Tuesday, May 31, 2005

I ate way too much ice cream this weekend...

Wow. Thanks everybody for all the birthday wishes, AGAIN. What a wonderful, relaxing, and most importantly, FU N weekend I had. And it’s Tuesday. Nice.

I did get the story that I wanted, maybe not in as much detail as I would have liked, and my dad kept butting in until my mom just came over and sat by me next to the fire and practically whispered the rest to me.

Before I go into what she said, here’s an important detail that I left out of my dad’s version of the story. I didn’t learn this until recently, so I forgot (or blocked it out) about it.

After my dad finally finished the paperwork, he waited for the nurse at the desk to get off the phone. She finally hung up and looked at my dad with a confounded expression and said, “I just have to tell someone this. I was just on the phone with a woman who just had sex with her dog and she wanted to know if it was going to hurt her in any way.” At this point in the story my dad always starts giggling, so I don’t know if he said anything to her or not. But a woman had sex with her dog on the day that I was born.

According to my mom, her labor with me lasted about 4 hours, maybe a little more (did my dad have to read War and Peace as part of the paperwork?). She waited at home until the last possible moment before going to the hospital. She said in those days women were given an enema at the hospital so they could poop before giving birth. Sorry to surprise those of you who are inexperienced with the birthing process, but chances are, if you are pushing with all of your might in your nether region, you are most likely going to poop on the birthing table. When I was born, they had something against poop. These days, I think most hospitals just accept the pooping process with the birthing process. Not only are you giving birth to your little squirmy offspring, you are giving birth to what you had for dinner. My mom discovered that pushing to have a bowel movement involved the same muscles as pushing to have a baby as she was hovered over the toilet, and almost had me right there. She had the nurses come get her “or I’m going to have this baby right here on the commode!” After that, it was pretty much smooth sailing. With a little snip and some understandable screaming, I was out pretty quick. As my mom said, “it’s a piece of cake. Don’t worry about it.” Easy for her to say. My brother and I were both low birth weight kids, somewhere around 4-5 pounds each. Back then it was ok for women to smoke and drink moderately. Chances are, my kid will weigh 9 pounds and rip my body in half from all the pop tarts I’ve eaten.

I actually have lot of work to do today, so tomorrow look out for the photo of what the main attraction of the weekend was. Be happy. It’s not Monday.

Friday, May 27, 2005

The Story of My Life (the beginning of it, anyway)

My mom and dad tell me the story of my birth every single year on my birthday. I’m sure this year the tale will feel much more significant to me, for obvious reasons. I can only hope that my child displays the impatience I did for getting out into the world. Apparently, in my enthusiasm to be born, I didn’t hold to this labor business. I practically clawed my own way out of the womb. I was like, “it’s May 27th! My birthday will always fall on a long weekend! Let me out of here, because it’s the perfect day to be born!’

I typically hear the greater portion of the story from my dad. He loves to tell stories and loves repeating himself even more. He’ll tell me how he rushed my mother to the hospital and was stuck at the nurse’s station filling out paperwork as they took my mom into a room. He’ll tell me how by the time he was finished, they were wheeling my mom out of the birthing room, holding me. He’ll prompt my mom to say what she said to him, “It’s a girl. Can we keep her?”

I’ve always loved that story, because to me it paints a perfect picture about the kind of person I am. Impatient and eager. Always excited about something. I love the fact that I was so excited about being born and getting on with life.

This year I’m going to shatter that image of myself my asking my mom about the TRUE story of my birth. My dad never witnessed my mom bearing down with all of her might to push me out of her tiny body. He never saw me emerge into the world in a splash of blood and fluids. He never got to hold my mom’s hand as she delivered her first child into the world. He didn’t get to see my mom’s face, twisted and contorted with pain, or hear her grunts, moans, and screams. Not because he didn’t want to, but because the goddamn hospital made him sign over his firstborn child (not me, but my oldest sister, who has been the property of Allegheny Valley General Hospital ever since although she has no idea) just for my mom to be able to have her baby there.

This year I’ll ask my mom low long she was in labor before she went to the hospital. I’ll ask her if my head (which is abnormally small now) was so big that she had to get stitches. I’ll ask her when her water broke and where she was. I’ll ask how long she pushed until I came out. I’ll ask if there was a lot of blood or if she didn’t even notice because she was so enamored by her bald headed, skinny little baby girl.

It’s funny to look at my teeny tiny little mom and think that I came out of her. I’m at least 5 inches taller than her and outweigh her by 30 pounds. It’s even funnier to look at my gigantic beast of a husband and think that he came out of his teeny frail looking little mom. I suppose some day I’ll look at my adult kid and think, “wow, he/she came out of me and was so tiny then.” At least I hope he/she is going to be tiny. Or at least inherit my abnormally small head.

When I woke up this morning Ryan rolled over and said, “Happy Birthday, Buddy.” It hit me that yes, indeed, it IS my birthday. For just a second, I forgot. The same thing happened when a lady at work wished me happy birthday. I keep forgetting that today is the 28th anniversary of the day I was born, which is odd for me. Usually I’m psyched on my birthday. Today is no different, I’m hyper, in a good mood, and excited to get out of work. But for the first time EVER, I’m not the first person on my mind. Someone else is. And that someone is living inside of me right now, plotting out his or her day of birth, the day that I will celebrate every year as the day I gave birth to my first child.


Thanks for all the birthday wishes so far, everyone. Have a great holiday weekend and drink one for me.

Thursday, May 26, 2005

Sith Happens... oh, I know, that's a terrible joke

I need to know exactly what kind of idiot thinks that this is a good idea?

Seriously. WHAT were you thinking? Oh, glass doesn't break! It's not completely fragile! We can smash fluorescent light bulbs together in a fake duel at absolutely no risk to ourselves!

Too cool for school.

If I had a million dollars... or 215 million...

The powerball lottery is up to 215 million dollars. I think I have a 1 in 215 million chance of winning it. Actually, the odds are probably a lot higher than that. But what in Mercury’s name would I do with that kind of money? I mean, other than the obvious; pay off me and Ryan’s school loans, hope to Christ that Fuzzball gets superintelligence from somewhere and that I can send him/her to a prestigious college somewhere that he/she can major in something absurd like fabric weaving or women’s studies because, hello? This kid would never have to work! Buy a house, a couple of cars, an insanely expensive purebred dust mop of a dog, and have a jewelry studio complete with a ton of silver pmc clay and glass beads and a super duper kiln and have my sister teach me the ways of the silver jewelry maker (much like the ways of the Jedi). Oh, and a new flat screen G5 Mac. Make that 2, one for Ryan with Garage Band on it so he can have his own studio. Cause we’d live as artists, cause that’s what we really are, we just don’t make any money at it.

And of course I would pay off my friends’ debts and let them drink the beer that I supply at my mansion whenever they wanted. And I’d give my parents and in-laws a nice cut. Oh, the shopping sprees my mother and I could go on.

I think that would be a sufficient birthday present, don’t you? Oh, and Ryan gave me an early birthday present. Wanna guess what it is? Do ya?

Ok… go ahead, guess.



Nope.



The Urbz: Sims in the City for PS2. WHAT’S UP NOW, MOTHER FUCKERS????

Am I good, or WHAT? I called it, didn’t I? DIDN’T I???

(if you have no idea what I'm talking about, read my post from Monday.)
However, I DID want that game, so it’s cool. Better now than Christmas, because when I’m a mommy I doubt I’ll have time for video games ever again. And I think he got me something else too, but I’ll have to wait until tomorrow to find out.

But am I not such a know-it-all bitch?

Wednesday, May 25, 2005

How E-Lo Got Her Groove Back

Being in my 16th week and 4th official month of pregnancy I can finally say that I’m BACK. And when I say BACK, I mean my girl parts are working. The last time I wanted to have sex was February, so I really believe I’ve reached a milestone here, people. I had a hard time getting my husband to comply. It’s discouraging, to say the least, when you are pregnant and feeling fat and completely unsexy (except for those BOOBS, the BEST BOOBS EVER) when your husband refuses your advances. In my darkest moments I thought, “or it could be that he finds me absolutely repulsive.”

I can totally understand how a man could refuse sex with a woman who suddenly gained 13 pounds, whose stomach is sticking out like a sore thumb, who farts like a senile old man in a nursing home and cries over anything. It’s almost like sticking your dick into a ticking time bomb. You never know exactly what’s going to happen, so it’s best just NOT to do it. I was afraid that when he finally caved in and felt sorry enough for me to give me some mercy sex that it would only last 5 seconds. And of all the things that a pregnant woman should fear, the endurance of her husband during intercourse should not be one of them.

I did the deed out of pity in my first trimester. On those days that my heart wasn’t in it due to having baby thoughts all day and wanting to just SLEEP FOR CHRISTS SAKE LEAVE ME ALONE. I can say it was more of a let down for him than it was for me. Because I couldn’t get into it and required “assistance” (i.e. KY) I felt discouraged not only that I was tired, but that I would never feel desire like a normal human being again. This would lead me on the downward spiral of pregnancy emotions that I’ve talked about so frequently and the downward spiral and sex DO NOT MIX. So I’d have to stop him short cause, ugh, sex felt so gross. It made me want to curl up in a ball and cry in the shower like that scene from “Leaving Los Vegas” the most horrific movie EVER (except without the bleeding ass).

The thing about marriage and sex, and I’ll be the first to admit it, is that yes, it does get boring. Evolutionarily speaking, monogamy doesn’t work. Love and emotions and fond feelings and friendship and comfort sticks around and lingers on and on but desire and lust can fade out if you let it. The night before fuzzball was conceived was probably the best, most impulsive, lustful, insane night of doin’ it that we’ve had in a llllooooonnnnnggggg time. A bar, alcohol, and making out in the car was involved. The living room floor was then involved. Tearful orgasms were involved. Actual talk of baby-making was involved- even though we DIDN’T MEAN IT OH CRUEL GOD! We passed out exhausted and resumed the next morning much to our demise. That was when it happened. When fuzzball snuck in there.

I should point out that I do love my husband, probably more and more with each passing day. And I obviously do desire him, otherwise I wouldn’t be writing this post. I’m proud to say that yesterday I was a successful seductress. I had my doubts about how I was going to convince him that he needed to have sex with his poor, pitiful, pregnant wife. So I flat out asked him, “do you want to have sex?” Which is what I normally do, because you might as well cut to the chase.

FINALLY! Success.

Tuesday, May 24, 2005

The Guilt Tripper

Is it just a trait inherently possessed by all mothers, or is my mother queen of all guilt trips? I swear, I could be having the best day ever, then have a conversation with my mother, and my day goes to shit.

The woman has a sigh like nails on a chalkboard. Say one wrong thing, and it’s a cascade of sighs that make you want to lock yourself up in an institution somewhere.

“Oh, by the way, I paid that bill for you, since it’s in my name and it’s been months since you got it.” “Um… okaaay… I gave it to Ryan, I thought he paid it… I’ll have to ask him…” “Never mind. Don’t worry about it. I already paid for it.” “Uh… okay.”

GUILT.

I had a bank account when I was younger that my mom set up for me, so it has her name on it. I had a line of credit on it that I blew when I was still an undergrad. I make payments on it, but for some reason, last month, because my payment was late, they TOOK 100 BUCKS FROM MY MOM’S ACCOUNT. Without asking. Without telling. Boy, did I get an earful. The thing is, I don’t pay the bills. Ryan does all of that. I don’t know how I managed to get out of paying bills. I think I did our bills one time and ended up overdrafting our account by 100+ bucks. E-Lo + finances = disaster. My mom was so freaking pissed that I practically had a nervous breakdown. I had one of those downward spiral moments that are so fond of finding me.

“Sigh.” NAILS ON A CHALKBOARD, I TELL YOU.

I just got off the phone with my dear mother, who did this to me. We were having a perfectly nice conversation, and she had to go and ruin it by reminding me what an imperfect daughter she has.

I hope I’m not the same way. God help me. It’s inevitable, I suppose. Guilt is the best weapon a mother has. She carried you in her body for 9-10 months, the least you could do is give her a break. Jesus.

Another guilt tripper I know would be my dear husband, who loves to rub it in when I occasionally do something wrong, like screw up the checkbook. This man can pile on the guilt. My most recent indiscretion was washing his wallet. It was in his pants and I threw them in the washer with only a weak pocket pat. Everything in his wallet fell apart, along with the wallet itself. That alone upsets me because I bought him that wallet 5 years ago for his birthday and it was in perfect shape. God bless those wonderful people at Fossil. The strange part is that I normally don’t wash Ryan’s clothes. We normally do our own laundry. I don’t want him doing my laundry because I know he’ll shrink something or somehow stain something that’s in the process of being cleaned. But thinking I was being nice, I threw some of his crap in with mine, and that led to my ultimate demise. Because every day this week I’ve been reminded of “the incident.”

Sometimes I wish I lived alone in a cabin in the woods with 5 cats and 5 dogs. And a rifle for every cracking branch that I heard. If I lived alone in the woods with a gun, lots of unsuspecting trees would get shot. Make those dogs Rottweilers and Dobermans.
Is it lunchtime yet?

Hey, don’t forget about my baby blog. I know I have a huge fanbase and all, and I know what you are dying to hear more about is my pregnancy. Today I posted a conversation that Ryan and I had last night that goes to show why I don’t live alone in a cabin in the woods. Go. Now.

Monday, May 23, 2005

The Gifts that Keep on Giving me shit to write about…

As some of you may know, my birthday is coming up at the end of the week. Yes, on Friday I will be 28, an age that means absolutely nothing. It’s not a milestone, it’s got no special significance. It’s just another step closer to 30… a foot in the grave, if you will. Kidding.

Everybody gets presents on their birthday, and hopefully I will too, even though 28 is a stupid age and really shouldn’t even be celebrated. I was thinking about this yesterday, and thought of the array of gifts that I’ve gotten over the years. Since I’ve been with my husband, I’ve gotten a lot of really terrible gifts. Not that he’s bad at gift giving, but he’d rather buy me a CD than a pair of earring that I really wanted and talked about for 6 months. He doesn’t catch on to my hints and a lot of times I end up with something I didn’t really want. Which usually results in a traumatic experience for me. For example:

Last year for my birthday he was really sweet and tried to get me a bunny. I’m a fan of rodent-like animals, as you know, and I really wanted a bunny, because we can’t have dogs where we live, and bunnies are quiet and have tiny poop. On a side note, for my birthday every single year, we go to my camp for the weekend, usually because it’s Memorial Day weekend. Last year friends of ours got married, so we needed lots and lots of money for the weekend. So Ryan showed up after work that Thursday with a bunny cage, food, water bottle, a bunny book… everything EXCEPT the bunny. He spent over a hundred bucks on all this shit, and wanted to go pick out the bunny when we returned from camping. I thought it was sweet, but I was secretly mortified. I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but when I worked at Target, we didn’t have a whole lot of money to throw around on things like bunnies. And as much as I appreciated this as a gift, I wondered where we were going to get money for our weekend. And maybe it was a horrible thing to do, but I made him take it all back. So needless to say, all I got for my birthday last year was a CBGB t-shirt. And I more than likely gave him a complex about giving me gifts. I really don’t know what to expect this year, because he hasn’t asked me what I want.

Ok, so Ryan doesn’t give me BAD gifts, per se. I think he thinks about what HE would want, and then goes from there. He’d much rather have a CD or video game than a pedicure or a facial or a maternity store shopping spree. And while CDs and video games have a certain element of fun behind them, I have to remind him that I do, indeed, have a vagina. I like girly things. I’m a girly girl. I’m vain. I like clothes and shoes and looking pretty. It’s not too much to ask.

There are people in his family that do give very VERY bad gifts. Before his mom really knew me, all she knew about me was that at one point in my life (like, my senior year in HIGH SCHOOL) I collected anything that had to do with cows. And, to this day, so does she. So she bought me ANYTHING that had cows. Clocks, dish towels, cookie jars, knick knacks, you name it. At first I thought it was cute, but then it NEVER STOPPED. Finally Ryan had to say to her, “mom, I think you’re over doing it with the cows, because I’m about to puke black and white spots.” And I never got another cow. She’s gotten considerably better at giving me gifts as we’ve gotten to know each other. She used to buy me some TERRIBLE clothes. And she still insists on trying to give me clothes of hers that don’t fit her anymore. She’s in her 50’s, I’m 27. She tried to give me several DENIM JUMPERS (one that even had apples embroidered on it) not 2 weeks ago. I wanted to say, “have you ever seen me in a denim jumper? EVER?” And the knick knacks! This is a woman who collects cows, milk glass (which she always tries to push on me) and stuff with Labrador retrievers on it (because they used to have one). You know what I collect? NOTHING. Nor do I need any more knick knacks than I already have, thanks to gifts from people. I like smelly candles and buddas, and that’s about it.

One of the absolute worst gifts I’ve ever gotten was from Ryan’s uncle. Every Christmas he and his wife INSIST on getting us something. Usually every year they give us Nike sweatshirts. So far I’ve gotten a green one, a blue one, and a gray one. I’ve given every single one away to MEN I know. I don’t own Nike shoes, and I’m certainly not going to wear a Nike sweatshirt, because I don’t wear sweatshirts. The only sweatshirt I wear is my blue Old Navy hoodie, and I wear it at camp when it’s damp and I’m drunk, because it covers my head and doesn’t expose my messy hair. Ryan has a matching one because his aunt gave us them for Christmas 3 years ago along with a matching white turtleneck to go under them (another bad gift idea, but I love that hoodie. I threw away the turtleneck). Anyway, back to the WORST GIFT EVER. So this past Christmas, fully expecting perhaps a maroon Nike sweatshirt that I was planning on giving my dad, I opened my gift to find a Ben Roethlisberger rip off unlicensed t-shirt. Yes, I’m from the Pittsburgh area, and yes, I was rooting for the Steelers last year when they were doing really good, but again, I AM A GIRL. I’ve never played a sport in my life, I hate working out, I don’t like sports brand sweatshirts and I certainly don’t like Steelers paraphernalia that I’m NEVER GOING TO WEAR. To make matters worse, they got Ryan a matching one. To make matters worse than that, they bought me an EXTRA LARGE. I could have belted it and worn it as a dress. They got Ryan a double extra large. We are really not that big. Really. I might be that big in a few months, but last Christmas I was still little, normal sized E-Lo. So not only was I horrified that this was even worse than a Nike sweatshirt, I was horrified that they thought I could actually wear an extra large without it looking like a tent.

I’d really rather get nothing at all than get bad gifts.

There are some people who get it right every single time, like my mom. And I can’t say that Ryan’s mom is totally bad at buying gifts, because she bought me my digital video camera, something that cost 500 bucks and I wanted really really bad. And Ryan has bought me every single diamond that I own, including 2 diamond rings, diamond earrings, and a diamond necklace. I told him that the only acceptable gift for after I give birth to his child is the ipod that I’ve desperately wanted for over a year now.

Think he’ll get the hint, or should I twist his arm? Literally, while I’m screaming bloody murder and life is seemingly erupting from my bottom half? Do you think he’ll regret it if he doesn’t get it for me? Cause I can make him…

All that just to get that huge belly bumped out of my way. God, that picture is INSANE!

Thursday, May 19, 2005

Be Afraid...

Belly at 15 weeks
Here is what my belly looked like this morning. I swallowed my bowling ball just before I took this picture. It got stuck in my throat for a minute, but then it settled quite nicely. I hope it digests the whole way, because I have hemorrhoids.

Wednesday, May 18, 2005

County Girl

Living in Butler certainly has its disadvantages. It’s a city that’s not really a city. It’s full of overweight people that drive minivans and SUVs with Bush Cheney ’04 stickers. It’s full of religious fanatics that truly believe that “intelligent design” is a science that our kids need to learn. There are drugs, like crack and heroin running rampant. I’ve seen families, including my own, effected by this epidemic. There are unfriendly people with mullets living next door. There is a single mother on the other side with a screaming 4 year old. Go to Super Wal-Mart on any given day and it will be packed to the gills with dirty inbred people.

Why do I live here? I’ve asked myself that so many times over the years. I’ve felt like a failure when people I knew moved off to big cities to do big things. I’ve talked big and said, “I need to get out of here if I ever want to do anything with my life!” And I’m not the only person to say that about living in Butler.

Most of the people that moved away came back. Butler is a swirling vortex that will suck even the strongest willed back into its clutches. The furthest away I’ve ever moved was Clarion, roughly 50 miles north. But I came back.

And I’ve discovered that for all its faults, Butler and I have a good relationship.

I’m so happy to live here. I never thought I’d say that, but there you go. The rolling hills, the miles of farmland, the forests and creeks and lakes and cows and deer and squirrels… Pennsylvania has a lot of that stuff.

I used to think about what it would be like if I had ever moved to a city. As much as I like to visit cities, I don’t think I could go very long without being surrounded by nature. If I couldn’t look out my window and see farmland and trees I’d sink into a deep depression.

I’m going to drive home the back way today with the windows rolled down, the music turned up, breathe deeply and admire what nature has to offer.

Tuesday, May 17, 2005

Explanations for things I didn't expect explanations for...

I always forget to check my OTHER email account, that is, the one I have listed here… basically because I don’t get much email in it. I am so hungry for bacon right now, damn it. Anyways, last week I posted the search results that led mostly perverted crazies to my site, and one was “the story of the fucking squirrel in the forest.” A helpful lad saw my crazy post and emailed me the reason WHY people are looking for that. God, a BLT would be WONDERFUL right now. So, it seems that there was this fake download track out there that was supposedly a System of a Down song, called, yep, you guessed it, “the story of the fucking squirrel in the forest.” However, it WAS NOT System of a Down, it was some other terrible metal band that did this song, but it was being pushed as System of a Down to get some people to actually listen to this shit. Incidentally, System of a Down’s new album is being released today. There is not ONE SONG related to squirrels of any kind on it. But I certainly wish there was, because they’re an awesome band, and if they sang anything about squirrels I’d be super excited. At any rate, I now understand WHO would use that as a search phrase. And my curiosity has gotten the best of me, so I have to search for this fake song and listen to it. And thanks to my post, I’m currently number one in the search for that phrase.

Sometimes I forget that I actually like that band and then I hear them and I’m like, “ooh… moshy.”

All my punk points just went out the window with that sentence. Or maybe that happened a long time ago.


NOW LOOK DOWN THERE AT WHAT I’VE CREATED!!! BWAHAHA!

Monday, May 16, 2005

The E-Lo - Ry-Dog Project

FUZZBALL!!!
This is what we made.

Everything is looking good and looking normal, and I couldn't be more relieved. The reason my midwife couldn't find the heartbeat is because the kid is right under the placenta. But it should move out of the way as it grows.

I'm having a baby.

Holy shit.

Friday, May 13, 2005

Expansion

before we cut the grass
I’ve had a strange couple days, starting with my doctor’s appointment on Wednesday. My midwife couldn’t find fuzzball’s heartbeat with the Doppler thingy. She kept catching flutters here and there but nothing consistent. So she ordered an early ultrasound for me and told me not to worry, she thinks I just have a “retroverted uterus.” I don’t know if that’s the correct terminology or not, but it means my uterus is tilted more toward my back and away from my stomach. It’s fairly common, I guess. It’s still nerve wracking having to wait all weekend to know everything is ok.

On a happy note, I took the day off yesterday and defended my thesis and guess what? I AM DONE. I’m officially a master of communication education and mass media technology, whatever that means. I’m so glad. It makes the 40,000 dollars I owe on loans seems so much more worth it. If my kid ever wants to go to college, I won’t be able to help because I’ll STILL be paying my shit off.

Oh, and I’ve gained thirteen, yes, THIRTEEN pounds in my 14 weeks of pregnancy. By the time this week is over it will probably be fourteen. So that is a pound a week. 40 pounds, here I come!!!

Oh, how I love to eat.

Tuesday, May 10, 2005

Things you really want to know

My gums bleed like crazy when I floss. It’s like someone is massacring my mouth. Blood shoots out from every angle and it. is. not. pretty.

My right nipple has been doing this weird dry/cracked/peeling thing. I literally peeled a layer of skin from it, which was strangely satisfying. It was like it was out in the sun too long. Which strikes me as odd since my nipples haven’t seen the sun since I was 2 and running around my backyard in a diaper. The left one is perfectly normal. Nipple weirdness is already beginning at 14 weeks.

A mentally handicapped person was the first stranger in public to notice that I’m pregnant. Well, I was buying chocolate. That might have made it obvious. Either that or my BELLY.

I have a zit on my shoulder. That never happens. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: stupid hormones.

My belly has grown out immensely in the past week. It looks like I have half a basketball under my shirt. I’m officially pregnant looking.

I have to pee in a cup as soon as I wake up tomorrow morning and refrigerate it until my doctor appointment at 6:30. I don’t know about you, but there’s something unnerving about having a cup of urine chilling in the fridge until you get home from work.

Maybe it’s just me.

Monday, May 09, 2005

Mean Girls

my umbrella tree
I always had more guy friends once I hit high school. The reason I had to wait until high school was because there were few boys in my elementary school. In 8th grade, we had no boys at all, but only because the single boy that was left in 7th grade fled to the junior high after an entire year of being stuck with a bunch of hormone induced boob developers.

I wasn’t cool back in elementary school, I’m not now either, but back then I was a mouth full of teeth, thick glasses, and dorky hair that my dad styled for me because my mom worked early in the morning. Guess who I was friends with? The other girls who were like me. If you were overweight, poor, had thick glasses, red hair, had big teeth, or shy, most likely you were my friend.

I got made fun of a little, when I was alone on the bus or in the playground. Boys weren’t nice then either, even though my best friend Maggie played kickball with them everyday. I would join in every once in a while, but not often, because the boys were rough and liked to make fun of girls. I didn’t mind them as much as the girls though. The girls made friends in cycles. The popular girls would let you in for a week or so by inviting you to a sleepover or birthday party, then drop you. Occasionally a popular girl would be on the outs with the other girls, so I was befriended a couple times by a few of them, but that would never last either. I was happy when the remainder of the popular girls went off to junior high after 6th grade and left us nerdy Catholic school girls behind. I never talked to a single one of them again after I went to high school, except for my 2 best friends, Maggie and Carrie.

It didn’t take long for Maggie to drop out of my life. In the later part of 9th grade I had an boyfriend who I spent a lot of time with. I hung out with Maggie and Carrie on a regular basis though. Carrie lived further away from us so she went to a different high school, but we’d always spend the weekends sleeping over at each other’s houses. Maggie pushed us both away and got cozy with another group of friends. Soon she quit talking to both of us, especially after Carrie and I tried pot for the first time.

I always felt like it was a shame that Maggie pushed me away. We were best friends since 1st grade. I had lots of other “best friends” along the way, but Maggie was always there. I never understood what I did that made her not want to be my friend. I assumed that she was jealous that I had a serious boyfriend and she didn’t.

Carrie and I lost touch eventually too, mainly because she started dating a crack dealer and I knew she was on the road to being knocked up at 16 with a string of abusive boyfriends. At that point in high school I had made friends with the same girls that I’m friends with now, including my best friend Kari.

It’s strange how friendships evolve and change. Kari and I aren’t nearly as close as we once were, but we can pick up right where we left off whenever we’re together. She was the maid of honor in my wedding, and I’ll be the matron of honor (probably the biggest one ever) in her wedding in October. But we don’t talk like we used to, and we certainly don’t hang out like we used to. Sometimes I wonder if people hold on to friendships even after what brought you together in the first place is long gone, just for the sake of keeping friends.

I guess I’ve been thinking about this because I’m going through a type of evolution myself. I’m witnessing my life changing everyday. The things that I used to like to do I’d never even consider doing now. I’m becoming closer to family members that have kids. Plus I have my 10 year high school reunion coming up in July. I wonder if Maggie will be there and if she would speak to me if she was. I wonder if I would speak to her. I know that Carrie had a baby a few months ago, back when I was still working at Target. I don’t know if it was her first or fifth. I find myself wondering about the people from my past, old boyfriends, old roommates, and wondering why I never kept in touch. I’m bad at that. I’ve known so many people but I’ve only kept a handful of them close.

Hmm. I guess that’s all I need.

And yeah... girls have always been mean!

Friday, May 06, 2005

The Peeps That Find Me... You Could Be One Of Them!

It’s come time again to post some of the searches that have lead people to my site. I’m sure that in most cases, they were sorely disappointed when they got here. Here’s a few of my favorites:

hate apa: Oh yeah, I hate APA too. Goddamn APA. Stupid American Psychological Association and your stupid design for writing papers! I hate you!

Rabid German Shepherds: I don’t think I’ve ever discussed anything being rabid… or any German Shepards. But I certainly wouldn’t want to cross paths with a rabid German Shepard. I like a good adventure every once in a while, but I’m not going there. Uh uh.

a mare's vagina stories: Oh yes, the mare’s vagina. I search for that every day myself. What kind of sick mother effer (trying to cut down on my swearing; having a kid) are you?

padded boobs: Really? You have an interest in that? Mine no longer need padding, they’re quite mommy-rific, so I’m sorry to disappoint.

story of the fucking squirrel in the forest: The fucking (whoops) squirrel in the forest? Who would use that as a search phrase? GOSH.

fantasy rapist stories: Yeah… uh… how ‘bout you just go away, hmm?

butt crack discomfort: Well, I’m very sorry to hear about that. What a place to experience discomfort. I have lower back discomfort, and pains in my uterus when I sneeze, so I can relate. Get some butt paste, I’m sure it will clear right up.

wicca "Clarion County" pa: I’m not, nor do I live there any more. But I have lots of books on the former, and lots of good stories about the latter, so I’d be happy to discuss.

jerkoff buddy stories: Why do the homoerotic porn seekers always seem to find me? Why?

squirrel drinking coffee: Well, can’t say I’ve ever seen that. But I’ll let you know as soon as I do.

needed to pee in bathroom stories : Yes, that’s typically where you need to pee… the bathroom. You want a story about it? About 15 minutes ago, I got up from my desk, walked down the hall, went into the bathroom, locked the door, pulled down my too tight jeans, sat on the toilet, and peed. The end.

Oh… it’s amazing, isn’t it? And it all somehow links to me. I’m so proud.

And I should mention I was just kidding about the swearing. Fucking sickos.

The Darling Buds of May

tulip bud
This is a tulip that I took great care in planting last year. I planted 6 of them, 3 of them came up, and Ryan accidentally whacked the bud off of one. So I have 2 measly tulips out of 6, and they haven’t fully bloomed yet for some reason. I guess there’s only room for me to bloom at my house.

I’ve been seriously lagging in the photography department, so this weekend I hope to have a mini photo safari. Hopefully I’ll have a new picture up with every post very soon, like I used to. Winter makes me slack off.

Oh, remember my post about how being a mommy makes you smarter? This morning I disproved that theory as I proceeded to pour hazelnut flavored coffee creamer over my corn flakes. I didn’t realize it until I glanced down at the bottle in my hand. How I mistook the feel of a curvy bottle of coffee creamer for a gallon of milk I’ll never know. I do know that I tried a bite of the cornflakes though. Not the best idea. The other day I removed a cassarole dish from the oven with a pot holder and an oven mitt, placed it on the counter, took the oven mitt off my hand and grabbed the piping hot dish with my right hand. WHAT THE FUCK? I had to sit for the rest of the night with ice on my index finger.

I guess I do have mommy brain.

Happy Friday!

Thursday, May 05, 2005

Sharing is caring...

I feel the need to share this for some Thursday fun and laughs. It’s killing me.

And anyway, this is my blog and I’ll say…

“Whatever I FEEL like I wanna say!” “Friggin IDIOT!”

Bwahahaha!

Wednesday, May 04, 2005

Shh... it's a quiet day in E-Lo land...

I know it seems like all I do is bitch lately… wait, isn’t that what I normally do? But seriously, sorry if I get a little scary. I have extreme reactions to everything right now. I know it’s annoying. I’m annoying myself with it. Yes, the joys of being knocked up.

It isn’t all bad, you know. I’m really excited. I see babies now and think about how cute they are instead of how scary and loud they are. So that’s a good thing.

And just for your enjoyment, here’s a statement I made last summer about why I never wanted to have kids. I’m so gonna fry for this.

Tuesday, May 03, 2005

Stressssssssssss

Why is it that suddenly since I’m pregnant, everyone wants to just pile the pressure on me? Here’s a few wonderful examples:

1. My dad. Of all people, with his huge “I’m carrying triplets” beer belly, asked me the other day how much weight I’ve gained. Now, I don’t know what you guys think, but I think it’s rude to ask someone, pregnant or not, how much weight they’re gaining! I know I’ve talked about this many many times before, but I have serious issues with my body and my weight. I know I’m an average sized person, I might be a tad overweight for my height, I wear a size 12, which I’m ok with. I’ve always felt so much bigger than I am. I’ve had to return clothes tons of times because I bought sizes that were way too big, but I seriously thought that they’d fit. At the beginning of the year I went through all my too big clothes and got rid of them, and let me tell you, there were a lot. I know exactly why I have issues with my body and my weight: it’s from my parents. I have an older sister who is majorly overweight, probably even what would be considered “morbidly obese.” That’s a terrible phrase to be classified as. She’s a lot older than me, and although we share the same dad, we have different moms. Her mom is the same shape and size as her, and my mom is tiny and petite, but her sister and my cousin are very similar to my size, with a wide butt and hips and round belly. My whole life my dad has been saying, “you don’t want to end up like your sister,” which in my opinion, is not only terrible to say to me, it’s terrible to say about her. I get most of my vanity from my dad, who as you can see, judges people by their looks. Fortunately, I don’t do that. My dad actually DARED to say this to me on the phone yesterday, when I told him the typical woman gains anywhere from 25 to 35 pounds when she’s pregnant, give or take depending on her size. “The more you gain, the harder it’s going to be for you to lose!” I was like, ok, dickhead. Thanks for the advice, since you have a penis and all your kids were born before the mid 80’s. Don’t worry about me, I’m going to have a baby that’s not low birth weight, like both me and my brother were (I weighed in at a whopping 4.5 pounds). DON’T FUCK WITH A PREGNANT WOMAN ABOUT HER WEIGHT!

2. My boss feels like it’s necessary for me to get graphic design training because our graphic designer is going to be out of town for 2 days at the end of the week. So if anything happens that needs an emergency graphic, guess who has to do it? I’ve worked as a graphic designer for years, but I don’t know, nor do I want to know, how this guy does it. I don’t want to know how to create our web pages, or how to upload graphics to our website. I can do that at home on my own. The last thing I need right now is ANY MORE STRESS, THANK YOU VERY MUCH!

3. I mentioned that my thesis advisor and I had struck a deal about the completion of my thesis. In order to do that, I have to go to Clarion someday next week, which is finals week, and present it. Not only do I not have time to create a presentation, none of my committee has gotten back to me on WHEN I can do it. They all know I just started this job, and they all know that I need to know in advance if I need a day off. This is supposed to happen NEXT WEEK and I STILL DON’T KNOW WHEN.

4. My house smells like onions.

5. I’m eating Cheetos again and GAINING MORE WEIGHT.

6. I’m generally pissed off today.

Boy, I'm a barrel of laughs lately.

Monday, May 02, 2005

Boring and loving it

I seriously considered deleting my last post, but decided against it. Sometimes it’s good to realize how crazy you feel. I’ve been doing a lot of feeling crazy lately, and writing about it helps me realize that it’s not ME, it’s my “condition.” Yes, Ryan and I are both under a lot of understandable stress, and yes, we both lash out from time to time, but we work it out. Our marriage is far from perfect, but so it everyone else’s. We were friends first and foremost, and that’s an important foundation to our relationship. So on to more important things, like how being pregnant changes how you spend the weekend.

I’ve seen a pattern emerging in the past month or so when it comes to my social life on the weekends. Friday nights we stay in, watch movies or television, and fall asleep early. A couple weeks ago, Ryan wanted to take me to see a band at some bar, something I would otherwise do, of course, but I declined. The last place I want to be is in a loud, smoky bar full of drunk people. I’d be miserable from the whole experience, the smells, the people, you name it. It takes very little to irritate me. The fact that we live in a town that has very little to do after dark besides go to the bar doesn’t make matters any easier for me. So here’s what we’ve been doing every weekend for the past month: getting up early on Saturday and going shopping. SHOPPING. Have I mentioned how much I hate shopping with my husband? We’ve been car shopping, lawn furniture shopping, clothes shopping, paint shopping, you name it. The saddest part is, we never buy anything, which makes the whole experience pretty much pointless. So it’s not really shopping at all, it’s more like traveling around a 50 mile radius to LOOK AT STUFF.

Don’t get me wrong, I like our daytrips and outings. This Saturday we went to the Grove City outlet mall. After completing a walk of the entire mall (which I’ve never done before) my back felt like it was snapping in half. But I didn’t buy one thing. I’ve come to the conclusion that I can only shop successfully without the prying eyes of my husband looking over my shoulder. Otherwise, it’s just not fun. It’s fun to go shopping without telling him, to sneakily buy stuff that I know he’s going to freak out about if he finds out, and to hide the shopping bags in the closet. And buying stuff online! Oh, I can shop online ALL DAY as long as I have a steady line of credit. But add Ryan to the mix and I become impotent. Shopping erectile dysfunction.

I think the part I liked most about Saturday was going to North Country Brewing for lunch. If you’re ever in Slippery Rock I’d highly recommend it, especially if you like brewpubs. I had a few sips of their beers and it was heaven. How I miss beer. It’s a cool place though, and I’ll definitely go back and try a salmon sandwich next time.

Usually after Saturdays full of shopping, I’m fairly exhausted. Sometimes we’ll get together with friends, but more often than not, Saturday nights are spent much like Friday nights, lounging on the couch. This Saturday was no exception. The weird thing about this weekend was that both nights we were in bed and asleep by 11. We are truly becoming parents. I thought I would feel a little more sadness as my former life slowly slips away, but I welcome it. I love being at home, being comfortable, and doing nothing. Sometimes I feel a slight twinge of what I might be missing, but it quickly passes as soon as I know Ryan is just as comfortable as me. I might not be that much fun to hang out with anymore, but I’m ok with that, because I don’t need to be fun anymore. I just need to be me, and being be includes a lot of selfish actions, such as napping on the couch for hours and eating chocolate. Soon my selfish time will be over, so I need as much of it as I can get.