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.

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.

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.