Thursday, June 30, 2005
I love Butler County (note the sarcasm)
Ryan called me this morning at 5:45 to tell me that he just got passed on the highway by a blue Dodge truck. Uh, so what, Buddy? “Well, I just wanted to tell you that this truck had an Army sticker on the back window, and right next to it a sticker that says, 'war IS the answer.'” OH! Well, don’t I feel stupid. All this time I’ve been protesting the war, and now I come to find out… it is the answer! Duh! Yeah…must be a real winner driving that pick up truck.
Wrap yourself in a rainbow flag and blow kisses!
The gay world is coming a long way, just not in America. Yesterday Canada passed legislation to legalize gay marriage, a law that will more than likely go into effect toward the end of summer. And Spain passed their gay marriage law as well. If these countries can get it, why can’t the good old U S of A? For a country that promotes “life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness” we sure aren’t promoting liberty and happiness for everyone. It should read “life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness… unless you happen to be gay, then you can go live in Canada, Spain, Belguim, or the Netherlands.” A friend of mine once asked me, “well, killing people sometimes makes people happy, so do you want to legalize that?” And again, I say, OH! That makes perfect sense! I never thought of comparing murder to monogamous love! Well, shit my pants and call me Charlie.
I can’t believe I saw this:
A huge belt buckle that said “Praise the Lord.” Worn by a co-worker. It was so fashion faux pas that I was speechless. But I couldn’t stop staring… until I realized I was staring at a man’s waist, which could easily be mistaken for checking out his package… and I SOOOOO wasn’t doing that. Gag. Of course, maybe it is cool and I’m just a total dork. It’s cool to want to praise the Lord, but to tell people about it through your belt buckle? I’m not so sure. I apologize to anyone who might have a similar belt buckle. I don't know what I'm talking about. I wear maternity clothes.
And some other things that make me laugh, if you have time to sit and read like I do:
10 Worst Album Covers of All Time
10 More Really Sucky Album Covers
Now laugh. Laugh, damn you!
And if you're a fan of television... when did your favorite show jump the shark?
Wednesday, June 29, 2005
In all my anxiety ridden dreams, I’m always completely caught off guard and unprepared to do any type of motherly duties. It makes me wonder how I’ve survived, living my life as a completely independent and unrestricted human being. Sometimes I go about my day, cleaning my house, doing my dishes, folding laundry and wonder, how the hell am I going to do this with an infant? Is it even possible to maintain a shred of my former self or do the boring things that I do now?
Nursing is the one aspect that I must feel the most anxiety about, because in all my dreams the giving birth part is easy, but the breastfeeding is the hard part. I’m not afraid to push this kid out of my body, but I am a little afraid to latch it on to my boob. Why? Because pushing it out only happens once, and feeding it happens 8 to 12 times a day. And, because up to this point, boobs are for looking sexy in push up bras and low cut shirts, not to supply food to tiny little strangers.
And that’s just the thing about nursing, isn’t it? That’s what people have a problem with. It’s what makes people feel uncomfortable around nursing mothers. Boobs are sexual objects. No matter that they hold this awesome and almost magical ability to produce free food that can sustain life and aid in development. They’re for wet t-shirt contests and the occasional after work boobie grab. Right?
As I struggle with differentiating my boobs from old boobs to new, I also struggle with the argument about nursing in public. It’s gotten a lot of press lately, and although I know I’ll never be one of those moms that whips their tit out at Taco Bell and plops it into my infants mouth, I also know that I’m not going to subject myself to hiding and feeling shameful about needing to feed my baby. Babies need to eat, and moms need to get out of their poopy diaper ridden houses.
It’s a double edged sword. Not to mention the fact that breast feeding isn’t easy. It’s not like something that everyone has the ability to do, or probably every mom would do it. And that’s the thing about becoming a mom for the first time. It’s like the one thing you think that you need to be more prepared for out of any other thing in life, but it’s the one thing you can’t prepare for, no matter how hard you try. Nothing about motherhood is by the book. It’s like standing on the edge of a cliff and just waiting for someone to sneak up behind you and push you off.
And the crazy thing is, I can’t wait.
(However, I should mention, I am afraid to push my kid out of my body if it's anything like this one.)
Tuesday, June 28, 2005
My lilies and wildflowers are finally starting to bloom and I have 10 baby tomatoes. Unfortunately, my leaf lettuce is getting eaten by moths, of all things. Any suggestions on how to prevent that?
I have a feeling that this is going to be a long week. Ryan’s birthday is on Friday and I still have no idea what to get him. I had a couple ideas but I don’t know if they’ll work or not. I’m such a procrastinator.
I bought baby clothes yesterday at Babies R Us. It was my first official purchase of baby clothes. I already have a little wardrobe built, but everyone has been buying me 6 months and up. This kid is not going to come out of me being the size of a 6 month old. At least I hope not, because that’s abnormally large, and I have an abnormally small, um… area. Yeah.
My mom surprised me yesterday by buying me a gigantic new bag. It's bright pink vinyl and kind of resembles a tote-like briefcase of sorts. It's huge and very mom like. I stuffed it full of books, magazines, make-up and my wallet and cell phone, so now it's officially my mom purse. I just need some baby wipes to add to the collection and I'll be set.
I’m looking forward to the weekend. We’re taking our new canoe out on the Clarion River on Saturday. With any luck, I’ll be floating close behind on an inner tube, resembling something close to a beached whale. Luckily, harpoons are strictly prohibited on the Clarion River.
Monday, June 27, 2005
This was the scene yesterday in downtown Butler, at Cruise-A-Palooza. Yeah, that’s really what it’s called. We also recently had Parts-A-Rama, and I’m sure that the North Washington rodeo is coming up. And now you know why we don’t have gay pride parades here (but if we did I'm sure they'd be called Gay-A-Rama or Homo-Palooza or something like that).
Anyway, the weekend was full of fun filled events that served to remind me that my body no longer functions as a normal, healthy human body should. Aside from the fact that it was 90 plus degrees all weekend, there were many physical activities that I tried to partake in that just weren’t happening for my body. Number 1, moving our friends. I didn’t plan on helping much, but I didn’t want to not help either. But after a couple trips up 3 flights of stairs carrying only a couple of light bags, boxes, lamps, and cats, my heart was pounding and I was wheezing like I’d smoked 2 packs of cigarettes the night before. This was my first taste of realizing that I could no longer do what normal people do. After the moving we did a little swimming, which was nice, but my body couldn’t have felt weirder immersed in water. I tried to swim a little bit, but I felt like my belly just wanted to pull me to the bottom of the pool. I had to strain my neck to keep my face above the water. After swimming maybe 8 feet I was forced to try and catch my breath yet again. That night we went to the drive in, where I couldn’t stay awake to finish the last 20 minutes of The Longest Yard, which looked really good from what I saw through my heavy eyelids. I did see Batman Begins, which I thought started off terribly but ended on a high note.
Yesterday we tried to walk Main Street for the Cruise-A-Palooza, (I kept chanting under my breath on the way there “croooooooo-ZA, paaaaa-LOOOOOO-ZA!”) something I think I’ve done maybe once before in my 28 years as a resident of Butler County. By the time we reached Main Street, which was maybe 4 blocks from where we parked, I was huffing and puffing and sweating profusely. When I say profusely, I mean there was sweat running down my face and dripping off my chin. Everywhere I looked, people looked hot, but nobody was sweating their ass off like I was. We walked maybe another 4 blocks and I had to leave. I felt like I was dying. And the thing that made me feel terrible was that I saw tons (literally) of pregnant women walking the street. Whatever, bitches. It took me a long time to cool down in the car, and when we got home I passed right out and slept for an hour. God.
Ryan and I had to stop at Walmart yesterday, which was a good day to do it, since all the yahoos were at the ‘palooza. Here’s a small example of our relationship. Ryan sees a woman wearing practically nothing, and points her out to me. We both ogle and giggle and go about our business. Sometimes, if it’s a really outrageous looking woman, we can’t stop talking about it. Case in point, yesterday. Ryan saw this woman walk past and hissed “Buddy! Did you see that woman’s boobs?”
I turned around and saw the woman he was referring to, in the shortest shorts that you can imagine.
“Nope, but I see her ass right now.”
“Oh my god, you should have seen them. I don’t know how she was holding them in her shirt.”
We continue shopping and 20 minutes later are checking out in the garden section. I notice Ryan behaving strangely. I stare at him for a minute and say, “What’s wrong?”
Strange hissing noises.
More strange hissing noises.
I thought he was having some sort of convulsion over the grills that we were standing next to, so I ignored him and stared straight ahead. That’s when I noticed the woman from earlier, from the front. My eyes about popped out of my head and I decided that maybe they were trying to do an impression of her very new looking breasts that were popping out of her tight white tank which was covering a bikini top. I turned around to face Ryan, who still had the strange look on his face.
“OH… holy shit.”
He started laughing and I turned back around. I could not believe this woman’s boobs. They looked like they hurt. They weren’t only immense, but they were puffy and bruised looking, and being squashed down by the tank top. Ladies, you know how it is when you try on a bra that’s too small and it kind of cuts your boob in half, right? That’s what this woman’s boobs looked like. Except the parts that were sticking out were almost touching her chin. I looked around at the other men in line, but nobody was even looking in her direction. I wanted to jump up and down and point and yell, “look at those things!”
Ryan and I talked about her long after we had gotten in the van and started down the road. We got on the subject of how his boss gets in trouble for even glancing at women. His wife sounds extremely insecure, which I can’t figure out because she’s beautiful. I find it odd that women get so jealous about their men checking out other women. I know Ryan is going to do it whether I like it or not, and I’d rather have him point it out to me than try to keep it under wraps. There have been a few times that I playfully smacked him upside the head for looking at girls, but for the most part he’ll point someone out to me and vice versa. And I know that if I notice a girl, I’ll look over and he’ll be looking too. It cracks me up.
Is it just me?
Oh, and thanks to everyone that tried to help me out with html stuff last week. I think I have all the bugs worked out finally! Thanks!
And a new picture of the belly is up. Just a warning...
And make sure to go wish Shalini a happy birthday! She only has 34 more days of being preggo!
Saturday, June 25, 2005
A little more than a year ago, I knew I wanted to start a blog, but I had no idea what to write about, or worse yet, what to call it. Back then I worked at Target, and I had time in the morning just to sit at my house, drink coffee and smoke cigarettes on my porch. I love sitting on my porch in the morning, smokes or not. I began to notice a little family of squirrels who frequented my yard, so I went out and bought squirrel food for them. The mixture of corn, nuts, and sunflower seeds kept them coming back, along with the chipmunk who made his home under my shed. Every day I’d sit very quietly on my porch and watch my squirrels, and it provided me with hours of entertainment, watching their antics as they romped from tree to tree. I got to know them and I recognized each one. Thus I knew that my blog had to be squirrel stories, because I felt a strange kind of closeness with these animals. My first couple posts were like many others, just ramblings about my life and some mentions of the squirrels. I’ve never been much of a writer but I hoped that writing a blog would help me out with that. I think it did, sorta kinda.
Funny enough, this morning, the morning of my first blogoversary, I went out on to my porch, and there was a squirrel in my yard. I sat and watched him as he explored and played. I’ve seen a lot of squirrel behavior but I’ve never seen a squirrel acting quite like this one, although that might have explained why he was alone. He was racing around the base of a tree, then he’d spring up and let himself fall flat on his back. He’d lie sprawled out on the ground for a few moments, then curl into a ball and roll around on the grass. He kept repeating this, like he was having the time of his life. I found it fitting that I was witnessing a new squirrel behavior.
A lot has obviously changed in my life since my first post, but one thing remains the same, my squirrels. I can still count on them to entertain me. Which reminds me, I need to go buy some squirrel food today.
Friday, June 24, 2005
Let me know what you think. Does everything look right to you? If not, let me know. And then tell me how to fix it, because I'm clueless as hell. And don't ever ask me to make a new blog template, cause I'll fuck it up beyond recognition. This took me 2 whole days to get right, and it's still not quite right. But it LOOKS cool.
Ok, help, why do my apostrophes look all weird???
And how do I get rid of my title in the top part of the page above my banner?
How do I add a frame around my photos?
How do I get rid of "About Me" above my profile and add my own fancy title, like I did with my archives and shit?
I think that's all. If anyone can answer those questions, let me know.
The more time passes, the more excited I become to be a mother. I asked Ryan last night if he could see me as a mom, and he said yes, which surprised the hell out of me. I said, “why? I’m not even good with kids!” and he said, “because you already ARE a mother. You’re doing it, now.” Oh yeah… I guess I kind of am. But it’s different. It’s much easier to control your kid when it’s inside your body.
I can’t stop eating. My kid must be going through a massive growth spurt. You know how you can give a dog food and it will just keep eating and eating until you take it away? That’s how I am right now. Except there’s no one to take away my food. On Tuesday I ate SEVEN pieces of pizza before I even left work. Then I ate cheesecake AND ice cream later that SAME DAY. My stomach has grown out by at least an inch in the past 5 days. I have to get another picture of it up.
Yesterday I walked and ate a salad for lunch… I wasn’t that bad. It’s just so hard for me to eat healthy, which is what I know I should be doing. But healthy just sounds so… I don’t know… gross?
Guess what tomorrow is??? My one year blogoversary! To celebrate I’m hoping to launch a beautifully redesigned Squirrel Stories. Designed by yours truly, of course. I’ve done a lot of web pages in my day, but nothing quite as html intense as designing a blog template. I’m not quite as savvy in that area as I’d like to be. Hopefully I’ll get the kinks worked out today and get it up and running, but who knows?
It’s going to be a HOT weekend. Today it’s supposed to reach 90, tomorrow 94. Looks like I’ll be walking around with puffy hands and ankles for the weekend.
Does anyone have a pool? Can I come over?
Wednesday, June 22, 2005
I’m the biggest supporter of gay rights that I know, personally. Besides my girlfriend who won’t tell you for sure or not if she’s a lesbian, but she wears a little rainbow button on her hat and has a girlfriend. I will fight for the rights of gay people everywhere to be able to live their lives and be happy, just like I’m allowed to do. I’m like a heterosexual, pregnant, gay crusader. Ok, maybe I’m not that cool, but dammit, I’ll fight with anyone on gay rights, and it makes me so angry to see gay people being oppressed. They can’t get married, they can’t have childrens books, people call them evil and immoral, and it pisses me off as much as it would if I were gay, I think. Ask any of my friends, and they’ll tell you that I have more angst for gay people than a normal straight woman should have. I’ve fought with a lot of them about it.
Living in Butler, Pennsylvania, there’s not much support for the gay community here. And yes, there is a gay community, albeit perhaps a more closeted gay community than most cities. The number of rednecks in this town far outweigh the number of gay people, so a gay pride parade or anything like that is out of the question. And like most towns, the Christian right will declare “gays don’t reflect our family values!” And that phrase right there is what is prompting me to buy my kid this t-shirt.
Family values. It’s such a simple sounding concept, isn’t it? But the t-shirt makes such a good point. How can you be teaching your child family values when you’re teaching them to hate what is different from them? Just because your family is one way, doesn’t mean that all families have to be that way. Just because I have a family that includes a husband, wife, and child doesn’t mean that I won’t accept having 2 wives and a child next door to me. I’d welcome it.
Not everyone I know personally welcomes my views. In fact, I’m sure most of my friends get sick of hearing about what pisses me off, since when I get pissed I blog about it on our personal blog (they’ve mostly learned to ignore me). I know for sure that my father wouldn’t agree with me, and I know that Ryan gets sick of me ranting and raving about stuff (he’s a construction worker, not a saint).
For me, it all comes down to religion. You can’t say anything is wrong with being homosexual without bringing religion into it. And since I believe strongly in science, it’s not a surprise to me that a number of humankind are homosexual. It’s natural. It happens. You can either accept it, or spend your life fearing it. And if there’s one thing I hope to instill on my child, it’s never to use religion as a shield. Hate is NOT a family value. Not in my family, anyway.
Happy Gay Pride! Ahh... Squirrel Stories... now even gayer than before.
Tuesday, June 21, 2005
It’s the longest day of the year. But to me, yesterday felt like the longest day of the year. I’ve been feeling a lot of frustration lately in regards to my job, and I wrote an entire post yesterday where I ranted and raved and bitched and moaned, you know, the things I do best. I didn’t post it because I didn’t want to go into too much detail.
Here’s my only ray of hope in an otherwise dull, dreary atmosphere where boredom numbs every single atom that makes up my being: It’s only until November. Then I will be doing the job that nature evidently wants me to do, be a mom. Hopefully after that things will open up a little bit more for me, career wise and I'll only have to return to work at my current job for a short while.
I should have known I wanted to be a stay at home mom when I grew up. And here I had all these ideas in my head about a career and higher education. Who needs it? Masters schmasters. My mom always told me that I needed to find myself a rich man… but instead I married a poor asphalt worker. Crap. Stupid love.
I tried really hard to like what I’m doing… but the thing is, I’m not doing much of anything. The amount of work that I have in a single day equals about 10 minutes of actual work, so that leaves me with 7 hours and 50 minutes to find something else to do. And the hour of lunch that I almost never take… what’s the point?
Maybe its hormones, but I’m longing for some summer freedom. Ironic, since it’s the first day of summer. I’ve seen so many kids just out cruising with their friends, and it reminds me of when I was a teenager, and I’d go to the pool or the park, and just do whatever. I had nothing to worry about except curfew and birth control. At least I don’t have either one of those to worry about anymore.
It’s not that I want to be a kid again, no… I’ve got the road ahead of me pretty much paved (my husband is running the roller). I just want to feel that freedom for more than 30 minutes a day, while I’m in my car with the music up and the windows down, smelling the summer air. What the hell would I possibly do with a day like that? I’d probably end up sitting on my porch in the sun with a giant icy lemonade, a spray bottle full of cool water to mist myself, and listen to music.
It’s those tiny little moments that make me the happiest. Sitting here in this uncomfortable chair, staring a computer screen, with my feet up on a dusty box that I had to scrounge from the warehouse to keep the swelling in my ankles down is not fun. Nope.
And now, a piece of news you can use. Well, not really, but it’s interesting. Ladies, don’t bother faking it. I’ve never quite understood the point in faking it anyway. Seems pointless. It’s like training a dog, you have to let it know when it’s bad or else it will just keep pooping on the rug.
Don’t look at me like that, I’m pregnant.
Monday, June 20, 2005
Ryan is probably the least romantic man in the world. He’s a big, goofy construction worker. He speaks his mind and can be offensive and has the roughest hands I’ve ever felt. He only time he shows any passion is when playing music (which is so sexy). I’m sure you can imagine where I’m going with this.
Every year my dad and our neighbor have a huge party to celebrate their birthdays at our camp. The year 2000 was the first year that Ryan and I were living together, so of course, both of us were going to be there, along with all of our friends. A lot of my relatives were there as well, and everyone was eating and drinking and partying the night away. One of Ryan’s old bands played that night. I was busy taking pictures and cheering people on as they did keg stands. Needless to say, I was doing a lot of drinking myself and I was pretty well wasted by the time he and his band stopped playing. I decided to be a goof and start playing the drums, which I’m not good at AT ALL, when suddenly Ryan came up to me and asked me to stop. He was all, “I have to ask you something.” Before I could even think, he was down on his knee in the dirt and popped the question. Do you know what I said?
“Buddy, I’m so DRUNK! What are you doing to me???”
Then I started laughing hysterically and shrugged and said, “Okay!”
At this point my mother started screaming at my dad, “Oh my god! He asked her! Get over here!” And everyone came running. It was so freakin’ embarrassing, especially considering the amount of alcohol I had consumed.
Meanwhile, my dad had practically ruined the whole thing. I had to go to a friend’s bridal shower earlier that day, and while I was gone, Ryan asked my dad for his blessing. My dad started bawling, he was so excited (that’s pretty cute, because my dad is so macho). He told everyone at the party that we were engaged. So people kept coming up to me all night (before he even asked) going, “I heard you guys got engaged!” I was so confused, but I didn’t think that much of it.
The whole situation was pretty hilarious, actually.
Now every time we play fight, I say, “Yeah, well, I was DRUNK when I agreed to marry you!” And he’ll say, “Yeah, well, I haven’t sobered up since!”
We really do love each other. I swear.
Friday, June 17, 2005
Fridays are such a quiet day in the blogoverse.
I’ve seen G-Lo everyday since I noticed her for the first time.
I’m currently trying to calm down my sensitivity issues. I think I have a lot of angst going on since I’ve been pregnant, and then I realized, no, I rant and rave like a lunatic all the time. But it’s ok for me to call myself a lunatic, but not for anyone else. I don’t care if someone disagrees with me, but I didn’t realize until yesterday that disagreement can lead to me getting my feelings hurt right now, as much as I’m trying NOT to feel that way. I guess I have to quiet myself to avoid that. It’s just when I am pissed about something, I write about it.
Stupid pregnancy hormones. Sorry to be so cryptic, it’s one of those “censor myself” issues. I’m otherwise having a really good day. I registered for Lamaze today, which starts in August. That should be interesting. And I also registered for a parenting class, since I have no clue how to be a parent. I figured I’d pay someone I don’t know to show me.
And Rob of “a traveling Rob” fame is back in the good old US of A, so we get to hang out with him tonight.
And a trip to Babies R Us is in the cards for tomorrow. It’s shaping up to be a good weekend.
Happy Fathers Day to all the dads and dads to be out there!
Thursday, June 16, 2005
No matter how hard you try, you cannot train them. It has to be done at an early age, by their mother. Case in point, Ryan. He always puts the seat down after peeing. I know lots of men who don’t, because their mother didn’t train them properly. Men who come to my house, pee, and when I go into my bathroom I almost fall into the toilet because I’m so used to having a motherfucking seat to sit on (nobody I hang out with on a regular basis, thankfully). This toilet seat training starts at a young age, so mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be non-toilet seat putter down pissers.
Some men just can’t clean bathrooms. In the 5 years that I’ve lived with Ryan, he has never once cleaned the bathroom, and I know if he did, I’d have to clean it all over again because he’d do a half assed job. It doesn’t bother me to clean the bathroom, because I know it will be clean when I’m done.
When you feel like snuggling or watching a movie, more than likely some kind of manly television event will be on, like football or wrestling.
Men can’t poop in less than 20 minutes. There has to be an ample stack of magazines or a newspaper and god forbid, DO NOT KNOCK ON THE DOOR. Some men feel differently about conversing while on the shitter, but the constant thing is the time spent pooping and the reading material.
Men don’t vacuum. They don’t even know where we keep the vacuum or what it does. If there’s dirt on the floor, they rub it in with their foot.
Men don’t know how to put their own clothes away. That’s because their mommies used to do it for them. We have become their mommies, and we constantly have to pick their dirty socks off the living room floor and put them in the proper place. Ryan does his own laundry (cause god forbid, I might wash his wallet) but he never ever puts the clothes away once they are removed from the dryer. His side of the closet is literally getting emptier and emptier. Soon all his clothes will be in a basket on his side of the bed and I’ll have the closet all to myself.
Every once in a while, you’ll find a real gem of a man who does housework, like my dad. But beware, ladies, because he’s faulty. Not only would my dad clean the house, he’d bake you a pie. But if you left ONE DISH in the sink instead of putting it in the dishwasher, you’d better run for the hills. And once he retires, forget it. He’ll throw a load of laundry in every once in a while, but he’ll forget it’s there. His butt will be permanently glued to a chair and his hand will be permanently glued to a remote.
I’m not saying women are perfect. Ryan would have a lot to say about me and my faults. Like, I don’t take out the garbage (lie) and I don’t put out the recycling (lie). Those are just things I don’t do as often as he does. He does our bills (but I’m slowly taking over that responsibility) and at least once a week he’ll do the dishes and cook dinner (which I do every night during the week). I also do ALL the housework AND work full time AND I’m carrying a child. I’m perfectly fine with this. I don’t know how I became so Stepford. I even want sex more than my husband is willing to give. I’m the perfect woman.
Oh, how I love that man of mine.
And guess what I got last night? A MOTHERFUCKER of a MINI VAN. I totally need one of those "if this van is a rockin' don't come a knockin'" bumper stickers.
(Can you believe someone with this maturity level is going to bring a child into the world? The shame.)
* Men, a sure fire way to get laid... clean for your significant other. And do a good job. Scrub the floors, dust, vacuum, clean the tub, shower, and sink. If my husband did this for me, he wouldn't even begin to know what he had coming. If he thought it was good before...
Wednesday, June 15, 2005
I’ve sold my soul to the Google gods, people. See those ads in my sidebar? If you click them, I’ll make money… or so they tell me. Don’t look at me like that, I have a kid on the way.
Here are some less than interesting facts about me today:
I forgot to put on deodorant this morning.
I also realized that I forgot to take my prenatal vitamin yesterday. What is wrong with me?
I got a crazy leg cramp at 1:30 in the morning that woke me up.
My nipples are consistently hard to the point that they hurt.
A new picture of my belly is up at the baby blog. Beware, it may swallow you whole.
My mom’s dog is in heat and I swear she tried her hardest to communicate with me yesterday about how much it sucks to be a woman. It was a time of bonding.
Blueberry Pop Tarts are my favorite.
I was really into root beer up until a few weeks ago. I’ve drank so much root beer that I think my farts probably smell like root beer. Now I’m very much into lemonade.
ESC and I worked out our meeting spot yesterday… It involves burritos and margaritas…I’m blog whoring and meeting every single person that comes into the Pittsburgh area. So if you’re around, email me. We’ll party like I’m pregnant and you’re not.
I watched Sex and the City last night and there was an awesome episode about the girls getting invited to a baby shower of a friend of theirs who they used to party with. The pregnant lady used to get all crazy and strip at parties and date rock stars and stuff, and they couldn’t believe how lame she was since she settled down and got married. All the while, Carrie thought she was pregnant. The woman showed up at a party that Samantha threw to celebrate NOT having a baby, and she tried to get all crazy and strip like she used to do in her former life. She couldn’t do it. Carrie got her period and everyone lived happily ever after. It made me wonder how much I’ve changed since becoming a mom to be. I don’t feel like I’ve changed much. But I think change is inevitable. I used to get drunk and flash my tits at parties but I don’t foresee that happening again in the future (even though they’re more fabulous now than ever before, and the hard nipplage makes them even more noticeable). I think that’s called maturity though.
Now go make me some money you poopy heads!
Tuesday, June 14, 2005
I feel strongly about a lot of things, and I want my kid to know about them. That’s why I wrote recently on my baby blog in “this week in news” about a biology teacher who went against the Supreme Court and continued to teach creationism in his class for 15 years. He even went so far as to distribute a book that HE wrote about it. It took 15 years until someone finally turned him in. In 1987 the Supreme Court ruled that creationism is religion, NOT a science, and therefore has no place in public school. I quite agree.
The man in question has agreed to alter his curriculum. And as the article states here, what was wrong about what he did has nothing to do with the creation myth, but that he taught it as a science.
See, here’s the thing, boys and girls. Intelligent design, no matter how you dress it up and call it “science” is never going to be a science. Because it’s not how science works. If you go to my sidebar and click on the "Over Coffee" (or just click there) link, you’ll be directed to a wonderfully funny and smart man named Jerry Wilson who knows his shit when it comes to evolution and science, and wrote a great article called “Creation Science is an Oxymoron.” He explains how scientific theory and the scientific method works. Creation is not something that came about by using the scientific method, plain and simple. It starts out with the answer (God created it all) and works backward to prove it, which is the exact opposite of what science does. Now, excuse me, but since when do people of faith need proof that something exists? Doesn’t that make faith an oxymoron as well? Exactly.
It amazes me that educated people refuse to believe something that science has proven time and time again. Science is tangible. You can see the results. You know the processes of what is happening. Isn’t that easier to believe than some supernatural being that we’ve never seen waving a hand and the world going “poof?” Evolution is real. It really, really happened. And just because scientists are making new discoveries in evolution every day doesn’t discredit that it actually happened, it only makes it more substantial! Proponents of creation like to say, “it’s just a theory, and it hasn’t been proven!” All that statement proves is ignorance of scientific theory. Science doesn’t deal with absolute truths; that’s why you hear about models, theories, and hypotheses. In popular language, the word theory means “abstract thought or contemplation,” or in more simple terms, “something unproven”. In science it has a different meaning, “a set of facts, propositions, or principles analyzed in their relation to one another and used to explain phenomena.” I’m sure that any dictionary will show you that. See, science gathers up all this information and data in order to come up with a hypothesis, which is basically an educated guess. It’s probably what most people mean when they say “theory.” Technically they should be saying, “I have a hypothesis as to what your dream about President Bush, the parade, and the bathroom means.” Anyway, the hypothesis gets tested over and over and over again until it’s basically infallible. Only then does it become a theory. And yes, most people learn this in elementary school science. So where does this knowledge go?
I don’t believe that creation is something that should be taught in schools, unless it’s part of an elective religion class. I think everyone is entitled to practice their own religion without persecution, and if kids want a religion class as part of their curriculum, let them have it. I went to Catholic school and I had religion class where I learned creation myth, and science class where I learned evolution and the big bang theory. I was never taught that the myth was absolute truth, either. If they can get it right in Catholic school, why can’t they get it right in public school?
Inserting ID or “creation science” or whatever you want to call it into science classes is just another example of the Religious Right pushing their beliefs on this country. I don’t care what you believe, just don’t push it on me, and certainly NEVER push it on my vulnerable child. I will be the one to teach my kid about religion, not some yahoo that would introduce some false claim that “this is a science! And look, here’s the PROOF! Believe or burn in the depths of hell!” Creationists take what scientist have already found (i.e. fossils) and turn it around and find a Biblical explanation for it (i.e. the Great Flood [which essentially makes no sense, because then the majority fossils would have formed at once instead of over billions of years and so on and so on] and Noah and many other lies like evolution is the work of Satan and, um, Nazis).
So, now you know, no scientific model can ever be absolute truth, because there will never be enough data or information out there to make that possible. There are, ahem, people (Kent Hovind for example, who has a “doctorate” in who knows what from an unaccredited Bible college) out there who are creation fanatics that offer to pay anyone money who can “prove” evolution. These people MUST have a working understanding of scientific method, because they know that will never happen. The model of evolution has been tested and modified, but it has never failed any test and has never been invalidated. That’s as far as the “truth” goes.
Creation “science” is purported as “absolute truth” and therefore not achieved by scientific method, therefore, NOT SCIENCE. So don’t teach it in science class. Plain. And. Simple.
And that’s my rant for the day.
Monday, June 13, 2005
For some reason, rather than leaving after we ate and tailgating in the parking lot of the amphitheater, everyone insisted on drinking there. The concert started at 8, and by 6:30 I was nervous. I was the only one NOT drinking, so basically I was just sitting there pointlessly. I played with their dog, one of those wrinkly faced, curly tailed things (I can’t remember what they’re called) who drooled a ton and stunk terribly. At one point it shook its head and it was like a scene out of “Turner and Hooch,” I was showered in doggy drool. Plus it insisted on continually jumping on me, which got aggravating. It was a small dog, but I still didn’t want it to jump on my belly, which it did, and I have 2 scratches on my arm from shoving it off me a dozen times.
Ryan has been working in paving for 5 years now, so I’ve hung out with my fair share of pavers, and they really are all the same. They’re loud, obnoxious, and don’t give a shit what they say. They love to harass and pick on anyone who will take it. All to varying degrees, of course. And yes, Ryan is exactly like that. So I wasn’t surprised when the older guy that he works with kept harassing me about why I married Ryan, and wasn’t I supposed to be smart with all my degrees, and this and that, and SHUT THE FUCK UP ALREADY. It was funny the first 27 times, dude, but seriously.
Ahem. This isn’t all bitching though. They were all very nice people, but as you know, it takes me a bit to warm up to people I don’t know, and the fact that I can’t consume alcohol and everyone else could was making it worse. Finally, at 7:00 everyone decided it would be a good time to go. The loud annoying man insisted that we could all fit in his Dodge Intrepid. Bear in mind, there were 6 of us, 7 if you count all of me. So the foreman’s wife said she would drive, since she had only had 2 beers (still scary) and she and the annoying man’s girlfriend sat up front, which left me, Ryan, the annoying man, AND the foreman to SQUEEZE into the backseat. Luckily from Cranberry it was only about a 45 minute drive there, because we were squished in the backseat like sardines. Not very comfortable.
After a few terrifying moments during the drive (a semi that almost hit us in the rain and the foreman’s wife swerving into the other lane while looking at us all in the backseat… only 2 beers, huh?) we got there. And I found the nearest portopotty since my bladder, along with everything else on me, was squished during the drive. I came back to the car to find everyone sucking down more beer. Which was fine, I don’t care if I’m the only sober one, but if you’ve ever been in a situation where you’re the only one NOT drinking and therefore the only one with a fully functioning brain, you know how annoying it can be to deal with a bunch of drunks. I was there to see a concert, NOT to drink in the motherfucking parking lot. It was 8:00, let’s GO!
On our way in the gates, as everyone was standing at the “no containers beyond this point” sign (a group of people walked by with cups, and a woman remarked, “it says no open containers, not CUPS" and walked by… hello, what do you think a cup is?), chugging their beers, the rain stopped. Thank you, mother nature. Believe it or not, everyone took this opportunity to go buy more alcohol. I got a bottle of water and a chair, since we had lawn tickets. I wasn’t about to stand the whole time. As we were making our way up the hill to find a spot to sit, Don Henley started.
I’m not a Don Henley fan, but I was pretty surprised at the fact that I knew every single song that he played. Of course, he did some covers, and he played some Eagles songs, but I was most excited when Stevie Nicks came out and sang with him on Hotel California. Her beautiful wavery voice just overpowered his, and it was like watching magic happen. She stayed on stage for a few more of his songs which I thought helped his set immensely. You knew that the audience was there to see Stevie, because whenever she came out the crowd went nuts. There’s something so indescribable about her, something dark and magical. Add to that the fact that she and Henley were once lovers, and there was a spark that electrified the entire place.
Not that I didn’t enjoy Don Henley’s set, but he wasn’t who I was there to see, so I waited patiently for him to finish. When I finally thought he was done, he came back out and did 2 more songs. Then it took another half an hour to strike the stage and set up for Stevie Nicks. I was almost peeing my pants in anticipation and then the band started. I can’t even remember what song she played first, because I was mesmerized. I saw Stevie Nicks in the summer of 2001, and her show is phenomenal. This time was even better. Her band was incredible, they did solos and stuff while she had costume changes. Essentially, they never stopped playing. The power of her band and the power of her voice combined totally blew Don Henley out the water. This was her show, no doubt about it. I think Ryan was surprised, because he kept saying to me, “she rocks!” and I’d nod smugly, since I’ve always been a fan. Of course Don Henley came out and sang some songs with her, including one of my favorites, “Stop Dragging My Heart Around.” The opening to “Edge of Seventeen” was insane. She has an incredible drummer and another percussionist that plays hand drums, and they dueled. Dueling percussion. It was amazing. Then the guitar player started on the first couple notes of the song, and everyone freaked out. He played solo after solo and then kept going back to that opening note for about 10 minutes, and Stevie finally came out. That was her last song, until she and Don Henley came back out for their encore, the one song that I was hoping for, since it was my wedding song, “Leather and Lace.” I was so happy that they played that song, their one hit together and the first solo hit for both of them.
It was so worth listening to drunk pavers singing and screaming like idiots.
Guess who got to drive home? Yes, you got it, the pregnant one. Number one, I’m a terrible night driver. Two, I tend to freak out on major highways, and three, I was driving a car that I wasn’t familiar with. The foreman’s wife actually drunkenly said to me, “I don’t think you should have to be the one to drive, that’s so not fair.” Correct, it isn’t fair, but I’d rather nervously drive everyone than be squashed in the backseat, fearing for my life because someone who is drunk is driving us home. Plus, the loud annoying man (who was also very drunk) called me “fat and pregnant” so I figured I wouldn’t be too upset if I wrecked his car.
After driving back to Cranberry, I was pretty wiped out, but I had to make the drive from Cranberry back to Butler, which at 1:30 in the morning is a fairly quick one. We got home at 2:00. I don’t know the last time I was out that late, much less up that late. I passed out as if I were drunk as soon as my head hit the pillow. I felt like crap all day yesterday, and did absolutely nothing. I actually felt like I was hung over. Must have been all the pot smoke in the air or something.
These same people want to go to Mellencamp in July… I’m doomed.
Friday, June 10, 2005
Last Sunday I dodged the poop of these guys for a good 20 minutes.
The other day I went to the grocery store on my lunch break. Upon exiting the store, I heard the loud incessant barking of what sounded like a rather large dog. As I edged closer to my car, I noticed that the dog is indeed a large dog, barking with his head out the window of a pickup truck that is parked directly in front of my car. No problem, I’m not afraid of dogs, and besides, this one is in a truck… he DOES however have his head the whole way out the passenger side window… and that’s when I noticed the crusty old man standing at the back of the van that’s parked next to the pickup truck. He was refusing to get in his van for fear that the dog would chew his face off. Now, the dog in the truck was pretty close to the driver’s side door of the van, especially with his whole head hanging out the window. And the thing he was barking at was the old man. I was half tempted to walk over to the dog and in my goofiest voice say, “hello puppy, goo goo gaa gaa, here have some of my turkey bagel”, but I figured pregnancy isn’t the time to try and be a dog whisperer. At this point the man was waving someone over to him with this disgusted look on his face. Running through my mind is, “who is going to be able to help this guy but the owner of the dog?” But eureka, it was a policewoman that he was beckoning to. Now I’m thinking, “what the fuck is a police officer going to do? Arrest the dog for barking? Put it down? Wait around and arrest the guy that parked his truck in a grocery store parking lot and was nice enough to leave the window partially down so that his dog didn’t suffocate in the heat?” By this time I’m in the front seat of my car, watching the policewoman talking to this man, and they’re both looking at the dog like it has two heads. Now I’m wondering if either the man or the officer will have enough COMMON SENSE to open the passenger side door of the van, get in, and DRIVE THE FUCK AWAY.
I doubt it.
I don’t know if I’ve ever expressed my fear of spiders in the past. Just to bring you up to speed, I’m terrified of them. I have one of the worst phobias when it comes to spiders. People might think its funny or that I’m being dramatic when I freak out when I see a spider, but what they’re really witnessing is immobilizing, mind numbing fear. It’s really NOT funny, and it makes me feel really stupid. So you can imagine my dismay as I was driving home from work last Friday and saw something moving across my dashboard. Glancing down, I saw a huge (when I say huge, I mean probably dime sized, but that’s big enough for me), black, HAIRY spider. Not your garden variety Pennsylvanian car spider. My eyes quickly shot back to the road and I stared ahead as I tried to catch my breath. If you’ve ever had a bee in the car, you probably know the kind of panic you go through, and that’s what I was experiencing, only silently. Silent panic is the worst, because you are literally paralyzed with fear. The spider started moving back toward the passenger side of the dashboard, and seeing it move out of the corner of my eye was making me practically hyperventilate. Anytime I encounter spiders I get the creepy crawlies. You know, (well, maybe you’re a normal person and you DON’T know) you start feeling like there’s stuff crawling on you. My arms and legs were crawling and I kept swatting myself. I decided that I couldn’t drive like this, so I pulled over. I had to face my foe.
Because I don’t kill spiders (I’ll get to that in a minute) I grabbed the only resource I had at my disposal, an empty Tupperwear container that I had from lunch. This guy was going to be my prisioner. Usually at my house what I do is trap a spider under a glass, slide a magazine under it, and throw it outside, saying, “and don’t come back!” This time I was thinking, I’m so blogging this, so I wanted to trap it and get it’s picture before I sent it on its way. But this guy was NOT having it. It was fast, and smart. It saw me coming from a mile away and darted between the dashboard and the windshield. So I shoved the tupperwear lid down into the crack, hoping to scrape it out. Nothing. Then I thought, “well, I can’t sit here forever,” so off I went. Not 2 minutes later, I spied it crawling up the passenger side window panel. Naturally, I freaked again, thinking it was going to crawl up over my head and jump on me. So I pulled over again. This time was worse. It webbed it’s way down off the window, right in front of a vent. And when I advanced, it slipped back into the vent. Bastard. So what did I do? I shut the vent. Hard. I don’t know if I squished him or not, I figured since I couldn’t see it, it was ok. Then I turned the heat on full blast and started driving. I finally made it home without incident and I haven’t seen that fucker since.
I’m not sure where my fear of spiders stems from, but I don’t kill them for this reason. Once my friend Kari and I were at the park. This was a summer evening, and we were probably just out of high school. Kari had an affinity for squishing bugs. So when we saw this huge (and this time, when I say huge, I mean HUGE, like tarantula size… maybe a little smaller) spider, she jumped at the opportunity like it was her calling from God. She stomped on that thing… and it exploded… with BABY SPIDERS. Yes, millions of baby spiders came pouring off of this thing. Just thinking of the visual make me want to vomit. When I relive that moment, it plays in slow motion… her foot coming down… me shouting, “nnooooooooo!!!” and then the babies pouring out on to the concrete. I think it was a wolf spider, because they carry their babies on their backs. If looking at that picture doesn’t make you shudder, there’s something WRONG with you.
Ok, it’s just me. I’m a freak.
Hair Color Woes
I colored my hair last night and now it’s red. It wasn’t supposed to be red, but any time I color my hair a few shades darker than it normally is, it turns this weird reddish color. I don’t understand it. It looks good, but I really wasn’t hoping for red. I was hoping for dark golden blonde, like the box said.
I’ve been exercising pretty consistently since the middle of April. This is the longest I’ve ever gone maintaining a routine workout. I usually get bored. But when I found out at my May appointment that I gained 13 pounds, that kind of freaked me out. 13 pounds in ONE MONTH. At the beginning of pregnancy. I was like, “holy shit, I’m going to gain 50 pounds!” Well at this months appointment, I was shocked to discover that I had only gained 2 more pounds. I feel huge. I realize that there’s good reason for me to feel huge, but ONLY 2 POUNDS? WHAT???
I guess I’ve leveled off for a little bit, but I was thinking this morning as I did my Winsor Pilates Buns and Thighs workout that if I worked out like this when I WASN’T pregnant, I’d be so freakin’ skinny. So maybe this is good training for my postpartum days while I’m sitting at home with a baby. Or I might just get really lazy then.
I had a dream last night about the president. We were walking with a bunch of people in the rain, and W. was right in front of me, refusing to share his umbrella with Cheney, so Cheney walked off and got under someone else’s umbrella. I was beside W. and he looked over at me and said, "Boy, I really need to do something to turn this country around." And I said, "Why don't you have a parade? Everyone loves parades. I know I sure do." He said, "That sounds like a great idea." Then we went to a Mexican mans house. The man only spoke Spanish, and he was speaking it in my dream. I asked to use his banyo, and while I was mid-pee, both my mom and dad burst into the room and held the door shut because someone was trying to get in. Then I woke up.
Explain that one.
Have a good weekend!
Thursday, June 09, 2005
I still have no clue what Fuzzball is. The ultrasound tech said if she had to guess, she’d say girl, so that doesn’t give us a lot to go on. Since that was our last ultrasound (unless something comes up that requires one) we probably won’t find out for sure.
Fortunately, everything looks good. We have an absolutely normal baby that likes to hide it’s private parts under it’s umbilical cord. I just knew that was going to happen. We made a stubborn kid.
And that kid is currently jumping for joy in my uterus that he/she spited me for the first time today.
Wednesday, June 08, 2005
Here are Julie and I, trying to remain happy and calm, even though there was a Corvette hanging upside down from the ceiling in very close proximity to both of our heads.
If you’ve never visited a Quaker Steak and Lube, let me tell you, it’s not just a restaurant, it’s an EXPERIENCE. Obviously the theme is anything that has an engine, so you’ll find random motorcycles suspended off the walls and cars hanging from the ceiling. Just how do you hang a car from the ceiling? Can I hang my Mitsubishi off the ceiling of my house? No, because the roof would come tumbling down. HOW DO YOU DO IT?
At any rate, the Lube is most famous for its chicken wings and its Bike Night. Now it’s famous because me and Julie were there. Because anything on my blog becomes instantly famous, you know. (Lie.)
The day started out like any normal E-Lo Sunday, except for the fact that it was the first extremely hot day that Western Pennsylvania had seen since last August. It has stayed very hot since then, so I’m convinced that it was indeed Julie with her flaming red hair who brought the heat.
After the hour drive to Sharon in my car without an air conditioner (and getting mildly lost, thanks to Mapquest – EVIL), Starr, Michelle and I were finally there and practically ran in the door to get into the air conditioning. But first at quick stop at the door’s main attraction (Starr and Michelle, you are going to LOVE ME! But hey, you knew this was going on my blog, right?):
Don’t worry, you can laugh at me later, too.
Standing inside, I wondered if I’d recognize Julie if I saw her, since I’ve only seen a couple pictures of her. Starr asked me if I knew what she looked like, and I said, “she’s little and has red hair.” Not even a minute after I said that I spotted Julie outside the door. I knew it was her right away. Naturally I shimmied over to the door (because I can’t really run properly anymore… it’s more of a shuffle/shimmy) and pressed my face up to the window and gave her my big E-Lo smile. Yay! It was Julie!
Julie brought her friend Kim, who impressed me right away with her Hogwarts t-shirt (and later the fact that she based her thesis on Harry Potter). So we got a seat, and the fun began.
We chitchatted and laughed about a bunch of different stuff, very little of it pertaining to blogging (hey, it was a Sunday), and if you read Julie’s blog (chances are you do if you read mine) you know that Starr actually knows Rick’s brother and his kids. Crazy, small world shit. In the gear head atmosphere, us Butler girls shared our experience of the Butler gear heads that we know (actually, we just made fun of them). Topics of interest also included the powdered egg breakfast at Julie and Kim’s reunion, how immature men are, greasy onion rings on a stick, Jesse peeing on the couch again, and the Target in Brooklyn. I found out about ratemyprofessor.com, where Kim is rated as “chili pepper” for HOT, and geocaching, which I really, really want to do one of these days. We stayed there talking and laughing long after we got our checks, and then finally it was time to go.
But first, on our way out the door, Julie and I became chicken wings.
Go ahead, point and laugh at your monitor.
At Quaker Steak, the hottest wings you can get are the “atomic” wings. I believe you actually have to sign a waiver to eat them, because they are so fucking hot. There’s a sign in the bathroom that basically says, “if you just ate the atomic wings, wash your hands BEFORE you go to the bathroom.” They’re hot enough to burn your undercarriage off. Believe me, if Julie and I really WERE chicken wings, we’d be the atomic flavor. Rick and Ryan are truly lucky that they don’t have third degree burns from our hotness.
I’m not sure what the chicken wing between us is all about. Since there’s no “acid” flavor chicken wing, I just have to assume that if you eat the atomic wings, you’ll be tripping in no time. Check out his eyes.
So Julie and I got to share our first blogger meeting experience (aaww) and it was so cool. It’s also kind of weird to actually meet someone you feel like you kind of already know for the first time. Weird in a good way, of course, because weird is always good for me.
To sum up:
Tuesday, June 07, 2005
I’m convinced that my baby is going to be a rocker. Since I’ve gotten pregnant, I’ve really loved old school rock n roll. I’ve always liked it, but it’s so much easier to get into these days. When I first found out I was pregnant, hearing AC/DC was like paradise for me. I had my own personal AC/DC concert in my car this morning, poking my belly while singing/screaming, “I’m baaaa-aaaaack, baaaaaa-aaaaaccck, back in black! Yes, I’m back in black!” Then I’d get worried that I was listening to my stereo way too loud for my yet to be born infant child and turn it down a few notches. I figure it’s my responsibility, as a music lover, to show my child the roots of rock. I’m planning on a mixed CD for the nursery with some of the more soft songs from my favorite old school bands, like the Clash, Kiss, Bob Marley, Queen, Fleetwood Mac, etc. Between me and Ryan, this kid will be a musical genius.
This weekend will be Fuzzball’s first real concert, so I hope I get some feedback while Stevie Nicks is on stage, you know, like a kick to say, “I’m listening.” That would be awesome. I swear he/she was doing backflips in there yesterday. What a strange feeling that is. It’s like a squirrel doing back handsprings off your pelvis. Of course, I’ve never had a squirrel do a back handspring off my pelvis, so I have no basis for comparison. I can imagine though.
Monday, June 06, 2005
Friday night one of Ryan’s friends was in from out of town, and we had made plans (or so I thought) to have some people over to our house to entertain, since I’m not going to go to a bar. Well, Starr and Greg were still planning on coming over, but it turned out that Ryan’s friend had made other plans. He called, I answered, and he was like, “hey, we’re going to this bar… do you guys want to come?” Tell me if I was wrong to be a little pissed. I realize that the world doesn’t revolve around me and my pregnancy. But I was under the assumption, which I suppose was incorrect, that everyone was coming over to MY HOUSE so that I too could participate in the fun. I’m 5 months pregnant. Do you SERIOUSLY think I want to go spend a Friday night at some smoky bar filled with drunk people and do what? Sit there and sip a 7UP and gag on the cigarette smell? That sounds like something the drunk formerly known as E-Lo would have had fun doing. The current, sober, mother-in-training E-Lo wants no parts of that. Typically, I like this friend of Ryan’s, but what kind of person actually invites a pregnant woman out to the bar? Am I wrong or selfish to feel pissed off about that? At any rate, Starr and Greg still came over and we watched episodes of Animal Cops and Animal Precinct, both of which were highly addictive. It helped me to focus my anger on something useful, poop face animal abusers.
Saturday was spent making not one, but TWO trips to Clarion County… the first one to the Herb and Fiber festival, where there were plenty of herbs but not a lot of fiber. I got some rosemary, some Hungarian wax peppers (HOTT), and a big, beautiful patio tomato plant. When we got back to Butler my friend Kari gave me a knitting lesson. She knits the “continental” or left-handed way, and I actually found it easier than the last time I learned to knit (I obviously forgot how in all my crocheting and jewelry making madness)… it’s nice to get back into some creative projects. I’ve been kind of stagnant for a while. Then when I got back home it was time to leave again to go… BACK to Clarion. Why? Because although there are hundreds of really good restaurants right here in Butler County, Ryan’s mom and dad HAD to go to the Red River Roadhouse for Ryan’s dad’s birthday dinner. I so did NOT want to get back in the car for another hour long trip. I got a little car sick on the way up to Cook Forest during the first trip. Now I had a headache and was cranky to find everyone sitting in my living room waiting for me to get home so we could all leave again. But I went without much complaint, mainly because I was getting a free dinner, and what pregnant woman can resist that? I also got some Stargazer lilies and some leaf lettuce seed packets and various geraniums from Ryan’s mom out of it.
Sunday was probably the best day of the weekend. When I woke up, I walked out on to my porch and found that the air was thick and very, very warm… I woke up to SUMMER! I love summer. LOVE it. Sure, it’s sweaty and hot and humid and makes my hair really super straight and limp, but there’s just something about summer that is indescribable. After getting ready and running some errands, it was time to head to Sharon to meet Julie! Starr and another of my friends, Michelle, met me at my house and we were off on a mini road-trip. I found out yesterday that the air conditioning in my car no longer works, so it was windows down, sunroof open, cruising down the interstate. Meeting Julie deserves a post of its own, and requires pictures, so that will be tomorrow. I will say that she and her friend Kim were really cool and super funny, and I think we spent the entire time laughing about something, which equates to BUCKETS of fun in my book. The “BUCKETS” reference has an underlying meaning, and you’ll get that on tomorrow’s post.
Starr and Michelle and I stopped at Moraine State Park on the way home and found ourselves dodging goose poop and nasty, dirty people and their kids. It was a good day to people watch. We went to the “beach” on the North Shore and decided that it was definitely the ghetto beach. I got some goose pictures there that I’ll put up this week too. We decided that we’re going to rent a pontoon boat out there one of these weekends, so that will be something to look forward to.
Another thing to look forward to this week is my ultrasound on Thursday. With any luck we’ll see what Fuzzball has been cooking downstairs. And then we’ll have a proper name, which will be nice. And Stevie Nicks on Saturday!
Ok, I’m going to TRY to work now. I’ll more than likely fail miserably, but I’ll try.
Friday, June 03, 2005
I have a busy weekend coming up. I’m going back to Cook Forest tomorrow for the Herb and Fiber Festival at the Cook Forest Sawmill, which should be a treat. I’ve always wanted to go but I always had to work on the weekend that it fell on. So I’ll say it again, ha, ha, I don’t have to work in retail anymore! Then on Sunday I’m making the trek to Sharon, PA for my first ever blogger meeting with the illustrious Julie at Quaker Steak and Lube. That should be a fun filled event which will involve lots of pictures that we can post on our blogs next week. Hopefully I won’t clam up and be intensely shy, like I normally am with people I don’t really know. Julie, if I’m shy, please smack me.
On my way to work this morning, I saw a woman in a Jeep with a vanity license plate that read “G-Lo.” I almost slammed my breaks on in morning rush hour traffic (if you can actually say that the trek from Butler to Evans City is REAL rush hour) to see what this woman looked like and ask her WHY she was crampin’ my style, bitch. I tried to imagine what her real name was in order to justify exactly why she could be called G-Lo. I decided her name must have been Gina Lopinski. Most of you know my REAL name, I’m not terribly afraid to share it, because my husband has a 12 gauge in the closet (I really don’t know if it’s a 12 gauge, it could be a BB gun for all I know). I won’t say it here, because I don’t want random people from my past (like asshole ex boyfriends) searching for my name and finding my blog. ANYONE can make their name much like mine, you just have to take the first letter of your first name, hyphenate it, and add the first 2 letters of your last name. Although I was E-Lo long before I was married, so the “Lo” is actually my maiden name. It works well for some people, like J-Lo for instance… I decided if she could get J-Lo out of Jennifer Lopez then I certainly could be E-Lo. Some people just don’t have the capacity to make their name into an E-Lo like name… for instance, my sister would be “L-Bl,” which makes no sense. My other sister would be “C-Tu” which is also kind of bad. Because I hyphenated my name when I got married, my true E-Lo name SHOULD be E-Lo-Ha, but that sounds kind of Polynesian or something, and that would be confusing since I’m German Italian, etc.
Enough about me, how about more about… me? I got my license picture taken yesterday, and the difference between this license and the last one is STAGGERING. As soon as I get a chance, I’ll scan them and let you compare. I’ll tell you this, pregnancy must be a good thing for me, because even though I look a little more pleasantly plump in the new license, I look a hell of a lot better than I did in the last one that was taken in 2002, shortly after my wedding. I looked like a battered woman.
I also got a prenatal massage yesterday and today I feel like someone beat my shoulders with a baseball bat. I had knots the size of boulders in my shoulder blades, and it took her the greater part of the half hour to work them out. A majority of the time I felt like I was being tortured. I’m too sensitive for massage, I think. Maybe I just need a lighter touch. Next time I’m going somewhere different, where I won’t feel like I’m being abused. It was nice a lot of the time, until she touched my shoulders… then she went for the hips, which is the most extreme tickle spot on E-Lo. But she DID massage my butt, which was SOOO nice. Everyone should get their butt massaged at least once. I LOVE having my butt rubbed.
And on that note, have a good weekend everybody.
Thursday, June 02, 2005
I had to buy new bras, not once, but twice. The latest one I bought not even two weeks ago is easily becoming too small. It’s a 38C. I can’t imagine how much bigger the upper half of my body could possibly get. That might not seem large at all, but I normally do fine in a 36B. But as they say, “the cupeth runeth over,” which translates to “I have HUGE TITS.” I can’t even imagine what these suckers are going to look like once I’m breastfeeding. It’s no wonder some women breastfeed until their kid goes to kindergarten… they like having a nice rack. I, however, will not breastfeed THAT long. Cause, ew.
Sadly, I’ve heard that once you give up breastfeeding, your boobs deflate to even smaller than what they were pre-pregnancy. Now THAT’S sad. Women really do get the shit end of the deal with their bodies. Then men expect us to look all hot and shit. First of all, I’m completely ruining any abdominal muscles that I once had, every part of my body is growing to outrageous proportions, including my already big ass, then my boobs are going to deflate. It’s going to take a lot of aerobics to get me back to normal E-Lo size, IF I even get the chance between working full time, keeping my house in shape, doing laundry, cooking dinner, AND chasing around an infant (luckily they’re not very mobile for a while). Then you have to worry about people saying, “wow, she really let herself go.”
Excuse me, my body issues are coming out again. Back to the boobs.
One thing I’ll never get over is my mother continually telling me “your boobs are getting BIG!” Now that is scary.
You’d think I was turning into Dooce here with all this poop and boob talk. I guess this is what happens when you get pregnant. I happily accept if it means these BOOBS.
Now here are my answers to Fleece’s questions:
If you could be the boss of one of your former bosses, who would you pick to boss around and why? And how many times have I used 'boss' in this question?
This is a good one. I’d have to pick the general manager of the Butler Eagle, where I worked for 3 months after graduating. I hated it there (surprise! I hated a job!) so I found a much better job (one that I RARELY hated, although it had it’s moments) as a graphic designer at a little print shop. When I announced that I was putting my 2 weeks in to my immediate supervisor, he was cool about it and said he was sad to see me go. Later that morning, the newspaper’s entire computer system went down, which would delay everything in the production of the day’s paper. For some reason, my supervisor picked that exact moment to tell our general manager, who was running around the office like a chicken with his head cut off, that I was leaving. In his anger over everything, he called my new employer and told basically told them that he would never do business with them again, blah blah, how dare they STEAL one of their employees, blah blah, they’re never going to help them out, blah blah. I found this out at the end of the day, when I went to my new job to fill out paperwork and do some training. My new boss was laughing his ass off about it, which I was happy about, but I was INFURIATED at the immaturity of this man. What kind of general manager acts like that? And you said “boss” 3 times, 4 if you include the last part of the question.
What is more important to you -- lifelong contentment or a rollercoaster of highs and lows?
Well, I’ve been on the rollercoaster of highs and lows for a long time now, so lifelong contentment sounds pretty darn good. If I were truly content, then I’d never be bored with life, so a rollercoaster wouldn’t seem so important to me.
You have to say a particular word at the end of each sentence -- what would yours be, and why?
Meow. Just because it would be funny. Meow.
As a mother-to-be, what question do you wish your baby would answer for you right now?
Only one? Probably, “are you a boy or a girl?” Inquiring minds want to know. Plus I have names picked out, so I’d know what to call it. And I could quit calling it “it.” Or Fuzzball.
Would you rather your entire house be painted just one color but have it done in a day, perfect paintjob? Or have each room decorated in exactly the way you like but have it done over a year?
Baby, I NEED variety! I’d do it the way I wanted but have it take a year. Because I’ve waited longer than that to get it painted. Speaking of which, we are starting to paint this weekend. Think we’ll get done before November? I don’t think so.
Wednesday, June 01, 2005
This was the main attraction of my holiday weekend. A rooster roosting in a pine tree at my camp. Or as we like to say, “chicken in pine tree.” That really has a nicer ring to it.
I’ve had some major aggression in the past few days. I’m frustrated with my job. I’ve been told that it’s going to pick up and things are going to get busy, it’s been 5 months and my workload is nonexistent. As much as I like goofing on the internet all day, there’s only so many blogs I like to read and so many times I can chit chat on the pregnancy discussion board. I’m starting to feel like I’ll never find a job that I’ll like. Granted, this job is much better than my last job, and I’m lucky to be working here now instead of spending all day on my feet and refusing to take TVs to people’s cars, but seriously, I’ve never been so bored in all my life. The people I work with are great for the most part. It’s very quiet and sometime I go all day without talking to a single soul. That can sometimes be weird for me because when I leave for the day I get in my car and just want to scream at the top of my lungs, just to hear my own voice. A lot of the time I feel like a glorified secretary, since I’m the only woman on the team and the writer. I write boring, boring stuff. I haven’t used an eighth of my creative talent. One day I got to do graphics because the designer was on vacation and that was as far as that went. Ack. I don’t know. I do know I have to stick it out at least until next February. As a pregnant woman, I’d never find a new job right now with benefits and stuff.
And I seriously feel the need to be paid more. I don’t want to have to worry about money ever again. And believe me, I AM WORRIED. Not because we don’t make enough, but because the amount of money I owe on school could buy me a brand new pimped out Escalade. And with a kid it’s just going to get harder.
Ok, look back at the rooster now. Doesn’t that make you feel good? It seriously lives in a tree. Really. You didn’t know that chickens in the wild live in trees, did ya? Well, they do. You learned something new today.
And it seems that a lot of women I talked to didn’t actually poop while giving birth. Either that, or they’re just afraid to acknowledge the pooping. I hope I don’t poop either. But I like to say poop. Poop.
Ok, I’m done.
How about that Deep Throat guy? What do you think, hero or villain? And why did they think it was a good idea to name him after a pop culture porno? The question of the century, I think.