Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Nino is coming!
A+ Mama
The baby is due in two weeks. Two weeks! I can’t believe how close I am to officially becoming a mother. This is unbelievable! Because Nino is so close to being born, I’ve begun my weekly visits to the doctor. I went yesterday and found out that I am 80% effaced and a whole centimeter dilated. This pretty much means that Nino could be born before his due date, on his due date, or after his due date. Lovely. I was kind of thinking it would be anytime now. I've been kind of hoping that it would be any time now. I recently bent over really far to pick up a pencil at work. I've been worried ever since that, despite the reassurance from my doctor that I'm a complete nutcase, I squashed Nino's head. I need to meet this baby and see whether I've squashed his head or destroyed him in some other way. I need to meet him and find out who this little joker who's been playing around with my guts for so many months actually is.
I feel ready for many reasons. I mean we have all of the baby stuff. We have a plan. We are dying to meet the kid. But there are still so many things I wanted to have done by now. I mean I have all of these character flaws I meant to fix before El Nino Extremo Birth Extravaganza ‘08/’09 began. I even have a list, you guys. For instance, I am going to be a mother in approximately two weeks but I have yet to mature to the point of being able to take a dump in a public restroom. Can you picture it? I’m potty-training Nino. We’re at Target buying some pre-cut melon when he tells me he needs to go ploppies. I take him to the bathroom and he says he feels weird about going because there are people around and it is dirty, and going ploppies is something he prefers doing in the comfort and privacy of his own home. In order to prevent him from shitting his pants, I’ll have to tell him that when you gotta go you gotta go or else you’ll get diverticulitis and polyps and die.
I am already learning that one of the biggest parts of being a parent is being a total hypocrite. I am realizing that I can’t change my personality in order to be a good mom, instead I’m just going to have to lie a lot. I’ll start by hiding any of my report cards with an average lower than 3.9 (not that I keep my report cards or that there are many that fit that description). I’ll destroy all photographic evidence of me engaging in any of the following: public nudity, intoxication, chain smoking, bar fights, etc. I’ll force my friends to forget all unsavory tales of me and threaten Fran out of recalling the many objectionable phases I went through during our courtship including but not limited to the box wine years and the several months I spent beginning every sentence with “who do I gotta blow around here to... (insert "get some Captain Crunch","get a ride to the swimming pool", etc …). I’ll even learn to go number two in public restrooms, or at the very least, stop giggling when I know that that is what other people in the restroom are doing. That way, when I force my children to excel beyond mediocrity, when I forbid underage drinking and deem it punishable by groundation and limb removal, when I preach humility and grace over belligerence, and when I force my 2 year old to poo at Target, I’ll have something with which to back it---a flawless past—a history unmarked by sin. I can only thank everyone in advance for the continued support.
I feel ready for many reasons. I mean we have all of the baby stuff. We have a plan. We are dying to meet the kid. But there are still so many things I wanted to have done by now. I mean I have all of these character flaws I meant to fix before El Nino Extremo Birth Extravaganza ‘08/’09 began. I even have a list, you guys. For instance, I am going to be a mother in approximately two weeks but I have yet to mature to the point of being able to take a dump in a public restroom. Can you picture it? I’m potty-training Nino. We’re at Target buying some pre-cut melon when he tells me he needs to go ploppies. I take him to the bathroom and he says he feels weird about going because there are people around and it is dirty, and going ploppies is something he prefers doing in the comfort and privacy of his own home. In order to prevent him from shitting his pants, I’ll have to tell him that when you gotta go you gotta go or else you’ll get diverticulitis and polyps and die.
I am already learning that one of the biggest parts of being a parent is being a total hypocrite. I am realizing that I can’t change my personality in order to be a good mom, instead I’m just going to have to lie a lot. I’ll start by hiding any of my report cards with an average lower than 3.9 (not that I keep my report cards or that there are many that fit that description). I’ll destroy all photographic evidence of me engaging in any of the following: public nudity, intoxication, chain smoking, bar fights, etc. I’ll force my friends to forget all unsavory tales of me and threaten Fran out of recalling the many objectionable phases I went through during our courtship including but not limited to the box wine years and the several months I spent beginning every sentence with “who do I gotta blow around here to... (insert "get some Captain Crunch","get a ride to the swimming pool", etc …). I’ll even learn to go number two in public restrooms, or at the very least, stop giggling when I know that that is what other people in the restroom are doing. That way, when I force my children to excel beyond mediocrity, when I forbid underage drinking and deem it punishable by groundation and limb removal, when I preach humility and grace over belligerence, and when I force my 2 year old to poo at Target, I’ll have something with which to back it---a flawless past—a history unmarked by sin. I can only thank everyone in advance for the continued support.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Maxy in his younger days on a boat trip at Bear Lake. He liked to feel the wind in his ears.My brother Kees called me last night while Fran and I were in our birthing class. I missed the call but I returned it when the class was done and he had some pretty crappy news for me. It turns out my dog died yesterday. I call him my dog, but he was actually a family dog and he lived with my parents. I’m kind of a sap when it comes to dogs in general, even the stinky biting ones. I tend to believe that they are all little angels put on Earth to remind people to not be such assholes. They love unconditionally and they are the sweetest companions a person could ever ask for. Maxwell Bentley Warner was one of the all-time best and I’m broken-hearted to say the least. I feel bad for Kees having to listen to me ball my head off at hearing the news but by the end of the phone call, we were both crying pretty hard. It isn’t unusual for Beagles to live 10-15 years. Maxy was 12 so he had a pretty good run. Apparently he started having uncontrollable seizures Monday and on Tuesday it was bad enough that my dad thought it was time to put him down. He didn’t contact Kees or me beforehand to let us know Maxy’s health was deteriorating or that he intended to have him euthanized. I will assume he had a good reason not to although I wish he had. I would have liked to have been there. I feel content in knowing that Max knew how much I adored him. I spoiled him with lots of love and affection whenever I saw him which was pretty often these last few months. Rest in peace my little doggy. I’ll miss you.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Freud is saying "Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar, but I'm always just a dildo."Was it Sigmund Freud who coined the term “penis envy”? I’m just wondering because whoever did is a total dildo. Hello!!! I’m growing a baby in my uterus and what do you have?.... a couple of nards and a weener? BFD, dude! BFD. You go ahead and have fun NOT growing new life inside of your body. I’ll in the meantime marvel at the sheer awesomeness of my vajayjay. Suck on that, Freud.
Some of you guys might be thinking "I haven't seen Linds in a while. I wonder what she's been up to these days. I bet she's real busy bustling about town preparing for the birth of her baby. I bet she's reflecting on the days of her youth and writing memoirs. She is probably doing a lot of baking and knitting." It's actually quite the contrary ya'll. I've provided this little clip to give you some sense of what I spend my time doing these days. Me and this hamster know how to kick it.
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Friday, December 5, 2008
If you don't have anything nice to say...
...you can shove whatever you do have to say up your butt and cork it!
Don’t share your horror stories with a first time pregnant you guys. Honestly. I don’t understand why it the first instinct of just about everyone I meet to tell me about their 48 hour torture labors, the horrible beyond belief back pain they suffered, their ass hat doctor who ended up actually being a janitor, or about how their friend's cousin’s roommate accidentally birthed her own lung. I don’t see how anyone could think this would be appropriate information to share with a pregnant woman.
I realize that childbirth is not a walk in the park for mom OR baby, you know? I mean a baby is making its way out of a vagina. I’m not expecting it to be like cracking open a peanut, or buttering fucking toast. Regardless of how unpleasant one’s experience may have been though, it is never a good idea to talk about it with someone who is preparing to bring their child into an already cold and cruel world. Duh.
I’d recommend not inquiring about a person’s birth plan-- i.e. “I hope you'll be using a whole lotta drugs!!!” This is none of your business. If the pregnant volunteers information about how she intends to give birth, act like whatever she says is the best idea you’ve heard in your entire life, even if she wants to do it on a mountain top with only Sherpas to help. Remember you are dealing with a pregnant person. Just agree. The pregnant is always right. Trust me. You don’t want to get smacked.
Fran and I have been taking a hypno-birthing class which is proving to be amazingly helpful and calming so far. The idea is to manage your own pain for as long as you can by using meditation and hypnosis along with special exercises and movements that help the baby find its way out and keep you comfy. We’re about half way done with the class and I have to say it’s been useful. Fran is going to be a fantastic birthing coach and I’m going to be an amazing baby pusher-outer. Even if we forget everything we’ve learned by the time test day comes, we’ll at least have had the experience… Hippie hypno-birthing class= Good times.
The horror stories I’ve heard so far have not terrified me, they’ve irritated me. I don’t know what to expect, but I do know that babies have been coming out of vaginas for a looooong time. It’s normal. It’s not a sickness. The way people talk about it you’d think there would be a huge market for sterilization. But there isn’t because birth is doable. It’s doable and I’m not scared. In considering all of the crazy and miraculous things my body has done already, A.K.A. growing an infant, I’ve become positive that I can birth one.
Don’t share your horror stories with a first time pregnant you guys. Honestly. I don’t understand why it the first instinct of just about everyone I meet to tell me about their 48 hour torture labors, the horrible beyond belief back pain they suffered, their ass hat doctor who ended up actually being a janitor, or about how their friend's cousin’s roommate accidentally birthed her own lung. I don’t see how anyone could think this would be appropriate information to share with a pregnant woman.
I realize that childbirth is not a walk in the park for mom OR baby, you know? I mean a baby is making its way out of a vagina. I’m not expecting it to be like cracking open a peanut, or buttering fucking toast. Regardless of how unpleasant one’s experience may have been though, it is never a good idea to talk about it with someone who is preparing to bring their child into an already cold and cruel world. Duh.
I’d recommend not inquiring about a person’s birth plan-- i.e. “I hope you'll be using a whole lotta drugs!!!” This is none of your business. If the pregnant volunteers information about how she intends to give birth, act like whatever she says is the best idea you’ve heard in your entire life, even if she wants to do it on a mountain top with only Sherpas to help. Remember you are dealing with a pregnant person. Just agree. The pregnant is always right. Trust me. You don’t want to get smacked.
Fran and I have been taking a hypno-birthing class which is proving to be amazingly helpful and calming so far. The idea is to manage your own pain for as long as you can by using meditation and hypnosis along with special exercises and movements that help the baby find its way out and keep you comfy. We’re about half way done with the class and I have to say it’s been useful. Fran is going to be a fantastic birthing coach and I’m going to be an amazing baby pusher-outer. Even if we forget everything we’ve learned by the time test day comes, we’ll at least have had the experience… Hippie hypno-birthing class= Good times.
The horror stories I’ve heard so far have not terrified me, they’ve irritated me. I don’t know what to expect, but I do know that babies have been coming out of vaginas for a looooong time. It’s normal. It’s not a sickness. The way people talk about it you’d think there would be a huge market for sterilization. But there isn’t because birth is doable. It’s doable and I’m not scared. In considering all of the crazy and miraculous things my body has done already, A.K.A. growing an infant, I’ve become positive that I can birth one.
Monday, December 1, 2008
IZZE Soda, you're my only friend.Every once in a while I find a product that I believe in so whole-heartedly that I do free advertising for it. In this case, it's IZZE soda you guys. I was craving the pomegranate version of this little bev the other day (one of those nasty pregger cravings actually) and Fran bought me some. I'm savoring a bottle right this instant and because it is so delicious I thought I'd tell you all to try it. It contains 70% fruit juice and 30% carbonated water----no colors, no phony flavors, AND it actually has a sell-by date (this is a good thing). It's a tad spendy in the way of sodas, but if you feel like a soda this one is worth the extra cash. It's still cheaper than bottled coke from vending machines at $3.80 for 4 bottles. They also have a low calorie version which also only contains fruit and water. They just use fruit varieties with less sugar for the low cal version. It's rare to find a product that doesn't make you feel totally ripped-off so I like to share when I can. Oh and guess what the best part of IZZE soda is??? NO YOGURT!!!. They don't have a yogurt version. The minute the IZZE people start making yogurt versions of their drinks they'll lose a customer. Until then, I'm in love.
Saturday, November 29, 2008
UPDATES:
(PICTURE TIME!!)
CORNEAS:
(My corneas have been retaining water (see last post) but it's only temporary.)
Our new kitchen table! For the first half of my pregnancy we ate dinner crammed next to each other on a recliner...good memories. Now, since I can manage to take up an entire couch and not feel I have enough space, I'm glad to have a table.
ME!
Firstly, this is the advent calendar that I devoured in its entirety one lazy November morn.
Me being a posey little pregger... like I do...
Me being fierce! If America's Next Top Model ever starts a pregger edition, this will be my tryout picture.
NINO!
Other than the hand-me-down books from my childhood, this is Nino's first book. "Forever Young" by Bob Dylan pictured with our still unframed, unhung poster of Bob himself. It's one of the better books I've ever read.
The main message of the book and one of the most important lessons our little one will ever learn.
Nino's first fridge art.
Nino's college fund. Actually Fran's whiskey bottle dime collection. He marvels at how perfectly the dimes fit into the spout of this whiskey bottle. What a total weirdo. :)
Nino's bum cream (it's creamy ya'll!)
Nino's little teeny sock next to his dad's giant man sock. (Displayed here on the Boppy!)
"What to Expect" being the book on this bedside table, is not the only indicator that a pregnant lives here. Note the Kleenex (hormones), the tube of belly rub (stretch mark prevention) and the box of pregnancy yoga cards (which I'll never ever use).
Closet full of more Nino stuff and camp gear.
We purchased this Cadillac of humidifiers for when Nino comes to town and gets real boogery. I drew a little face on him like I do.
Angry humidifier hates getting his picture taken. Oh and those are my prenatal supplements on the right there.
Nino's bed and travel system. You might have the impression that we're totally lax and lazy for not having set up Nino's bed and travel system yet. Well we are. Get over it.
Nino's bath and grooming supplies. He gets a whole bathroom cabinet to himself because he has way cuter stuff than Fran and I.
(PICTURE TIME!!)
CORNEAS:
(My corneas have been retaining water (see last post) but it's only temporary.)
Please note the completely normal size of my ankle. Now I've always been under the impression that pregnants get swollen ankles when they retain water, NOT bloated corneas, but whatev. Since I left some folks concerned with my last blog post, I thought I'd let you all know that no, I won't have permanent vision problems. My corneas will go back to their normal fluid capacity once Nino is born. In the meantime, I'll be half -blind and unable to drive at night. It won't be worth getting glasses since I only have a few weeks to go.
HOME IS WHERE THE FART IS....ERR WHERE THE HEART IS:
(Just to give you a glimpse into our little world...)
You probably think that I stacked all of this crap on this dresser for the sake of the picture don't you? Well actually this is Franny's heap o' stuff. We haven't quite moved in completely since Fran's still been making renovations on the place. He also likes to have a little section of space that drives me crazy everyday so this mound has not yet dissipated. Note the 7 pairs of protective glasses as well as the many hats stacked up adjacent to them including a Fedora that belonged to Fran's pops (pictured in tiny photog on right.) The larger photograph of the hot pin-upy looking chick? That's Fran's mom, who thinks that "making love" can cure any ale pregnancy-related or otherwise. Seriously. Fran will tell her I'm nauseous and gassy and she'll say "you need to make love." Kay. And yep, you're right, that is a cooler propping up a Wham! record, for which I have no explanation.
Like I said, still not quite organized. I'm thinking this will be one of those mounds that won't go away until we move and then it will become a mound in the new place for years to come. It's a comforting mound.
Here is our super messy living room. I wasn't interested in cleaning it up before photographing. I figured that since I've talked about my vag so much in this blog, that I really didn't need to hide the fact that I'm a total slob. That is our new Love Sac Sactional couch. We're still waiting for the custom cover which should arrive in 7-10 business years.
When I found out I was pregnant I bought some plants to ensure that I could actually keep another living thing alive. Only one died! The rest are pictured here.
Our new kitchen table! For the first half of my pregnancy we ate dinner crammed next to each other on a recliner...good memories. Now, since I can manage to take up an entire couch and not feel I have enough space, I'm glad to have a table.ME!
(After popular demand....pictures of me in my pregger suit with 5 weeks left to go!)
Firstly, this is the advent calendar that I devoured in its entirety one lazy November morn. 
Me being a posey little pregger... like I do...
Me being fierce! If America's Next Top Model ever starts a pregger edition, this will be my tryout picture. NINO!
(Thanks to all of the lovely ladies who attended my very fabulous baby shower in October, we've actually gotten everything we need for Nino's arrival (so far as we know) other than bottles!)(Somehow baby bottles have been the most perplexing purchase I've ever made in my entire life.)
Other than the hand-me-down books from my childhood, this is Nino's first book. "Forever Young" by Bob Dylan pictured with our still unframed, unhung poster of Bob himself. It's one of the better books I've ever read. 
The main message of the book and one of the most important lessons our little one will ever learn.
Nino's first fridge art.
Nino's college fund. Actually Fran's whiskey bottle dime collection. He marvels at how perfectly the dimes fit into the spout of this whiskey bottle. What a total weirdo. :) 
Nino's bum cream (it's creamy ya'll!)
Nino's little teeny sock next to his dad's giant man sock. (Displayed here on the Boppy!)
"What to Expect" being the book on this bedside table, is not the only indicator that a pregnant lives here. Note the Kleenex (hormones), the tube of belly rub (stretch mark prevention) and the box of pregnancy yoga cards (which I'll never ever use). 
Closet full of more Nino stuff and camp gear. 
We purchased this Cadillac of humidifiers for when Nino comes to town and gets real boogery. I drew a little face on him like I do. 
Angry humidifier hates getting his picture taken. Oh and those are my prenatal supplements on the right there. 
Nino's bed and travel system. You might have the impression that we're totally lax and lazy for not having set up Nino's bed and travel system yet. Well we are. Get over it. 
Nino's bath and grooming supplies. He gets a whole bathroom cabinet to himself because he has way cuter stuff than Fran and I. 
Nino land. We won't be moving into a bigger place until after Nino is born, so this is pretty much the nursery sans bed (lazy member?). You are looking at about 27 blankets, 3 of which were handmade by grandma's and aunties, a Boppy, toys, onesies, teeny socks, hats and other supplies.
So that is that.Monday, November 24, 2008
WTF
Retaining water where??
It all started with some blurry vision I noticed Halloween night whilst walking with Fran. I saw a toddler dressed all in green walking with his dad. While my vision at the time was fuzzy, I commented that he sure was a cute little dragon. Fran corrected me by telling me, as I tripped on a curb, that I was actually looking at a stroller with a green blanket draped over it. Well at least I got the green part right.
Trouble.
We went to a party last weekend in Tooele. I had to drive us home because I'm the eternal sober driver and Fran had had about 4 hours of sleep total in the past 6 days so he was passed the hell out. I've never even been to Tooele, let alone driven from there at night. The drive was scary as hell! I couldn't see the signs! Headlights and traffic lights were misty psychedelic blobs. I didn't know where the fuck we were. We made it home though. Barely. Thank goodness.
Trouble.
Some of you guys who already use glasses might be thinking "uhhh big deal whiney. Get over it." But I've never had such a problem seeing! I blink and blink to try to focus and I just can't get anything clear. I told my doctor about it thinking I might have high blood pressure or maybe that I was blind with love for my unborn child (sorry). Turns out I'm retaining fucking water in my corneas. This is fairly common in women who wear glasses, and a little more rare in people who don't. Well shit. Could be worse. The sucker could be falling out as in the case of the protracted cornea which sucks way worse.
Retaining water where??
It all started with some blurry vision I noticed Halloween night whilst walking with Fran. I saw a toddler dressed all in green walking with his dad. While my vision at the time was fuzzy, I commented that he sure was a cute little dragon. Fran corrected me by telling me, as I tripped on a curb, that I was actually looking at a stroller with a green blanket draped over it. Well at least I got the green part right.
Trouble.
We went to a party last weekend in Tooele. I had to drive us home because I'm the eternal sober driver and Fran had had about 4 hours of sleep total in the past 6 days so he was passed the hell out. I've never even been to Tooele, let alone driven from there at night. The drive was scary as hell! I couldn't see the signs! Headlights and traffic lights were misty psychedelic blobs. I didn't know where the fuck we were. We made it home though. Barely. Thank goodness.
Trouble.
Some of you guys who already use glasses might be thinking "uhhh big deal whiney. Get over it." But I've never had such a problem seeing! I blink and blink to try to focus and I just can't get anything clear. I told my doctor about it thinking I might have high blood pressure or maybe that I was blind with love for my unborn child (sorry). Turns out I'm retaining fucking water in my corneas. This is fairly common in women who wear glasses, and a little more rare in people who don't. Well shit. Could be worse. The sucker could be falling out as in the case of the protracted cornea which sucks way worse.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Monday, November 17, 2008
Manners
I was just eating lunch in the break area at work. I was reading a pamphlet on caring for umbilical stumps (my reading these days is pretty riveting) enjoying some mashed potatoes like I do, when this guy I don't even know comes walking in, looks at my potatoes with this disgusted face and says “What is that?” I know he was talking about my food and not the umbilical stump literature because he couldn't even see what I was reading. His face looked like I was eating a bowl of umbilical stumps though.
Okay if you know me well, you know this shit drives me crazy. You don’t criticize someone’s food while they are eating it. This is a lesson you learn in first fucking grade. It’s so rude. Clearly the person is eating something they like so shut up. Not everyone has to eat PB and J on Wonder bread with the crust cut off. Sheesh!
I looked at the guy like he was the dumbest dumb bastard I’d ever seen in my life and said “it’s potatoes”. The tone in my voice said "what does it look like, putz?"
He said “ha ha. oh." and walked away.
Although I was about as sassy as the situation called for, I still wish I would have said more. Like I wish I would have said “Oh dude. There is something kind of gross on your head. It looks like it came out of a butt. Maybe your mom’s butt. Actually it looks like it came out of your mom's butt and then was eaten and puked out again and then shit on. I’m not sure what it is, man. It’s sick though. You should go to the bathroom and wash it off.” Then while the guy is all frantically trying to figure out what the hell is growing on him, I’ll say “oh my bad. It’s just your face. Weird.”
Don't you hate looking back on a situation and wishing you'd had the balls to say what was on your mind, especially when you were dealing with a total jerk off? Well I've decided that while I'm pregnant I'm going to get into the habit of verbalizing any snarky retort that comes to mind. I figure if there is any time I'll be able to get away with being total bitch it's while I'm pregnant right?
I was just eating lunch in the break area at work. I was reading a pamphlet on caring for umbilical stumps (my reading these days is pretty riveting) enjoying some mashed potatoes like I do, when this guy I don't even know comes walking in, looks at my potatoes with this disgusted face and says “What is that?” I know he was talking about my food and not the umbilical stump literature because he couldn't even see what I was reading. His face looked like I was eating a bowl of umbilical stumps though.
Okay if you know me well, you know this shit drives me crazy. You don’t criticize someone’s food while they are eating it. This is a lesson you learn in first fucking grade. It’s so rude. Clearly the person is eating something they like so shut up. Not everyone has to eat PB and J on Wonder bread with the crust cut off. Sheesh!
I looked at the guy like he was the dumbest dumb bastard I’d ever seen in my life and said “it’s potatoes”. The tone in my voice said "what does it look like, putz?"
He said “ha ha. oh." and walked away.
Although I was about as sassy as the situation called for, I still wish I would have said more. Like I wish I would have said “Oh dude. There is something kind of gross on your head. It looks like it came out of a butt. Maybe your mom’s butt. Actually it looks like it came out of your mom's butt and then was eaten and puked out again and then shit on. I’m not sure what it is, man. It’s sick though. You should go to the bathroom and wash it off.” Then while the guy is all frantically trying to figure out what the hell is growing on him, I’ll say “oh my bad. It’s just your face. Weird.”
Don't you hate looking back on a situation and wishing you'd had the balls to say what was on your mind, especially when you were dealing with a total jerk off? Well I've decided that while I'm pregnant I'm going to get into the habit of verbalizing any snarky retort that comes to mind. I figure if there is any time I'll be able to get away with being total bitch it's while I'm pregnant right?
Monday, November 10, 2008
Ode to Baby DaddyI always have trouble sleeping in the wee hours of the morning. This is due to several factors A) I fall asleep extremely early in the evenings B) The 2 sleep positions that are semi-comfy and safe for Nino are really hard on my hips past 6 hours and C) my 4 AM pee is like coffee. Not that I drink the pee or that the pee has a columbian aroma or anything. It just wakes me up like Folgers. “The best part of wakin’ up is peeing at 4 o’clock.”
Sunday morning was particularly difficult because I still hadn’t eaten Krispie Kreme doughnuts (see previous blog). I had thought about them all night long which was kind of refreshing since I’m usually thinking about awful things like Azaria Chamberlain and that damn dingo. Or car accidents and cancer. Saturday night and Sunday morning my thoughts were more like this…"I gotta pee and then get myself some Krispies. I gotta drink some water and then get me some Krispies. I wonder if you took 17 Krispie Kreme glazed doughnuts and smashed them into a giant ball if you could fit them in your mouth all at once. I’m doing it, once I get me some Krispies.”
Since it was still so early in the AM I thought maybe I’d risen before even Krispie Kremes could be delivered to my local Maverick. Franny had been working all night and would be coming home any time. I thought I’d text my old man and see if he could just pick some up on his way home from work. I was completely delirious from needing glazed doughnuts so badly that I only managed to text “Krispie Kreme”. I couldn’t even communicate with him in a full sentence. “Oh well” I thought. “He’ll know what I’m talking about.” Unfortunately, he got home moments later at 5 AM and didn’t have any doughnuts.
I kissed him hello and then sheepishly asked him if he’d received my text. He said he hadn’t and then checked his phone “Krispie Kremes?” he said. “You need a Krispie Kreme?” “I need several” I replied. He said he’d go and get some for me. I looked up at his tired face. He’d worked 12 hours straight all night long in the cold. He looked ready to sleep. BUT he did already have his shoes on so…. I proceeded to tell him that I only wanted glazed doughnuts if they were Krispie Kreme doughnuts and if they didn’t have Krispie Kreme’s then I wanted nothing. NOTHING ELSE WILL DO!
He came back 15 minutes later holding a bottle of eggnog and no doughnuts. I tried to remain calm as he told me that the clerk at Maverick had informed him that Krispie Kreme had gone out of business and that he didn’t get me any doughnuts. I seriously almost cried you guys. My head started to spin. I was thinking “out of business??? Now what am I going to do?” Then he offered me the eggnog to which I snarkily said “You know that has raw chicken in it. Just let me read. I need to be alone.” He stood there looking at his nutcase baby mama for a second and then casually pulled a plastic sack filled with three of the most beautiful glistening glazed Krispie Kreme doughnuts I’d ever seen in my entire life from his hoodie pouch. Sheesh!
(He always does that to me. He always tricks me into being disappointed so that I act like a total bitch and then he surprises me with something amazing. I don’t know why I always fall for it. For instance on the day my wedding ring was ready to pick up from Shane Company, I got home from work all excited to go and get it. He asks me “what do you want to do tonight.” “Get my ring” I answered. “Nah” he said. “I just want to get my drink on and start the weekend. Let’s get it on Monday.” I shot daggers at him from my eyes that were meant to pierce his soul. He kept going on and on about he just needed to chill out and that the ring could wait. And then when he could see I was going to lose my mind he grabbed a little gray box from the kitchen cupboard and handed it to me. He’d gone all on his own to get it. Sheesh. I'm such a freak.)
On this particular occasion I had no time to feel badly about my reaction however. Instead I just inhaled the doughnuts, licked my fingers and then fell asleep like a baby on the couch.
Saturday, November 8, 2008
Here are some things that people ask you when you're pregnant:
How have you been feeling?
Have you been peeing a lot?
Do you know what you are having?
When was your last menstrual period? (Don't ask this one! Trust me, the pregnant will bite off
your face if you do. You get enough of this at the doc.)
Have you been sick?
Are you excited?
AND
Have you had any weird cravings?
In answering that last one regarding cravings, I've always replied that no, in fact, I do not have cravings. The first 5 months of my pregnancy were a bit tumultuous because of the incessant nausea. During that time, I'd have cravings but basically out of a process of elimination. I had to narrow my food options down based on what I thought I'd be able to keep down. The options included Ramen, peaches, and bean burritos so it wasn't too hard to narrow. Now I've entered the third trimester and I have to say that I am changing my tune. I am definitely having cravings, you guys.
I've just discovered the pregnancy craving in the last week or so. It's like having a psychotic episode. Once I get something in my head I HAVE to have it and IT has to be exactly what I want or I won't be able to move on with my life. Right now I cannot stop thinking about shiny glistening Krispie Kreme glazed doughnuts with a side of coleslaw and fruit loops. I'm not kidding. I picture it every time I close my eyes. I gotta have it. I would seriously give someone 50$ for a doughnut, some coleslaw and some Fruit Loops right now.
I Christmas shopped for 5 hours today so I can't bare to leave my house again. Plus, I'm sitting here blogging in my fat pants. If I go out in my fat pants, my self-esteem will suffer. (This is how fragile I am.) Fran is working right now but you better believe that if he was here I'd be sending him to the store. I wouldn't feel bad about it either. As far as husbands of pregnants go, Fran has gotten off really easily. He hasn't even met Bitchy McBitcherson, my most colorful alter ego. He has only encountered me in my "I'm huge and lame and everyone hates me. Tell me I'm pretty" mood just a few times. And I think the fact that I've waited until the last 2 months of pregnancy to crave random crap speaks volumes about just how easy he has it. I am a little concerned about this craving stuff though because I've already gained 35 of the 40 pounds my doctor requested I gain throughout the entirety of my pregnancy. This could get ugly.
How have you been feeling?
Have you been peeing a lot?
Do you know what you are having?
When was your last menstrual period? (Don't ask this one! Trust me, the pregnant will bite off
your face if you do. You get enough of this at the doc.)
Have you been sick?
Are you excited?
AND
Have you had any weird cravings?
In answering that last one regarding cravings, I've always replied that no, in fact, I do not have cravings. The first 5 months of my pregnancy were a bit tumultuous because of the incessant nausea. During that time, I'd have cravings but basically out of a process of elimination. I had to narrow my food options down based on what I thought I'd be able to keep down. The options included Ramen, peaches, and bean burritos so it wasn't too hard to narrow. Now I've entered the third trimester and I have to say that I am changing my tune. I am definitely having cravings, you guys.
I've just discovered the pregnancy craving in the last week or so. It's like having a psychotic episode. Once I get something in my head I HAVE to have it and IT has to be exactly what I want or I won't be able to move on with my life. Right now I cannot stop thinking about shiny glistening Krispie Kreme glazed doughnuts with a side of coleslaw and fruit loops. I'm not kidding. I picture it every time I close my eyes. I gotta have it. I would seriously give someone 50$ for a doughnut, some coleslaw and some Fruit Loops right now.
I Christmas shopped for 5 hours today so I can't bare to leave my house again. Plus, I'm sitting here blogging in my fat pants. If I go out in my fat pants, my self-esteem will suffer. (This is how fragile I am.) Fran is working right now but you better believe that if he was here I'd be sending him to the store. I wouldn't feel bad about it either. As far as husbands of pregnants go, Fran has gotten off really easily. He hasn't even met Bitchy McBitcherson, my most colorful alter ego. He has only encountered me in my "I'm huge and lame and everyone hates me. Tell me I'm pretty" mood just a few times. And I think the fact that I've waited until the last 2 months of pregnancy to crave random crap speaks volumes about just how easy he has it. I am a little concerned about this craving stuff though because I've already gained 35 of the 40 pounds my doctor requested I gain throughout the entirety of my pregnancy. This could get ugly.
Friday, October 31, 2008
Tis the season for creepiness!
It puts the lotion on its skin or else it gets the hose again...
(I wrote this post on Halloween but accidentally saved instead of posting. Oops! what a nimrod. I thought I'd post it now. Jess Haskell told me that I should get into the habit of posting every Tuesday. I'm flattered that Haskell wants me to post stuff so I'm going to start being more regular about it. I'd like her to also be more regular about posting on her blog as well. But you know, you can shit in one hand and pee in the other, or wait, what is it again? Shit in one hand and then what the hell can you do in the other one? Anywho, I thought I wouldn't waste the time I spent saving the photos below and go ahead and post this Halloween malarkey. Better late than never.)
I forgot it was Halloween until I was on my way to work and I saw a clown walking down the street. A clown, you guys! I initially thought to myself "Damn! Those goth kids are really taking it too far now! I hereby declare that all clown paraphernalia is to be seized and citations issued to any albino freak who mentions the word." Thank goodness I realized it was Halloween and that the clown suit was not some new dorkismajorkis emo trend in time to not run over the poor bastard. It could have been anyone taking advantage of the holiday. Looking back though, I still should have probably dowsed numbnard the clown in red paint or urine in manner of PETA just to limit the amount of clown ensemblage in our city. Don’t think I don’t carry paint and urine around in my car either. I totally do.
The only person I know who hates clowns more than I do is my friend Ahren Lee Castledine. They seriously make her poo a little. I think if she had a choice between ridding the world of al qadea or clowns she'd pick clowns. She is also afraid of eyeballs and scabs. Anyway, clearly she is a total weirdo, and in the spirit of the season and of making your friends poo, here's some stuff that scares.....
Scabs! Apart from them being diseasey, I personally really like scabs. I like to pick them and examine them in detail before flicking them off into the carpet.
Clowns! Clowns are so fucked you guys!
Tropical disease- Who isn't afraid of tropical disease....spooky!
This guy. Who the hell is this guy?! All I know is he's scary as hell.
Bad seeds.
Botulism. Botulism is scary as hell you guys. Any food borne neurotoxin that can paralyze a grown person within minutes of being ingested deserves some respect.
(I wrote this post on Halloween but accidentally saved instead of posting. Oops! what a nimrod. I thought I'd post it now. Jess Haskell told me that I should get into the habit of posting every Tuesday. I'm flattered that Haskell wants me to post stuff so I'm going to start being more regular about it. I'd like her to also be more regular about posting on her blog as well. But you know, you can shit in one hand and pee in the other, or wait, what is it again? Shit in one hand and then what the hell can you do in the other one? Anywho, I thought I wouldn't waste the time I spent saving the photos below and go ahead and post this Halloween malarkey. Better late than never.)
I forgot it was Halloween until I was on my way to work and I saw a clown walking down the street. A clown, you guys! I initially thought to myself "Damn! Those goth kids are really taking it too far now! I hereby declare that all clown paraphernalia is to be seized and citations issued to any albino freak who mentions the word." Thank goodness I realized it was Halloween and that the clown suit was not some new dorkismajorkis emo trend in time to not run over the poor bastard. It could have been anyone taking advantage of the holiday. Looking back though, I still should have probably dowsed numbnard the clown in red paint or urine in manner of PETA just to limit the amount of clown ensemblage in our city. Don’t think I don’t carry paint and urine around in my car either. I totally do.
The only person I know who hates clowns more than I do is my friend Ahren Lee Castledine. They seriously make her poo a little. I think if she had a choice between ridding the world of al qadea or clowns she'd pick clowns. She is also afraid of eyeballs and scabs. Anyway, clearly she is a total weirdo, and in the spirit of the season and of making your friends poo, here's some stuff that scares.....
Scabs! Apart from them being diseasey, I personally really like scabs. I like to pick them and examine them in detail before flicking them off into the carpet.
Clowns! Clowns are so fucked you guys! 
Tropical disease- Who isn't afraid of tropical disease....spooky!
This guy. Who the hell is this guy?! All I know is he's scary as hell.
Bad seeds.
Botulism. Botulism is scary as hell you guys. Any food borne neurotoxin that can paralyze a grown person within minutes of being ingested deserves some respect.Friday, October 17, 2008
Bambina
I’ve officially entered the 3rd trimester ya’ll! Pregnancy is treating me pretty well. I feel really good. I’m loving life. I mean, I have to admit that I’m a bit more emotional than I’ve ever been. I take things really personally. Like when a traffic light changes to red, I think “Really? Pick on the pregnant chick, eh!” Or if the mallow cereal box is empty I think "Seriously??? But I just wanted some mallow!" and I cry a little.
Other than that, I love being pregnant. Also, I'm pretty sure this kid is a girl you guys. I think Nino is a girl. I’m not kidding. I know I was really positive at first that it was a boy, but I can’t shake the feeling that I’m carrying an extra vagina around. When I talk to her I feel like I’m talking to my daughter. Who knows! I'll probably change my mind 7 more times before the birth. As fun as the whole not knowing the gender thing has been, I can’t wait to meet him/her and get it settled. Bambina and I have had some good times in the last few weeks. Life is good.
Here are some pictures of baby animals because why would you not want to see some baby animals?
(Sorry about the captions you guys. I just can't look at anything without thinking momish things about it.)
Mom seal- Don't touch it whatever it is. It's for the potty and full of germs and we left the hand sanitizer in the Suburban.
Mom otter- It's about time you learned to swim, Nino. You're 37 years old.
Mom monkey- Are you ready to go to career day at school? I can't wait to talk to your class my job at the post office.
Mom lion- Sniff sniff....Somebody's poopy. Somebody is poopy woopy. Who's poopy? Are you my poopy woopy?
Baby alligator: I had an accident.
I’ve officially entered the 3rd trimester ya’ll! Pregnancy is treating me pretty well. I feel really good. I’m loving life. I mean, I have to admit that I’m a bit more emotional than I’ve ever been. I take things really personally. Like when a traffic light changes to red, I think “Really? Pick on the pregnant chick, eh!” Or if the mallow cereal box is empty I think "Seriously??? But I just wanted some mallow!" and I cry a little.
Other than that, I love being pregnant. Also, I'm pretty sure this kid is a girl you guys. I think Nino is a girl. I’m not kidding. I know I was really positive at first that it was a boy, but I can’t shake the feeling that I’m carrying an extra vagina around. When I talk to her I feel like I’m talking to my daughter. Who knows! I'll probably change my mind 7 more times before the birth. As fun as the whole not knowing the gender thing has been, I can’t wait to meet him/her and get it settled. Bambina and I have had some good times in the last few weeks. Life is good.
Here are some pictures of baby animals because why would you not want to see some baby animals?
(Sorry about the captions you guys. I just can't look at anything without thinking momish things about it.)
Mom polar: I asked you if you wanted me to bring the stroller and you said "No ! big boys don't need strollers." Well guess what! Big boys don't get carried across the arctic tundra by their moms.
Mom seal- Don't touch it whatever it is. It's for the potty and full of germs and we left the hand sanitizer in the Suburban.
Mom otter- It's about time you learned to swim, Nino. You're 37 years old.
Mom monkey- Are you ready to go to career day at school? I can't wait to talk to your class my job at the post office.Baby monkey- Yah I guess, but could you maybe cover up your giant nipple before we go? It's just getting a little embarrassing.
Mom lion- Sniff sniff....Somebody's poopy. Somebody is poopy woopy. Who's poopy? Are you my poopy woopy?
Baby alligator: I had an accident.Mom alligator: Oh for the love of God Bambina, why didn't you go before we left our underwater dwelling?
Monday, October 13, 2008
Some people dream of success. Some dream of naked hotties. I dream of my dickface fourth grade teacher...
I woke up in the middle of the night again after having a dream in which I, along with a very old pal who I’ve lost touch with, found ourselves in a city that would probably be the lovechild of San Francisco and the Salt Lake Avenues if there was such a thing. (I think it was important for the purpose of my dream that the houses were on hills). We were traveling (pretty much floating) downhill between houses through side yards and allies and over porches. It was just as a summer walk at dusk would be except for the floating part. Along the way, we passed people who were also out for summer strolls. I knew each of the people we passed from high school, middle school, or elementary. It was awkward, as you would imagine and extra weird because each individual was completely obscure and forgettable, but somehow significant. I wasn’t friends with any of them; they were just acquaintances whose memories I had tucked away into the deepest burrows of my unconscious. (I woke up from this dream thinking “WTF? Really? That guy?”)
(I’m going to use real names in hopes that no one actually reads this blog.)
There was Angela James. She was this girl who was a few notches lower on the dorkometer than I was so I liked her. My memory of her is from 1st or 2nd I think. She was the only kid in school brave enough to actually blow her nose instead of wipe it on her sleeve. She’d just honk away at the back of the classroom while everyone would laugh because she sounded so damn ridiculous. I was secretly jealous because I longed to rid my nose of snot so badly I could have farmer-blew it into the next county. She would also always chew on the eraser end of pencils. We’d all ask her why and she’d reply that she had a medical condition that required it in order to strengthen her gums. She was pretty different and I bet if I googled her now, I’d find that she is a performance artist who most definitely incorporates monotonous recitation into her act along with other props like lube and compost. Picture a naked woman wrapped in plastic wrap at the center of the stage with a spot light on her unruly bush. She looks out blankly at the 5 person audience and shouts “vagina!” That’s Angela. In my dream, she pushed a wheelbarrow and waved.
Then there was Jordan Spencer. He was this kid that looked just like Paul Rubens and was a perfect oval from the tip of his head down to his shoes. I remember him from 5th, but I think we went to the same high school too. I liked him, but I think I might have been mean to him a couple of times. I remember him saying with a scarlet face, “Lindsey, that’s really rude.” I probably told him he was an oval Pee-wee Herman. I don’t think we were friends, and I’d be pretty shocked if he remembers me. Still, he dropped by to say hi in my dream and I’m glad. He was alright.
A slightly awkward appearance in my dream was this kid Brock. His name should give you an indication of just how lame he was. I had a crush on him in 6th. He had a shiny blond bowl-cut that I would stare at when he played soccer at recess. He knew I liked him and it made him uncomfortable. My 6th grade teacher also knew I liked him which made me EXTREMELY uncomfortable. During Secret Santa she arranged for him to pick my name. I know she did it on purpose because shit like that just didn’t happen to me naturally. It was truly gay. I would tell him thank you for the presents I'd find on my desk after lunch (and try to be as flirtatious and coy as a 6th grader in hiking boots and braces possibly could be.) I’d walk by his desk smiling and say in my brace face voice “Gshee thankth for the Kaboodlsh bax, Brack. It’sch real nicshe.” He’d say “my mom got it.” My teacher, Mrs. Dobson meanwhile was kicking herself for being such a meddlesome bitch. In my dream, Brock was being pushed around on a stretcher, his golden bowl cut thrashing around as I’d always remembered it.
Misty Jorgenson was hanging out on my grandma's porch in this dream. She was this girl who sat at my table in Language Arts in 6th. Misty had white hair and looked just like a Charmkin. I liked her because she had so much random shit in her desk all the time. She always had fantastic school supplies, some of which were probably stolen. She always had a collection of paperback book covers, and tons of yarn. We had many a conversation where it was exceedingly clear to me that she was lying through her teeth about pretty much everything under the sun. She came in to class one day telling me that she'd just moved back to Salt Lake from Kenya where she'd lived with her stepfather and 17 servants. I suppose this tale was somewhat feasible, but when she said that she'd actually flown helicopters over the Kalahari and saved thousands (yes thousands) of elephants from poachers, I knew I was dealing with a crazy person.
Here is a typical conversation with Misty:
Misty: I have to leave early today because my mom is taking me to Lagoon.
Me: It's winter.
Misty: They're opening it just for me and my mom because my stepfather is paying them 3 million dollars (remember this is 6th grade).
Me: That's pretty cool Misty.
Misty: Yah. We're probably going to move there this summer.
Me: Really? Are you sure you're not just a compulsive liar?
Misty: When I sneeze, I sneeze glitter instead of spit.
There were several others I encountered, but before I bore everyone to tears going through every single one, I have to write about Mr. Strebble. Mr. Strebble's name should have been Mr. Geeky McGeekerson Fucktard McGee Assbreath. He wasn't even in my dream. I just hate him and want to write about it. He was the worst teacher ever in the history of the universe. I'm not sure if he made an actual appearance in my dream, but I woke up from it thinking about how badly I hate him. Mr. Strebble taught 4th grade math. He was resentful of his students and everyone else on the planet since he felt no one understood his true genius. I could tell, even in 4th grade, that this guy was a real pile. He hated us all probably because NASA rejected him and he was stuck with a bunch of 4th graders. He spent a lot of time mocking us as a group at just how idiotic we were for not grasping story problem number two in which Tom, required to tow 16 donkeys across the river, rowed 4 rafts from bank to bank only to leave how many donkeys on shore???
Strebble was a dick in general but mainly to me. There were a couple of units in math that I couldn't grasp. I realize now, it was due to the fact that I'm number retarded. I honestly couldn't translate numbers from the chalkboard to my paper accurately. The chalkboard was like a black hole meant to fuck with my mind. It caused me to see things backwards for some reason. As you can imagine Me + Fractions = Death. I'm still chalkboard and number retarded to this very day. I've actually had a college professor and my 7th grade geometry teacher tell me I’m mildly dyslexic. (I told them their faces were dyslexic). Needless to say the whole thing left me completely frustrated. I'd look around and see all of the other kids obtaining the correct sum, and I'd have some 6 digit number no where near right. It was awful and to make matters worse I kept testing into the "challenging" math class each year along with the "smart kids". I'd sit there among Butler Elementary's math elite and think "god I'm an idiot. Somebody kill me." I would look at the board and then at my paper and wonder what in the hell was wrong with me. Eventually the frustration would take hold and I'd start to cry. All of the other kids and the teachers (mainly Strebble) would notice but ignore me. It was as if my cries for help weren't being heard but the pee-soaked Resource kids got free lunch. Piss yourself and somebody notices. What a joke.
I realize all of this now as an adult, but as a kid I couldn't tell what the problem was. I started to believe I was actually stupid. Mr. Strebble didn't help. I'd tell him "I don't get it." He'd say "What Lindsey? What don't you get?" Right in front of the whole class too. What a cock. I'll tell you what I don't get Strebble.
I don't get why you're so ugly and your teeth look like calcified fart. I don' t get why you adjust your balls so much. I don't get why you're so delusional about your intelligence. You teach 4th grade math in PUBLIC SCHOOL. Time to give up the dream. I don't get why you keep your dandruff on your scalp until you get to my desk. I don't get why you can't figure out why I keep getting behind in your class. I don't get why you're so jaded you can't even fucking TEACH for crying out loud. I hope you get asshole cancer.
Encountering all of these people from my past reminded me of how stressful and difficult childhood actually is. We forget, as adults, just how hard it is to be a kid. I hope when I'm a mom I remember that. I hope that when I get caught up with life's bullshit--- with the bills, work, etc, I can see that my child is also experiencing stress and frustration. Just because Nino won't be paying the bills doesn't mean he won't be fighting battles. I hope that if Nino gets a Strebble, that I can make sure he goes to school equipped with the right tools to deal with it.
Nino: "The Absolute Maximum is the all-time, one-and-only, single, absolute and total maximum value of a function over a specified domain of the function. You should know this. You are the teacher."
Strebble: (makes fart noise)
Nino: "You're a cock sucker."
I woke up in the middle of the night again after having a dream in which I, along with a very old pal who I’ve lost touch with, found ourselves in a city that would probably be the lovechild of San Francisco and the Salt Lake Avenues if there was such a thing. (I think it was important for the purpose of my dream that the houses were on hills). We were traveling (pretty much floating) downhill between houses through side yards and allies and over porches. It was just as a summer walk at dusk would be except for the floating part. Along the way, we passed people who were also out for summer strolls. I knew each of the people we passed from high school, middle school, or elementary. It was awkward, as you would imagine and extra weird because each individual was completely obscure and forgettable, but somehow significant. I wasn’t friends with any of them; they were just acquaintances whose memories I had tucked away into the deepest burrows of my unconscious. (I woke up from this dream thinking “WTF? Really? That guy?”)
(I’m going to use real names in hopes that no one actually reads this blog.)
There was Angela James. She was this girl who was a few notches lower on the dorkometer than I was so I liked her. My memory of her is from 1st or 2nd I think. She was the only kid in school brave enough to actually blow her nose instead of wipe it on her sleeve. She’d just honk away at the back of the classroom while everyone would laugh because she sounded so damn ridiculous. I was secretly jealous because I longed to rid my nose of snot so badly I could have farmer-blew it into the next county. She would also always chew on the eraser end of pencils. We’d all ask her why and she’d reply that she had a medical condition that required it in order to strengthen her gums. She was pretty different and I bet if I googled her now, I’d find that she is a performance artist who most definitely incorporates monotonous recitation into her act along with other props like lube and compost. Picture a naked woman wrapped in plastic wrap at the center of the stage with a spot light on her unruly bush. She looks out blankly at the 5 person audience and shouts “vagina!” That’s Angela. In my dream, she pushed a wheelbarrow and waved.
Then there was Jordan Spencer. He was this kid that looked just like Paul Rubens and was a perfect oval from the tip of his head down to his shoes. I remember him from 5th, but I think we went to the same high school too. I liked him, but I think I might have been mean to him a couple of times. I remember him saying with a scarlet face, “Lindsey, that’s really rude.” I probably told him he was an oval Pee-wee Herman. I don’t think we were friends, and I’d be pretty shocked if he remembers me. Still, he dropped by to say hi in my dream and I’m glad. He was alright.
A slightly awkward appearance in my dream was this kid Brock. His name should give you an indication of just how lame he was. I had a crush on him in 6th. He had a shiny blond bowl-cut that I would stare at when he played soccer at recess. He knew I liked him and it made him uncomfortable. My 6th grade teacher also knew I liked him which made me EXTREMELY uncomfortable. During Secret Santa she arranged for him to pick my name. I know she did it on purpose because shit like that just didn’t happen to me naturally. It was truly gay. I would tell him thank you for the presents I'd find on my desk after lunch (and try to be as flirtatious and coy as a 6th grader in hiking boots and braces possibly could be.) I’d walk by his desk smiling and say in my brace face voice “Gshee thankth for the Kaboodlsh bax, Brack. It’sch real nicshe.” He’d say “my mom got it.” My teacher, Mrs. Dobson meanwhile was kicking herself for being such a meddlesome bitch. In my dream, Brock was being pushed around on a stretcher, his golden bowl cut thrashing around as I’d always remembered it.
Misty Jorgenson was hanging out on my grandma's porch in this dream. She was this girl who sat at my table in Language Arts in 6th. Misty had white hair and looked just like a Charmkin. I liked her because she had so much random shit in her desk all the time. She always had fantastic school supplies, some of which were probably stolen. She always had a collection of paperback book covers, and tons of yarn. We had many a conversation where it was exceedingly clear to me that she was lying through her teeth about pretty much everything under the sun. She came in to class one day telling me that she'd just moved back to Salt Lake from Kenya where she'd lived with her stepfather and 17 servants. I suppose this tale was somewhat feasible, but when she said that she'd actually flown helicopters over the Kalahari and saved thousands (yes thousands) of elephants from poachers, I knew I was dealing with a crazy person.
Here is a typical conversation with Misty:
Misty: I have to leave early today because my mom is taking me to Lagoon.
Me: It's winter.
Misty: They're opening it just for me and my mom because my stepfather is paying them 3 million dollars (remember this is 6th grade).
Me: That's pretty cool Misty.
Misty: Yah. We're probably going to move there this summer.
Me: Really? Are you sure you're not just a compulsive liar?
Misty: When I sneeze, I sneeze glitter instead of spit.
There were several others I encountered, but before I bore everyone to tears going through every single one, I have to write about Mr. Strebble. Mr. Strebble's name should have been Mr. Geeky McGeekerson Fucktard McGee Assbreath. He wasn't even in my dream. I just hate him and want to write about it. He was the worst teacher ever in the history of the universe. I'm not sure if he made an actual appearance in my dream, but I woke up from it thinking about how badly I hate him. Mr. Strebble taught 4th grade math. He was resentful of his students and everyone else on the planet since he felt no one understood his true genius. I could tell, even in 4th grade, that this guy was a real pile. He hated us all probably because NASA rejected him and he was stuck with a bunch of 4th graders. He spent a lot of time mocking us as a group at just how idiotic we were for not grasping story problem number two in which Tom, required to tow 16 donkeys across the river, rowed 4 rafts from bank to bank only to leave how many donkeys on shore???
Strebble was a dick in general but mainly to me. There were a couple of units in math that I couldn't grasp. I realize now, it was due to the fact that I'm number retarded. I honestly couldn't translate numbers from the chalkboard to my paper accurately. The chalkboard was like a black hole meant to fuck with my mind. It caused me to see things backwards for some reason. As you can imagine Me + Fractions = Death. I'm still chalkboard and number retarded to this very day. I've actually had a college professor and my 7th grade geometry teacher tell me I’m mildly dyslexic. (I told them their faces were dyslexic). Needless to say the whole thing left me completely frustrated. I'd look around and see all of the other kids obtaining the correct sum, and I'd have some 6 digit number no where near right. It was awful and to make matters worse I kept testing into the "challenging" math class each year along with the "smart kids". I'd sit there among Butler Elementary's math elite and think "god I'm an idiot. Somebody kill me." I would look at the board and then at my paper and wonder what in the hell was wrong with me. Eventually the frustration would take hold and I'd start to cry. All of the other kids and the teachers (mainly Strebble) would notice but ignore me. It was as if my cries for help weren't being heard but the pee-soaked Resource kids got free lunch. Piss yourself and somebody notices. What a joke.
I realize all of this now as an adult, but as a kid I couldn't tell what the problem was. I started to believe I was actually stupid. Mr. Strebble didn't help. I'd tell him "I don't get it." He'd say "What Lindsey? What don't you get?" Right in front of the whole class too. What a cock. I'll tell you what I don't get Strebble.
I don't get why you're so ugly and your teeth look like calcified fart. I don' t get why you adjust your balls so much. I don't get why you're so delusional about your intelligence. You teach 4th grade math in PUBLIC SCHOOL. Time to give up the dream. I don't get why you keep your dandruff on your scalp until you get to my desk. I don't get why you can't figure out why I keep getting behind in your class. I don't get why you're so jaded you can't even fucking TEACH for crying out loud. I hope you get asshole cancer.
Encountering all of these people from my past reminded me of how stressful and difficult childhood actually is. We forget, as adults, just how hard it is to be a kid. I hope when I'm a mom I remember that. I hope that when I get caught up with life's bullshit--- with the bills, work, etc, I can see that my child is also experiencing stress and frustration. Just because Nino won't be paying the bills doesn't mean he won't be fighting battles. I hope that if Nino gets a Strebble, that I can make sure he goes to school equipped with the right tools to deal with it.
Nino: "The Absolute Maximum is the all-time, one-and-only, single, absolute and total maximum value of a function over a specified domain of the function. You should know this. You are the teacher."
Strebble: (makes fart noise)
Nino: "You're a cock sucker."
Sunday, October 5, 2008
Yogurty smooth.....
I watched an Oxygen marathon of Snapped yesterday. You know, that show where women murder their husbands out of rage and jealousy? It's so good! Every so often an episode will highlight a woman who was wronged by her husband and kills out of retaliation or self-defense, but most of the time she's a frumpy, bitter, hag with nothing better to do. So fascinating. I'm pretty sure Nino is comforted by the sound of the narrator's voice, as am I.
Whilst watching said marathon, I saw about 10000 commercials. 97% of which were advertising products either infused, coated, or dipped in yogurt. Have you noticed? Everything on Earth now has yogurt in it. Every single cereal has a version coated in yogurt. There is yogurt soap, yogurt shampoo, yogurt deusch, yogurt yogurt, etc. Jergen's has a lotion that boasts "yogurty smooth skin". Uuuuhhhh...what in the hell does that even mean? "Yogurty smooth"?? They're putting it in their product catch phrases now? Like we're all going to start using "yogurty" to describe things which should be smooth?
Potential convo one might hear due to this trend:
Dumb dude #1-"Hey did you hear that AJ (perfect name for tan, spiky-haired bar chump, eh?) scored two Asian girls Saturday?"
Dumb dude #2- "what? He's so smooth."
Dumb dude #1- "yah. Yogurty."
We're being duped all the time into buying things, but this is crazy. What kind of marketing research resulted in this yougurt BS? I imagine the proverbial board convening to discuss new strategies. Everyone has their charts, graphs, and laser pointers at the ready. Amidst the hub bub dee boo of the suits you hear "people just really like yogurt. We have to give the people yogurt!!"
Is it because it gives the illusion of health? Umm I saw a box of Yogurt Dots at 7-11. (Yep yogurt has gotten its greedy hands on candy too.) Dots? Dots are fruit flavored tumors. You couldn't make them healthy if you added soy and wheat germ to their delicious cancery centers.
As you may know I've developed a disdain for yogurt in the past months due to the fact that the fruity chunks tend to feel scabby, like bits of gut to my pregnant-person-palette. I avoid it all costs now, but I honestly believe that this rant is due entirely to my distaste of this yogurty smooth nonsense, not yogurt itself.
I watched an Oxygen marathon of Snapped yesterday. You know, that show where women murder their husbands out of rage and jealousy? It's so good! Every so often an episode will highlight a woman who was wronged by her husband and kills out of retaliation or self-defense, but most of the time she's a frumpy, bitter, hag with nothing better to do. So fascinating. I'm pretty sure Nino is comforted by the sound of the narrator's voice, as am I.
Whilst watching said marathon, I saw about 10000 commercials. 97% of which were advertising products either infused, coated, or dipped in yogurt. Have you noticed? Everything on Earth now has yogurt in it. Every single cereal has a version coated in yogurt. There is yogurt soap, yogurt shampoo, yogurt deusch, yogurt yogurt, etc. Jergen's has a lotion that boasts "yogurty smooth skin". Uuuuhhhh...what in the hell does that even mean? "Yogurty smooth"?? They're putting it in their product catch phrases now? Like we're all going to start using "yogurty" to describe things which should be smooth?
Potential convo one might hear due to this trend:
Dumb dude #1-"Hey did you hear that AJ (perfect name for tan, spiky-haired bar chump, eh?) scored two Asian girls Saturday?"
Dumb dude #2- "what? He's so smooth."
Dumb dude #1- "yah. Yogurty."
We're being duped all the time into buying things, but this is crazy. What kind of marketing research resulted in this yougurt BS? I imagine the proverbial board convening to discuss new strategies. Everyone has their charts, graphs, and laser pointers at the ready. Amidst the hub bub dee boo of the suits you hear "people just really like yogurt. We have to give the people yogurt!!"
Is it because it gives the illusion of health? Umm I saw a box of Yogurt Dots at 7-11. (Yep yogurt has gotten its greedy hands on candy too.) Dots? Dots are fruit flavored tumors. You couldn't make them healthy if you added soy and wheat germ to their delicious cancery centers.
As you may know I've developed a disdain for yogurt in the past months due to the fact that the fruity chunks tend to feel scabby, like bits of gut to my pregnant-person-palette. I avoid it all costs now, but I honestly believe that this rant is due entirely to my distaste of this yogurty smooth nonsense, not yogurt itself.
Friday, September 26, 2008
Brain Suckling Parasite
My friend Kristien has just brought to my attention the fact that futuses are actually parasites. It’s true you guys. I’ve become the host to a parasite that is sucking everything but my will to live. No wonder I’m so brain damaged.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
I got this from superpoop.com. I laughed pretty hard when I saw it so I thought I'd share.
superpoop.com
superpoop.com
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
When the sky caves in and there is no sound...
Lately, I've had this song stuck in my head that I'm assuming it is from childhood. I don't remember its origin but lately as I lumber around town in my new pregnant bod I sing this little tune...
"When the sky caves in, and there is no sound---Roll over blubber.
When the clouds are crushed, and the sun is dark--Roll over blubber.
When the trees are gone, and the flowers die--Roll over blubber.
When the moon gives up, and the earth is flat--Roll over blubber."
Now that I think about it, my friend Kat made this song up in highschool. Anyway, my point is that I'm getting larger and larger by the minute! I saw my side profile in a window at Trolley Square yesterday and it was like looking at someone else. Normally, as the chairman of the IBTC (Itty Bitty Titty Committee) I'd see my curveless self moonwalking in the reflection. Now I see this plump earth mama tottering along.
At night I wake wake up and realize that because Nino has feng shuied my organs again, causing severe jabbing sensations, I must roll over to counteract the chaos. Rolling over is quite a production. I mentally prepare myself… "okay on three.” Then I try to roll without waking up Baby Daddy. Our bed is just a queen so I end up waking Fran up. It’s so cute he’s always kind of worried it’s a natural disaster when really I’m just getting up to pee. He’ll sleepily exclaim “It’s an earthquake! Get under the doorframe!” Nope no earthquake, I’m just rolling over (when the sky caves in and there is no sound….roll over blubber). Everyone tells me that the weight seems to stay in my baby bump. It's true. It stays in my baby bump(s). I say bump(s)-plural because there are apparently fetuses growing in my ass cheeks, thighes and boobs as well as in my uterus. The other day Franny was checking out my bum as apparently he does quite frequently and said, “I think we need to get you some bigger underwear. Those ones are pinching your skin.” Nice.
Saturday, September 20, 2008
Look at me--I'm bloggin!
I haven't posted anything in SO long, but not because I haven't had anything to write about. I mean some really heavy shit has gone down in the past few weeks. Like oh....we're married! I'm not even kidding. Fran and I tied the knot in a VERY low-key and fantastic little ceremony at the exact place we met 5 years ago. I mean it. We got hitched within 3 feet of where our first conversation ever occurred. We had 2 witnesses-my very best good friend Ahren Castledine, and her sister, Erica Johnson, who incidentally is Ahren's sister, and the wife of Fran's very best good friend Jed who became ordained in order to marry us. This family being there was kind of special and tender since they were the very people responsible for us meeting in the first place. Also, in the process of being vested the power to marry folks, Jed gained the ability to ABSOLVE PEOPLE OF SINS!!! Seriously. He just needs to say "Kay ya'll are free to walk in heaven and some shit" and bam! Pure as the day you were born.
If you don't know me well, you may not know that I struggle with planning things around myself. Like I cannot even talk about my own birthday without blushing. Its dumb. Needless to say, I struggled with planning this wedding. My man, my husband ( :) ) was the the one who suggested we go to the ballpark we met at. My husband ( :) ) was the one who suggested Jed as the minister. And can I just say? It was exactly what I wanted without even realizing it. I got home from work that day (yes I worked on my wedding day. Someone please have diarrhea all over the place! It's just too crazy to believe.) and Fran asks me "so what are we going to have Jed say?" I was like "ah shit. I don't know. We love each other. We know we're meant to be. We know marriage is sacred and all that. We're going to die together when we're 116 on a mountain top somewhere, drunk as fuck and as in love as we've ever been. Do we really need to have him say anything?"
We didn't have a solid plan by the time we got to the park, but as we stood before Jed he said the most perfect thing anyone could have said. I don't need to repeat it. I'll just say it was no where near cheesy, it was memorable, and it was completely funny. Kind of like our relationship. Thanks Jedder. Also, Erica had purchased a song card that played "seeds of love" by tears for fears, which she opened up and played for us. It was both hilarious and lovely.
We are planning to have a reception and some sort of ceremony a year from now so that we can celebrate with our families and friends (that means all ya'll)!!! Our marriage is definitely something we want to celebrate with everyone---(think vow-renewal and sweet party to follow). We just kind of wanted to get hitched without all of the hooplah for now. You understand.
Married life is sweet. We're kind of on cloud-nine, newlywed style, except I swear Fran's already gotten, how you say...comfortable. I mean he used to be way farty but now he's been farting around so much I'm afraid to light a match. I'm pretty sure that isn't grounds for divorce so... I guess I'm fucked.
We're on vacation right at this very moment. We're headed to Kooskia, ID to a little cabin Franny rented. We stopped in Idaho Falls to cut the trip in half. I'm at the Shilo. You know, that ghetto, yet overpriced hotel chain? It's sweet though because they have free wireless AND a free breakfast buffet which I'm headed to now. I'll end this post by saying that life is good, you guys. Fran and Nino give a shout out as well.
Thanks for reading.
I haven't posted anything in SO long, but not because I haven't had anything to write about. I mean some really heavy shit has gone down in the past few weeks. Like oh....we're married! I'm not even kidding. Fran and I tied the knot in a VERY low-key and fantastic little ceremony at the exact place we met 5 years ago. I mean it. We got hitched within 3 feet of where our first conversation ever occurred. We had 2 witnesses-my very best good friend Ahren Castledine, and her sister, Erica Johnson, who incidentally is Ahren's sister, and the wife of Fran's very best good friend Jed who became ordained in order to marry us. This family being there was kind of special and tender since they were the very people responsible for us meeting in the first place. Also, in the process of being vested the power to marry folks, Jed gained the ability to ABSOLVE PEOPLE OF SINS!!! Seriously. He just needs to say "Kay ya'll are free to walk in heaven and some shit" and bam! Pure as the day you were born.
If you don't know me well, you may not know that I struggle with planning things around myself. Like I cannot even talk about my own birthday without blushing. Its dumb. Needless to say, I struggled with planning this wedding. My man, my husband ( :) ) was the the one who suggested we go to the ballpark we met at. My husband ( :) ) was the one who suggested Jed as the minister. And can I just say? It was exactly what I wanted without even realizing it. I got home from work that day (yes I worked on my wedding day. Someone please have diarrhea all over the place! It's just too crazy to believe.) and Fran asks me "so what are we going to have Jed say?" I was like "ah shit. I don't know. We love each other. We know we're meant to be. We know marriage is sacred and all that. We're going to die together when we're 116 on a mountain top somewhere, drunk as fuck and as in love as we've ever been. Do we really need to have him say anything?"
We didn't have a solid plan by the time we got to the park, but as we stood before Jed he said the most perfect thing anyone could have said. I don't need to repeat it. I'll just say it was no where near cheesy, it was memorable, and it was completely funny. Kind of like our relationship. Thanks Jedder. Also, Erica had purchased a song card that played "seeds of love" by tears for fears, which she opened up and played for us. It was both hilarious and lovely.
We are planning to have a reception and some sort of ceremony a year from now so that we can celebrate with our families and friends (that means all ya'll)!!! Our marriage is definitely something we want to celebrate with everyone---(think vow-renewal and sweet party to follow). We just kind of wanted to get hitched without all of the hooplah for now. You understand.
Married life is sweet. We're kind of on cloud-nine, newlywed style, except I swear Fran's already gotten, how you say...comfortable. I mean he used to be way farty but now he's been farting around so much I'm afraid to light a match. I'm pretty sure that isn't grounds for divorce so... I guess I'm fucked.
We're on vacation right at this very moment. We're headed to Kooskia, ID to a little cabin Franny rented. We stopped in Idaho Falls to cut the trip in half. I'm at the Shilo. You know, that ghetto, yet overpriced hotel chain? It's sweet though because they have free wireless AND a free breakfast buffet which I'm headed to now. I'll end this post by saying that life is good, you guys. Fran and Nino give a shout out as well.
Thanks for reading.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
I'm happy to report that Nino got a clean bill of health today. The ultrasound was at 9AM so I skipped my daily morning OJ in hopes that he wouldn't be so wiggly. Sure enough the martian was just floating in his little womb cave ready to be ultrasounded. It took the doc 2 seconds to find the thing he was looking for--a bubble in the tummy indicating the guts are growing normally. Woohoo! Nino has a belly.
Monday, August 25, 2008
This is pretty much how I picture Nino except instead of a branch, he's dangling from my pancreas."Hey! What’s going on out there?!!!"
Okay so this baby is moving around like a wild mongoose downed 6 slurpees. There is nothing comparable to the feeling of Nino moving around and kicking the crap out of my insides. The day I knew that the flutterings I felt, truly were my little martian moving, I was elated. It was after hours at work, and I was alone. Suddenly I felt the teeniest little tap tap tap. I stopped typing the email I was working on and sat completely still. There it was again TAP TAP. “Yeah that’s not coming from the fart factory” I thought. “That is my baby.”
I didn’t feel him again for a couple of days, but now it is a daily occurrence. He kicks all the time and a few days ago, Fran and I were lounging on our King’s chair. The King’s chair is our main comfy sitting surface. It isn’t quite as big as a loveseat, but it is bigger than a recliner. Anywho, there we were all squished together in the King’s chair and I tell him “hey Baby be kickin.” I didn’t actually think he’d be able to feel the kicks on the outside of my body yet, but he immediately put his hand on my belly to check. And you wouldn’t believe how hard Nino kicked. It was like he wanted to impress Dad. It went from tap tap tap to BAM BAM BAM! “Yeah, you feel that? I’m strong as hell ya'll!”
This of course was one of the most excellent of moments.
We had our ultrasound Friday. I’d post pictures but we only got a DVD recording and I’m completely in the dark about how to create stills from it. I’m sure you guys don’t want to see the whole damn thing either. I mean, I’ve watched it thrice and plan to watch it another 16 times, but I'm guessing it would be kind of boring for the folks who aren't actually related to us. If I figure out how to post a short version, I will. The ultrasound doc tells me Nino is growing exactly as he should and that all of his stuff seems to be developing fantastically. There are a couple of things I need to go back for since Nino, the break dancing little monkey, wouldn't stop long enough for us to check everything. I'm going in tomorrow to follow up. Hopefully I don't cave and accidentally ask the tech to tell me the gender. Fran won't be with me this time to keep me in check. Wish me luck.
Okay so this baby is moving around like a wild mongoose downed 6 slurpees. There is nothing comparable to the feeling of Nino moving around and kicking the crap out of my insides. The day I knew that the flutterings I felt, truly were my little martian moving, I was elated. It was after hours at work, and I was alone. Suddenly I felt the teeniest little tap tap tap. I stopped typing the email I was working on and sat completely still. There it was again TAP TAP. “Yeah that’s not coming from the fart factory” I thought. “That is my baby.”
I didn’t feel him again for a couple of days, but now it is a daily occurrence. He kicks all the time and a few days ago, Fran and I were lounging on our King’s chair. The King’s chair is our main comfy sitting surface. It isn’t quite as big as a loveseat, but it is bigger than a recliner. Anywho, there we were all squished together in the King’s chair and I tell him “hey Baby be kickin.” I didn’t actually think he’d be able to feel the kicks on the outside of my body yet, but he immediately put his hand on my belly to check. And you wouldn’t believe how hard Nino kicked. It was like he wanted to impress Dad. It went from tap tap tap to BAM BAM BAM! “Yeah, you feel that? I’m strong as hell ya'll!”
This of course was one of the most excellent of moments.
We had our ultrasound Friday. I’d post pictures but we only got a DVD recording and I’m completely in the dark about how to create stills from it. I’m sure you guys don’t want to see the whole damn thing either. I mean, I’ve watched it thrice and plan to watch it another 16 times, but I'm guessing it would be kind of boring for the folks who aren't actually related to us. If I figure out how to post a short version, I will. The ultrasound doc tells me Nino is growing exactly as he should and that all of his stuff seems to be developing fantastically. There are a couple of things I need to go back for since Nino, the break dancing little monkey, wouldn't stop long enough for us to check everything. I'm going in tomorrow to follow up. Hopefully I don't cave and accidentally ask the tech to tell me the gender. Fran won't be with me this time to keep me in check. Wish me luck.
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