophes here. You are welcome (in advance) for your future smarter writing.
The apostrophe is used for two things only: To signify two words joined: What is = What's To signify possesion: A hat that belongs to Ben = Ben's hat
That is it.
Apostrophies are most commonly misused when speaking of more than one thing. PLURAL NOUNS DO NOT REQUIRE AN APOSTROPHE. One Ball. Three Balls. Not Three Ball's.One Pizza. Five Pizzas. Not Five Pizza's.
Now, there is significant room for confusion because if you are talking about, say, three footballs and were being asked if the laces were white on each of the balls you would reply by saying : Yes, the balls' laces are white. The Three balls have posession of their own laces, therefore warranting an apostrophe.
Still with me? I see some of you near the back have dozed off.It's cool, we can still be friends, just not friend's. And not on paper.
When addressing, say, a letter to the Brown Family, you would address it toThe Browns, not The Brown's.
When cheering for your favorite team, you would say "Go Seminoles!", not "Go Seminole's". You would say "The Ohio State Buckeyes are going to win the national championship!", not "The Ohio State Buckeye's are going to win the national championship".
Going to a restaurant later? Perhaps you will be visiting Ball's Out Sportsbar (This one kills me, as if the Balls own the place)? Maybe you can eat some chicken wing's and watch the Dolphin's on one of their 24 TV's. I jest, and I really do like this place, but their use of punctuation is abhorrent and loathsome.
And.... rant over.
Grammar Police
Wheeeeeeeewwwwww!
Wheeeeeeeewwwwww!
*blue lights flashing in your proverbial rear view mirror*
It is the Grammar Police, here to hand out citations for dumbass use of apostrophes. Jesus, people, didn't anyone learn when it is apropriate to use an apostrophe? I certainly did, and other people I know did, but I guess most people just forgot... or something... I don't understand how most people even made it through 7th grade by their current misuse of this important punctuatory device.
I am not perfect. I misuse commas constantly. I ramble and decide to, you know, add commas, you know, as often as it feels, I mean, necessary. I am falliable (me, imperfect!?) and therefore subject to the scrutiny of others, but I feel I must scrutinize on this matter. MUST. FOR MY OWN SANITY.
I come across at least 3 misuses of apostrophes a day, depending on how much I read. There are misuses in restaurant menus (no not menu's, friends, just menus), in the newspaper, in advertising copy. There are misuses on Christmas cards (to the Collins's, love The Smith's), on signs, on television. But more than all of that, I see misuse in the everyday writing of adults. I direct a non profit Foundation of mature community leaders and some of these (very well educated) people have serious difficulty with apostrophes! I do not get it. I always point them out to my husband (who thinks I am the unholiest, nitpickiest bitch to walk the planet. Sadly, he is probably correct.) and we laugh disgustedly at the follies.
So as a public service, I will attempt to help the misusers and post the rules of apostrophes here. You are welcome (in advance) for your future smarter writing.
The apostrophe is used for two things only: To signify two words joined: What is = What's To signify possesion: A hat that belongs to Ben = Ben's hat
That is it.
Apostrophies are most commonly misused when speaking of more than one thing. PLURAL NOUNS DO NOT REQUIRE AN APOSTROPHE. One Ball. Three Balls. Not Three Ball's.One Pizza. Five Pizzas. Not Five Pizza's.
Now, there is significant room for confusion because if you are talking about, say, three footballs and were being asked if the laces were white on each of the balls you would reply by saying : Yes, the balls' laces are white. The Three balls have posession of their own laces, therefore warranting an apostrophe.
Still with me? I see some of you near the back have dozed off.It's cool, we can still be friends, just not friend's. And not on paper.
When addressing, say, a letter to the Brown Family, you would address it toThe Browns, not The Brown's.
When cheering for your favorite team, you would say "Go Seminoles!", not "Go Seminole's". You would say "The Ohio State Buckeyes are going to win the national championship!", not "The Ohio State Buckeye's are going to win the national championship".
Going to a restaurant later? Perhaps you will be visiting Ball's Out Sportsbar (This one kills me, as if the Balls own the place)? Maybe you can eat some chicken wing's and watch the Dolphin's on one of their 24 TV's. I jest, and I really do like this place, but their use of punctuation is abhorrent and loathsome.
And.... rant over.
Stoup
(originally posted 1/4/2007)
Stoup
The Yummiest.
A few nights ago I made my first recipe from the Rachel Ray Cookbook I received for Christmas (Thanks, hubs!). It was a Broccoli Rabe and Sausage STOUP (soup + stew/2) and it was fekkin' delicious. I just ate some leftover for lunch (it makes quite a bit) and I want to make it again because it was so easy and delicious.
I too had no earthly idea what Broccoli Rabe was: apparently it is a hybrid broccoli and kale thing... a leafy bunch with tiny broccoli "flowers". Whatever it is, it's tasty indeed. It was located near the parsley and kale at Publix.
Here's the recipe: try it if you are into really tasty delicious foods.
2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil, 2 turns of the pan1 pound Italian bulk sweet sausage (I will use spicy sausage next time I make this) (Spicy is so hot right now)1 medium onion, chopped1 carrot, chopped1 large potato, peeled and chopped into small dice 2 cloves garlic, chopped1 bay leaf1 can white beans, drained Salt and pepper1 bunch chopped broccoli rabe 1 quart chicken stockGrated Parmigiano-Reggiano or Romano(Seriously, how short is this recipe? It's that easy and you can clean up as you go, which makes it a perfect weeknight meal.)
Heat medium soup pot over medium-high heat. Add the olive oil and sausage and brown. Add veggies, bay leaf and beans. (Add potato first, cook 5 mins and then add other vegs) Season with salt and pepper. Cook mixture 5 minutes to begin to soften the vegetables. Add rabe and wilt. Add stock* and cover pot. Simmer 15 minutes. Adjust seasonings and serve soup with grated cheese, for topping.
*I used low sodium (loso) chicken broth and I had to add a bunch of salt. Go with the full intensity stuff.
So that's it, 'sgood.
Stoup
The Yummiest.
A few nights ago I made my first recipe from the Rachel Ray Cookbook I received for Christmas (Thanks, hubs!). It was a Broccoli Rabe and Sausage STOUP (soup + stew/2) and it was fekkin' delicious. I just ate some leftover for lunch (it makes quite a bit) and I want to make it again because it was so easy and delicious.
I too had no earthly idea what Broccoli Rabe was: apparently it is a hybrid broccoli and kale thing... a leafy bunch with tiny broccoli "flowers". Whatever it is, it's tasty indeed. It was located near the parsley and kale at Publix.
Here's the recipe: try it if you are into really tasty delicious foods.
2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil, 2 turns of the pan1 pound Italian bulk sweet sausage (I will use spicy sausage next time I make this) (Spicy is so hot right now)1 medium onion, chopped1 carrot, chopped1 large potato, peeled and chopped into small dice 2 cloves garlic, chopped1 bay leaf1 can white beans, drained Salt and pepper1 bunch chopped broccoli rabe 1 quart chicken stockGrated Parmigiano-Reggiano or Romano(Seriously, how short is this recipe? It's that easy and you can clean up as you go, which makes it a perfect weeknight meal.)
Heat medium soup pot over medium-high heat. Add the olive oil and sausage and brown. Add veggies, bay leaf and beans. (Add potato first, cook 5 mins and then add other vegs) Season with salt and pepper. Cook mixture 5 minutes to begin to soften the vegetables. Add rabe and wilt. Add stock* and cover pot. Simmer 15 minutes. Adjust seasonings and serve soup with grated cheese, for topping.
*I used low sodium (loso) chicken broth and I had to add a bunch of salt. Go with the full intensity stuff.
So that's it, 'sgood.
New Phone!
(originally posted 1/2/2007)
New Phone!
dammit again, i posted a blooooog and it timed out or some crap.
i will try to redo with the vehment excitement i had earlier:
i got a new phone and it is sweet.
T Mo Dash. Do it. So far, it is awesome simply because it gets service inside my home and is new. I will post in a few days and let you know if it is truly as awesome as it seems.
I switched over from the T Mo MDA, a (BETA!) windows based touchscreen smartphone. This phone mostly sucked. I logged no fewer than 60 hours on the phone with T Mo tech support since June just trying to get the damn thing to check my email! Problems with the MDA included:
1. difficult to set up
2. touchscreen wasn't accurate
3. operating system crashed (at the worst times possible... feckin' microsoft)
4. phone reception sucked
5. stylus was awkward and flimsy
6. phone was large, heavy, and bulky
7. dialing was a pain in the jugs on the touchscreen and it would
a) dial other calls when i was on the phone
b) put people on hold/hang up on them just by coming in contact with my face
8. only 32mb drive, BUT you could buy additional memory storage (which I was told i would have to do if I wanted the thing to work properly!)
9. super slow applications (due to lack of sufficient memory)
I wouldn't reccommend this phone to anyone. It didn't mostly suck, it totally sucked.
The new phone, The Dash is the marriage of the MDA and its slightly less apt counterpart the SDA. I have been told that the op system is far more efficient on this bad boy (though still windows). It is much easier to hold, no freakin touchscreen (yay!), 64mb drive, full qwerty keyboard, more efficient menus, etc, etc, etc. I will let you know how well I like this guy, right now, I think it's tops!
Here's a picture of the new one:
http://viewmorepics.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=viewImage&friendID=43598495&imageID=1654772135
New Phone!
dammit again, i posted a blooooog and it timed out or some crap.
i will try to redo with the vehment excitement i had earlier:
i got a new phone and it is sweet.
T Mo Dash. Do it. So far, it is awesome simply because it gets service inside my home and is new. I will post in a few days and let you know if it is truly as awesome as it seems.
I switched over from the T Mo MDA, a (BETA!) windows based touchscreen smartphone. This phone mostly sucked. I logged no fewer than 60 hours on the phone with T Mo tech support since June just trying to get the damn thing to check my email! Problems with the MDA included:
1. difficult to set up
2. touchscreen wasn't accurate
3. operating system crashed (at the worst times possible... feckin' microsoft)
4. phone reception sucked
5. stylus was awkward and flimsy
6. phone was large, heavy, and bulky
7. dialing was a pain in the jugs on the touchscreen and it would
a) dial other calls when i was on the phone
b) put people on hold/hang up on them just by coming in contact with my face
8. only 32mb drive, BUT you could buy additional memory storage (which I was told i would have to do if I wanted the thing to work properly!)
9. super slow applications (due to lack of sufficient memory)
I wouldn't reccommend this phone to anyone. It didn't mostly suck, it totally sucked.
The new phone, The Dash is the marriage of the MDA and its slightly less apt counterpart the SDA. I have been told that the op system is far more efficient on this bad boy (though still windows). It is much easier to hold, no freakin touchscreen (yay!), 64mb drive, full qwerty keyboard, more efficient menus, etc, etc, etc. I will let you know how well I like this guy, right now, I think it's tops!
Here's a picture of the new one:
http://viewmorepics.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=viewImage&friendID=43598495&imageID=1654772135
I spent my new years eve...
(originally posted 1/1/2007)
I spent my New Years Eve...
So I spent my NYE night alone, registering for baby stuff. Exciting.
Over the past several years, I have had some exciting NYEs... I saw Phish in the Everglades for the omnipotent '99-'00 New Year. Me and 90,000 other psychedelically influenced young adults, wandering a large marshy field listening to 7 hours of nonstop ambient jamrock... or '00-'01 New Year, spent in Atlanta with 25,000 psychedelically influenced young adults at Widespread Panic (hiding under seats on Marta)... You don't even want to know how I rung in '02 (very bad)... I believe I was bartending in'03... '04 is unmentionable and ended with a run in with Okaloosa County's finest (no DUIs for me, thank god)... '05 was kind of tame, and '06 was the single drunkest night of my life. So hooray for '07, toasting caffine free green tea and registering for babyshit. Welcome, Cayce, to motherhood.
Dude, there is so much stuff that you... need (I use the term loosely) for babies that I can't quite wrap my head around it. I have been registering for 4 hours; researching car seats and furniture, feeding pillows and breast pumps. The funniest part is that I am probably going to get a bunch of stuffed animals and weird newborn outfits for my baby showers, instead of what I really need (Boppy Luxe, people!).
And, can you really tell people who are attending your showers "don't buy my kid any clothes (or shoes, especially shoes) with Thomas and the Train or Dora the Explorer on them, okay!" Can you? Because it seems rude. But not as rude as buying the crap in the first place.
I have been guilty of straying from someone's registry before, and buying them an adorable outfit or stupid fuzzy noisemaker. I have been the jerk that buys a piece of annoying junk that you will never use, but will feel guilty to throw away, so you stash it in a closet for a year or two until you don't even notice it's there and you continue to move it from shelf to shelf awaiting the appropriate time for you to sell it for $2 in your mom's garage sale. I have been that guy. But not anymore.
See, now I realize how much crap you actually need (again, loosely) when having a baby. Do you need another blanket? Maybe, but probably not. You need diapers and wipes. You need one of those shopping cart protectors. You need 42,000 plain onesies. You need sheets and bottles and nuk nuks and cloth diapers for cleaning spitup and spilled titmilk. You don't need a giant Elmo!
So just in case you were wondering what I registered for (or better yet, wanted to get me something... haha, shameless!) I am registered at
http://www.amazon.com/gp/registry/registry.html/102-4252379-8220136?ie=UTF8&type=baby&id=2QCXWZJOGN4ZC
http://www.target.com/gp/registry/registry.html/ref=cm_lc_sr_1/602-9856965-4099801?ie=UTF8&type=babyreg&id=WH07T8ZAOG7U&jsebd=1
(screw html... i hate it)
I spent my New Years Eve...
So I spent my NYE night alone, registering for baby stuff. Exciting.
Over the past several years, I have had some exciting NYEs... I saw Phish in the Everglades for the omnipotent '99-'00 New Year. Me and 90,000 other psychedelically influenced young adults, wandering a large marshy field listening to 7 hours of nonstop ambient jamrock... or '00-'01 New Year, spent in Atlanta with 25,000 psychedelically influenced young adults at Widespread Panic (hiding under seats on Marta)... You don't even want to know how I rung in '02 (very bad)... I believe I was bartending in'03... '04 is unmentionable and ended with a run in with Okaloosa County's finest (no DUIs for me, thank god)... '05 was kind of tame, and '06 was the single drunkest night of my life. So hooray for '07, toasting caffine free green tea and registering for babyshit. Welcome, Cayce, to motherhood.
Dude, there is so much stuff that you... need (I use the term loosely) for babies that I can't quite wrap my head around it. I have been registering for 4 hours; researching car seats and furniture, feeding pillows and breast pumps. The funniest part is that I am probably going to get a bunch of stuffed animals and weird newborn outfits for my baby showers, instead of what I really need (Boppy Luxe, people!).
And, can you really tell people who are attending your showers "don't buy my kid any clothes (or shoes, especially shoes) with Thomas and the Train or Dora the Explorer on them, okay!" Can you? Because it seems rude. But not as rude as buying the crap in the first place.
I have been guilty of straying from someone's registry before, and buying them an adorable outfit or stupid fuzzy noisemaker. I have been the jerk that buys a piece of annoying junk that you will never use, but will feel guilty to throw away, so you stash it in a closet for a year or two until you don't even notice it's there and you continue to move it from shelf to shelf awaiting the appropriate time for you to sell it for $2 in your mom's garage sale. I have been that guy. But not anymore.
See, now I realize how much crap you actually need (again, loosely) when having a baby. Do you need another blanket? Maybe, but probably not. You need diapers and wipes. You need one of those shopping cart protectors. You need 42,000 plain onesies. You need sheets and bottles and nuk nuks and cloth diapers for cleaning spitup and spilled titmilk. You don't need a giant Elmo!
So just in case you were wondering what I registered for (or better yet, wanted to get me something... haha, shameless!) I am registered at
http://www.amazon.com/gp/registry/registry.html/102-4252379-8220136?ie=UTF8&type=baby&id=2QCXWZJOGN4ZC
http://www.target.com/gp/registry/registry.html/ref=cm_lc_sr_1/602-9856965-4099801?ie=UTF8&type=babyreg&id=WH07T8ZAOG7U&jsebd=1
(screw html... i hate it)
Cleaning up my act
(originally posted 12/26/2006)
Cleaning up my act
Christmas os over, press on to the '07!
Christmas was awesome. The crowning jewel gift of spoiled little Cayceness was the 37'' LG Flatscreen I got for my bedroom, but it didn't stop there. I got a fabulous topaz ring, a chi hair iron, a new robe, a giant purse, 4 cds (for those who care: The Walkmen, The Decemberists, TV on the Radio and Bloc Party), more maternity clothes and loungewear than you can shake a stick at, and a bunch of kitchen SHIT... stuff (for those who care: a new mixer, silverware, ceramic mixing bowls, a pizza stone, and more). And more, much much more... I feel so spoiled. Like gross, disgustingly spoiled.
And in the spirit of gluttony, I ate 2+ Holiday dinners, calories galore. I made buckeye balls. I ate hershey kisses, and cheesecake and candycanes until I thought I was going to vomit. I actually did vomit, but only once (I blame this on pregnancy).
And somewhere between the eating and gifting and sleeping I came up with an idea. An idea that, mind you, lets me give a little something back... helps me feel like I deserve all of the wonderful gifts I received.
You see, I cuss like a FUCKING sailor. I cuss about everything. I cuss when I am pissed, when I am happy, when I am sad, when I am pregnant, when I am not pregnant. I cuss to myself. I cuss to others (short my stepson, to whom I limit my cussing considerably). Yesterday before christmas dinner, I said FUCK no fewer than 246 times - at my mother's house.
The cussing recently became an issue when I began blogging, because I read just how much I cuss. If you have read any of my previous blogs, you certainly know what I am talking about. I re-read each one before I post it and have a mini-panic attack about who will read it and what they will think of me. Always, I post them without edit, but, I think about not posting them - and that is what really made me do some soul searching.
I believe my mouth reached it's high point of filth when I was working at bars and restaurants during and post college. You see, the career service industry worker can weave a tapestry of profanity so fine, they are constantly cloaked in it. The "CUNT"s and "FUCK"s just roll off their tongue as if they are speaking an exotic foreign language. This excited me, and I mimicked their language, eventually adopting it as my own.
And it has gotten considerably worse.
Now everyone, save 10-15 people I know, are ASSHOLES. If you do something goofy, you are surely a DOUCHE, or a DOUCHEBAG. I am always asking hubs to get his SHIT off of the stairs. And my favorite: The FUCKING Phone, The FUCKING mailman, my FUCKING car, the MOTHER FUCKING house, etc...
Soooo, I have decided to clean up my FUC... my mouth. This will not be a total transformation, as I truly enjoy cussing, but rather a limit to the amount I let myself get away with.
So wish me luck, ASSHO.... I mean people!
Cleaning up my act
Christmas os over, press on to the '07!
Christmas was awesome. The crowning jewel gift of spoiled little Cayceness was the 37'' LG Flatscreen I got for my bedroom, but it didn't stop there. I got a fabulous topaz ring, a chi hair iron, a new robe, a giant purse, 4 cds (for those who care: The Walkmen, The Decemberists, TV on the Radio and Bloc Party), more maternity clothes and loungewear than you can shake a stick at, and a bunch of kitchen SHIT... stuff (for those who care: a new mixer, silverware, ceramic mixing bowls, a pizza stone, and more). And more, much much more... I feel so spoiled. Like gross, disgustingly spoiled.
And in the spirit of gluttony, I ate 2+ Holiday dinners, calories galore. I made buckeye balls. I ate hershey kisses, and cheesecake and candycanes until I thought I was going to vomit. I actually did vomit, but only once (I blame this on pregnancy).
And somewhere between the eating and gifting and sleeping I came up with an idea. An idea that, mind you, lets me give a little something back... helps me feel like I deserve all of the wonderful gifts I received.
You see, I cuss like a FUCKING sailor. I cuss about everything. I cuss when I am pissed, when I am happy, when I am sad, when I am pregnant, when I am not pregnant. I cuss to myself. I cuss to others (short my stepson, to whom I limit my cussing considerably). Yesterday before christmas dinner, I said FUCK no fewer than 246 times - at my mother's house.
The cussing recently became an issue when I began blogging, because I read just how much I cuss. If you have read any of my previous blogs, you certainly know what I am talking about. I re-read each one before I post it and have a mini-panic attack about who will read it and what they will think of me. Always, I post them without edit, but, I think about not posting them - and that is what really made me do some soul searching.
I believe my mouth reached it's high point of filth when I was working at bars and restaurants during and post college. You see, the career service industry worker can weave a tapestry of profanity so fine, they are constantly cloaked in it. The "CUNT"s and "FUCK"s just roll off their tongue as if they are speaking an exotic foreign language. This excited me, and I mimicked their language, eventually adopting it as my own.
And it has gotten considerably worse.
Now everyone, save 10-15 people I know, are ASSHOLES. If you do something goofy, you are surely a DOUCHE, or a DOUCHEBAG. I am always asking hubs to get his SHIT off of the stairs. And my favorite: The FUCKING Phone, The FUCKING mailman, my FUCKING car, the MOTHER FUCKING house, etc...
Soooo, I have decided to clean up my FUC... my mouth. This will not be a total transformation, as I truly enjoy cussing, but rather a limit to the amount I let myself get away with.
So wish me luck, ASSHO.... I mean people!
BREAKING NEWS! More on USPS
(originally posted on 12/23/2006)
More on the USPS - Breaking News!
BREAKING NEWS!
I am so happy and so mad that I think I am going to pass out!
This morning hubs and I were talking about our suck-succkety mail.
You see, I received a USPS confirmation number from a woman I bought pants from on eBay. The pants were delivered on 12/8 (the date I posted the original hate-blog! how ironic!) to what is allegedly my address... but I never saw them. But they were confirmed delivered to my address, which I knew to be false!
So, we decided to take matters into our own hands and do some sleuthing. See, we live on NORTH 7th Street, and in our city, there is also a CENTRAL 7th Street and a SOUTH 7th Street. We drove down the street (which doesn't connect with ours...) looking for another house with the same number. Sure the hell enough, there was another house, about 3/4 the way down the road with THE SAME NUMBER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I got all shaky and crazy, and hopped out of the car and ran up to their door and knocked. Kids were inside playing, so we felt it was appropriate to knock, even though it was 930am.
Two teenaged girls answered the door, and we realized this was a spanish-speaking home. Also in the house were a couple of toddlers and a middle aged man - dad maybe? We cautiously explained our proiblem and asked if they had received anything with the name Collins to which they replied "Coollins, yees!" with excitement.
Then the 3 oldest ones proceeded to pull 20+ pieces of our mail out of their cupboards.
Packages, bills, the check from our renters, insurance documents, personal letters, etc. I was so thankful and relieved, but at the same time I was mad. Not at the kind people who kept our mail... since September... but at the Mother fukkking Post Office.
You see, every single piece of mail had the correct address written on it. EVERY ONE. The post office was just delivering to the wrong house. Even after I had called, spoken to the postmaster and complained, mail was still going to the wrong address. LOTS of mail.
We went immediately to the post office and complained again to the postmaster who, even during all of the holiday rushing, took a few minutes to speak with us. She was more than nice, as she has been on so many occasions, but we hope the problem will get fixed THIS TIME, and pronto!
As for the family who kept our mail, they are getting some home made cookies from me, and a magnet with our phone number in case this happens again - which it probably will.
At least the mystery of the missing mail is solved... for now.
More on the USPS - Breaking News!
BREAKING NEWS!
I am so happy and so mad that I think I am going to pass out!
This morning hubs and I were talking about our suck-succkety mail.
You see, I received a USPS confirmation number from a woman I bought pants from on eBay. The pants were delivered on 12/8 (the date I posted the original hate-blog! how ironic!) to what is allegedly my address... but I never saw them. But they were confirmed delivered to my address, which I knew to be false!
So, we decided to take matters into our own hands and do some sleuthing. See, we live on NORTH 7th Street, and in our city, there is also a CENTRAL 7th Street and a SOUTH 7th Street. We drove down the street (which doesn't connect with ours...) looking for another house with the same number. Sure the hell enough, there was another house, about 3/4 the way down the road with THE SAME NUMBER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I got all shaky and crazy, and hopped out of the car and ran up to their door and knocked. Kids were inside playing, so we felt it was appropriate to knock, even though it was 930am.
Two teenaged girls answered the door, and we realized this was a spanish-speaking home. Also in the house were a couple of toddlers and a middle aged man - dad maybe? We cautiously explained our proiblem and asked if they had received anything with the name Collins to which they replied "Coollins, yees!" with excitement.
Then the 3 oldest ones proceeded to pull 20+ pieces of our mail out of their cupboards.
Packages, bills, the check from our renters, insurance documents, personal letters, etc. I was so thankful and relieved, but at the same time I was mad. Not at the kind people who kept our mail... since September... but at the Mother fukkking Post Office.
You see, every single piece of mail had the correct address written on it. EVERY ONE. The post office was just delivering to the wrong house. Even after I had called, spoken to the postmaster and complained, mail was still going to the wrong address. LOTS of mail.
We went immediately to the post office and complained again to the postmaster who, even during all of the holiday rushing, took a few minutes to speak with us. She was more than nice, as she has been on so many occasions, but we hope the problem will get fixed THIS TIME, and pronto!
As for the family who kept our mail, they are getting some home made cookies from me, and a magnet with our phone number in case this happens again - which it probably will.
At least the mystery of the missing mail is solved... for now.
1st Trimester Reflection
(originally posted 12/19/2006)
1st Trimester Reflection
As I near the end of my first trimester, I must take a few minutes to reflect on the ups (both of them) the downs (most of them) of a first pregnancy.
Being pregnant mostly sucks.There are thousands of things I can write under this heading, but I will choose a few of the more burden-laden ones to make my point. I mean, I am occupied for chrissake!
1. Anger. I am pissed off all the time. Like so pissed I am crying and spitting. Yelling. Fuming. Throwing stuff. I went ballistic on hubs the other day because he wanted to go to the grocery store with me. *Fuck no, you make me stray from my list! God, I want to punch you!*
2. Morning-fuckin-sickness. There have been days I subsisted on like 7 grapes or 2 packs of saltines and a Blow Pop.
3. Sleep. I love to sleep, probably more than most people, but pregnancy sleep is different. It is more of a need than a luxury. When I get into bed at night I occasionally cry because I am so tired and it feels so good to know I am about to go to sleep. But... sometimes, the sleep doesn't come, and I am reduced to watching Fresh Prince reruns on Nick at Nite (thank god there's no more Mister Ed, right!) until 5or 6am. Then I have a freaking anxiety attack about how I am going to make it through the next day on 1-2 hours of sleep. Oh, I make it all right, see #1.
4. Everyone is all up in my business. ALL UP IN MY BUSINESS. This one is the real kicker! I am going to break this little segment into 3 parts: Baby Sex, Baby Name, and Morning Sickness Advice.
a) Baby's Sex. So here's typically how it goes down - Them: *When do you find out what you are having?* Me: *We don't want to find out, we want to be surprised.* Them: *Wow, I would really want to know. How are people supposed to buy you baby gifts? You won't be able to wait, it will make you crazy. You are crazy for not wanting to know, etc...* Me (to myself, you know, inner monologue) *Shut the hell up. It's not you or your kid, so fuckin deal with the fact that I want to be surprised, and that it is my choice. Asshole.* Me (aloud) *That's just how we want to do it. Buy us diapers if you want to get us a gift! Target giftcard! Onesies!* Everyone thinks your pregnancy is their property, and they feel entitled to knowing. My sister even told me she was going to call my obgyn and offer her money to reveal the sex. Luckily, she is poor.
b) Baby's Name. Since we found out we were pregnant, everyone has been asking us if we have thought about names. Me (inner monologue) *no, fuckwad, I think we will just call it "Baby" until it is 3 or 4, then we will use one of Victoria Beckham's kid names.* For serious, there were a couple of names that stood out to us in the beginning, but I was asking hubs all the time if he liked Tessa or Camden, and he got fed up with it, so we picked our two standouts, Vera or Oliver, and decided to stick with them. To everyone who asked early on, I was eager to tell them the exalted choices. Until I heard their responses: *I hate those. No really, I hate Vera, it is awful. Why would you name someone that? That is like child abuse. Why don't you use ____________ (insert overused yuppie child name [haley, liam]) or ___________________ (insert common last name [madison, harper]). * And then, people expect you to like their names they picked out, after they just insulted your names you picked out! So now when people ask, I drop the *you're not going to like them, and frankly, I don't give a fuck* disclaimer before I tell them the names. Or I won't tell them the names at all. But it is weird, all the dissention makes me like them more! I am surer than ever!
c) Morning Sickness Advice. Everyone - male or female, age 11 or Grandmother-aged, ten kids, no kids, homeless with lepracy or former debutantes - everyone - has the miracle cure for morning sickness. Weak tea and soda crackers. Broth. Eat before you get out of bed. Ginger snaps. Ginger tea. No milk after midnight. Soak in a cool bath of ketchup and bleach. Okay, I made that last one up, but, for serious, everyone tells you what to do to relieve the sickness. And the next time they see you, they want confirmation that their remedy worked. Everyone wants to be a magi. This sickness, mind you, won't go away. Nothing made my sickness go away, except for getting out of the house and forgetting about it. Occasionally, that wouldn't work, and I would be driving past the outlet mall and have to pull over to heave and vomit. Hello Holiday Shoppers!
So I guess the meaning behind all of this is SHUT UP! Keep your remedies, your sentiments on pregnancy and the names you never got to name your children to yourself! I know you think you are being nice but I am tired (see #3) and emotional (see #1).
Being pregnant rules.Well, if you all read that last segment, you know this is an utter farce, but there are a couple of things that work out in your favor.
1. Ultimate Excuse. People will excuse you from doing almost anything. You can use this one with your family during the holidays to get out of doing the dishes, use it weekly to get out of cleaning the bathroom, use it at work to get out of doing, well, most stuff. Remember, you are tired and fragile, and you can't control your emotions. This one works particularly well for yardwork, farting in public, annoying family get togethers, and moving anything remotely heavy.
2. Okay, I will admit it, I am kind of bonding with the little creature too. It's teeney face looked at me during my last ultrasound, and it was the first time I took ownership of this alien-looking lifeform. Oliver, Vera, whomever. I was excited for the first time.
Although, I think it was laughing at me...
1st Trimester Reflection
As I near the end of my first trimester, I must take a few minutes to reflect on the ups (both of them) the downs (most of them) of a first pregnancy.
Being pregnant mostly sucks.There are thousands of things I can write under this heading, but I will choose a few of the more burden-laden ones to make my point. I mean, I am occupied for chrissake!
1. Anger. I am pissed off all the time. Like so pissed I am crying and spitting. Yelling. Fuming. Throwing stuff. I went ballistic on hubs the other day because he wanted to go to the grocery store with me. *Fuck no, you make me stray from my list! God, I want to punch you!*
2. Morning-fuckin-sickness. There have been days I subsisted on like 7 grapes or 2 packs of saltines and a Blow Pop.
3. Sleep. I love to sleep, probably more than most people, but pregnancy sleep is different. It is more of a need than a luxury. When I get into bed at night I occasionally cry because I am so tired and it feels so good to know I am about to go to sleep. But... sometimes, the sleep doesn't come, and I am reduced to watching Fresh Prince reruns on Nick at Nite (thank god there's no more Mister Ed, right!) until 5or 6am. Then I have a freaking anxiety attack about how I am going to make it through the next day on 1-2 hours of sleep. Oh, I make it all right, see #1.
4. Everyone is all up in my business. ALL UP IN MY BUSINESS. This one is the real kicker! I am going to break this little segment into 3 parts: Baby Sex, Baby Name, and Morning Sickness Advice.
a) Baby's Sex. So here's typically how it goes down - Them: *When do you find out what you are having?* Me: *We don't want to find out, we want to be surprised.* Them: *Wow, I would really want to know. How are people supposed to buy you baby gifts? You won't be able to wait, it will make you crazy. You are crazy for not wanting to know, etc...* Me (to myself, you know, inner monologue) *Shut the hell up. It's not you or your kid, so fuckin deal with the fact that I want to be surprised, and that it is my choice. Asshole.* Me (aloud) *That's just how we want to do it. Buy us diapers if you want to get us a gift! Target giftcard! Onesies!* Everyone thinks your pregnancy is their property, and they feel entitled to knowing. My sister even told me she was going to call my obgyn and offer her money to reveal the sex. Luckily, she is poor.
b) Baby's Name. Since we found out we were pregnant, everyone has been asking us if we have thought about names. Me (inner monologue) *no, fuckwad, I think we will just call it "Baby" until it is 3 or 4, then we will use one of Victoria Beckham's kid names.* For serious, there were a couple of names that stood out to us in the beginning, but I was asking hubs all the time if he liked Tessa or Camden, and he got fed up with it, so we picked our two standouts, Vera or Oliver, and decided to stick with them. To everyone who asked early on, I was eager to tell them the exalted choices. Until I heard their responses: *I hate those. No really, I hate Vera, it is awful. Why would you name someone that? That is like child abuse. Why don't you use ____________ (insert overused yuppie child name [haley, liam]) or ___________________ (insert common last name [madison, harper]). * And then, people expect you to like their names they picked out, after they just insulted your names you picked out! So now when people ask, I drop the *you're not going to like them, and frankly, I don't give a fuck* disclaimer before I tell them the names. Or I won't tell them the names at all. But it is weird, all the dissention makes me like them more! I am surer than ever!
c) Morning Sickness Advice. Everyone - male or female, age 11 or Grandmother-aged, ten kids, no kids, homeless with lepracy or former debutantes - everyone - has the miracle cure for morning sickness. Weak tea and soda crackers. Broth. Eat before you get out of bed. Ginger snaps. Ginger tea. No milk after midnight. Soak in a cool bath of ketchup and bleach. Okay, I made that last one up, but, for serious, everyone tells you what to do to relieve the sickness. And the next time they see you, they want confirmation that their remedy worked. Everyone wants to be a magi. This sickness, mind you, won't go away. Nothing made my sickness go away, except for getting out of the house and forgetting about it. Occasionally, that wouldn't work, and I would be driving past the outlet mall and have to pull over to heave and vomit. Hello Holiday Shoppers!
So I guess the meaning behind all of this is SHUT UP! Keep your remedies, your sentiments on pregnancy and the names you never got to name your children to yourself! I know you think you are being nice but I am tired (see #3) and emotional (see #1).
Being pregnant rules.Well, if you all read that last segment, you know this is an utter farce, but there are a couple of things that work out in your favor.
1. Ultimate Excuse. People will excuse you from doing almost anything. You can use this one with your family during the holidays to get out of doing the dishes, use it weekly to get out of cleaning the bathroom, use it at work to get out of doing, well, most stuff. Remember, you are tired and fragile, and you can't control your emotions. This one works particularly well for yardwork, farting in public, annoying family get togethers, and moving anything remotely heavy.
2. Okay, I will admit it, I am kind of bonding with the little creature too. It's teeney face looked at me during my last ultrasound, and it was the first time I took ownership of this alien-looking lifeform. Oliver, Vera, whomever. I was excited for the first time.
Although, I think it was laughing at me...
Colorado Rules!
(originally posted 12/10/2006)
Colorado Rules!
Hubs, Ash and I are vacationing in Colorado. It is awesome.
Yesterday we had a marathon day: parade in the early am, finish packing, get on a plane in the late afternoon, 2 hour layover in Atlanta, and arrival in Denver around midnight. To complicate things, we decided to travel with a zealous toddler (!). This was all tiring but manageable until the piste de resistance: The passengers in front of us on the 4 hour plane trip from Atlanta to Denver must have enjoyed a meal of Taco Bell bean burritos, broccoli and eggrolls prior to the flight. I mean, it smelled like they were piping in fart smell. It woke me up once when I was sleeping. It was so bad that when we got off the plane and rode the train to the baggage claim, I opened my carry-on (which had been stowed beneath the seat in front of me, in the direct line of fire) to locate my sweater and the abominable scent wafted out. It was vile. There was actually a weird story in the news last week about a woman who lit matches to cover the smell of her farts on an American Airlines flight... the plane had to make an emergency landing and the woman was fined and and banned from future flights. I was seriously thinking about this little match trick the entire time, and hoping someone would give these poor jerks at least a zippo!
But we woke up this morning to coffee and banana pancakes at my dad's house, and it is already worth the struggles of yesterday. I got my hair did (cut and color... adorable) this morning and I am feeling good! Aside from my dad having tons of wonderful Coloradoan microbrews in his fridge - which I can't partake in - this is the beginning of a wonderful trip.
Better than those poor folks on the plane...
Colorado Rules!
Hubs, Ash and I are vacationing in Colorado. It is awesome.
Yesterday we had a marathon day: parade in the early am, finish packing, get on a plane in the late afternoon, 2 hour layover in Atlanta, and arrival in Denver around midnight. To complicate things, we decided to travel with a zealous toddler (!). This was all tiring but manageable until the piste de resistance: The passengers in front of us on the 4 hour plane trip from Atlanta to Denver must have enjoyed a meal of Taco Bell bean burritos, broccoli and eggrolls prior to the flight. I mean, it smelled like they were piping in fart smell. It woke me up once when I was sleeping. It was so bad that when we got off the plane and rode the train to the baggage claim, I opened my carry-on (which had been stowed beneath the seat in front of me, in the direct line of fire) to locate my sweater and the abominable scent wafted out. It was vile. There was actually a weird story in the news last week about a woman who lit matches to cover the smell of her farts on an American Airlines flight... the plane had to make an emergency landing and the woman was fined and and banned from future flights. I was seriously thinking about this little match trick the entire time, and hoping someone would give these poor jerks at least a zippo!
But we woke up this morning to coffee and banana pancakes at my dad's house, and it is already worth the struggles of yesterday. I got my hair did (cut and color... adorable) this morning and I am feeling good! Aside from my dad having tons of wonderful Coloradoan microbrews in his fridge - which I can't partake in - this is the beginning of a wonderful trip.
Better than those poor folks on the plane...
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