For the last few months of my life I have become acutely aware of what is pleasant and what is unpleasant. I think we've told most of our friends and family that we're expecting (and more specifically I'm expecting because after all this is about me and I'm the poor schmo who has to go through this decidedly unpleasant experience). So if I haven't told you, don't feel unloved, it's really just because I am no longer functioning like a normal human being.
I digress.
So my absence as of late has been because I am physically unable to stay awake past 7PM. I also feel like poop on a stick. These two things in combination do not get the creative juices flowing. Something had to give. Actually many things, but we'll get to that in a moment.
So anyway, here are a few observations.
Unpleasant: After returning from vacation I went to put on a suit to go to work and discovered that my hips had spread. Something I didn't notice until nothing fit. I tried on every damn suit in the closet until I finally tried the fattest suit I own and found it barely fit. I looked decidedly inappropriate.
Pleasant: Due to suit situation above, I was forced into the maternity store early. I had two choices, buy bigger clothes or buy maternity. As much as I really hate the idea of maternity it seemed far more practical (and economical). Many, many maternity clothes make you look like a frickin cupcake, but on the upside they are the most comfortable things I have ever put on. Stretchy waistbands, flowy tops, I never knew it could be so good. No wonder those old ladies wear expandable "slacks".
Unpleasant: The constant feeling that I'm going to upchuck. I almost think that if I did puke I might feel better, but I just don't think it's in the cards. The only thing that keeps me somewhat non-nauseated is constantly eating. Sounds good right? Not really because I only feel good for about 10 minutes and then it's back to puke-town.
Pleasant: No matter how much I eat those stretchy pants will still fit.
Unpleasant: People at work think you're gaining weight. You're not positive that's what they're thinking because it's not like they're going to come out and tell you but you're relatively certain the way they do a double take when they see you coming. Although it could be a reaction to my change in dress. I'm not exactly the bohemian peasant top type of gal.
Pleasant: My hair seems thicker although that could be a figment of my imagination or my desire to derive some positive benefit from this whole experience.
Unpleasant: All the waiting at the doctor's office, consent forms, reading about things that might happen, figuring out how to fit a 3rd person into 1100 square feet, the weird smell that I smell when I walk into my house (what the hell is that??), the fact that I can't eat fish (both because of mercury and because it now makes me want to puke) and finally the fact that my house is a mess and my husband doesn't notice.
Pleasant: I have now justified, to myself, the need for a cleaning lady and I have started calling around to find one. Joy of all joy I will never mop another floor or clean a tub.
I think I'll end on a high note here. And in the event you were wondering, I am not part of the Gloucester County pregnancy pact. I just want to clear that up right now.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Friday, June 6, 2008
I'm thinking I need a tracksuit and a side ponytail...
While in London on vacation I learned two new words that I would like to share with everyone.
The first is quite nice - chav. As far as I can tell, the closest descriptor we have on the other side of the pond is wigger. Not nice, but it seems to fit. The only possible discrepancy is the fondness for Burberry plaid that the chavs seem to have. Apparently they are so offensive that Burberry stopped making certain items with the plaid that they favored. When you are so nasty that a major label stops producing something just so you can't drag down their good name, that say influence...and not in a good way.
Then there's slag. This is apparently a unisex insult as well as a noun and a verb. You can be a slag (closest American translation is roughly skank - which I would like to add is one of my personal favorites - it says so much in five letters) or you can slag someone off (which is to insult them but not in a serious way).
Examples of both were plentiful in my friend's neighborhood in southeast London. She compared it to South Philly, her husband compared it to the NorthEast. The prevalence of tracksuits and bad hair made it a toss up in my opinion.
A few other points of note should you wish to visit London soon: You really do get black boogers unless you stay off the Tube. The Tube is massively uncomfortable in any amount of heat or humidity. The bus is nasty and forces you to touch things that people have touched before (probably with unwashed poo dirt hands).
So take some wipes and a few good packs of tissues if you want to check out the chavs and slags.
The first is quite nice - chav. As far as I can tell, the closest descriptor we have on the other side of the pond is wigger. Not nice, but it seems to fit. The only possible discrepancy is the fondness for Burberry plaid that the chavs seem to have. Apparently they are so offensive that Burberry stopped making certain items with the plaid that they favored. When you are so nasty that a major label stops producing something just so you can't drag down their good name, that say influence...and not in a good way.
Then there's slag. This is apparently a unisex insult as well as a noun and a verb. You can be a slag (closest American translation is roughly skank - which I would like to add is one of my personal favorites - it says so much in five letters) or you can slag someone off (which is to insult them but not in a serious way).
Examples of both were plentiful in my friend's neighborhood in southeast London. She compared it to South Philly, her husband compared it to the NorthEast. The prevalence of tracksuits and bad hair made it a toss up in my opinion.
A few other points of note should you wish to visit London soon: You really do get black boogers unless you stay off the Tube. The Tube is massively uncomfortable in any amount of heat or humidity. The bus is nasty and forces you to touch things that people have touched before (probably with unwashed poo dirt hands).
So take some wipes and a few good packs of tissues if you want to check out the chavs and slags.
Friday, May 30, 2008
Sunday, May 25, 2008
"Belize with Bill" and Other International Tragedies
It's been an interesting week. The first thing I would like to bring to everyone's attention is my work husband's neighbor. I would suggest you actually go to the site and experience it for yourself.
http://www.belizewithbill.com/.
As the URL suggests, Bill is looking for someone who will go to Belize with him. Presumably he is interested in females. However the most important thing seems to be that said female will have sex with him and pay for some or all of her own expenses. Should you be interested in taking a little vaca with Bill, there's an application on the site where you will fill out insightful questions - such as, "If Bill is paying your way, why should he?". So many answers, so little time.
I mean let's be honest here - this is straight up solicitation. What kind of female would pimp herself out for a vacation? And if it were me, I would like to know why Bill thinks he's interesting or good enough in the sack to keep someone trapped in a foreign country for a week - quite honestly by day 4 you're going to be a bit sore and you'll likely start to think about how much laundry and work you have waiting for you at home.
Happy hunting Bill!
On a lighter note but perhaps just as psychotic, the Russians won the Eurovision song contest. My husband forced me to watch it for several reasons.
1. The guy was accompanied by some dude playing a Stradivari (the last time one was sold at auction it went for more than $3.5M - Yes! Fantastic choice for reality television! )
2. He also had an Olympic ice dancer swirling away on a patch of ice the size of my kitchen
3. The Russians spent over $15M on the production of this one song
4. The song was produced by Timbaland & written by some dude who works out of Philadelphia.
It's a new level of awesome. And by awesome I mean - completely ridiculous. You have to check this out for yourself. (I was particularly moved by the end when his shirt flies open and the three of them reach out, while kneeling on the ice patch, and tell you that you have to believe. *sniff, sniff* So moving.)
http://www.belizewithbill.com/.
As the URL suggests, Bill is looking for someone who will go to Belize with him. Presumably he is interested in females. However the most important thing seems to be that said female will have sex with him and pay for some or all of her own expenses. Should you be interested in taking a little vaca with Bill, there's an application on the site where you will fill out insightful questions - such as, "If Bill is paying your way, why should he?". So many answers, so little time.
I mean let's be honest here - this is straight up solicitation. What kind of female would pimp herself out for a vacation? And if it were me, I would like to know why Bill thinks he's interesting or good enough in the sack to keep someone trapped in a foreign country for a week - quite honestly by day 4 you're going to be a bit sore and you'll likely start to think about how much laundry and work you have waiting for you at home.
Happy hunting Bill!
On a lighter note but perhaps just as psychotic, the Russians won the Eurovision song contest. My husband forced me to watch it for several reasons.
1. The guy was accompanied by some dude playing a Stradivari (the last time one was sold at auction it went for more than $3.5M - Yes! Fantastic choice for reality television! )
2. He also had an Olympic ice dancer swirling away on a patch of ice the size of my kitchen
3. The Russians spent over $15M on the production of this one song
4. The song was produced by Timbaland & written by some dude who works out of Philadelphia.
It's a new level of awesome. And by awesome I mean - completely ridiculous. You have to check this out for yourself. (I was particularly moved by the end when his shirt flies open and the three of them reach out, while kneeling on the ice patch, and tell you that you have to believe. *sniff, sniff* So moving.)
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Friday, May 16, 2008
NKOTB - Part II
So I went home after work today to watch my DVR'd copy of the New Kids. I also would like to mention that my sister emailed me to tell me that if tickets go on sale she wants to go. This is wrong on many levels but I am mildly tempted. However I become less tempted when I see the crazy screaming women wailing along to "Please Don't go Girl". Don't believe me? See for yourself.
Then I get home and notice that some fruitcake had left a comment with his myspace page. Clearly a self promoting wackadoo who was involved in writing some of their new songs. You can check out his stupid comment in the last post if you want to see a corny myspace page.
Then I get home and notice that some fruitcake had left a comment with his myspace page. Clearly a self promoting wackadoo who was involved in writing some of their new songs. You can check out his stupid comment in the last post if you want to see a corny myspace page.
NKOTB Forever Baby
The first concert I ever attended was New Kids on the Block. I think I must have been about 12 or 13 years old and it was cool at the time. I had all the usual crap - wall posters, tapes, t-shirts and for the record - my favorite was Donnie.
This morning, as I ate my cereal and drank my coffee, the Today show was making annoucements that New Kids on the Block are going to be performing later in the program. The audience is entirely made up of 30 something year old women screaming like lunatics. In the rain. Holding up signs (conveniently laminated to protect them from the rain).
God help us all. I think I'll DVR it...
This morning, as I ate my cereal and drank my coffee, the Today show was making annoucements that New Kids on the Block are going to be performing later in the program. The audience is entirely made up of 30 something year old women screaming like lunatics. In the rain. Holding up signs (conveniently laminated to protect them from the rain).
God help us all. I think I'll DVR it...
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Icky Germs
A few things about Monday:
1. It was my husband’s birthday
2. I was stuck in the airport in a futile attempt to get to Manchester, NH
3. I was sick, still
This did not make for fun times.
Aside from all of the miserableness, this trip once again reminded me that not everyone washes their hands after they pee. Airport bathrooms are a special place. Is that really so hard to do – soap, water, scrub? I thought it was common knowledge that bathrooms are dirty and so you should wash up before you leave. This is why there’s probably poo on your keyboard right now. Your co-workers can’t be bothered to wash their hands and so they track poo dirt all over the office and despite the fact that you wash well and use a paper towel to open the door you still end up touching the copier or the coffee maker and BAM – poo dirt.
Thanks people.
Every time I shake someone’s hand I wonder if they’ve washed or not. I guess this is why my mother used to tell me to keep my fingers out of my mouth. And since I watched the movie “Knocked Up” I know that poo dirt also causes conjunctivitis. So while you're at it, keep your fingers out of your eyes too.
I’m also shocked by people that put their handbags on the bathroom floor. I know that luggage is dirty and I accept that and treat it accordingly, but your purse? I sometimes put my bag on my kitchen counter or my bed. As a result, it most certainly doesn’t need to be on the floor of a public bathroom.
It's a bit like those scary news stories about bacteria in hotel rooms. You know some big fat naked guy was sitting in the desk chair but you don't want to think about the poo dirt on your chair or you'll end up with some freakish OCD type complex that forces you carry around Lysol wipes and medical booties for your feet. I'll bet he runs around the room naked wiping snot on all the door handles too.
On second thought, Lysol wipes are pretty easy to transport. Think how nice it would be to wipe everything down.....that's not crazy, right?
Friday, May 9, 2008
Taxidermy & Bail Bonds - Jewels of the Sophisticated South
Clearly I’ve been sucking lately. Work has me traveling clear across the country and back several time before I ultimately leave for vacation in a few weeks and I’m beat. I also have nothing productive to say unless you want to hear awful stories about dirty people from various airports around the country. I think you would rather I spare you the details.
This week it was Atlanta, GA. However I found myself in Marietta which is not quite the same thing. On my way to dinner the first night I drove past 4 pawn shops (one which had some deer taxidermy strapped to the roof), 3 bail bonds place, one compost facility, a detention center, a landfill, a place that had $99 suits for all occasions and at least a dozen Waffle Houses. Nothing screams affluent suburb quite like all those things in combination.
This is a far cry from what I remember of Atlanta. I spent 9 months here in my early twenties. It was hands down the best place I ever worked - great restaurants and bars, good times plus I was young and perpetually drunk. This time…sober with deer taxidermy. Very weird.
And finally, since my brain is fried, and I have little to say, I choose to tell you a few things I recently shared with my co-worker – I’m pretty sure he thinks I was raised in some weird hippie compound
1. I at fried chicken for the first time in my twenties because my mother never fried anything, ever
2. She also didn’t let us eat processed sugar – I had 3 cereal choices as a kid – Cheerios, All Bran and Grape Nuts
3. I thought wheat germ on ice cream was good and little honey sesame treats were like kiddie crack
4. I didn’t know what Mac and Cheese was until I arrived at college – I had never seen/eaten it before
5. We only ate natural peanut butter and whole wheat bread.
This is especially weird because I’m traveling with a guy we’ll call Bob (to protect the somewhat innocent) who regularly eats PB&J and hot dogs. Not that I haven’t had the occasional children’s menu snack, but he claims these are his dietary staples. I find this far more terrifying than my dirty hippy list above.
And so, in the next two weeks I have to go to Portland & Boston. At that point I’m going to check out and go on vacation. Do not despair, I’ve recruited a guest blogger to keep you entertained. Perhaps she’ll be more diligent than I’ve been lately. I think you’ll like her, she makes me laugh. She’s a fabulous individual who lives in the middle of the country. She likes the occasional martini and cigarette (which is why we got on so well). Beyond that I’ll let her tell you whatever she wants.
This week it was Atlanta, GA. However I found myself in Marietta which is not quite the same thing. On my way to dinner the first night I drove past 4 pawn shops (one which had some deer taxidermy strapped to the roof), 3 bail bonds place, one compost facility, a detention center, a landfill, a place that had $99 suits for all occasions and at least a dozen Waffle Houses. Nothing screams affluent suburb quite like all those things in combination.
This is a far cry from what I remember of Atlanta. I spent 9 months here in my early twenties. It was hands down the best place I ever worked - great restaurants and bars, good times plus I was young and perpetually drunk. This time…sober with deer taxidermy. Very weird.
And finally, since my brain is fried, and I have little to say, I choose to tell you a few things I recently shared with my co-worker – I’m pretty sure he thinks I was raised in some weird hippie compound
1. I at fried chicken for the first time in my twenties because my mother never fried anything, ever
2. She also didn’t let us eat processed sugar – I had 3 cereal choices as a kid – Cheerios, All Bran and Grape Nuts
3. I thought wheat germ on ice cream was good and little honey sesame treats were like kiddie crack
4. I didn’t know what Mac and Cheese was until I arrived at college – I had never seen/eaten it before
5. We only ate natural peanut butter and whole wheat bread.
This is especially weird because I’m traveling with a guy we’ll call Bob (to protect the somewhat innocent) who regularly eats PB&J and hot dogs. Not that I haven’t had the occasional children’s menu snack, but he claims these are his dietary staples. I find this far more terrifying than my dirty hippy list above.
And so, in the next two weeks I have to go to Portland & Boston. At that point I’m going to check out and go on vacation. Do not despair, I’ve recruited a guest blogger to keep you entertained. Perhaps she’ll be more diligent than I’ve been lately. I think you’ll like her, she makes me laugh. She’s a fabulous individual who lives in the middle of the country. She likes the occasional martini and cigarette (which is why we got on so well). Beyond that I’ll let her tell you whatever she wants.
Thursday, May 8, 2008
Training with the Branch Dividians
I haven't attended much work related training in the last few years. For this I feel a bit guilty. It was this guilt that caused me to sign up for some kind of communications class that came highly recommended by a co-worker. It's twelve weeks, four hours every Friday and most importantly - not taught by one of our company trainers. Of course as bad luck would have it, after I signed up I was assigned to a wicked project that will suck the life out of me. To late to get out so I figured I would suck it up. A few weeks ago I was off to my first class. I asked a co-worker if he knew anything about it to which he responded, "sure, it's like hanging out with the Branch Dividians." These kind of details are helpful in advance. He also mentioned that people go in like kitty cats and come out like lions. But that they were really just kitty cats in new suits. Fantastic.
I thought this was a public speaking and communications training. And like most trainings I expected some sort of lame ice breaker activity that would force me to come up with an adjective that starts with the same letter as my name (Fantastic Fran? Terrific Tom?) or perhaps have to share some interesting tidbit about myself (I love kitties and old people!). No, they wanted me to come up with a way to act out my name. This slightly more challenging than one might think. As I watched a grown man run around the room flapping his arms like a bird I realized I had made a tragic mistake.
I truly hate being asked to do things like this. I have serious issues with public embarrassment. I was not reassured when people from last cycle's class got up and started talking about how they derived so much benefit from the class but the key is to put yourself out there.
Under no circumstances have I ever put myself out there.
Ok, ok, I pledged a sorority in college and of course was asked to do goofy things, but they always took us off campus to do the really bad stuff. Doing goofy things in front of people you don't know is almost ok (especially when you've been drinking) but at work...c'mon.
Here's the real kicker. I don't have a fear of public speaking, I do it on occasion and have never suffered crippling panic attacks. Am I riveting? Probably not but it gets the job done. However, something about this class gives me an overwhelming sense of anxiety and dread. I just know she's going to ask me to do something that I hate. Indeed.
So here we are, headed into week 5 and it's turned into college in many ways. My life has been taken over by the project from hell so I spend my time figuring what is the least amount of work that I can do and not get kicked out. How many classes can I miss? What if I leave a little early? How much did the company actually pay for this crap? Holy....
This week I have to talk about something I feel passionate about. I have no passion for anything. Well, I have plenty of passion but they tell me it has to be something positive so I can't bitch about stuff like I do here.
So help a girl out here, give me ideas - what do I feel passionate about? Help...please.
I thought this was a public speaking and communications training. And like most trainings I expected some sort of lame ice breaker activity that would force me to come up with an adjective that starts with the same letter as my name (Fantastic Fran? Terrific Tom?) or perhaps have to share some interesting tidbit about myself (I love kitties and old people!). No, they wanted me to come up with a way to act out my name. This slightly more challenging than one might think. As I watched a grown man run around the room flapping his arms like a bird I realized I had made a tragic mistake.
I truly hate being asked to do things like this. I have serious issues with public embarrassment. I was not reassured when people from last cycle's class got up and started talking about how they derived so much benefit from the class but the key is to put yourself out there.
Under no circumstances have I ever put myself out there.
Ok, ok, I pledged a sorority in college and of course was asked to do goofy things, but they always took us off campus to do the really bad stuff. Doing goofy things in front of people you don't know is almost ok (especially when you've been drinking) but at work...c'mon.
Here's the real kicker. I don't have a fear of public speaking, I do it on occasion and have never suffered crippling panic attacks. Am I riveting? Probably not but it gets the job done. However, something about this class gives me an overwhelming sense of anxiety and dread. I just know she's going to ask me to do something that I hate. Indeed.
So here we are, headed into week 5 and it's turned into college in many ways. My life has been taken over by the project from hell so I spend my time figuring what is the least amount of work that I can do and not get kicked out. How many classes can I miss? What if I leave a little early? How much did the company actually pay for this crap? Holy....
This week I have to talk about something I feel passionate about. I have no passion for anything. Well, I have plenty of passion but they tell me it has to be something positive so I can't bitch about stuff like I do here.
So help a girl out here, give me ideas - what do I feel passionate about? Help...please.
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