Wednesday, December 30, 2009

Merry F'in Christmas People

I haven't written in a long time. I keep thinking of things to write about but then forget and/or don't have time. I would apologize, but I'm not that sorry so let's just move along.

Let's see, what's new and exciting...
  • Well it's the Christmas season and all my neighbors are Jewish. So there's not much in the way of parties in this neck of the woods.
  • My child had a runny nose so I was blackballed from all family events.
  • My husband was on call Christmas Day.
Where did this leave me? Oh right. Home. Alone. with a cranky kid.

On the upside, we're slowly adapting to the suburbs. I actually left the house a few times to run errands and didn't think about how it takes 100 times longer to get anything done around here. That's progress. On the downside, husband shoveled us out of the storm of the decade. 20 inches. Not fun.

Admittedly I grew up in white bread suburbia so I know how this game is played. I spent years listening to my parents talk trash on the people who didn't take their trashcans in immediately or the people who didn't mow their laws or the people who didn't take down their Christmas lights (gasp!).

So when every tree in this very old tree neighborhood dumped a metric tonne of leaves all over the place, my husband included the neighbor's driveway in his efforts with the leaf blower. (I should mention our driveways are attached. Different colored cement but fused together to make one large driveway that sits between our homes) So when we had this massive snow dump last week, he began shoveling our driveway. Our neighbor is a single woman with 3-4 adult children. It happened that her son was visiting during the storm, so we assumed he would shovel her driveway and front walk.

Needless to say there was still snow on her driveway until the day nature took care of it, no one touched her walk and I practically broke my ass multiple times trying to get around the ice patches on her side when putting my kid in the car. What kind of little shit leaves their single mother with a driveway full of snow?

I sort of felt guilty when I looked at our homes side by side. There was our driveway...nicely shoveled, clear, safe. Then there was theirs, which is none of those things. So what do you all think? In this land of happy neighborhoods and smiley people, did we have any obligation to help out after her turd of a son left?

They also have a daughter who babysits for us. She's quite nice but I believe she might be moderately stupid. I suspected this was the case when she put a diaper on my kid backwards. This in itself is not that weird, I mean unless you have done it before you might guess the tape closures could go the other way. She however works for a preschool taking care of 3 year olds. I'm assuming not every 3 year old is potty trained. Are they all over there running around with backwards diapers? The other day when we called to tell her she had left her car lights on for the second night in a row, she told me she got fired. Shocking.

There's also this crazy dude across the street. I watched him yell out the door at his wife not to rake the leaves into the driveway. I've been warned that Bob is a flaming asshole, but that was the first time I saw it in action. I introduced myself to him in an overly chipper way, just to piss him off. He grunted and that was pretty much it. His kindness once again shone through as he shoveled the snow from around his car into the street instead of onto his lawn. It's ok Bob, I like when I hit a packed ice patch in the middle of an otherwise cleared street.

So all you people out there, tell me, what do you hate that your neighbors do? Biggest pet peeve. We need to compile a list of Suburban Felonies.

I'll start - my neighbor has a giant blue recycling trash can that she leaves on her front walk. Like you have to walk around it to get to her front door. That's klassy with a K.

Thursday, November 19, 2009

Drive Time with Hitler

Wow - time flies when you are not having fun. I haven't posted since October 5th. It's November 19th. This is a whole new level of ass sucking.

So let me bring you up to speed. Since my last post, my significant other and I have...

  1. Bought a house in the burbs.
  2. Bought an SUV (technically a crossover, but they just call it that so you don't have to say you own an SUV)
  3. Bought a King size bed
  4. Bought a leaf blower
  5. Had an actual land line installed
  6. Had a leak under the sink
  7. Had a leak in the roof
  8. Do not have an oven because it is broken and I am about to go postal with the oven repair company (I will save this for a later post because if I talk about it I might have to throw the computer across the room)

Aside from the obvious implications of all this (we're dead to our city friends and we can't afford to leave the house) we're getting along.

The first week of my new commute into the city was a Septa strike. This means that every retard in the tri-state area was on the road attempting to cut one another off. It also meant that I had to spend upwards of 2 hours in a car with a screaming child. I tried feeding her the evening bottle to shut her up. That lasted about 2.5 minutes while she sucked it down with the efficiency of a Hoover then returned to the screaming.

During the strike I drove several co-workers home over the week. The tiny crazy woman in the backseat was in rare form.

My co-worker: Don't you have any children's music or something?
Me: No
My co-worker: We should sing something.
Me: Like what?
My co-worker: You know, that song about the animals.
Me: What the F are you talking about?
My co-worker: You know that "ee i ee i oh" song
Me: Right, ok.

Thus started the singing of some of the worst sounding Old MacDonald you have ever heard. We periodically stopped to consult one another on animal noises and argue about whether or not a cat was technically a farm animal and when we ran out, we sang The Wheels on the Bus. And when that gravy train ended... we listened to screaming.

It was then that I realized that I did have children's music, by accident, on my iPod. The Husband's aunt sent us some German children's music. It was like turning off a light switch. The minute you put it on, the backseat is silenced. The only problem is it sounds like the Vienna Boy's Choir so I've taken to referring to it as the Hitler Youth Orchestra.

So EVERY. SINGLE. MORNING. I listen to this music. Then, EVERY. SINGLE. NIGHT. I listen to it again. I'm starting to hear this shit in my sleep.

This one is particularly catchy and this kid does a pretty close approximation....

Anyone who ever complained about children's music never had to hear that EVERY DAY, TWICE A DAY.

Good lord, here's the actual CD on YouTube. Please take a listen - this is my commute.

I don't think I need to say any more. I accept cash donations to pay for the ear surgery I will surely need.

Monday, October 5, 2009

Put me out of my misery...

So I'm looking at my cousin's daughter's pictures on Facebook and I realize I'm getting old. I think she's a junior in high school. I'm scared by this for a number of reasons.

1. I vaguely remember her being born.
2. I'm not sure when/how she got this old becuase I swear she was 5 last summer.
3. Kids apparently add extra letters into words for fun. It doesn't make any sense to me and I can't figure out why they do it. Like "hiiiiii" or "Toollld yooooou". What is that? Please tell me.
4. She looks like a real person (see comment 2)
5. I think she might like baseball since every single post is about the girls actually like sports teams? (of course this question doesn't apply when you pretend to like sports for a boy)

Speaking of feeling old....

So it's almost official we are moving to the suburbs. This is good and bad. Bad because it's the suburbs and that's where people go to die. Good because I had an excuse to buy wellies. Not that I didn't have enough reasons with city puddles, but I bought a pair of Hunters with furry liners and I feel like I look like I'm ready to garden now. They're super cute and you and I both know they will never see a garden. I hate nature but I now need to have the appearance of nature. Plus, with the whole diaper bag I no longer buy bags so I have to satisfy my need somehow. If only these things came in orange, my life would have been complete.

I look forward to living in the suburbs. I feel it might give me some new blog fodder. Of course this means I actually have to talk to my neighbors. I can't decide how I feel about that whole idea that people are going to knock on my door and introduce themselves. Someone may have to talk me off the ledge.

Friday, September 18, 2009

Freaky or Freakin Cool?

All right. I just found this on my reader. Someone posted the video on youtube. This is crazy. Check out the pictures under lingerie. The chick in front of the fridge that's filled with pickles might be my favorite. I'm obsessing, I can't get over these pictures. I also can't tell if I'm disturbed or I think it's hilarious.

People, I need comments. Creepy weird? Totally cool?

Wednesday, September 9, 2009

Ewww Dirty Boy

So another wacky & wild night was spent alone on the couch while child slept and husband took care of crazy people at the hospital. With nothing better to do I did some work, made myself dinner and watched back episodes of Burn Notice on the DVR.

I was cooking listening to a random shuffle on iTunes when a song came on. I was dancing around the kitchen and suddenly I heard the words and had to go look it up because I couldn't believe what I was hearing. We'll get to that in a minute.

So growing up, my mother would listen to our music in the car when she was driving us wherever we happen to be chauffeured that day and she would frequently ask, "What are they saying?? Did they just say...". And I would roll my eyes because more often than not, she totally misheard whatever it was and was repeating some nonsensical statement. For instance...

The actual lyrics by Cutting Crew - "I just died in your arms tonight, it must have been something you said"
My mother thought they were saying, "I just died in your arms tonight, it must have been something you ate".

Aside from not making much sense (I died because of something you ate??), it doesn't even sound remotely close to what they're actually saying. Considering this was probably some time in the mid to late 80's, it supports the idea that she's had a hearing problem for many years.

So fast forward to me dancing around my kitchen and listening to Jordan Knight. Yea I said it, go ahead, laugh away. That "Give it to You" song is a catchy tune. Anyway, the real problem didn't happen until I caught something beyond the chorus. Here's one of the verses:

I'm the place to be
and soon, you'll see
I don't care who leads
As long as we move horizontally
Anyone can make you sweat
But I, can keep you wet

Two points for rhyming, but Eww. I can't sing along to that with a straight face.

Here's to hoping that my kid has decent taste in music because unlike my mother, I have my hearing and I'm not sure I can handle much of what today's 13 year old girls listen to....

Monday, August 31, 2009

Where's the Beav? Oh right, he doesn't live here because I am a shitty homemaker.

Day 1: Leaving our vacation home. Friend says, "oh you should take some of this food since you're driving." She packs away some ripe bananas for me. Ugh. I hate fruit.

Day 2: Look at bananas now sitting on counter. Looking at bit brown now. Channel my mother and think to self, "Self, you need to make banana bread so that food doesn't go to waste." Fail to channel self and recognize actual cost of bananas.

Day 3: Bananas looking bad. Say to husband, "Husband, we need to make banana bread with these, they're going bad." Check the cabinet - shortening expired in 2006. Channel my mother again while I consider using 3 year expired food product. Good sense returns. Throw in trash. Add to shopping list. Discover expired baking soda. Add to list. No flour. No sugar. Add all to list. Husband shops. I procrastinate. Bananas get worse.

Day 4: Bananas start to melt into counter. Get off ass to make bread. Combine all ingredients in bowl. Proud of self. Take hand mixer & bowl into bathroom. Mix with door shut as not to wake child. (This is what people in 1100 sq feet do.) Put in oven. Set timer for 1 hour.

52 minutes later. Writing this blog post. Think to self, "I don't think I recall putting sugar into that bowl. Was sugar supposed to go in that bowl?" Check recipe. F*ck forgot sugar.

So let's tally up the carnage:

To save 3 melting bananas (that weren't even mine), I...

1. bought a giant tub of shortening that will likely expire and collect dust in my cabinets for the next 4 years.
2. bought baking soda which is essentially useless unless you bake, which I clearly do not.
3. bought flour which I also rarely use and will likely be tossed in our next move.

June Cleaver, I am not.

Tuesday, August 18, 2009

Party on Billy...

What's up with the porcupine you ask? I'll get to that in a minute.

I previously mentioned the fact that I was shedding like a sheepdog in the summer. Well when I posted it, my friend Kajal emailed me to tell me that this was only the beginning and that pretty soon I would have really attractive spiky baby hairs all around my face.

I inquired if they could be fashioned into a classic 80's wave. She assured me they could not. Armed with this information I promptly forgot about the baby hairs.

At some point I asked my OB/GYN when the shedding madness would stop. She told me it has a name (telogen effluvium - in case you were wondering) and it would stop soon. Basically instead of my hair gradually falling out over the previous 40 weeks, it stopped falling out entirely. Now post pregnancy, lacking excessive hormones, it all falls out in the space of a few weeks.

Here's the problem. It all starts to grow back at once too. Enter the baby hairs.

So take a long look at that porcupine and imagine a spray..nay, a fan of 1 inch baby hairs framing my face. I discovered these the other day when I pulled my hair back into a ponytail and found a mini mullet of sorts staring back at me from the mirror. At an inch long, they don't fall neatly to one side or the other, they just fly directly off my head. It's an awesome look.

What can I say? I'm like the female version of the Achy Breaky Heart era Billy Ray Cirus. Business in the front, party in the back.

Thursday, August 13, 2009

Tripp Trapp Paddy Whack, Buy Michael Vick a Bone....

People, it's just a fact that I don't have time to write thoughtful humorous things anymore. It's for all the usual shitty reasons so I'll spare you the excuses. My life is insanity and not in the "ironic, humorous, good blog fodder" kind of way but rather the "bad, exhausted, hating life way". One hundred and ten percent of the reason for my bitterness is work related so it was an ideal time for my mother-in-law to show up. Seriously. I'm not being funny. She does some crazy shit, but I seriously do like her. She took care of my kid and my house while I was freaking out about powerpoint decks. Her timing couldn't have been more impeccable.

She did decide that our feeding situation was unacceptable. The result was the procurement of a brand new $350 Swedish high chair and all the requisite accessories. So after working for the last week at breakneck pace, I kicked back and assembled a Tripp Trapp yesterday evening.

She also came armed with a gift for our dear daughter. It's a 24" Kathe Kruse doll named Missi...that has human hair....and wears a drindl. It cost more than the Swedish high chair. I sometimes see Missi at night and think she's going to come into my room and kill me. I don't think I like her. I also wonder whose hair is sewn in her head. I find that mildly creepy.

Oh, here's something else that's really creepy. So I've previously expressed my distaste over physical contact in the workplace. Please feel free to review the link if you need a refresher. A few mornings ago I wake up in a panic because I just had a dream. It was one of those dreams that's so real and vivid that you can feel it. I dreamt that I got drunk and hooked up with one of my co-workers.

One small point of clarification: I went to high school and college in the 90's and our definition of hooking up was not sex, so all you people out there thinking I'm having dreams about diddling my co-workers can just calm down. This was strictly PG.

So I push this all to the back of my mind and go to work. As soon as I walk in the office I see him and I feel really weird and silly. He's trying to talk to me and I'm literally running away to hide in my office. I am disturbed that I feel so weird. (It was an honest to god physical reaction of pure nervousness. How totally insane is it that your brain can mess with you like this?)

I'm trying to act normal but it's likely coming across as slightly retarded. In my head I'm wondering how he can act so normal. DOESN'T HE FEEL AWKWARD FOR GOD'S SAKE?? Clearly this is insane since our entire "incident" happened in the confines of the space between my ears. However, every time I see him I feel the need to run away.

I truly hope this subsides by next week. Sitting around staff meetings, grinning like an idiot and averting my eyes can't be good for my career.

Before I call it a night here, I just want to redirect everyone's attention to the fact that the Eagles just picked up Michael Vick. Douchebaggery like his is rare and special. I had really hoped that whole dog fighting ring business would have put him out of commission for good. I wanted him to rot in prison, if not for the dogs, then for being a complete idiot - he pissed me off enough to write about it. That's a lot considering my general apathy toward sports. Here we are, two years later and lo and behold, my own NFL team decides to pay him millions. Bastards. The only possible up side to this is that I can't wait to watch the PETA freaks attack the drunks in the 700 level at the Linc. Game on Pam Anderson. Welcome to Philly.

Friday, July 24, 2009

Pumpin Drunk

Ok I was a little "happy" while I wrote this one. So happy I forgot to post it. Well, better late than never - right?

Yea, I said it. I'm pumping drunk. Cool your jets people, I'm not going to feed it to my kid. Since I haven't had a serious bender...well....since the night I got pregnant, I am a pretty cheap date. So I went to happy hour with a few co-workers. Before the first glass of wine I texted husband to see if he could pick up child at daycare. Check. After the first glass of wine I texted husband to see if he could feed her a bottle (it went something like "I am going to be hammered. Please feed her a bottle."). Then he texted to ask me if I wanted sushi.

Good husband.

Consumed more wine, walked home (which must have been humorous to watch - drunk lady stumbling home with a breast pump and a laptop). I get home and despite the fact that my kid now finds it amusing to bite me with those two little teeth of death, I continue to do some breastfeeding. I'm no martyr, nor am I a glutton for punishment. It's mostly because I need to GET. IT. OUT. On this fair evening I unceremoniously retired the pump at work so it's home with me. I decide I will pump and dump at home. So while husband is putting child to bed in the other room I am drunk, hooked up to a pump and posting to my blog. Sad, sad life I lead.

Pumping drunk has its risks, namely getting stuff all over the place. First I realize too late that the containers are dangerously full...try to rectify, spills on my leg. Then I have no where to put it. Through one squinty eye I see the to-go coffee cup that I just pulled out of work bag. Dump containers and replace the lid on the to-go cup. Pump some more, stop. Unplug. Accidentally spill half of the container on leg. Curse. Grab to-go cup, dump remainder. Fail to realize the lid is on and closed. Curse again. Spill.

Totally disoriented. I will be SO FRICKIN HAPPY when I never have to do this again.

Saturday, July 18, 2009

It's Saturday Night Bitches!

Saturday night! I'll bet you are wondering what this girl is up to. No? How about I tell you anyway...maybe it'll help you sleep.

1. Laundry - nothing new there.
2. Cleaning up take out from the aftermath of my parents visit & "post house shopping" dinner
3. Occasionally picking up a screaming child to feed her more Tylenol (6 month vaccinations - whee!)
4. Made Kale chips per Kajal's recipe. They remind me of what the leaves look like in the fall as they spiral lifelessly from the trees. However, these are edible and salty. I think I made them a little too salty. A word to anyone else who attempts this - Kale cooks fast and burns faster. Keep an eye on those suckers.

You might be asking yourself, "Why is she eating Kale chips?". Or, perhaps you aren't, knowing I grew up eating cardboard and tofu with my hippie mother. Either way, I've decided to remove the 15lbs from my ass that has decided to set up camp. I had hoped I would be like Gwyneth Paltrow and all like, "Oh la la la, I did nothing but breastfeed and somehow it all just fell off of miraculously". Clearly that did not happen since my pants still don't fit. Technically I can't even blame the baby, I need to blame my poor poor non-smoking metabolism and the fact that I ate a metric tonne of pretzels over the first 12 weeks of my pregnancy to keep from puking all over my shoes.

I'm not bitter. Just fat.

Me being on a diet means my other half is not allowed to eat bad stuff either. He isn't so fond of this rule which would explain why I found him squirreling away M&Ms late in the evening. Some men hide their porn, my husband hides his chocolate.

If you want to make a miserable girl more miserable, throw house shopping in the mix. A word on this whole business. First, I entered into this exercise without realizing that there was some sort of $8K rebate from the government. Apparently I am the only person in the free world that 1. didn't know about it and 2. isn't going ape shit over it. Why do people suddenly feel the need to blow hundreds of thousands of dollars to get 8 for free. To make matters worse, it's July and we're headed into a busy home buying period which is whipping the retards out there into a frenzy.

My father is convinced that our realtor is out to get us. I know this will surprise you all, but we don't agree on this point. She will tell you why two seemingly identical houses are priced differently, she will tell you why a house is sitting on the market for 200 some odd days, she'll even tell you if she thinks you shouldn't go see a house because it's a train wreck. His big beef is her saying things like, "well, this one is priced at $x because it's in such and such a zip code rather than this other home that's not." or, "People are willing to pay for center halls and first floor family rooms.". There's no judgement, she's just pointing out why people have priced their homes a certain way. My father believes that she would tell you a pile of shit in the street were nice if it were on the main line.

If you know anything about the Philadelphia suburbs, you know that the main line has an odd collection of homes. There are million dollar mansions, there are shacks and everything between the two. But shack or mansion, it's got several things going for it - reputation & one of the top two school districts in the tri-state area. Personally we're seeing two things out there. People who purchased at the top of the market, renovated, took out home equity loans, put almost no money down and want to recoup all that plus their closing costs. Then there's the old people sellers, God forsaken wall to wall carpeting, mothball smelling, carpeted kitchen havin, last re-decorated in the 70's stylin' nightmares. These people are the funniest - they probably bought the house for $30K in 1960 and think they're going to get the same price as the fully renovated joint down the block. Someone needs to remove their Blublockers and cruise line branded sun visor and smack them upside their cotton heads.

Frankly, I'm getting to the point where I'm going to call it a day and continue to rent. Or at least I may take a break until this rebate feeding frenzy goes away.

Anyone out there have an opinion? Realtor = good or evil? Rent or own? Skinny Girl or More to Love?

Thursday, July 2, 2009

Dear Facebook,

Why do you think I might know this guy. I most certainly don't know anyone who wears a superman belt buckle. And, I really don't know any man who wears a shirt like that.

I think I just threw up in my mouth a little bit.


Monday, June 29, 2009

Stupid News

Some of the best reading is in the comments sections....

Wednesday, June 17, 2009

Good Facebook / Evil Facebook

This is a really long way for me to explain why I'm not sure Facebook is such a good thing....

I had a roommate in college. To be clear, she wasn't really a roommate in the traditional sense but our one and only foray into the world of subletting. My dear roommate from Seattle was my roommate for 3 years. She and I had the longest tenure in #5. This might explain why we were close to killing one another at various points. Then again, we could just as easily chalk that up to being female and our constant alcohol consumption. Anyway, some time in those 3 years she went back to the happy state of Seattle for an internship. We were sad to see her leave, but she came back with good stories and she had met a boy (who she later invited to her wedding, who I later got drunk and hooked up with, which I later found out she planned, who then interpreted my "if you're ever in town, look me up" as an actual invitation and invited himself to my beach house that summer. In retrospect perhaps that wasn't such a good use of her 6 months, but you know what they say about hind sight...I digress). So while she was off hooking-up with my future hook-up, myself and the other occupants of #5 had the distinct pleasure of living with the Sasquatch.

She was called Sasquatch because she had incredibly large misshapen feet. Feet are not easy to hide but she sure tried hard. Like many things, if you aren't a person of reasonable intelligence, your ideas generally don't materialize as planned. She would wear extra long jeans and let them hang down over her toes to hide her feet. As you may have guessed this didn't work very well and probably succeeded in drawing more attention, not less, to her feet. So now we've establish she's a bit backwards. Let's move on to flaky.

She also told us, almost immediately upon move in, that her nickname in high school was 31 flavors. Curious, but not alarming until she decided to elaborate. You see she was given this nickname because of the number of guys to which she had given head.

Hmmmm. Special.

Seeing her always made me think of this clip from the movie Clerks. Over the next few months we all had varied interactions with her. I thought she was an idiot but found her moderately entertaining. It was like sport trying to pimp her out to guys. At the bar where I worked I introduced her to the owner's son. He was a man whore and this meant she immediately disappeared to his home in NJ for a weekend of fun. I seem to recall this being the cause of a fight between her and our other roommate (who I'm sure will chime in when she reads this because she never forgets anything).

Another time I pawned her off on a guy we all knew well. He had to call us and ask that we come retrieve her after she overstayed her welcome. She had a nasty habit of turning the "morning walk of shame" into "the following evening walk of - I'm too stupid to be ashamed".

Then there was the time I made a bet with one of my guy friends that I could just mention to her that he was asking about her and she would be at his doorstep in under an hour. He took that bet and lo and behold she showed up. He couldn't get rid of her so he offered to walk her home. She accepted (but was likely confused about why he was offering considering she didn't want to go). Then as they were standing outside #5 she momentarily went upstairs at which point he begged me to help him get rid of her. I told him to run. He ran. Fast. That part was funny. The bizarre thing was her reaction. It went something like this:

Her: Where did Jeff go?
Me: Who? (feign ignorance)
Her: Jeff
Me: Oh. He had to go.
Her: Oh. (blink. blink.) Ok.

So it was no big shocker when we heard she finally got knocked up our senior year.

Fast forward 10 years. Against my better judgement I join Facebook. 372 friends later she connects to me. Apparently she started and couldn't stop. I count 4 children.

I email our other roommate.

Me: Guess who connected to me...31 flavors. You know she's going to find you next and connect to you.
Her: Why on earth would you have ever accepted her?
Me: Meh...she's 31 flavors...she's harmless. Stupid, but harmless.

So now we've established harmless. Let's talk about not harmless.

So for all my brother-in-law's ranting about putting my daughter's website up, I had to think of him when this happened. One day my mother called (as she always does when someone my age gets arrested in my hometown) and said, "Do you know a guy named Mike D.?". Of course I do (I graduated with just over 100 people). Well he was arrested for having 6 gazillion pictures of naked kids on his computer.


Guess who is on Facebook. Where I post pictures of my kid. Where everyone posts pictures of their kids. Where creepy pervert dude who looks at kiddie porn is connecting to everyone.

Ick. Evil Facebook.

Monday, June 1, 2009

When it Rains, It Pours

I think the media is out to poo on my parade lately.  Keep this up and I may need some blood pressure meds.  


Here is a perfect example of why I hate religious zealots…I totally get that they believe abortion is murder, but seriously how can they possibly justify killing this man by saying it isn’t homicide but “stopping him in his tracks”.  Has anyone ever seen Gattaca? I truly hope that someday there’s a way to ferret out these wingnuts and put them in a padded cell before they hurt the rest of us.

Sunday, May 31, 2009

I'm an Angry Woman and I Don't Care if You Like Me

*steps onto soapbox* 

Stop reading now if it drives you nuts when I get up here and rant. I'll warn you in advance that I don't give a shit if I get flamed for this because it's my blog and I'm taking it and going home. So there....

I stopped being passionate about things a few years ago because I realized that at the end of the day I didn't accomplish anything and only managed to upset myself. Yes, I recognize this is an apathetic approach to life but it keeps me sane.  To quote my father, the master of the cliche, "Opinions are like assholes, everyone has one and most of the time they stink".  


Here's my problem.  Lately I've acquired this child and the fire burning beneath the surface has reared its ugly head.  See I may have become apathetic about things that impact me, but I have a really hard time being apathetic about things that impact her.  I'm not political or religiously inclined, but I take exception to people who want to control my body or put my health at risk.  So all the usual suspects piss me off - the status of healthcare, the influence of big pharma, the abortion debate and the latest addition to my personal club of hate ...the vaccination drama.

Everybody's gotta point the finger at someone when something bad happens. My husband likes to shit all over Americans for being so litigious. He likes to say things like, "you know, sometimes people just die and that's the way it goes and it doesn't mean you're entitled to turn around and sue the doctor just because they happened to be in proximity".  Actually you are entitled and that's part of the challenge - you are entitled to point the finger whether it's right or wrong.  The right to point the finger is the cornerstone of our society. It levels the playing field - all people rich or poor can fight when they've been legitimately wronged. Legitimately is such a subjective concept.

Yea I know, there's a big old conspiracy out there trying to mislead the sheep.  We shouldn't trust big pharma, be an informed consumer of medical advice, blah blah blah.  I get it. But here's the deal, some people aren't smart enough to to digest and make an informed decision. They are the reason why there are warnings on plastic packing material that tell you that it poses a suffocation hazard.  These people are not smart enough to consume, digest and then choose a course of action.  They are the very same people who don't understand that shit just happens sometimes and it doesn't give you the right to poison the well for everyone else.


So who gets the venom today (aside from all the vaccine haters out there) - Pennsylvania.  They let unvaccinated children mingle with the vaccinated ones. I stab my kid in the legs every few months to build immunity. I can live with the crying and crank ass she becomes because I'm taking one for the team. I know that she's healthier for it and so are the rest of the kids who can't be vaccinated for actual medical reasons.  I'm also taking one for the kids whose parents probably spent too much time with plastic bags over their heads as children because no one told their idiot parents that oxygen deprivation causes brain damage.  Good thing for those warnings these days...

I keep my fingers crossed that my kid makes it through the vaccination schedule without coming into contact with some child of an ill informed fanatic who happens to be carrying something she has yet to be vaccinated against.  In the mean time I will do my part to make sure that she stays well.  

*steps off soapbox*

PS - for anyone who thinks I'm being mean, please know that I refrained from making a comment about Darwinian theory.  Ooops, I guess I didn't.

Thursday, May 21, 2009

Today, Yesterday, Random Stuff....

My dentist is the bestest ever. Aside from being the nicest guy you could ever meet, he likes to sing little songs without words while he works on your teeth. It's a bit like humming with an occasional be bops or boos. His staff is also nice, talking to his receptionist is a bit like mainlining sugar. This is not an exaggeration.

So why you ask would I be yammering on about my dentist (especially since my cleaning isn't scheduled until the 29th)? He and his wife sent us a baby gift. She (I'll give his wife credit for this one) sent a little set of socks and a gorgeous crocheted hat. All found at one of my favorite neighborhood boutiques - Their website is crap right now, but worth a visit if you're in the Philadelphia area. Last I was there they carried Patricia Locke it.

Anyway, I digress. So aside from being a really nice guy, he's a good dentist.

It's also a good night because I guilted my husband into writing 3 thank you notes. Yes that's right people - 3 whole thank you notes. I think I beg him on a daily basis but apparently tonight the planets were aligned. Why you ask don't I just suck it up and write the notes myself. Simple - if they wrote to us in German, they will be thanked in German. I think that makes perfect sense. If he didn't want to write these thank you notes then SOMEONE shouldn't have sent out birth announcements. Mmmhmmm - yes, I'm talking to you husband.

The big news lately is that our kid has started rolling from her back to her stomach. Tonight I found her screaming in her bed twice after we had put her down. The first time she rolled halfway over and got stuck on her side. Clearly this made her unhappy and so she screeched until we came to fix it. About 30 minutes later she managed to roll over, wedge her arm between the crib bars and then thwack her head into the bars while yelping at us. I can tell already this mobility thing is trouble. No good can come from a wildly unstable human being jerking around - just ask my dear friend in London. I seem to recall an evening after polishing off a bottle of Jose involved a front flip, shot glasses in both pockets and the need to lock someone in their own home.

Speaking of accidents...the poop in this house is reaching a critical level. The other day she came home from "school" with a note that said she was changed because of extreme excrement.

1. You have to love anyone that uses the word excrement. I tend to think that only applies to rodents and other small creatures. Apparently it also applies to my kid.
2. At least said child is smart enough not to have extreme excrement at home most of the time. It's almost like she saves it up for them. She's a smart kid - poop on the people we pay, not your mother.

Ok and this is where I'll renew your faith that I'm still a nasty bitch. There's a mother here in our building that I reluctantly met one day in the lobby. Our kid's are roughly the same age. I can't be sure but I think she may have been in the remedial classes in school. The conversation was reminiscent of a conversation I recently had with cafeteria lady in my office. Aside from that she wears sweatpants in public and asked me if I would be interested in a play date. Seriously? For 4 month olds? It's times like this that I thank my lucky stars I get up and go to work every day and don't have to take stroller power walks with elastic waist pants chick.

Ok enough. Here's my parting gift to you all, a little something to entertain you for hours. Thanks JR - this is a real gem. Read the comments. One word. Awesome.

Sunday, May 17, 2009

Small Town or 7th Circle of Hell?

I grew up in a town of roughly 20K people. We used to joke that there were 3 families that lived there and they basically continued to breed amongst themselves. Seriously, everyone in the town had one of three last names. If they didn't have one of those last names, they were a cousin of those people. This is not an exaggeration.

There has to be something in the water. The whole place breeds unusually attractive men. Unfortunately these men are dumb as rocks, but nonetheless hot. (In college we had a name for those boys. It's not nice enough to put in writing...even for this blog).

The town broadcasts the local beauty pageant on public access television. All the girls have "a talent" but unfortunately they don't have any "talent". This is the same public access channel that produced the non-Emmy award winning show, Telemart that I mentioned here. Do you think they forced them to wear those colors or was that voluntary? Which brings me to the next item...

Despite the fact that this place is only about 30 miles west of Philadelphia somehow bad taste mutates and proliferates. I couldn't quite get the camera out fast enough to catch this one from the front, but I think you get the picture... The acid wash, fade from light to dark is awesome in it's hideousness. There were also a plethora of short shorts on fattie fats. Those were usually strategically paired with really tight tank tops (spaghetti straps mandatory).

People also have an obsession with their cars and the speakers in those cars. If the speakers are loud enough to rupture eardrums and make small children cry then it's considered a good start. This might explain why this was part of the parade...

These are the same people that you see hanging out at the car wash on a Saturday night. What on earth do you do at a car wash?

What a silly question...the car wash is where you drink your 40 of Old E, with your cousins, in your acid washed jeans.... duh.

Thursday, April 30, 2009

Relish in the Stupidity of Others

Hours of entertainment at the expense of others. My favorite!

Wednesday, April 29, 2009

I Heart Pennsylvania

Just when I think that government offices are devoid of all technology (have you ever seen the inside of city hall? It’s like stepping into the 70’s…) I uncover something like this.  Basically you build a profile of where you live and work (or whatever) and then indicate what you want to receive notices about (road closings, amber alerts, severe weather, SWINE FLU (hello!)) and they either text you or email you.  Simple. Useful. How elegant!


People, this is further evidence that Pennsylvania is superior when compared to the near bankrupt state of New Jersey (yes yes, glass houses, rocks, I know).  However, Gloucester County, NJ is also included. Probably because we’re nice like that.

Monday, April 27, 2009

I love quizes

I love a good online quiz....

I think some of these guys have worked in our IT department.

I got a 6 out of 10 - how did you do?

Tuesday, April 21, 2009

Butt Floss for the Elitist

What in the hell is this?   I have questions. Please feel free to answer them.
  • Do you wear it or put it on your wall? 
  • Does that text wrap all the way around to your ass crack or is that a quote on the packaging?
  • Is Quaker guy, John Greenleaf Whittier, rolling over in his grave? 
  • Do you think he knew back in the 1890's that his poetry would some day be featured on someone's hoo ha?
  • Who pays $13 for a white cotton thong?
  • Why does it only come in size 0-4? Are larger women not allowed to wear Quaker poet butt floss?

Please help.

Or alternately, if you should decide you want to own this item - here is the link on Amazon.

Thursday, April 16, 2009

Things you don't need to know...

Standing next to Fred while the lunch lady was ringing up his purchases…

Her: You looked up my husband on the internet?

Fred: Uh..

Her: You didn’t tell me that. You were looking at his mug shot.

Her (to me): He looked my husband up on the Internet.

Me: Well, I guess as long as it wasn’t the sex offender website then it’s ok…

Some days I wonder about these people ….

Wednesday, April 15, 2009

Hee Hee...

I love watching old legislators use the word "sexting". Fun to use as a verb - "Teenagers who are sexting are being charged as sex offenders".

That makes me giggle inside.

Sunday, April 12, 2009

Au Revoir Good Pregnancy Joo Joo….

Well, it’s official. I am no longer pregnant. Yes, I realize that on January 8th when a child came out of me I was technically “no longer pregnant", but in the weeks following the actual birth it seemed all the good pregnancy joo joo was still lingering. I know I bitched and moaned about being pregnant but the fact is there were some pleasant side effects. The whole hair thing was at the top of the list (maybe that was even the entire list…I can’t be sure because the pregnancy brain is still lingering which means I can’t think properly).

Anyway the point is, my hair was the thickest its been since I was 10 years old. See before I got pregnant, me and the maintenance guy Mike were on a first name basis. He or one of his guys would come on over to our apartment on a monthly basis to pull the giant wookie out of the drain. My husband repeatedly apologized for this and even offered to do it for him. Mike’s guy Tom says the wookie keeps him employed, so from that point forward we would dutifully call him without apology. Then one day I found myself in the family way and miraculously the wookie decided to stay in my head. So for the last 12 months we haven’t seen Mike (with the exception of the washer/dryer incident which isn’t worth talking about).

The wookie was thick and shiny and easy to style. I enjoyed drying my hair. I could even let it air dry and it didn’t look like hell. It was awesome and I hoped against all hope that this was a new and permanent condition. I knew better….but a girl can dream can’t she?

So, two days ago I was in the shower happily washing my hair when I pulled my hands away to find the wookie was back. I was sad as I watched half my hair gracefully swirl down the drain. Au revoir wookie…it’s been a good run. Tell Mike & Tom I said hello….

Friday, April 10, 2009

Turn down your inner monologue please...

Here’s the situation. You’re walking down the street and your inner monologue is going in your head.

Hey buddy, 1972 called and they want their facial hair back.

Dear lord, someone needs to go shopping for a new pair of jeans. Didn’t it hurt when you stuffed yourself into those?

Does that person not own a mirror?

Put down the aqua net lady, your hair is scaring me.

Nice skirt, don’t your ass cheeks get cold hanging out like that?

Back away from the spray tan before I start to sing the ompa loompa song....

I can’t stop it. I know that when I see the tragic humanity outside my front door I can’t help but stare…and then smirk or perhaps raise my eye brows. I wear sunglasses a lot for this reason. It’s amazing I don’t get my ass kicked. Anyway, I used to wonder about a certain category of women. You look at them and think – “They could be totally good looking if they just lost a few pounds and cleaned themselves up.” You ‘ve seen them - they wander around in pants that are too small for them, visible panty lines, hair looking like hell…you know who I’m talking about. I would see them and think to myself – why on earth would you set foot out of the house looking like that?

Well people, I now know who those women are. Their pants are too small because they aren’t willing to buy new pants because the old pants will fit eventually. The maternity pants don’t stay up and were pretty frickin ugly to start with. And the underwear..well you wouldn’t see that panty line if the damn pants weren’t so small. The hair – well that’s an unholy mess because they didn't have time to style it, dry it or sometimes to wash it. Yes, those sad looking individuals that are badly dressed and don’t care are the species we all know as working mothers.

So, when you see me roll into the office in pants that are shamefully too small with my hair pulled back you should shut your mouth and turn off your inner monologue.

Tuesday, April 7, 2009

Screw the Cow, I'll just buy the Milk...

My mother used to tell me when I was a kid that no one buys the cow when they can get the milk for free. While it's a nice sentiment (and certainly makes guilty Catholics everywhere feel good about that whole abstinence business) my husband disproved that one when he married me.

I would now like to modify that statement. "I would rather buy the milk as long as I don't have to be the cow." Let me explain....

I recently returned to work and I now have a serious love hate relationship with a breast pump. For a total of 40 minutes a day I am exposed and hooked up to what amounts to a fancy vacuum. I have purchased a pumping bra that my husband believes is some sort of S&M paraphernalia. It's a messy business..blockading the office door, pulling the blinds, whipping out the girls, strapping yourself in, WOOSH WOOSH WOOSH. I just know that everyone can hear this wooshing from 6 offices away.

All the while reading articles like this and this. Yet I continue to put my little containers in the office fridge and redress myself twice a day. Here's why, and my work husband can mock all he wants with comments about about organic food and ergo strollers... I can't be sure that this whole breast milk thing isn't important, so I'll do it just in case.

So as I sit there thinking how undignified it is to be hooked up to a Hoover, I read something like this and I think about how bad I would feel if someday my poor kid has nasty dermatitis all over her just because my selfish ass didn't want to be Bessie the Milk Cow.

Well, even Bessie has her limits. There are only so many times a day you can get naked in your office and still reasonably conduct business. That said, our little friend gets one bottle of formula a day. It's one out of roughly 6-7 feedings. So by my calculations I'm only a good mother 83-86% of the time. I think I can live with those numbers.

Friday, April 3, 2009

Why do People Always Call the Cops on my Family?

I know I’ve been MIA lately, but as usual it’s with good reason.

#1 The tiny human living in my house goes to daycare which involves an enormous amount of crap to be pulled together each evening. It also requires that I wash 65,000 bottle and pumping parts as well as wash poop out of tiny little clothing. Curiously the human brain is programmed to entirely forget about your pre-child life so you don’t feel badly about this self inflicted punishment.

#2 I started work again and it’s already busy.

#3 I occasionally like to talk to the person I married. Yesterday we actually turned off the TV, put the kid down for a nap and had a conversation. Interesting concept…talking.

#4 With grandparents 3000 miles away, I have to keep that kid blog chock full of pictures and videos so they don’t feel like I’ve robbed them of their grandchild.

So I’ll stop whining about my life and tell you a funny story about my grandmother.

A few months ago my husband and I spent the evening over night at my parents house. In the middle of the night I heard this really loud pounding I couldn’t place. I woke my husband up and after several confused moments we realized the pounding was not at the front door as we suspected, but rather from my grandmother’s bedroom. She was sitting on the bed knocking on the window like a mad woman yelling “Help!, Help!”.

I went in and she told me that she got lost and thought if she knocked that someone might come and help her. I can’t say that her logic was flawed, I did get out of bed and come find her. The antics continue on and off for the next few months. Sometimes she wanders around the house in the middle of the night yelling at my parents to get up, sometimes she screams from her room. But, she has always stayed in the house….until two nights ago.

So she's staying with my aunt for a few weeks. Keep in mind this is a neighborhood she lived in for the better part of 15 years. In the middle of the night she gets up in her nightgown and bare feet and walks out of the house in 40 degree weather while everyone else was alseep. She proceeds to cross the street and arrives at the neighbor’s house. It’s at this point that she starts pounding on her door and yelling. Understandably the lady who lives there (alone) is freaked out and calls the cops. Four squad cars show up and find a crazy old woman in her nightgown banging on the door. They begin knocking on surrounding doors to figure out where nightgown lady actually lives. They soon locate my aunt and as my grandmother is walking back into the house she turns back and says to the police, “Thanks for helping me out boys!”.

Unbelievable…nightgown, bare feet, totally disoriented and she still manages to flirt with the men.

Friday, March 20, 2009

Homeless Love & Delinquent Parentling

As my maternity leave winds to a close I've been frantically trying to wrap up all the things on my to-do list that I've been ignoring for the last 2.5 months. Ignoring is easy when you can always find something else to clean up the never ending mess of poop. So yesterday since the weather was warm (and because I don't fit into my suits for work) we took a walk down to the stationary store to check out the progress of the birth announcements. Yes I realize my child is almost 3 months old, shut it.

Chestnut Street in the low teens is a scary place. Dirty dollar stores, cheap clothes and a really large liquor store. It makes for a really special crowd of people. It's starting go through a bit of a renaissance...maybe that's a bit overstated but the gayborhood is starting to expand into scary town and as a result there's a cute stationary store.

So here I am rolling along with my curb climbing urban stroller when I see two bums yelling at each other in front of a food truck. Unfortunately this is going on about 20 feet in front of me and I have no where to go but straight ahead. As I powered through the mess all I could smell was poop. These dudes smelled like a big pile of poop. I have become a connoisseur of poop and this was more like the dog a dog that has been sleeping in its own poop for a few weeks. Ugh...keep moving..breathe through mouth.

So as I'm passing by the poop man he stops what he's doing and yells "DAMN". I can't be sure at this point if that was directed at me or the other poop man but either way I'm not stopping or turning around. The yelling continues and this is when I become acutely aware of the fact that the comment is directed at me. Just "DAMN" over and over really loud and drawn out. I'm not sure if I should start running or be flattered. After all, this girl is 10/15 lbs from her fighting weight so she'll take all the compliments she can get. (Yes, even when it's from a scary homeless man that smells like poop.)

Thankfully the stationary store was only a few hundred feet away so I was soon surrounded by the comforting glow of Cranes stationary and Montblanc pens.

The child was being reasonably well behaved for the shopping excursion and that's when I noticed the tell tale grin that was on her face. She was down there in that cute little stroller sleeping bag shitting her brains out. When we got home I was left with the delightful task of cleaning up the poop. At first I though the diaper had contained the mess but as I was redressing her I noticed a spot of yellow on the waistband of her little pants. I pondered my next step.

I could...
A. Pull off all her clothing (it was not a snap up) and put her in a new outfit then undress her in a few hours to give her a bath and put on another new outfit OR,
B. Pretend that I don't see the yellow poo smear, return her to the pants and then give her a bath in a few hours and then put her in a new outfit.

Clearly any good mother would have chosen A. I am clearly not a good mother and so I decided that the poo mark was barely noticeable (and on the inside I might add) and I was saving the environment somehow by conserving the water & electricity required to wash an additional onesie.

Some day future generations will thank me...

Tuesday, February 24, 2009

My Husband the White Dude

My husband came home and introduced me to a new website. A woman at work showed him. (She's black and this becomes relevant in a moment.) It happened something like this.

Her: You should get a pair of New Balance sneakers
Him: Why because I'm a white dude?
Her: Umm, no. Huh?
Him: Oh, it's one of the
posts on Stuff White People Like

She finds this amusing and shows him one of her favorite websites. This is where he found this video. Aside from the various insane photos, I am seriously disturbed by this video. Who has time to do this kind of crap and did he make that leotard himself?

Excuses, excuses

I haven't written in a while because I'm busy raising a human.  You know how that is...tedious but apparently very important since they can't do it themselves. On the upside, when the little one is not eating, pooping or screaming, I get to spend hours randomly surfing the Internet.  So here are some things I'm enjoying.  From my twisted post pregnancy brain to you (presumably not post pregnancy).  And don't bother asking how I have random hours to spend on the Internet but no time to write. I'm well aware that makes no's just how it is.

First off, here are some funny t-shirts.  I am a big fan of the "I'm gonna come at you like a spider monkey" shirt.  Why? I'm not sure.  This is followed closely by the "My butt hurts" shirt. I think I may have found my sister's next gift... Keep in mind that I got her a Bedazzler for her birthday. For those of you who know my sister, you can expect bedazzled gifts for the next few months.  You don't have to thank me, I know you're excited.

Which brings me to my next item.  For those of you out in the Western Suburbs of Philadelphia - be advised (compliments of that very same sister) that there is a class called Bling It". I have visions of her showing up with her Bedazzler in hand to make me key chains and sparkly heart and star jeans. Awesome.  I'll post a picture of her first gift creation.

Speaking of pictures, part of the reason I haven't been writing is because I'm just too busy posting pictures of the cuteness on my new kid blog.  Yes, there is a blog dedicated to the daily happenings of the eat/poop/sleeper that is currently swinging 10 feet from me.  Its sole purpose is for my mother and father-in-law to show their friends.  I have of course removed the site from search engines and such, but my brother-in-law was still mildly disturbed that we put our child out on the public Internet.  Perhaps there's something to this paranoia?  Here is a site entirely dedicated to other people's pictures on FLICKR.  It is also one of my favorite places to go for entertainment. (Thank you to my Denver fashionista for giving me that link so many months ago...)

I believe that site is indicative of a larger issue from which we've only begun to see the fall out.  People are dumb..this we know. Technology has now made it possible for those same dumb people to spread their bad behavior to a wider audience.  Now I need only go to Facebook and I can see all sorts of awful things. If I can see the awful things on the sites of people who should know better, think about the people who don't... Elections are going to be so much fun 15 years from now. 

And yes, I said Facebook. C'mon I have nothing to do but update my FB status with cute quips about poop and drool.  Sad, yes.

But here's something that someone passed along on FB that's pretty funny.

And now, I have a small screaming human to attend to...

Wednesday, February 4, 2009

The Philadelphia Parking Authority is Ridiculous

Why you ask? Because when I tried to pay my ticket online they wanted to charge me $1.50. Hmmm. Let me think about this... I can slap a 42 cent stamp and mail you a check or I can pay you $1.50. How much you wanna bet that it costs them more than a buck and a half to process a check.


And how about this crap with the meters going up to $2 an hour and then $3 an hour this July.

Like I said, ridiculous...

Sunday, February 1, 2009

Just Say No

Yesterday I woke up with wicked back pain.  I haven't felt this pain for approximately 40 weeks....this was the one good thing about pregnancy.  Hormones that are like one big muscle relaxer all day and all night.  Well, that and the really thick hair.  Anyway, I limped around like a fool until I realized that I had Percocet.  Nothing like a little narcotic action to make mama feel better.  Percocet was the only thing that got me out of bed after my c section.  I liked it because it didn't make me feel doped up.  So, I figured this would be an excellent solution to my little problem.  

So I popped one in my mouth and waited.  About 30 minutes later I realized I was really dizzy.  Oh dear, I'm stoned.  Hmmmm. Unexpected.  Husband laughed at me.  Exact quote, "I told you that it would mess you up."

This was unplanned and unwelcomed because my whole day was focused on a trip to The Container Store.  Yes, my life is that dull that I planned an entire day around a modular storage store.  Shut it.  The bottom line is I'll be damned if I let a little narcotic episode get in the way of my organizing fun.

So husband drove his stoned wife and his kid to the store in Jersey.  I brought the stroller so I didn't have to lug around a 600 lb car seat.  It's a good thing, because I was all over the place.  I wheeled that kid into quite a few shelves.  $300 later, husband was busy working his magic to get all that crap stuffed in a four door sedan with baby seat.  Poor child had a clothes drying rack jammed on one side of her and a bag of crap on the other.  

We arrived home and I had the excellent foresight to pull two filets out of the freezer along with some cauliflower soup.  So I peppered up those steaks and put the oven on broil.  A quick check of my faculties told me I was still looped.  (Those of you who have ever seen me cook can attest to the fact that I don't drink while I cook because it usually results in disaster.)  After an impossibly long time in the oven I pull out the steaks and stick the meat thermometer in one.  45 degrees....

If I had half a brain I should have realized that after that much time in the oven nothing could still be 45 degrees Fahrenheit.  Of course after repeating this exercise several more times with a similar result, the only thing I could think was, "God, this is taking an awful long time to get to 150 degrees...what gives?".  Of course it didn't sink into my doped up brain that a 45 degree filet would basically be frozen.  Like I said, there's a reason why I don't drink while cooking.  At some point it dawned on me that the damn meat thermometer had somehow switched to Celsius and I was in the process of turning two very nice filets into hockey pucks.

In the infamous words of Whitney Houston...Crack is Whack.  And, narcotics make you do bad things in the kitchen. 

Thursday, January 29, 2009

Poop, lots of Poop

My kid just projectile pooped on me. I had to dig seedly orange/yellow crap out of my wedding band. Festive.

I did this to myself...

Wednesday, January 28, 2009

Dogs are dum

Thanks to J for passing this along. It's sort of how I look when someone puts a plate of cupcakes in front of me.

This is why dogs are stupid. No cat would ever tolerate this sort of nonsense.

Life would be easier if you could wear your kid like a backpack...

Not to brag, but there's very little that I find intimidating. Or rather, there's very little that I find so intimidating that I actually experience anxiety.

Fast forward to this morning.

The little one has her first doctor's appointment. Aside from the fact that I have to take a cab (which meant I had to do extensive research on how to secure the car seat in a cab, without the base and only the seat belt); I also had to deal with an ice/rain/slush mess outside. So while I have zero problem presenting to senior level executives at work, I had a near mental meltdown over how to get to the f'ing doctors office which is probably less than 2 miles from my house.

The peanut was not cooperating in the crying department so we had to do some quick comfort feeding before I called the cab. (I feel like all I do is whip out my boobs these days.) Then I had to remove a layer because she looked so pitiful and hot. (She sort of resembled that kid from A Christmas Story in the snow suit) Then I had to dig out my duck boots because of the 6 inches of slush I could see at the edge of every curb. So I chucked the kid in the car seat, slapped a paci in her mouth so she didn't freak out and bundled her up. Praying that slugging this car seat around wasn't going to pop open my stitches, I was off to the lobby.

I made it into the cab and got her seat strapped in with help from the driver and I was feeling pretty good (that guy totally got a good tip). I get to the pediatricians and I'm thinking I'm doing pretty well because I'm only a few minutes late. That's when they tell me that my appointment wasn't for another 2 hours. Not 11:45, it was 1:45. Nice. Thankfully they were able to take us early. Husband texted me to get status...he thought the appointment was for 9:30. You would think between two relatively intelligent people we would be able to get our shit together. Yea, not so much.

On the upside, I have birthed an amazon. She's gained her birth weight back and then some. She's also grown almost an inch in length. 90th percentile! I don't find this shocking because her father is 6'3" and her mother has weird long arms and legs like a freaky monkey. Yes, that's right people. A freaky monkey.

Monday, January 26, 2009

A Baby Story

You know what I hate about TLC A Baby Story? It all about the drama. Perhaps it's the fact that they put me on a table, cut me open and called it a party that I didn't experience this sort of dramatic birth... I don't know.

One other thing to note (and I can't really take credit for this, my BIL's brother pointed it out) every other kid is named Mia or Ava.

Dear Lord, tell me why this woman has her newborn in a pink tutu? My child hasn't worn anything but footie PJs for the last 2 weeks. Does it make a difference that they're nice PJs?

Monday, January 19, 2009

Husband Quote of the Day

Upon seeing me sitting on the couch breastfeeding for the 300 millionth time today..."I'll bet you never thought you would have a job that was entirely about your boobs..."

Friday, January 16, 2009

Happy Birthday to Me

Tomorrow is my 33rd birthday. I celebrated today by doing several weather appropriate, yet exciting things...

1. I assembled a vibrating chair.
2. I ordered 3 nursing bras and another highly attractive nursing top.
3. I called Target, got lost in their phone system and then finally figured out that their website had cancelled my order because it has problems with accepting multiple gift cards on a single order that ends up shipping at different times.  
4.  I went through a pile of crap on the kitchen table.
5.  I let my kid's butt air dry to avoid diaper rash and she peed all over the changing pad when I wasn't looking.

At least tomorrow is Saturday and we all get to sleep in.  Happy Birthday to me!

Wednesday, January 14, 2009

Done and Done

It's funny how things never happen the way you would like them to happen. Or maybe they happen how they should and we're just all idiots who don't want what's good for us. Either way, I've spent the last 6 days jacked on Percocet so perhaps this is just one giant drug induced Ginsberg crazy moment.

Despite my crusade for a non-medical birth I had the most medical birth possible. It all started with my bionic uterus and the fact that the cervix was doing nothing. And then nothing. And then more of nothing. For 10 days past my due date it was on strike. On day 10 they decided to try to smoke her out. Introducing....the super tampon. So super was this tampon that it guessed it - nothing. We decided to try one other drug and as predicted, it did absolutely nothing.

It was at this point that my OB noted that people who are most disappointed in their birth experiences are those that try every drug in the book, spend 2 days in pain and then end up exhausted and have a section anyhow. I consider myself a logical person. If you tell me that most people respond to a drug and those that do not respond likely end up with a C Section, well then statistically speaking I will probably be one of those people.

So I cut my losses and we were off to what Dr. Dave refers to as "the party". I guess if you have to be sliced open you want the guy who thinks it's a party to be doing the cutting. Of course husband used the new little Flip to film her arrival. His exact quote was, "I didn't film them cutting you open, just the part where there was a head sticking out of your stomach.". Awesome. I have not watched it yet. When you've been stitched up like a Thanksgiving turkey it's nice to remain blissfully unaware of what actually caused all the pain.

In case you were wondering, the party kind of sucked. The spinal made me feel like someone was sitting on my chest. There was no blissful moment when I looked at my child. I only wanted air in my lungs. I was assured by the nice man who made me feel like a paraplegic that this was totally normal. I don't recall those people on TLC having breathing problems.... They gave me some serious pain meds. I suspect it was morphine. I apparently sent a delusional email to my friend the next morning while totally high out of my mind.

The hospital was everything I thought it was going to be - hell. Scary roommate #1 who was eventually replaced with the "Jesus loves me" roommate. I felt somehow robbed that a bunch of evangelicals weren't praying over my child and for the speedy recovery of my hoo ha. The nurses were generally a mixed bag. I had two that were ok, one that was the devil and my girl Sherrie who saved my from self destruction. Sherrie found me the morning after the devil took care of me. I was off my pain meds (the devil forgot to ask me if I wanted any) and out of my mind. Think hysterical woman with hysterical child and neither has had any sleep. Sherrie introduced me to two Percocet every four hours. Sherrie is my friend.

I'm now home and managing. My mother is staying with us for a little over a week. She has convinced me that I need to be walking around air drying my nipples between feedings. I feel like a strange modern version of National Geographic in nursing pyjamas. I am now a slave to a crazed 8 lb 14 oz milk drinker. I think she might be mean. I wonder where she gets it....

Tuesday, January 6, 2009

Holy Sanjay Gupta

For as long as my husband has been in this country, he has had a man crush on Sanjay Gupta. He jokingly said we should name our first born Sanjay Gupta...which goes well with our last name. I had to laugh when my friend Kajal wrote about her husband's obsession with him as well.

So this brings us to present and this is why our boy Obama is a little slice of genius. Sanjay Gupta as the Surgeon General. Sounds a little crazy doesn't it? Let's consider the recent past - look at these people to your right. Does the average person have any frickin clue who they are? Those are the last 5 appointed Surgeon Generals of the United States. Honestly my first thought was "isn't that one dude Colonel Sanders from KFC?". Yes I'll admit I'm being an ignorant ass.

Now let's think about our boy Sanjay. Good looking Indian doctor who already has rock star status, he's accomplished and apparently most men have a crush* on him. I'm having visions of him and Obama jogging together. They're not like our boy Bill who was known to enjoy a cheese burger, or 10. This is certainly more interesting than the Caroline Kennedy debate. Know what I mean?

*Obviously this is based on my extensive research and significant sample size of my husband and Kajal's husband.

Monday, January 5, 2009

I am Slug

One week overdue and counting. I have assumed the role of house slug. Rolling myself off the couch for water seems far too laborious so I've just begun asking husband to do it. I've constructed myself a pillow nest on the couch and decided that wearing pants it overrated. I have seen every bad movie that cable has to offer. I also watched part of Stars on Ice. Who thought it was a good idea to put a bunch of male figure skaters in what appears to be assless leather chaps and let six of them do modified partner dancing? Maybe this would be ok if they were hot, sadly they were not.

I try to make it out of the house once a day. That doesn't always work. Saturday we made it to The Belgian Cafe for dinner and then onto the Ritz to see Rachel Getting Married. Husband and I were divided on our enjoyment of the movie. He said he sees enough narcissists and doesn't need to watch them when he goes to the movies. I like Anne Hathaway because she's awkward and weird. She was exceedingly awkward and weird in this movie so I was happy. Sunday night we watched The Diving Bell and The Butterfly. Worth an evening of depression.

I have attempted all manner of child eviction. Ginger, eggplant, oregano, acupuncture, etc. For those of you who suggested I have a spicy curry, you can kiss my ass. I would rather be 11 months pregnant than have stomach acid shoot out of my throat and into my lungs. That is a pain I will not miss. Nor will I miss the unnatural relationship I have with the economy size bottle of Tums I carry with me.

Sadly this child has an eviction date of Wednesday night. Today's belly lube and nether region violation resulted in the decision to smoke her out later this week. Apparently we'll start the festivities Wednesday evening with something called Cervidil. Think: Tampon with special sauce. If I'm lucky this might put me in labor. If I'm not lucky I get a nice helping of Pitocin in the morning. Despite my desire for a non-medical birth, I'm not insane and I don't plan to try Pitocin without an epidural.

Keep your fingers crossed that our little friend decides to wise up and make an exit on her own over the next two days.