Wednesday, August 31, 2005
Now the governor of Lousiana is calling for a complete evacuation of New Orleans. Where do all of these people go? How do they live when they have absolutely nothing? Experts estimate that it will take at least 12 to 16 weeks before people can come back. Not to mention the sewage filled flood waters and dead bodies floating around.
On the Pittsburgh news last night they showed a fleet of Red Cross trucks that were fully stocked with fresh food, water, and medical supplies. They were waiting for the storm to pass our area before sending them south, just in case we needed them here. Bullshit. So maybe one or two people’s basements flooded, ruining their couch from 1972. Call fucking Roto Rooter and get over it. There are people in REAL need elsewhere.
I just couldn’t comprehend anyone being selfish in this situation. And making a big deal out of a couple of inches of rain in the Pittsburgh area is totally fucking ridiculous. We needed that rain anyway. It’s easy to be so far removed from a situation that you really don’t care. I know I’m guilty of it. But here’s the thing: I’m thankful. I’m thankful that my house is still standing, I have all my belongings, and food in my refrigerator. I’m happy that my family and friends are safe. And my heart and my thoughts go out to everyone who has survived this thing that don't have all that I have.
So I might have to buy all new shoes. Big deal, right?
Tuesday, August 30, 2005
I no longer no what to expect from my feet. Will they go back to normal? Will I ever be able to wear my old comfy shoes again? Or do I have to move up a size or two and overhaul my entire collection? And tell me, how can a new, out of work mom afford a new footware wardrobe? It’s bad enough that my normal clothes aren’t going to fit me for a few months… et tu, shoes?
I feel betrayed.
Monday, August 29, 2005
Here he is, looking quite dapper in his Air Force uniform, 22 years before I was even a thought. He was 20 in this picture.
I’m hoping that I age as well as he has.
This weekend we’re having a big party for him at our camp, which I’m looking forward to.
I got my dad a card that basically said I have tons of memories of him and that I’ll always love him, which summed it up pretty well for me. My dad has told me tons of stories over the years from his younger days, and I also got an earful from my aunt, who had her birthday on Friday. My dad has 2 younger sisters, and beat the shit out of a LOT of guys to defend their honor. My aunt actually married my dad’s best friend growing up. They met when she was 3 and he was 5. It’s neat to hear stories about my dad’s childhood, because things were so different then.
As most of you probably know by now, my dad and I haven’t had a picture perfect father-daughter relationship, but I love my dad. I couldn’t imagine my life without him.
Radio A.D. (Ryan’s band) played their first show since April on Saturday and rocked everyone’s socks off. How I love to watch my husband rock out. It’s hot.
Meow Mix is still hanging around, even though we haven’t fed her since Friday. Ryan snuck her some canned cat food (that he bought!) on Friday night and I had to put my foot down. I made the discovery that she has worms (eeeeewwww) and I haven’t touched her since, mostly because I’m terrified of getting weird pregnant lady cat diseases. When I went to Family Planning back in March to take my first pregnancy test, the first question the nurse asked me upon telling me my positive result was “do you have a cat?” She seemed relieved that I didn’t. I had to shut the door in Meow Mix’s face last night though, which broke my heart. She sat on the porch and meowed for 20 minutes. It was killing me, but I didn’t give in. And my mom has been giving me shit about old wives tales involving cats and babies and soul sucking and all that hyped up crap. If the cat continues to hang around, we’re going to take her to the Humane Society. Luckily, the one in Butler is a no-kill shelter, so they can treat her for her worms and whatever other ailments she might have.
In case you’re interested, the newest belly picture is up on my flickr site. It’s HUGE. And it hurts my back. Thank goodness I have a chiropractor appointment tomorrow.
Friday, August 26, 2005
Such as the small problem I have. The small, white, furry problem. Ryan and I seem to have made a new friend.
I call her Meow Mix, for lack of a better name. She turned up at our house on Wednesday night. We got home from Lamaze class and hear this tiny but persistent meowing. I poked my head out the front door and there she was. All I had to say was, “hi, kitty” and she ran right up to me. Naturally, being the sucker I am, I felt obligated to give her something, so I put a little milk in a bowl for her. Ryan sat outside with her and played with her for a while before leaving to go out. When he came back, she was still hanging around.
Yesterday when I got home it didn’t take her long to show up. Ryan gave her some tuna, which she gobbled up. She hung around pretty much all night, so we invited her in for a bit. She took a look around the house and after about 15 minutes we put her back out, since we were afraid that she might poop or pee somewhere. When we got up this morning, we heard the meowing right outside our kitchen window. I opened the back door and said good morning. She ran right in so I grabbed the milk and headed for the front door, where she lapped up the milk on the front porch. She greeted me on the way out the door for work, so I snapped that picture of her.
The problem is, I’m sure she has to belong to someone. She’s too pretty and too friendly to just be a stray. And we may have done the wrong thing in feeding her, but we’re suckers. We can’t resist small furry creatures. When Ryan and I first moved in together, we had this tiny apartment by the woods. There was a group of cats that ran around and they had a bunch of kittens too. I swear the mom cat would send those kittens to our door to beg for food. Naturally we fed them, almost everyday. The winter was the hardest, because they were outside. We’d bring them inside and warm them up, and put a little box outside with a bunch of old towels that they could sleep in to keep warm. Ryan called the friendliest of the bunch Sylvester. Sylvester hung around for a while. Then we moved, and that was the end of our stray kitty feeding days. Until now.
It makes me a little nervous and slightly uncomfortable, since pets are strictly forbidden where we live. And we have dicks for neighbors, so I don’t want them calling our landlord telling him that we have a cat. But I also don’t want the cat to starve. She seems to be in pretty good shape. She’s a little skinny, but she’s not skin and bones.
What should I do? I can’t have a cat! And I don’t want to take someone else’s cat. But how can I resist those yellow eyes?
It's been the week of cats and dogs here in E-Lo land.
Thursday, August 25, 2005
Originally uploaded by Elosquirrel.
If you’ve ever wondered why I’m so obsessed with my weight, here it is: my mother. She obviously has some deeply rooted issues with her self esteem and has felt the need to pick at me my whole life about how much I weigh and what I look like.
Right now is NOT the time to do this to E-Lo, what with my explosive temper and all.
My dear friends, I have gained upwards of 40 pounds, possibly more (it’s been a week and 2 days since I’ve been weighed). Granted, this is more than the “suggested” weight gain for a normal pregnancy. But so far, my doctor has had no comment about my weight. So I figure I’m doing fine. I expect to possibly gain 11 more pounds (1 pound per week in the last trimester… I only have 11 weeks left), maybe more if I feel feisty. Obviously my body has the need to gain this weight, otherwise, what with my speedy pregnancy induced metabolism, I would not have gained this much.
My mom confided in me that she gained 40 pounds or more while pregnant with my brother and I. She’s about 5’2, so she’s just a little thing. So the other night, when visiting the puppies, I confessed my weight to her, she flipped.
Keep in mind that when my butt gets a little bigger than normal, she likes to smack it and tease me about it. I don’t appreciate that, never have, and never will. I don’t know how to make it absolutely clear to her that she needs to just mind her own business. She meddles in my life entirely too much, and have I mentioned the guilt before? Oh, I have? YEAH.
Here’s what she said about my weight gain:
“You’re going to be sorry! You’re never going to be able to lose all that. I’m telling you…”
So what, Mom, should I go on a fucking diet or something? Would you like me to starve myself AND my developing child? THAT sounds like a GREAT fucking idea. After my initial freak out, I told her that I was leaving. She called me SENSITIVE. Sensitive? YOU’RE the one telling the pregnant woman that she’s basically a fat ass and then you have the NERVE to call her sensitive? She tried making it into some kind of big joke like she always does, but I wasn’t dealing with it. I calmly told her and my dad good-bye and left.
I know my mom has struggled with her weight and her body over the years. She and I, however, are NOT built the same. We have the same pudgy belly, and that’s the extent of it. Every single person that I’ve talked to has reassured me that losing the weight won’t be a problem (including you guys), especially since I plan on breastfeeding (something my mom didn’t do). I’m a fairly average sized girl. I may have put on a few pounds since getting married, but I have never been overweight. I feel like she wants me to start throwing up after my meals or something.
How can I make it clear to her that I’m sick of her SHIT without feeling like shit? I know she doesn’t do it to be mean, but I feel personally attacked when she does it.
And I’m NOT sensitive. Bitch.
Wednesday, August 24, 2005
Rosie had her puppies. She had four, two boys and two girls. They're teeny and will still have their eyes closed for 2 weeks. She's proving to be a very good mama, constantly cleaning and feeding the pups. When one of them squeaks, she gives it immediate attention.
Hey, if she can do it with 4, 1 will be a breeze for me... right?
Monday, August 22, 2005
The show is about a family from Arkansas, who incidentally, have 15 kids. And yes, they all have the same mother. And father. I was awed for the first 5 minutes, mainly because I was distracted by the way everyone was dressed and the hair! The horror of the HAIR! The boys dress in matching polos and khakis, and the girls dress in hideous homemade potato sacks in varying patterns of plaids or solids. If this wasn’t appalling enough, Mom was pregnant with number 15. Apparently their philosophy was to have as many children as “the Lord would give them.”
Just out of curiosity, I decided to figure out how much of the mom’s life was spent with child. 11.25 years. ELEVEN YEARS BEING PREGNANT! She could have given birth to 5 and a half elephants, and at this point could probably do so without batting an eye. Kids probably just fall out of her at this point.
Obviously this family is extremely religious. They’re evangelical Christians, whatever that means. They don’t believe in birth control, because according to their family website, they were on the pill for the first 4 years of their marriage, decided to conceive, gave birth to their son, and went back on the pill. Then the woman had a miscarriage. They took that as a sign from God that they were being punished for denying his gifts. Since then they make babies every time they hit the hay.
I don’t have a problem with people who have religious convictions unless it makes them unable to interact with society as normal human beings. All of the kids are home schooled by Mom, and they are only allowed to socialize with “approved” children from their church. That means that they too, will marry other kids from their church and procreate many, many times. The most disturbing part of the program for me was watching the interviews with the 5 girls in the family. They all expressed a desire to get married and have as many children as God would give them. None of them had interests besides that. Even the youngest girl, who I think was 4 years old, said she wanted “about 14 kids.” Appalling. No interest in careers or education.
Another appalling part of the show was their trip to the grocery store. I shouldn’t even say Aldi’s is a grocery store, it’s basically the lowest grade, cheapest food you can get anywhere. I don’t knock it too much because in my poor days I’ve shopped there, but seriously. They spent over 800 dollars on cartons of cheese curls and cans of green beans. Then the most icky part, they showed how to make their family favorite, tator tot casserole, which looked like the most unhealthy thing ever invented. I’d rather eat at Burger King than to ingest a casserole filled with ground turkey, cream of mushroom soup, and 12 pounds of TATOR TOTS. It makes my stomach churn just thinking about it.
And for your enjoyment, the recipe:
TATOR TOT CASSEROLE
2 lb ground turkey cooked, seasoned, drained
3 2lb bags tator tots
2 cans cream of mushroom
2 cans evaporated milk
2 cans cream of chicken
Brown meat & place in large cass. dish.
Cover with tator tots. Mix soup & milk together.
Pour over top. Bake at 350 for 1 Hour.
(One of Daddy’s Favorites!) Makes 2- 9”X13” pans
Since I was so struck by this family, I decided to look them up, and in doing so found out some interesting facts:
All the girls make their own potato sack dresses, while all the boys clothes come from the Salvation Army. Modesty is the biggest part of their outfits, which is why the girls get their bathing suits from this place.
They don’t believe in accruing debt, because according to the Bible, “Owe no man anything but to love one another.” This is how they are able to afford their family of 17 AND build a gigantic new 7000 square foot home with 10 bathrooms. Their current house has 3 bedrooms and 2 bathrooms. Can you even imagine?
And the kicker. As of June, the family announced that they were pregnant AGAIN, and have a new show coming out documenting this.
And the dad’s name is Jimbob. Yes, I said Jimbob.
All of this makes me look forward to getting on the strongest birth control pill possible when I have Fuzzball.
Last night I was playing mom in training. I got up to pee three times, then I was almost back asleep Ryan would wake up. I probably got 2 full hours of sleep. I feel pretty good today, considering. Although I have a feeling it won’t be quite as easy once I have a screaming infant waking me up instead of my squashed bladder.
My weekend was about as low key as you can possibly get. Did I clean? No. Did I cook? No. Did I move my ass off of the couch? Hell no. And that was pretty much it.
I did dog sit for Rosie, who is about to burst with puppies any day now. She’s cuter than cute and waddles like a duck. She’s very round. She’s giving me a run for my money with her roundness.
I’ve got nothing today. Maybe this afternoon when the sleep deprivation really sinks in and I start hallucinating I’ll be more interesting.
Friday, August 19, 2005
Ryan and I went to the funeral home for his deceased co-worker last night. Needless to say, it was extremely rough and highly emotional. We stayed about a half an hour and then went to get some dinner with his boss. As we were getting in the van, Ryan started messing with the CDs and said, “well… THAT was rough.”
“I almost lost it there for a minute.”
“I wonder if some Motorhead would help?”
“Probably. Some people have prayer, other people have Motorhead.”
By the book
My pregnancy has been so normal that it’s almost boring. Everything has been FINE. Just fine! “How are you feeling?” “Great!” “Really? You haven’t been sick or anything?” “NO!!!!” Why is that so hard to believe? And why have I heard that question 18 times in the past 2 weeks? It's like people WANT me to feel terrible and tell them how much I hate being pregnant. But I don't! REALLY.
Now that I've hit my third trimester, I get up to pee twice a night. It just started 2 nights ago, like my body has some inner clock that said, “oh, it’s third trimester time! Baby, start pushing on that bladder!” I constantly feel like I have to pee. I’m wondering when the heartburn will start.
BTK, have it your way.
Why is it that BTK reminds me of Burger King? I can’t hear anyone say BTK and take it seriously. I think of flame broiled whoppers. You’d think as sick as this guy was, he could come up with a more original serial killer name. Serial killers in the past have had some kick ass names, like the Son of Sam, the Boston Strangler, Jack the Ripper, the Zodiac Killer… they all strike fear into your heart. But when I hear BTK, I can only think about how sick I’d get when I used to eat those nasty fries. You really need a name to match your notoriety if you’re going to go that route. I know his thing was bind, torture and kill, but puh-lease. 30 years of killing sprees and living your life as a church congregation president and Boy Scout leader and you couldn’t get a little creative? He so needs to get over himself. Like he fucking invented that method. Sick bastard.
Ugh, now I have pictures of chicken fries in my head and it makes me want to vomit.
Push it real good
Ryan and I toured the maternity ward of Butler Hospital on Wednesday night after Lamaze class. I got to see the Jacuzzi (I hope I get to use it!) and one of the birthing rooms. As the nurse giving us the tour was trying to explain how things worked in the birthing room, we heard some screaming down the hall. She ignored it and continued, but I turned and looked at Ryan, and he stared back at me. We heard something like this,
“You can do it! You can do it! Now PUSH! PUUUUSSSHHHH!”
I almost started crying. But then we got to look at the BEH-BEHS!!! I wanted to eat them up. They were so little and smushy looking. I can’t believe I’m going to have something so little and smushy. Do I really have to wait 12 more weeks?
Well, ok, I guess I can wait, considering we haven’t even put the crib together that we got SIX WEEKS AGO!
Slackers. That’s what we are.
Have a good weekend.
Thursday, August 18, 2005
Wednesday, August 17, 2005
Something about my kid saying "mommy's boob tastes good" gets to me... I just don't know...
Believe me, I'm an advocate of breastfeeding. I think all women should do it, it's the best thing for your baby, yada yada yada. Whip your boob out in public for all I care. As my Lamaze instructor said, what would you rather have, store bought cookies or homemade cookies made from scratch? That's the comparison between breast milk and formula, and I think it's a good one. I plan on giving my kid the homemade cookies. But the moment my kid tells me, "I like your breast milk better than ice cream!" I know it's time to quit.
In this article it mentions kids from 48 months (ok... I can deal with that) to 78 months. SEVENTY-EIGHT MONTHS. That's like, what, 6 and a half? I'm sorry. Isn't your kid in FIRST GRADE???? If your kid has friends over is he or she going to offer them a snack, oh say, maybe some cookies and uh, YOU?
Not to mention the TEETH.
This freaks me out. When do these women quit breastfeeding their children? If you’ve gone that long, how do you know when to draw the line? Kids grow teeth because their bodies are capable of obtaining nourishment in other ways, like oh, solid food, maybe? And the thing that freaks me out the most is that older kids are going to have memories of sucking on their mom’s boob! That’s not a memory I personally want my kid to have. But that’s because I want the fuzz to be normal. And I want a normal relationship with my husband, who also happens to be a fan of my boobs.
My doctor appointment last night sucked. The nurse was a bitch. “You’re due for your Pap… is that ok?” “Uh… I guess-“ “Good.” I wasn’t mentally prepared for the Pap thing. A little warning would have been nice. I had a strange doctor, which is nothing out of the ordinary, I’m supposed to meet the entire practice before I go have the kid, because it could be any one of them that delivers. This doctor was weird and kept babbling to me the whole time. Plus we had to wait 45 minutes before he actually came in the room. Sitting there with no pants on for 45 minutes is NOT FUN. Not only did I not get another ultrasound, but I have to take another goddamn glucose test. I’m gaining weight very rapidly. Of course in the past 2 weeks, a majority of it has been water weight. I’m swollen beyond belief. I have cankles. My wedding ring doesn’t fit. My face even looks chubby. I can’t possibly imagine how much more I’m going to gain in the next 2 and a half months. I can’t even bring myself to say how much I’ve gained out loud. It makes me sick. And I honestly don’t know where it’s all coming from, because I really don’t eat that much. Gah.
I have Lamaze to look forward to tonight though.
The strange week continues…
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
Today is a crappy gray day. Everything is somewhat muted through the rainy mist. I can’t even be happy that the Steelers won last night. I just keep thinking of my husband, who I found passed out on the recliner this morning when I got up. I hear voices of my co-workers, happily discussing the game, going on with life as usual, and I feel like I’m detached from all of it.
At the same time the happy feeling that I still have my husband with me lingers. My emotions are so mixed today. My mom called me twice last night to ask me what happened, and I couldn’t help but be annoyed. I know she was just concerned about Ryan and how he was feeling, but I felt like her calling me and asking me for details was making me think about what happened. Then she started with her sighing thing that she does when she’s upset. Reflecting on that later, I realized that I was doing the same fucking thing, gasping for breath when I didn’t really need to.
It’s shaping up to be a rough week. I’m hoping things will improve. I’m also hoping for an ultrasound to be scheduled at my doctor’s appointment tonight. Wish me luck. And wish Ryan luck in finding a new career path, because he’s cemented his notions of maybe moving on from the paving industry into a done deal.
Monday, August 15, 2005
Seriously? SERIOUSLY??? Because you'd love your kid less if he or she was gay? So let's try to coax it out of them! Don't let them be homosexual! For the love of god! We're too bigoted and prejudiced and oh. my. god. What would the neighbors say if we had a GAY CHILD? Swoon.
Sorry. But that pisses me off. Just a bit.
My weekend, however, was great. I wish it didn't have to end. It was so laid back and relaxing. It was nice to not watch everyone drinking. Plus I got presents! I didn’t expect presents.
Janae and Chris are so fun, and since they quit drinking, nobody from Erie that they were friends with wants to hang out with them. Chris was in a horrible wreck back in May. He was drunk and hit a telephone pole. Luckily he had his seatbelt on, otherwise he probably would have done a face plant through the windshield and ended up in the cemetery that his truck skidded into as a permanent resident. So quitting drinking was pretty much the smartest thing he could have done. He was worried that we might not think he was as much fun as he used to be when he was all drunk, loud, and obnoxious. He’s still loud and obnoxious, and I mean that in the best way possible. He’s still the same guy, just sans alcohol. I’m glad he was able to make such a responsible decision, but I’m pissed that his friends don’t really support him in it. I was glad that Ryan had no problem not drinking and was supportive of him. And being that we’re kind of in the same boat, I had just as much fun with them as I normally do, probably even more, since there were no headaches involved.
2 years ago Janae and Chris and Ryan and I went to Cancun together. We were at an all inclusive resort which included a swim up bar and a little Mexican man that we nicknamed “El Diablo” since his job was to walk up to random people around the pool and pour tequila down their throats. He got Janae and I hammered and we spent the evening in my hotel room halfway between consciousness and hell, with our eyes half open watching the first Harry Potter movie on HBO. Sounds like a great way to spend your time in Mexico, doesn’t it? The next night we went on a bar crawl and the night ended with Chris projectile vomiting into a garbage can in an alleyway. The next day was rough, to say the least.
I can’t believe how much of the time that I spent with my friends in the past involved drinking. Not that there’s anything terribly wrong with that, but having a clear head can be so much better. Drinking can make everything sloppy and make your memories so fuzzy. Believe me, I have enough fuzzy memories to know that. And there’s the wonderful sensation of waking up before the crack of noon feeling like an actual human instead of road kill. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to drink like I used to, because after this long I have no idea how alcohol will affect me. That’s not to say I’m going completely straight and narrow. It just means that I finally know what it’s like to be a responsible adult and not only think about myself all the time. And that is a promising feeling.
Friday, August 12, 2005
That's what Ryan has taken to calling me, and I'm sure you can see why.
I’m looking forward to the weekend. We’re going to Erie tonight to stay with our friends Chris and Janae. We haven’t seen them since last October, so this should be a fun trip. And the best part? They quit drinking. That means I don’t have to feel all left out while sipping my lemonade! It also means I don’t have to deal with everyone getting loud and drunk! I can watch Ryan pass out of sheer exhaustion instead of exhaustion mixed with alcohol! Hooray! They also quit smoking, which is even more wonderful. I DON’T HAVE TO SMELL A CIGARETTE ALL WEEKEND! Well, until Ryan sneaks off to have one. Hopefully he won’t.
Tomorrow Chris and Janae are taking us to their cottage on Lake Chautauqua in southwestern New York. They have a boat. That means I’ll be ON the boat! That makes E-Lo happy!
It’s been a good week. It will be an even better weekend.
I hope it’s good for everyone. See you guys on Monday!
Thursday, August 11, 2005
And you can choose small, medium or Cougar size! Weee!
I had my first Lamaze class last night and it was so much fun. I’m being totally serious. It was wonderful to be around other pregnant women. The girl sitting next to me graduated with Ryan and had the same due date as me. Fun! Next week we get a tour of the maternity ward at the hospital AND our coaches learn to massage us! Yay! Finally, someone is FORCING my husband to give me a back rub!
Life is good. Especially considering I have all my genitalia and I’m perfectly capable of creating my own camel toe with these crazy maternity pants that come up to my boobs.
Wednesday, August 10, 2005
What do they do??? Which part gets cut off? What can you possibly cut off down there? These poor women and their mutilated vaginas! And I thought getting an episiotomy sounded bad enough!
I still don't get it.
***UPDATE: Speaking of episiotomies, ahem... Shalini finally had her baby yesterday! A girl! Go say congratulations! I'm sure she's relieved, she was 10 days overdue, I think. Yay!!!
Tuesday, August 09, 2005
I met Jen my sophomore year. She was a freshman and the roommate that I got stuck with. I thought we’d start off on a good foot. I tried to become her buddy, since she didn’t know anyone. That worked well for a while, until I noticed that Jen got sick all the time. She slept a lot and called her mom, a psychiatrist, daily to prescribe her medicine. I became fairly certain that not only was she a hypochondriac, but also had an eating disorder, because she never ate. I still tried to include her in everything, inviting her to parties (these were the days that I went to parties Wednesday through Sunday with my friend Kevin). I even gave her my parking pass so she could park in the lot next to our building, because freshmen had to park in the hell lot a million miles down the hill.
Things really started taking a turn for the worse with Jen right after Halloween. Lucky for me, I had met up with some guys from Butler who were freshman that I became friends with, Greg, Bill and Kevin. (Hi guys. They read this. Well, maybe Kev doesn’t. Fuck you, Biff.) But anyway, as Jen pushed me away and even became slightly hostile with me and more and more possessive of her stuff (“don’t let anyone sleep in my bed!” “no, you can’t use my computer!”) I started to annoy her by bringing those guys to our room and hanging out. The turning point was the infamous “soda” incident. Greg was bouncing a ball in our room, it went awry, hit her cup of Pepsi, which spilled on her desk and on the floor. Greg, being the good guy he was, apologized profusely and started cleaning it up. Jen, who was on the phone with her mom, probably getting her laxative presciption refilled, started cussing “they just spilled my FUCKING SODA.” Uh, Jen, honey, you’re in Western Pennsylvania. It’s POP.
After the episode with the fucking soda, I knew I was pretty much done with Jen. She announced shortly after that she was moving into a single room, which was just fine with me. I got a new roommate, Heather, who was also a little psycho, but in a likeable, goth girl kind of way. I asked Jen for my parking pass back and she continued to park in the lot by our building. Every single day she got a ticket until the day that public safety told her she could no longer park on campus. Somehow she took this to be my fault. Well, it was true that in a fit of annoyance, I had taken one of her parking tickets, but that wouldn’t have gotten her kicked off campus. She did that on her own. She told the RA that I was sabotaging her and refused to look me in they eye anymore. But I didn’t care. All I ever did was try to be nice to her, introduce her to people, and include her in stuff. She was rude to me for 3 months and it was my turn to be rude right back. And believe me, my fair peeps, if you piss E-Lo off, you are gonna get yours. And she did.
Jen dropped out at the end of the spring semester, so thankfully I never had to look at her weasly face again. But sometimes I wonder where she is now, and how a person like her survives in the real world, if she couldn’t even hack living in a dorm full of 18 to 21 year old girls. I also wonder if she ever accomplished following in her mothers footsteps and became a psychologist, or if she sought out her own psychologist. I suppose I’ll never know. But then again, should I really care?
I want to hear your psycho roommate story now.
Here’s my hair as of this morning. I still look a little puffy eyed and my hair has got a lot of bounce since I just washed it.
Monday, August 08, 2005
It was a nice relaxing time though, and the crowd was so weird. Because it was a free show there were tons of families there. Lots of babies and pregnant ladies too, so I didn’t feel all out of place like at Ozzfest. I even saw a handful of elderly people. Then there was the hippie crowd. You know, guys with tie dyes, cargo shorts and Birkenstocks, and girls with longish hair, long flowery skirts and crocheted bra tops. No offense if you dress like this, but hippies are honestly the worst dressed people on earth. We actually witnessed a girl wearing a giant skirt that was too big for her, so she slipped it off and she had pajama bottoms on underneath. Why? Did you look in a mirror before you left your house? It’s one thing to be low maintenance, but it’s another to just quit caring completely. Or to mistakenly think you look good when you look fucking ridiculous. Don’t even get me started on the smell.
I’m glad I’m just me.
And when you think about it, hippies today are just stupid. They’re not protesting anything. They’re not all about free love and peace. They’re about smoking as much pot as you can or any other drugs you can get your hands on and living life in a complete and total haze. I’m more of a hippie than they are. At least I’m sober enough to be politically aware.
I think I might be a little cranky today from the lack of sleep. If I remember tomorrow I’ll post a picture of my freshly cut and colored hair, including bangs.
And now a moment of silence for a broadcast giant.
Thursday, August 04, 2005
I can’t stop shopping.
The worst part? It’s all from Old Navy, because they have the cheapest, cutest maternity clothes EVER. My Gap card is almost maxed.
The neighbors probably think I'm having an affair with the UPS man.
SHHHH. Help me to stay in denial about my problem.
Wednesday, August 03, 2005
NOBODY knows that song. If you do, you are the most winningest winner ever.
The other night Ryan and I were discussing Rosie being pregnant with puppies. She’s like the dog equivalent of me. If I were a 5 pound Yorkie, I’d be the same way she is, vain, pampered, and always looking for something to eat. Ok, so I don’t have to be a 5 pound Yorkie to be that way. That’s just how I am. My parents spoil her like they spoiled me when I was little, and they’ve been trying to breed her for a few years (just like they’ve been pushing me for a grandchild) so we were all a little surprised that this time Rosie met Mr. Right.
I kept thinking, no, I’m going to wait until she has her x-ray on August 9th to feel secure that she’s having puppies, but it’s undeniable. She was bred about a month ago, and the gestation time for Yorkies is something like 60 days. When I saw her last week after 3 weeks of no Rosie time, I was amazed at the size of her belly. She came over with my mom on Saturday and hung out while we painted, and I swear she grew more by Monday. She’s lazy, she’s miserable, she waddles when she walks, and she barks at you when you DARE to eat in front of her without offering to share. I thought I was bad.
My mom’s best friend is a breeder, so we’ve had Rosie around many Yorkie pups, and she’s never showed any interest in them whatsoever. So I posed that question to Ryan the other night, “do you think she’ll have any maternal instinct whatsoever?” He just looked at me and said, “somehow YOU came around.” That made me laugh, because much like Rosie, I’ve never had any interest in babies, even when they were dangled right in front of my face. Now I can’t leave them alone. If you have a baby with you, watch out, cause here I come, ready to pounce on that kid and chew its little toes off. I fall in love with babies in an instant. So if I can make that change, I guess Rosie can.
Ryan also pointed out another change in me that he really likes, “you’re not as vain.” I was perplexed by that because I spend just as much time getting ready in the mornings and quite possibly more time straining my neck at the mirror to see the progression of stretch marks dancing across my ass. His point was, “you don’t ‘get ready’ just to go to the grocery store anymore. That’s nice. You don’t have to be on top of your game all the time.” He always hated how high maintenance I was, so I bragged to him about how I rolled out of bed on Saturday, put my contacts in, pulled my hair up, and went to the store to buy paintbrushes. He was so proud. I’m on the verge of letting myself go completely and my husband loves it.
Back to Rosie. Counting down to her due date gives me something else to focus my attention on for a while. I’ve never seen a live animal give birth, so I’m planning on being there for it. I’ve read up on all that I need to know about Yorkie birthing, and watched every episode of “That’s My Baby” that I can stomach on Animal Planet. I can’t wait to see those little black fuzzy pups… they’ll be roughly the size of mice when they’re born. Unfortunately, Rosie might be a little pissed that I can’t afford her the same luxury of witnessing the birth of my fuzzball… I don’t think the hospital would understand our sisterly dog-human connection, do you?
New belly photo is up at Baby Squirrels.
Tuesday, August 02, 2005
Right now we have a mattress and a box spring perched on a metal frame. There’s no fancy goodness involved, no headboard or cool drawers or anything like you’d see at Ikea. It’s a fairly simple, although kind of white trash, sleeping device. We do have a fancy handmade wooden trunk at the foot of the bed, which is stuffed to the brim with blankets that we’ll never use, considering we only have ONE BED in the entire house. We have three bedrooms. Go figure.
So Ryan and I stopped at Mattress Discounters on Sunday, right before they closed, to check out some prices. Big mistake there. We were instantly accosted the moment we walked in the door. Who knew that mattress salesmen were so aggressive, especially when they’re about to close in 5 minutes. I’d say it was pretty obvious that we weren’t there to purchase anything. This guy would not stop. He gave us pillows. He followed us and had us test different beds. He talked. And talked. And TALKED. He showed us how the mattress we were sitting on was fluid resistant. Ew! What kind of fluid are you talking about? Oh, sweat. Then he started on the how many pounds of dead skin you shed into your mattress every year (a POUND?). Not to mention the dust mites. You know what’s even grosser than losing a pound of dead skin in your bed in a year? Sleeping with an asphalt worker. Because when they sweat at night, diesel fuel comes out of their pores. I just changed the sheets on my bed and they’re already disgusting. I should have told crazy mattress man that.
After about 20 minutes, Ryan said, “yeah… we’re really just starting to look and we wanted to get some prices…” And the guy had the NERVE to look offended! He said, “well, let me give you my card. I’ll write my hours on it and we’ll see if you come back.”
Just for saying that, I’m never setting foot in that store again. AND for a store called Mattress DISCOUNTERS, it had the most goddamn expensive mattresses I’ve ever seen! I don’t want to pay a grand for a bed. I might pay 500 bucks, and even that’s a little steep. Christ. I’m ready just to blow up my air mattress and put it on my box spring. And why do stores insist on selling mattresses and box springs as a set? I only need a mattress. That’s all! Why is that hard?
I’m like the princess with the pea under her mattress, I swear.
Monday, August 01, 2005
My mind is all over the place this morning. I’m shower/registry obsessed. And for those of you worried about my milkshake, don’t worry, it’s not leaky yet. It’s just made itself apparent, like, hello! Here I am!. I did register for those wonderful breast pads though. And many, many, MANY other things. I hate registering. I keep wondering how much crap I’ll have to take back. For my wedding I got three blenders, 2 microwaves, 2 sets of pots and pans, 2 crock pots, and a whole bunch of other duplicates. I think we almost got 300 bucks back from returning stuff, which was the only good part of it, because we went shopping and bought stuff for ourselves.
Saturday my mom and I primered the nursery. It’s soon to be a springy green color. Hopefully it will be decorated in this cute stuff (with accessories!), but I have a feeling that I might have to buy all this myself, because my family and Ryan’s family aren’t very internet savvy, so buying stuff from babiesrus.com might be a stretch for them when they can just go to Target and get whatever the hell they want.
I CAN’T STOP OBSESSING OVER THIS CRAP. It’s driving me insane. I lost way too much sleep last night over shower related thoughts. I hate it.
I’ll probably get my glucose test results on Wednesday at my doctor appointment. I hope to NOT post about anything baby related for the rest of the week. Wish me luck.
This made me giggle. So me.