So, it finally happened. Actually, it happened two weeks ago but I am just getting around to telling the story now. When I say "it finally happened", I mean that someone thought I left my crying kid alone in the car while I got my coffee fix.
My mom and I were out on the town with Lady Bells. I offered to buy her a coffee (actually, she ended up buying just because she wanted to escape the car that was slowly filling with screams). We pulled into the back parking lot of the DD on High Ridge. My plan was to go in and get the coffee but my mother beat me to it flying out of the backseat before I could even get my hand on the handle and say "my treat."
Lady Bells was REALLY starting to go at in the backseat. In an effort to calm her down, I hopped in the backseat with her and leaned over her to start soothing her which was useless because she has proved to me countless times that she will calm down whenever the hell she is damn well ready to and anything I have to say is just more background noise for her to scream over. It was relatively warm that day and the windows were down. I felt bad for a group of high school kids eating their high school specials on the hood of their car. They kept looking over at the car, because obviously, it sounded like I was murdering my child. I mouthed "sorry" to them and continued my useless soothing attempts.
That it when "it" happened. I saw some guy creeping around my car peering into to the windshield first and then coming around to the driver's side. I thought he was going to steal my car and my baby so I immediately sprang into acting, popping up quickly in a defensive stance. The guy was unphased (I have to work on my scary face) and just nodded and walked off. It occurred to me, he was checking to see if someone was in the car with this crying kid. I got really freaked that he called the police before he checked to see if anyone was in there and within seconds dozens of police cars were going to come flying in the parking lot and see a very alarmed Dr. Horder. I started to panic and began having visions of standing in a courtroom (on the wrong side of the bench) defending myself that I was in the car. That is when I remembered that the high school kids saw me get out from the front seat and get into the back thus never leaving my kid unattended in the car for more than the time it took me to get from front to back and if my ass wasn't so big, I would have just climbed back there. Phew! I have witnesses.
Finally, my mom came out and I practically had the car in drive before she even got in. I was getting the hell outta dodge ASAP. The po po ain't taking me down for something I didn't do.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Crib day and how I woke up on the wrong side of the bed
No joke. Lady Bells' room is the nicest room in the house. The Hubs dreamed up a nursery in his head and I did everything in my decorating power to make it happen. He wanted the perfect nursery for his daughter. Altho' he regretted not dreaming that it had a flat screen TV he could watch sports on during night/morning feedings. Her room is a sanctuary that remains virtually untouched with the exception of some feedings and diaper changes altho I have the cleaning people clean it religiously .... just in case.
"Is she in her crib yet?" The pediatrician asked me at her 7 week check up. I hung my head in shame and said no. I knew the day had to come. I was ready for it. I was preparing by watching The Sleep Solution over and over until ever tip was etched in my brain and I began referring the hosts as "those two uppity estrogen pumping bitches who obviously never encountered a child like my child who was slowly killing my Dyson."
The Hubs and I figured a move to the crib should happen before I went back to work in case there were incessant nights of crying. We decided to do it on a weekend so he could stay up too. We spent the early evening making sure the video monitor worked, the camera was in a good position relative to where I was going to place her and the nightlights were all in place. He also moved the bassinet out of the room because he knew if it was still there, I would be weak against her crying and take her back into the room with us. He put my nightstand and lamp back.
We gave her a bath, fed her a bottle and when she was nice and asleep in my arms, I carried her up the stairs. The Hubs left the stuffed monkey in the spot I was going to put her in so I had to run the risk of putting her down, then picking her up again. Lucky for me, she was so tired from barely napping that day that she barely woke up when I moved her twice. I quickly snuck out of the room and into the bedroom where my eyes immediately became glued to the monitor. She woke up. The Hubs and i took a deep breath and waited for the raging to begin.
Surprisingly, it didn't.
I started thinking of things we did wrong and safety measures I forgot like how close was the bassinet bedding to the nightlight.
"I should move it," I said.
The Hubs all but pulled me back by the straps of my nightgown. "Wait until she is asleep again."
I agreed and walked into the bathroom. I had to flush the toilet though (usually we don't in the night if its just pee but since Flow is in town, I had to flush) so I closed the bathroom door and flushed. I quietly opened it again and sprinted back to the bedroom.
"Well, she WAS sleeping." The Hubs said.
Whoops.
We turned off the light, laid in bed and watched the monitor. She wasn't doing much but trying to find her thumb which is pretty amusing to watch.
"I should have put the old nightlight in the bathroom," I said.
"You are not going in there. Wait until she falls asleep." The Hubs said.
Obviously, no matter how many times I watched that video, I had it all wrong. I kept wanting to go in thee BEFORE she cried out. I am such a tool. Finally, she fell asleep and The Hubs gave me the green light to tip toe in and ease my fears that the bassinet drape was too close to the nightlight and retrieve the old nightlight and set it up in the bathroom.
"The hall should really have an outlet," I said making my mental list of things I will improve in the near future.
I crawled back in bed where The Hubs was already in a light sleep with his sleep mask on shielding him from the faint light pouring out of the bathroom.
I checked the monitor, she was still asleep. However, note that i was not asleep. I was nowhere near sleep for someone who had 4 hours the night before. I should have been asleep with my sleepmask on but alas, I was wide awake. We had the room to ourselves but now a new set of problems ensued. I had to sleep with my bedroom door open. Anyone who knows me knows two things have to happen for me to sleep tight. The closets have to be closed all the way so the clowns stay inside. The bedroom door must be shut and locked so the serial killers stay away. Now, the door was open and I was closest to it. It was going to be a long night.
"Um, I hate to wake you up again," I said, tapping The Hubs. "Would you mind switching sides of the bed." And to justify my middle of the night lunacy, I added, "You know, I never sleep closest to the door in hotels."
"We're not in a hotel. We're home," he said (but note, he was already starting to move.)
"I know. I know. But, you know me." I said. Then, the clincher, "And you married it."
We switched sides which proved harder on me because now I had to get used to a new side of the bed and one which smelled funkier than my side. The Hubs said he had to get used to a whole new side but then he passed right now. I must have fallen asleep because I woke up on the wrong side of the bed, literally, at 7 a.m. when I finally heard crying from the monitor. She made it through the night but I barely did.
"Is she in her crib yet?" The pediatrician asked me at her 7 week check up. I hung my head in shame and said no. I knew the day had to come. I was ready for it. I was preparing by watching The Sleep Solution over and over until ever tip was etched in my brain and I began referring the hosts as "those two uppity estrogen pumping bitches who obviously never encountered a child like my child who was slowly killing my Dyson."
The Hubs and I figured a move to the crib should happen before I went back to work in case there were incessant nights of crying. We decided to do it on a weekend so he could stay up too. We spent the early evening making sure the video monitor worked, the camera was in a good position relative to where I was going to place her and the nightlights were all in place. He also moved the bassinet out of the room because he knew if it was still there, I would be weak against her crying and take her back into the room with us. He put my nightstand and lamp back.
We gave her a bath, fed her a bottle and when she was nice and asleep in my arms, I carried her up the stairs. The Hubs left the stuffed monkey in the spot I was going to put her in so I had to run the risk of putting her down, then picking her up again. Lucky for me, she was so tired from barely napping that day that she barely woke up when I moved her twice. I quickly snuck out of the room and into the bedroom where my eyes immediately became glued to the monitor. She woke up. The Hubs and i took a deep breath and waited for the raging to begin.
Surprisingly, it didn't.
I started thinking of things we did wrong and safety measures I forgot like how close was the bassinet bedding to the nightlight.
"I should move it," I said.
The Hubs all but pulled me back by the straps of my nightgown. "Wait until she is asleep again."
I agreed and walked into the bathroom. I had to flush the toilet though (usually we don't in the night if its just pee but since Flow is in town, I had to flush) so I closed the bathroom door and flushed. I quietly opened it again and sprinted back to the bedroom.
"Well, she WAS sleeping." The Hubs said.
Whoops.
We turned off the light, laid in bed and watched the monitor. She wasn't doing much but trying to find her thumb which is pretty amusing to watch.
"I should have put the old nightlight in the bathroom," I said.
"You are not going in there. Wait until she falls asleep." The Hubs said.
Obviously, no matter how many times I watched that video, I had it all wrong. I kept wanting to go in thee BEFORE she cried out. I am such a tool. Finally, she fell asleep and The Hubs gave me the green light to tip toe in and ease my fears that the bassinet drape was too close to the nightlight and retrieve the old nightlight and set it up in the bathroom.
"The hall should really have an outlet," I said making my mental list of things I will improve in the near future.
I crawled back in bed where The Hubs was already in a light sleep with his sleep mask on shielding him from the faint light pouring out of the bathroom.
I checked the monitor, she was still asleep. However, note that i was not asleep. I was nowhere near sleep for someone who had 4 hours the night before. I should have been asleep with my sleepmask on but alas, I was wide awake. We had the room to ourselves but now a new set of problems ensued. I had to sleep with my bedroom door open. Anyone who knows me knows two things have to happen for me to sleep tight. The closets have to be closed all the way so the clowns stay inside. The bedroom door must be shut and locked so the serial killers stay away. Now, the door was open and I was closest to it. It was going to be a long night.
"Um, I hate to wake you up again," I said, tapping The Hubs. "Would you mind switching sides of the bed." And to justify my middle of the night lunacy, I added, "You know, I never sleep closest to the door in hotels."
"We're not in a hotel. We're home," he said (but note, he was already starting to move.)
"I know. I know. But, you know me." I said. Then, the clincher, "And you married it."
We switched sides which proved harder on me because now I had to get used to a new side of the bed and one which smelled funkier than my side. The Hubs said he had to get used to a whole new side but then he passed right now. I must have fallen asleep because I woke up on the wrong side of the bed, literally, at 7 a.m. when I finally heard crying from the monitor. She made it through the night but I barely did.
Saturday, April 18, 2009
Dumping Ground
Ever since I passed by first trimester, I got the urge to purge. I'm not talking about throwing up, just getting rid of stuff in the house we didn't need to make room for the baby. Of course, that meant dumpling way more of The Hub's stuff than mine but I compromised on some things. Lucky for me, I have a truck and also lucky for me, I have several Goodwill bins very nearby.
Now, I know you're not supposed to dump anything outside the bins but everybody does it under the cover of the night. Any day, you could drive by and see baby toys, furniture, computers, lawn chairs and the same green pick up truck. Not sure if that is for the taking but it never moves so maybe it is. Sometimes The Hubs and I will boldly dump something there in broad daylight. Other times, we wait until it is very late and we are sure nobody is around to dump the larger items. I can just imagine getting busted and having to go before a Judge I work with because I got arrested for dumping an old office chair. Embarrassing! But, some items are not as easy to hack up with a hammer and my hands as other items are (wooden vanities and dressers, that was a fun day).
I remember one night, The Hubs and I waited until we were sure the parking lot would be empty and nobody would witness the multiple illegal acts were about to scatter. Before we left the house, I contemplated covering my license plate with a garbage bag but he talked me out of it. When we arrived at the Goodwill bin, there was a car full of people parked facing the bins, headlights on illuminating the only area I needed to be completely dark. We hope they were lost and just trying to read directions so we circled the lot. They were not moving. After a few minutes, I got impatient and threw caution to the wind, pulling up to the bins and telling The Hub's to get out and start unloading as fast as possible. Within seconds, he was done and I peeled out of the lot yehawing like a cowboy screaming, "catch me now, fuckers!" I was sure they were following me but I think I was just conjuring up some excitement in my own head.
The next morning, we took a ride by to see the carnage we left and it was all gone except for one thing. In fact, anytime we put anything there, it is gone within a matter of hours. Sometimes, we will drive back in half an hour and it is gone. It becomes a game to see how popular our garbage is compared to the garbage of others. Apparently, my stuff is coveted. What does that say about my taste?
Now, I know you're not supposed to dump anything outside the bins but everybody does it under the cover of the night. Any day, you could drive by and see baby toys, furniture, computers, lawn chairs and the same green pick up truck. Not sure if that is for the taking but it never moves so maybe it is. Sometimes The Hubs and I will boldly dump something there in broad daylight. Other times, we wait until it is very late and we are sure nobody is around to dump the larger items. I can just imagine getting busted and having to go before a Judge I work with because I got arrested for dumping an old office chair. Embarrassing! But, some items are not as easy to hack up with a hammer and my hands as other items are (wooden vanities and dressers, that was a fun day).
I remember one night, The Hubs and I waited until we were sure the parking lot would be empty and nobody would witness the multiple illegal acts were about to scatter. Before we left the house, I contemplated covering my license plate with a garbage bag but he talked me out of it. When we arrived at the Goodwill bin, there was a car full of people parked facing the bins, headlights on illuminating the only area I needed to be completely dark. We hope they were lost and just trying to read directions so we circled the lot. They were not moving. After a few minutes, I got impatient and threw caution to the wind, pulling up to the bins and telling The Hub's to get out and start unloading as fast as possible. Within seconds, he was done and I peeled out of the lot yehawing like a cowboy screaming, "catch me now, fuckers!" I was sure they were following me but I think I was just conjuring up some excitement in my own head.
The next morning, we took a ride by to see the carnage we left and it was all gone except for one thing. In fact, anytime we put anything there, it is gone within a matter of hours. Sometimes, we will drive back in half an hour and it is gone. It becomes a game to see how popular our garbage is compared to the garbage of others. Apparently, my stuff is coveted. What does that say about my taste?
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Womb Power
When you are registering for baby stuff people have a lot of opinions. I don't usually give mine unless I am asked (and then you get a two page email about it) but some folks just can't contain themselves. While The Hubs and I were walking around Babies R Us scanning in our registry items, a womyn came running over to us and told us to register for the Mommy Bear. It is this bear that attaches to the crib and makes womb noises. The one in the store was busted so we didn't get to try it out but we scanned it anyway. I was a bit discouraged when I spoke to someone from work who told me her son hated it. I received the Mommy Bear for my shower and it sat in the box for a good few weeks before we tried it and Lady Bells was less than impressed by it as she was with her swing. However, she loved the hell out of her changing pad.
The Hubs was ready to pack up and return the Mommy Bear and the swing to get credit to buy formula but I told him to give it another whirl in a couple of weeks to see if her tastes changed. Sure enough, they did. And as a new parent trying to calm a fussy and crying baby you will try just about anything with a million things that make noise strapped onto your arms and legs as you rush the baby around putting her in every contraption you own like it's a low budget version of Neverland Ranch to see what works. Okay, well, maybe I am just the asshole who did this but I bet I'm not. My mom swears that putting on BET calms her down. I think this was a fluke because she really seems to like The Shins but that was last week and you know kids today, their tastes change like the wind.
Actually, the Mommy Bear has been a savior the past couple of nights. However, with her in the room with us and the Mommy Bear attached to my bedpost, the only one getting any sleep is the queen while us minions suffer. I think I am starting to hear stuff in the Womb Bear. After a while, that sound begins to sound like actual words being chanted. The things I swear it is saying are:
Let it rain
Brooklyn Go
Oh boya (no, it doesn't say, Goya)
Don't go
Range Rover
No go
Hot Rocks
Let's go
Harry wait
No rain
Please don't
Hurry up
Go Yanks
I don't know why but when I turn the Mommy Bear on, I like to imagine that somewhere 10 Gregorian Monks were sitting around chanting the soothing (read: disturbing) sounds into a tape recorder. I know that is not the case. I know somewhere in China, someone got hold of a taped ultrasound and just looped it but cut a new mom (read: sleep deprived delusional new mom) some slack.
After a restless night with La Chupacabra and way too much rocking than my thighs could handle, I grabbed the womb bear (yes, still in the box) and twisted the "try me" knob. La Chupa drifted off into a nice slumber. I carried her little Jell-O body into the room and put her in the bassinet, then I ran like hell to the nursery and grabbed the Mommy Bear (box and all) and shoved it under her bassinet. The next morning I extolled the virtues of the Mommy Bear to The Hubs. The next night when The Hubs was rocking her to sleep, I turned on the Mommy Bear and he told me not to waste the batteries. I said, 'It doesn't run on batteries." I don't know what I was thinking, everything and anything for a baby runs on batteries. It's like all those baby toy/soothers/swings and the like are all in cahoots with Duracell. I have an entire drawer filled with all kinds of size batteries thanks to Costco. I explained that the Mommy Bear could not possibly run on batteries because it has a power saving feature that shuts off after 40 minutes.
Oh dear, I was becoming one of those low functioning people who stands their ground no matter how wrong I am. But, to my defense, I did truly believe what I was talking about. I became obsessed and took the Mommy Bear back to the bedroom where I felt around the knob until my fingers felt Velcro and then I tore it open to expose what looked like an ice pack .... an ice pack that would hold batteries.
I walked back to the nursery with my tail between my legs where The Hubs was rocking an almost sleeping little angel (yes, she is my angel when she is sleeping).
"It does take batteries," I said.
"Of course it does," The Hubs said, "What did you think it ran on womb power? Do you think your womb is so powerful that it ran that?"
"Yes," I said, furthering my above statement about being low functioning.
Then I started laughing which startled (read: woke up) La Chupacabra so I did what anyone would do and ran out the room where I laughed myself to sleep thinking about my energy efficient womb.
The Hubs was ready to pack up and return the Mommy Bear and the swing to get credit to buy formula but I told him to give it another whirl in a couple of weeks to see if her tastes changed. Sure enough, they did. And as a new parent trying to calm a fussy and crying baby you will try just about anything with a million things that make noise strapped onto your arms and legs as you rush the baby around putting her in every contraption you own like it's a low budget version of Neverland Ranch to see what works. Okay, well, maybe I am just the asshole who did this but I bet I'm not. My mom swears that putting on BET calms her down. I think this was a fluke because she really seems to like The Shins but that was last week and you know kids today, their tastes change like the wind.
Actually, the Mommy Bear has been a savior the past couple of nights. However, with her in the room with us and the Mommy Bear attached to my bedpost, the only one getting any sleep is the queen while us minions suffer. I think I am starting to hear stuff in the Womb Bear. After a while, that sound begins to sound like actual words being chanted. The things I swear it is saying are:
Let it rain
Brooklyn Go
Oh boya (no, it doesn't say, Goya)
Don't go
Range Rover
No go
Hot Rocks
Let's go
Harry wait
No rain
Please don't
Hurry up
Go Yanks
I don't know why but when I turn the Mommy Bear on, I like to imagine that somewhere 10 Gregorian Monks were sitting around chanting the soothing (read: disturbing) sounds into a tape recorder. I know that is not the case. I know somewhere in China, someone got hold of a taped ultrasound and just looped it but cut a new mom (read: sleep deprived delusional new mom) some slack.
After a restless night with La Chupacabra and way too much rocking than my thighs could handle, I grabbed the womb bear (yes, still in the box) and twisted the "try me" knob. La Chupa drifted off into a nice slumber. I carried her little Jell-O body into the room and put her in the bassinet, then I ran like hell to the nursery and grabbed the Mommy Bear (box and all) and shoved it under her bassinet. The next morning I extolled the virtues of the Mommy Bear to The Hubs. The next night when The Hubs was rocking her to sleep, I turned on the Mommy Bear and he told me not to waste the batteries. I said, 'It doesn't run on batteries." I don't know what I was thinking, everything and anything for a baby runs on batteries. It's like all those baby toy/soothers/swings and the like are all in cahoots with Duracell. I have an entire drawer filled with all kinds of size batteries thanks to Costco. I explained that the Mommy Bear could not possibly run on batteries because it has a power saving feature that shuts off after 40 minutes.
Oh dear, I was becoming one of those low functioning people who stands their ground no matter how wrong I am. But, to my defense, I did truly believe what I was talking about. I became obsessed and took the Mommy Bear back to the bedroom where I felt around the knob until my fingers felt Velcro and then I tore it open to expose what looked like an ice pack .... an ice pack that would hold batteries.
I walked back to the nursery with my tail between my legs where The Hubs was rocking an almost sleeping little angel (yes, she is my angel when she is sleeping).
"It does take batteries," I said.
"Of course it does," The Hubs said, "What did you think it ran on womb power? Do you think your womb is so powerful that it ran that?"
"Yes," I said, furthering my above statement about being low functioning.
Then I started laughing which startled (read: woke up) La Chupacabra so I did what anyone would do and ran out the room where I laughed myself to sleep thinking about my energy efficient womb.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Trash Talk and Tatziki Sauce
The Hubs and I are pretty boring these days. We think we are being reckless and crazy by leaving my parents with Lady Bells and going to return items for my mom. Yeah, I know, we need a hobby. We were really bored and risky today. After checking the weather and seeing it was going to be a whole 50+ degrees we decided to pack up La Chupacabra and go for a walk. One problem, we were starving because while this kid eats every 3 or 4 hours, we eat every 6 or 8 if we are lucky.
After calming her with a bottle, we put her in the car and headed to a local pizza place. I sat in the back giving The Hubs a play by play on eyelid closure because we would not dare step into an establishment when she is awake and possibly risk her having one of her "moments." Her eyes started closing about 100 feet from the place and we debated in the parking lot for a good few minutes about whether to take it to go or risk it. Meanwhile my stomach began eating itself so I started making my way towards the door lugging my 200 pound diaper bag.
I told The Hubs to grab a booth near a window but out of sunlight (La Chupacabra HATES sunlight) and he starts heading for a table. Again, I say, "a booth" and again, he leads me towards a table. Again, I say, "a booth, like that one in the back corner where there is no sun" and again he points to a table. Do you understand now why I might get a bit short sometimes? Ohhhh, it's a good thing he makes me laugh so hard I cry. If I had a free hand and some energy, I would have shoved him towards the booth but luckily he noticed it on his own. Now, we're cooking. I wasn't too happy that the booth was near people (see what a shut in I have become?) But, I sucked it up. I didn't think they were going to close down the place upon my arrival.
Making a simple decision these days like what i want to eat is like taking the SAT for me. If I could travel with a second person who made all my decisions for me, I would; but, just for now because ... well, see above statement about people. The Hubs had his mind set on fish and chips which was the furthest thing from my mind. I knew I wanted to split one of their famous cheesy salads but what else. Eating now sorta sucks because when I was preggo the cravings were so intense I knew what I wanted for dinner while I was on my way to work in the morning. Now, I'm suffering from guilt that I should be eating to lose baby weight and the inability to make decisions. I finally settle on a gyro (we are in a Greek place for the love of God, not Long John Silver) but if we were at LJS, I know all I would have gotten was a big ass order of huspuppies.
The Hubs and I talk but not a lot while we are out because I am easily distracted by other people's conversations. This is a bad habit that has been made worse since taking my current job. The Hubs pretty much always had this habit because he can tell me whatever song is playing on a radio that is at 1 decibel in a room. Our convoryeaurism has taken on a new low when we start texting each other about what we are hearing because commenting aloud means risking those people finding out we're listening and then GAME OVER.
The first thing I noticed was that the conversation coming from the table behind us was really loud. I was rather pissed since I was hoping La Chupacabra would sleep long enough for me to get some nourishment. But, it is a good thing I taught her to like noise early. The second thing I notice is that the person making the most noise at the table is a girl and she is a Bridezilla.
"This is going to be fun," I mouth to The Hubs who is really bad at reading lips but I can tell he tuned into the table conversation as well.
In summary, Bridezilla was stressed out. She needed to set a date TODAY (It was 1:30 on a Sunday, mind you) because she HAD to book her vendors and get her invitations and she couldn't do any of that unless she booked her date TODAY with a deposit TODAY. She was literally running through any wedding venue she could think of and calling people and telling them to take a drive by to see what it looked like and if it was nice knock on the door and have the cleaning crew let them in so they can see the inside and report back to her. Wow, I kinda put more thought into what I am going to wear in the morning and here she is blindly planning her wedding.
They kept talking about the Inn at Longshore a lot and not a single one of them ever went to a wedding there. I have been to two very lovely weddings there and had I not gotten married where I did, The Inn at Longshore would have been my next pick. Of course, I could not help but give my stamp of approval so I turned around and said I have been to two very nice weddings there and the food was wonderful and plentiful and they can fit a lot of people. Bridezilla quickly corrected me that they were only inviting 80 people. Okay, whatever, I wasn't looking for specifics just wanted to stop you from booking the gymnasium at Westhill High School. Of course, they wanted to know the price and I only knew their rates for 2007 so I could only vouch for those. They asked if I knew some place in New Rochelle and I said I was not familiar with it. Bridezilla was seeking a May date. Wow, slow your roll, sister, you got a whole year.
The Hubs slid his phone towards me, "Shouldn't have talked to dopey" was all that was on the screen.
"I know" I mouthed, "Why don't you stop me from doing these things?"
Our salad came and we dug in with our ears perked. We're such losers. Bridezilla was babbling on about how she needed mental help. Then, the talk turned to babies and how she would not trust anyone other than her mother and mother-in-law to watch their baby. I almost spit out my cheese. I have only been a mom for a month and I would let one of these waitresses watch my kid if it meant I could take a shower longer than 5 minutes. Then, the talk turned to pre-natal vitamins and it all started to come together. She was pregnant and she meant THIS MAY as in two month from now. Now, I understood her urgency.
"This have changed so much since I got married," her fiance's mother said.
"When did you get married?" Bridezilla asked her.
"1974," his mom said.
"The year I was born," Bridezilla said, because you just got that vibe that EVERYTHING had to come back to her.
"I was 16," his mom said.
"16!" Bridezilla said. "How could you have stayed with the same man since you were 16? I would have wanted to kill him by the time I was 21."
That's nice. I am sure that is just what her fiancee and his mom wanted to hear. At least he knows he will get a good five years out of this marriage.
And the gems just kept on coming from Bidezilla.
On babysitting:
I would never let a guy watch my baby unless he was married. If there was a wife there with him then it would be okay but if they are not married then no way.
On how her groom could stand out from the groomsmen in his tux:
I think he should have three buttons when the other guys have two. Hey, who is going to count buttons, dummy? I hope wherever you go get a tux, they explain that the groom will wear a white shirt, ivory vest and ivory tie to set him apart. But, you go ahead with that button idea.
And just as I was about to ease up on her (FAT CHANCE) she asks this question:
Ladies, can I ask a question and get your honest opinion about it? Say you had a dream (obviously meaning herself) and it was about an ex, would you wake up and tell the other person? (obviously, she did).
Bridezilla's fiancee got bent out of shape about this. His mom came to his rescue saying, "no." This sparked an argument with Bridezilla standing her ground that the the ex was from 10 years ago and she has to hear about his exes all the time. Her fiancee defended himself saying he was a different person than she was and he got upset about it. he was visibly getting upset about it right then an there. Who the hell is the pregnant hormonal one in the relationship?
It was almost a race to see which one of us could text "What a pussy" first.
Both their parents told them to cool it and stop the conversation. Bridezilla agreed and then started it right back up a second later. It was hard to believe she was 34 and not 14.
Finally, they left.
"That poor bastard" The Hubs said. "And why do low functioning people stand their ground like that and are so steadfast in their convictions that they are right?"
"Because ignorance is bliss," I offered.
Then he said the sweetest thing. "Seeing that makes me so glad I married you."
Damn skippy.
After calming her with a bottle, we put her in the car and headed to a local pizza place. I sat in the back giving The Hubs a play by play on eyelid closure because we would not dare step into an establishment when she is awake and possibly risk her having one of her "moments." Her eyes started closing about 100 feet from the place and we debated in the parking lot for a good few minutes about whether to take it to go or risk it. Meanwhile my stomach began eating itself so I started making my way towards the door lugging my 200 pound diaper bag.
I told The Hubs to grab a booth near a window but out of sunlight (La Chupacabra HATES sunlight) and he starts heading for a table. Again, I say, "a booth" and again, he leads me towards a table. Again, I say, "a booth, like that one in the back corner where there is no sun" and again he points to a table. Do you understand now why I might get a bit short sometimes? Ohhhh, it's a good thing he makes me laugh so hard I cry. If I had a free hand and some energy, I would have shoved him towards the booth but luckily he noticed it on his own. Now, we're cooking. I wasn't too happy that the booth was near people (see what a shut in I have become?) But, I sucked it up. I didn't think they were going to close down the place upon my arrival.
Making a simple decision these days like what i want to eat is like taking the SAT for me. If I could travel with a second person who made all my decisions for me, I would; but, just for now because ... well, see above statement about people. The Hubs had his mind set on fish and chips which was the furthest thing from my mind. I knew I wanted to split one of their famous cheesy salads but what else. Eating now sorta sucks because when I was preggo the cravings were so intense I knew what I wanted for dinner while I was on my way to work in the morning. Now, I'm suffering from guilt that I should be eating to lose baby weight and the inability to make decisions. I finally settle on a gyro (we are in a Greek place for the love of God, not Long John Silver) but if we were at LJS, I know all I would have gotten was a big ass order of huspuppies.
The Hubs and I talk but not a lot while we are out because I am easily distracted by other people's conversations. This is a bad habit that has been made worse since taking my current job. The Hubs pretty much always had this habit because he can tell me whatever song is playing on a radio that is at 1 decibel in a room. Our convoryeaurism has taken on a new low when we start texting each other about what we are hearing because commenting aloud means risking those people finding out we're listening and then GAME OVER.
The first thing I noticed was that the conversation coming from the table behind us was really loud. I was rather pissed since I was hoping La Chupacabra would sleep long enough for me to get some nourishment. But, it is a good thing I taught her to like noise early. The second thing I notice is that the person making the most noise at the table is a girl and she is a Bridezilla.
"This is going to be fun," I mouth to The Hubs who is really bad at reading lips but I can tell he tuned into the table conversation as well.
In summary, Bridezilla was stressed out. She needed to set a date TODAY (It was 1:30 on a Sunday, mind you) because she HAD to book her vendors and get her invitations and she couldn't do any of that unless she booked her date TODAY with a deposit TODAY. She was literally running through any wedding venue she could think of and calling people and telling them to take a drive by to see what it looked like and if it was nice knock on the door and have the cleaning crew let them in so they can see the inside and report back to her. Wow, I kinda put more thought into what I am going to wear in the morning and here she is blindly planning her wedding.
They kept talking about the Inn at Longshore a lot and not a single one of them ever went to a wedding there. I have been to two very lovely weddings there and had I not gotten married where I did, The Inn at Longshore would have been my next pick. Of course, I could not help but give my stamp of approval so I turned around and said I have been to two very nice weddings there and the food was wonderful and plentiful and they can fit a lot of people. Bridezilla quickly corrected me that they were only inviting 80 people. Okay, whatever, I wasn't looking for specifics just wanted to stop you from booking the gymnasium at Westhill High School. Of course, they wanted to know the price and I only knew their rates for 2007 so I could only vouch for those. They asked if I knew some place in New Rochelle and I said I was not familiar with it. Bridezilla was seeking a May date. Wow, slow your roll, sister, you got a whole year.
The Hubs slid his phone towards me, "Shouldn't have talked to dopey" was all that was on the screen.
"I know" I mouthed, "Why don't you stop me from doing these things?"
Our salad came and we dug in with our ears perked. We're such losers. Bridezilla was babbling on about how she needed mental help. Then, the talk turned to babies and how she would not trust anyone other than her mother and mother-in-law to watch their baby. I almost spit out my cheese. I have only been a mom for a month and I would let one of these waitresses watch my kid if it meant I could take a shower longer than 5 minutes. Then, the talk turned to pre-natal vitamins and it all started to come together. She was pregnant and she meant THIS MAY as in two month from now. Now, I understood her urgency.
"This have changed so much since I got married," her fiance's mother said.
"When did you get married?" Bridezilla asked her.
"1974," his mom said.
"The year I was born," Bridezilla said, because you just got that vibe that EVERYTHING had to come back to her.
"I was 16," his mom said.
"16!" Bridezilla said. "How could you have stayed with the same man since you were 16? I would have wanted to kill him by the time I was 21."
That's nice. I am sure that is just what her fiancee and his mom wanted to hear. At least he knows he will get a good five years out of this marriage.
And the gems just kept on coming from Bidezilla.
On babysitting:
I would never let a guy watch my baby unless he was married. If there was a wife there with him then it would be okay but if they are not married then no way.
On how her groom could stand out from the groomsmen in his tux:
I think he should have three buttons when the other guys have two. Hey, who is going to count buttons, dummy? I hope wherever you go get a tux, they explain that the groom will wear a white shirt, ivory vest and ivory tie to set him apart. But, you go ahead with that button idea.
And just as I was about to ease up on her (FAT CHANCE) she asks this question:
Ladies, can I ask a question and get your honest opinion about it? Say you had a dream (obviously meaning herself) and it was about an ex, would you wake up and tell the other person? (obviously, she did).
Bridezilla's fiancee got bent out of shape about this. His mom came to his rescue saying, "no." This sparked an argument with Bridezilla standing her ground that the the ex was from 10 years ago and she has to hear about his exes all the time. Her fiancee defended himself saying he was a different person than she was and he got upset about it. he was visibly getting upset about it right then an there. Who the hell is the pregnant hormonal one in the relationship?
It was almost a race to see which one of us could text "What a pussy" first.
Both their parents told them to cool it and stop the conversation. Bridezilla agreed and then started it right back up a second later. It was hard to believe she was 34 and not 14.
Finally, they left.
"That poor bastard" The Hubs said. "And why do low functioning people stand their ground like that and are so steadfast in their convictions that they are right?"
"Because ignorance is bliss," I offered.
Then he said the sweetest thing. "Seeing that makes me so glad I married you."
Damn skippy.
Saturday, January 24, 2009
What was that log I just ate?
Years ago a friend and I saw a commercial for a local restaurant that looked like it was made in my backyard. The name of the place was the Pirate Restaurant and Nightclub. The commercial ended with a budget blowing special effects masterpiece, a wooden pirate that would greet you at the door winked. Intrigued, my friend and I had an affinity for all things weird and potentially horrible, had to find this place (which wasn't hard because it was practically down his street) and experience the winking pirate ourselves. One catch, it was a Polish restaurant which added to the craziness because we were both pretty sure Poland was landlocked. You were thinking it was seafood, right? Logically so. Wrong!
Curiosity got the best of us and within days, we found ourselves in the green leather booths eating kielbasa , perogies and borscht on lacquered tables showing various bits of buried pirate treasure while techno music thumped from the nightclub upstairs. This fit the weird and quirky bill perfectly. We went back a couple of time, the place would get weirder and weirder. There was never more than just us in in the restaurant and a stray drunk or two in the bar but the nightclub upstairs looked like it attracted any and all of the sketchiest members of a Polish mob.
And then, one day, the Pirate just closed down. Nothing ever took its spot. Nobody ever came to take down the black awnings that simply said The Pirate. It just stood empty. When I started dating my husband years ago, we would sometimes drive past The Pirate and I would tell him the stories. And talking about the enigma that he would never get to experience made it a lot like folklore. As years passed, I never once stopped hoping that when we passed, the lights would be on and The Pirate would be open.
A week or so before Christmas, as if it was a Christmas miracle, we drove by and The Pirate was open for business. I let out many shrieks of excitement. I immediately called my friend to tell him of this miracle. After getting gas, I made The Hubs drive by it again just so I could make sure. There it was, in all its glory, brightly lit, neon beer European beer signs illuminating the windows and void of customers. Just like I remembered. When did this happen? I passed by the place a few times in the past few months and I swear it was still closed. But, not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, I reveled in the fact that The Pirate was back.
It took about a month before we could get there for dinner but last night was the night. It was almost funny how cautiously The Hubs walked through the door like I spent 4 years making him think this place was closed but tonight all his friends would jump out and yell "surprise!" even tho his birthday is 6 months away. "Is the wooden pirate still there?" I asked. He was. Poised by the door like I left him. We walked past the angry drunks at the bar and into the dining room which actually had a decent amount of people in it. It was like stepping into a time warp. Everything was exactly the same. Like they just dusted everything and opened up the doors. I had to go to the bathroom and look in the mirror to make sure this was 2009 and I was married and pregnant. The only thing new was a giant plastic crab in the bathroom that scared the daylights out of me. I don't remember it being there before but I'm not so sure I ever came there sober so it is possible I missed it.
After perusing the menu and deciding, the waitress came over to take our order. The Hubs got the Polish sampler and I got the Pirate pork burger. The waitress (who was our waitress years ago) seemed a bit disappointed in my choice. "Why don't you get something more Polish" she suggested. I wanted to tell her that I tried just about everything Polish on their menu and seeing as this burger was pork and not beef, I was sure they would find some way to Polish it up.
By the time our food came out, I was sure I aged another year. Understandable tho' I was on a pirate ship. Stew's sampler looked just as I remembered except instead of a chunk of kielbasa, they now give you some kielbasa and kraut mixture. However, my burger looked completely unlike anything I have ever seen. It was sorta roundish like a semi-flattened meatball that someone put Shake-n-Bake coating on. It was smothered in horseradish sauce and the french fries looked one knotch above "just about cooked."
"Well, here goes nothin'" I said before biting into my "burger" and feeling the weirdest sensation in my mouth. Beneath the coating was pork ground into the mushy consistency of falaffel except softer and juicier cooked to the comfortably molten temperature of 7,000 degrees. The Hubs cleaned his plate before my "burger" cooled to a tolerable temperature. The waitress barely came over to check on us but that was okay because every time she did, we ended up having some half baked conversation with her and getting non-sensical answers in broken English.
I had to ask tho. "Excuse me, is the nightclub still upstairs?" I figured it wasn't since it was now 9 on a Friday night and I did not hear a single beat of Polish Techno above my head.
"No," She said, "We use it as our party room."
"Oh," I said, "I just remembered there was a nightclub upstairs."
"I don't," she said and scurried away.
"Apparently, what happens in The Pirate Nightclub stays in The Pirate Nightclub," The Hubs said.
And with good reason, I thought.
On the way home, we complained how stuffed we were. Of course, that was not stopping us from going to our next destination, Cold Stone Creamery.
"Lulu, what was that log I ate?" The Hubs asked.
"The thing with sauce? Stuffed cabbage. Wait a sec, you ate an unidentified log without asking me or knowing what it was even AFTER you tasted it?" A true sea adventurer.
Curiosity got the best of us and within days, we found ourselves in the green leather booths eating kielbasa , perogies and borscht on lacquered tables showing various bits of buried pirate treasure while techno music thumped from the nightclub upstairs. This fit the weird and quirky bill perfectly. We went back a couple of time, the place would get weirder and weirder. There was never more than just us in in the restaurant and a stray drunk or two in the bar but the nightclub upstairs looked like it attracted any and all of the sketchiest members of a Polish mob.
And then, one day, the Pirate just closed down. Nothing ever took its spot. Nobody ever came to take down the black awnings that simply said The Pirate. It just stood empty. When I started dating my husband years ago, we would sometimes drive past The Pirate and I would tell him the stories. And talking about the enigma that he would never get to experience made it a lot like folklore. As years passed, I never once stopped hoping that when we passed, the lights would be on and The Pirate would be open.
A week or so before Christmas, as if it was a Christmas miracle, we drove by and The Pirate was open for business. I let out many shrieks of excitement. I immediately called my friend to tell him of this miracle. After getting gas, I made The Hubs drive by it again just so I could make sure. There it was, in all its glory, brightly lit, neon beer European beer signs illuminating the windows and void of customers. Just like I remembered. When did this happen? I passed by the place a few times in the past few months and I swear it was still closed. But, not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, I reveled in the fact that The Pirate was back.
It took about a month before we could get there for dinner but last night was the night. It was almost funny how cautiously The Hubs walked through the door like I spent 4 years making him think this place was closed but tonight all his friends would jump out and yell "surprise!" even tho his birthday is 6 months away. "Is the wooden pirate still there?" I asked. He was. Poised by the door like I left him. We walked past the angry drunks at the bar and into the dining room which actually had a decent amount of people in it. It was like stepping into a time warp. Everything was exactly the same. Like they just dusted everything and opened up the doors. I had to go to the bathroom and look in the mirror to make sure this was 2009 and I was married and pregnant. The only thing new was a giant plastic crab in the bathroom that scared the daylights out of me. I don't remember it being there before but I'm not so sure I ever came there sober so it is possible I missed it.
After perusing the menu and deciding, the waitress came over to take our order. The Hubs got the Polish sampler and I got the Pirate pork burger. The waitress (who was our waitress years ago) seemed a bit disappointed in my choice. "Why don't you get something more Polish" she suggested. I wanted to tell her that I tried just about everything Polish on their menu and seeing as this burger was pork and not beef, I was sure they would find some way to Polish it up.
By the time our food came out, I was sure I aged another year. Understandable tho' I was on a pirate ship. Stew's sampler looked just as I remembered except instead of a chunk of kielbasa, they now give you some kielbasa and kraut mixture. However, my burger looked completely unlike anything I have ever seen. It was sorta roundish like a semi-flattened meatball that someone put Shake-n-Bake coating on. It was smothered in horseradish sauce and the french fries looked one knotch above "just about cooked."
"Well, here goes nothin'" I said before biting into my "burger" and feeling the weirdest sensation in my mouth. Beneath the coating was pork ground into the mushy consistency of falaffel except softer and juicier cooked to the comfortably molten temperature of 7,000 degrees. The Hubs cleaned his plate before my "burger" cooled to a tolerable temperature. The waitress barely came over to check on us but that was okay because every time she did, we ended up having some half baked conversation with her and getting non-sensical answers in broken English.
I had to ask tho. "Excuse me, is the nightclub still upstairs?" I figured it wasn't since it was now 9 on a Friday night and I did not hear a single beat of Polish Techno above my head.
"No," She said, "We use it as our party room."
"Oh," I said, "I just remembered there was a nightclub upstairs."
"I don't," she said and scurried away.
"Apparently, what happens in The Pirate Nightclub stays in The Pirate Nightclub," The Hubs said.
And with good reason, I thought.
On the way home, we complained how stuffed we were. Of course, that was not stopping us from going to our next destination, Cold Stone Creamery.
"Lulu, what was that log I ate?" The Hubs asked.
"The thing with sauce? Stuffed cabbage. Wait a sec, you ate an unidentified log without asking me or knowing what it was even AFTER you tasted it?" A true sea adventurer.
Sunday, December 28, 2008
Fake trees and belly touchers
A few days before Christmas The Hubs and I found ourselves at Fortunoff's. The toy box and bookcase we have been coveting since i found out I was pregnant was on clearance so we knew we had to get it now or risk not getting it all. It was also 50% off and I had a coupon for another 20%. SCORE! While we were there, I wanted The Hubs to familiarize himself with the Christmas department. My motive for doing this was I knew The Hubs had the day after Christmas off and I wanted a new fake tree and you have to be there the second they open if you want a tree. I knew I could lure him to the department easily by telling him there was a sports part of the department. After I let him loose in there, I told him to pick out a new angel for his folks' new tree. Every year I attempt to get him one but there are never any left when I get there. I also figured he was their son so he might know what they liked better. Of course, he picked one that was the ONLY one of its kind. I pondered hiding it in the store but decided against it because that would make the early morning thrill that much more ..... um ..... thrilling.
Next came the trees. I immediately picked out the cheapest $74.99 tree sitting among the ones priced at hundred of dollars. This was was slightly taller and wider than my current tree. I also figured it's Charlie Brown Tree likeness would guarantee that it would be the last one standing after the day after wreckage. The strategy was set, all we had to do was make sure we woke up in plenty of time. Then, we wandered downstairs to get what we came for. Finally.
The day after Christmas I had a shitty night's sleep so waking up early was not a problem. Just to make sure it was not a problem for The Hubs, he fell victim to my many roll overs which means I roll over onto him in an effort to have him hold me up so I don't roll completely onto my back. Apparently, it is not good for you or the baby to sleep on your back and I have HAD it with side sleeping. We were up at 6:30 laying there saying we should just go back to sleep and wake up when we wake up and go then. In theory, it was an excellent idea but thinking rationally that no trees or angels will be left by that time, we were forced to get up. "I'll buy you Dunkin," I said as if that was enough to justify the torture he was about to endure at my crazy little Christmas hands.
I felt sick the whole way there. Not sure if it was my nerves, morning sickness or the fact that i probably got about 3 hours of sleep. But the Dunkin egg white flatbread sandwich was sitting in my throat like stone. We pulled into the lot at 7:40 a.m. Few cars. It looked promising. I beelined for the trees and The Hubs went Angel hunting. There were a bunch of people milling around the tree section so I quickly grabbed whoever looked like an employee and asked how to go about getting a tree. She told me to pick at least two choices and someone would be with my shortly. They only had one guy helping people in the tree section which was insane since it is where people are spending the bulk of their money. I wandered around sure that nobody wanted my $74.99 tree with all these beautiful trees but I figured I would pick up a back up in case. However, the prices began to jump considerably. $249 was the next step up all the way to $900.
The Hubs came rolling his carriage over with an angel taking the prime spot. It was not THE ANGEL, but it was one he thought they would like. I explained the deal, that I had to wait, that I was hot and that I was annoyed and had to pee. Basically, everything he has been hearing for the last 7.5 months. I showed him my first choice and my second choice which was quadruple the price of my first choice. An older lady overheard us talking and said she has been hunting fake trees for three years now and she would NEVER buy another cheap tree again because the needles fall off. I am a hard sell. My current tree has been going steady for 3 years and cost me less than $20. She then began to educate us on selecting the perfect fake tree. Somehow, it came out that i was expecting (probably when she was explaining that kids like to pull the branches and that is when you lose all your "needles"). She immediately lunged for my belly patting and rubbing it lightly. I know this would freak some people out but I LOVE people touching my belly. I ask people to touch it. I encourage it. I was so happy that a stranger touched my stomach that I left the department having selected (and paid for) a $499 tree (minus the 60% off and the extra 10% for taking the floor model).
The Hubs was convinced she was a plant.
Next came the trees. I immediately picked out the cheapest $74.99 tree sitting among the ones priced at hundred of dollars. This was was slightly taller and wider than my current tree. I also figured it's Charlie Brown Tree likeness would guarantee that it would be the last one standing after the day after wreckage. The strategy was set, all we had to do was make sure we woke up in plenty of time. Then, we wandered downstairs to get what we came for. Finally.
The day after Christmas I had a shitty night's sleep so waking up early was not a problem. Just to make sure it was not a problem for The Hubs, he fell victim to my many roll overs which means I roll over onto him in an effort to have him hold me up so I don't roll completely onto my back. Apparently, it is not good for you or the baby to sleep on your back and I have HAD it with side sleeping. We were up at 6:30 laying there saying we should just go back to sleep and wake up when we wake up and go then. In theory, it was an excellent idea but thinking rationally that no trees or angels will be left by that time, we were forced to get up. "I'll buy you Dunkin," I said as if that was enough to justify the torture he was about to endure at my crazy little Christmas hands.
I felt sick the whole way there. Not sure if it was my nerves, morning sickness or the fact that i probably got about 3 hours of sleep. But the Dunkin egg white flatbread sandwich was sitting in my throat like stone. We pulled into the lot at 7:40 a.m. Few cars. It looked promising. I beelined for the trees and The Hubs went Angel hunting. There were a bunch of people milling around the tree section so I quickly grabbed whoever looked like an employee and asked how to go about getting a tree. She told me to pick at least two choices and someone would be with my shortly. They only had one guy helping people in the tree section which was insane since it is where people are spending the bulk of their money. I wandered around sure that nobody wanted my $74.99 tree with all these beautiful trees but I figured I would pick up a back up in case. However, the prices began to jump considerably. $249 was the next step up all the way to $900.
The Hubs came rolling his carriage over with an angel taking the prime spot. It was not THE ANGEL, but it was one he thought they would like. I explained the deal, that I had to wait, that I was hot and that I was annoyed and had to pee. Basically, everything he has been hearing for the last 7.5 months. I showed him my first choice and my second choice which was quadruple the price of my first choice. An older lady overheard us talking and said she has been hunting fake trees for three years now and she would NEVER buy another cheap tree again because the needles fall off. I am a hard sell. My current tree has been going steady for 3 years and cost me less than $20. She then began to educate us on selecting the perfect fake tree. Somehow, it came out that i was expecting (probably when she was explaining that kids like to pull the branches and that is when you lose all your "needles"). She immediately lunged for my belly patting and rubbing it lightly. I know this would freak some people out but I LOVE people touching my belly. I ask people to touch it. I encourage it. I was so happy that a stranger touched my stomach that I left the department having selected (and paid for) a $499 tree (minus the 60% off and the extra 10% for taking the floor model).
The Hubs was convinced she was a plant.
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Ice-hole revenge
So, today on my way home, an Ice-hole stepped in front of my car causing me to stop, causing my light to change, causing me to wait. But, that is okay because only moments later, Ice-hole, walking in the road when the sidewalk next to him was perfectly clean, got splashed with a tidal wave of ice cold, dirty, black water. As he jumped back, albeit too late, I began to laugh my ass off because had he been on the sidewalk, his nice light brown cords would still be dry and light brown. He looked genuinely susprised as if the car, driving in the street where cars belong, splashed him. I mean, how could that be? Um, maybe cos you were walking in the road, Ice-hole.
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
The Ice-holes among us
So, This recent snow/ice storm left my city with icy sidewalks, streets and parking lots. A virtual skating rink. And despite the newspaper reporting that the city did such a great job cleaning up this mess, they missed a few (zillion spots). The latest rash of jackassery to irk my last hormone is the amount of brilliant ice-holes that insist on walking in the street because the sidewalk is much too icy.
However, because snow (poorly) shoveled from the sidewalk and plowed from the street creates mounds of snow at the curb the ice-holes are forced to walk in the middle of the road. I cannot tell you how many of these ice-holes I almost plowed into in the last few days including a guy pushing a stroller. Hey, genius, it's 9 degrees, maybe you shouldn't be walking and maybe you should keep the baby inside. Lord knows if it came down to killing both myself AND my kid because I had to walk somewhere, I would stay put or I'd walk on the sidewalk and if I fall, I fall because I'm the moron who decided to go for a nice icy stroll.
However, because snow (poorly) shoveled from the sidewalk and plowed from the street creates mounds of snow at the curb the ice-holes are forced to walk in the middle of the road. I cannot tell you how many of these ice-holes I almost plowed into in the last few days including a guy pushing a stroller. Hey, genius, it's 9 degrees, maybe you shouldn't be walking and maybe you should keep the baby inside. Lord knows if it came down to killing both myself AND my kid because I had to walk somewhere, I would stay put or I'd walk on the sidewalk and if I fall, I fall because I'm the moron who decided to go for a nice icy stroll.
Monday, December 22, 2008
Meatball Munday(ne)
So, anyone who attended our wedding and paid any kind of attention to our vows knows that Wednesday is Wings night at our local haunt. Well, a couple of months ago, the same place launched Meatball Mondays and advertised the meaty delicacies in 3 different flavors - Sweet and Sour, BBQ and Marinara (which is really plain, but more on why that is later). The bar tried attracting patrons by offering the bargain balls with a nice refreshing glass of Chianti. It was almost too classy for the likes of me.
Today was your average day. Hard time getting up, hard time motivating myself to go to work and then cap it all off by getting blood drawn not once but twice. The highlight of my day was Stew already being home when I walked in so I didn't have to lug any packages in alone. Oh, and my mom dropped off a very small dish of wine cookies. Yum. As I was modeling my new snowboots for Stew, my new phone alerted me to a text message. The alert sounds like a doorbell so you can imagine how I jumped out of my skin because I don't have a doorbell. It was my friend Julie who just said "Meatball Monday?" Julie is my new friend I met at work and her husband works late too so we said that we should go out to eat when we're feeling sorry for ourselves sitting home alone. Last week, I took her to wings and introduced her to the wonders of General Tsao's well done wings. Yum!
Because I read "Meatball Monday" out loud, Stew nearly jumped off the couch and grabbed his coat. I asked Julie if she and her hubs wanted to come but he was working. She will have to experience this next time. I really wanted Sierra Grill but Stew was so excited to try Meatball Monday, I could not let him down. And I will admit, I was a bit intrigued to try this new 20 cent sensation. The parking lot had enough cars in it to make me think that finding a seat at the bar might be difficult.
I was sorely mistaken. When we got there, it was 7 people including us taking up stool space.
"So, how does this meatball thing work" I asked the bartender who was not Dee. She explained the flavor choices, even went so far as to say the Sweet & Sour were her favorite to which Stew and I gave each other a look because the Sweet & Sour wings are NASTY!!! We ordered 5 of each flavor just to try. They came out fast and all in one plate. The Marinara meatballs do not have marinara sauce on them, they are plain. In the center of the dish there was a tub of marinara and a tub of sauce that was just wing sauce mixed with blue cheese which the bartender said tasted good on ALL the flavors. I think she was pregnant too because only a pregnant person would think that something coated in Sweet & Sour sauce and then dipped in blue cheese and wing sauce would be anywhere near good.
Now, they are meatballs, not quite cocktail size, certainly not anywhere near what you would find on spaghetti. Think what you might find in Italian Wedding Soup but a touch bigger. Honestly, i thought 10 cents was a good price for these. Good thing we ordered a small salad and an order of mozzarella sticks. The plain dipped in the wing/blue cheese sauce were my favorite. The BBQ and Sweet & Sour I could have done without.
After we finished, Stew ordered 5 more because he was still hungry. Meanwhile, I noted that we were the only ones in the place who took advantage of the meatball special. On Wednesday nights, platters piled high with wings fly out of the kitchen in troves. On Meatball Mondays, I think the only plate they sold was ours.
"Is this what it's going to be like when we're old" Stew asked eyeing the practically empty bar. "You should have seen this place in its hay day."
"It will be like our Ponderosa" I said, suddenly sorry because now i was upset there was no ice cream machine and sundae topping bar.
I am sure it's only a matter of time before the Meatball Monday banner comes down and is replaced by Taco Tuesday sponsored by Corona of course.
Today was your average day. Hard time getting up, hard time motivating myself to go to work and then cap it all off by getting blood drawn not once but twice. The highlight of my day was Stew already being home when I walked in so I didn't have to lug any packages in alone. Oh, and my mom dropped off a very small dish of wine cookies. Yum. As I was modeling my new snowboots for Stew, my new phone alerted me to a text message. The alert sounds like a doorbell so you can imagine how I jumped out of my skin because I don't have a doorbell. It was my friend Julie who just said "Meatball Monday?" Julie is my new friend I met at work and her husband works late too so we said that we should go out to eat when we're feeling sorry for ourselves sitting home alone. Last week, I took her to wings and introduced her to the wonders of General Tsao's well done wings. Yum!
Because I read "Meatball Monday" out loud, Stew nearly jumped off the couch and grabbed his coat. I asked Julie if she and her hubs wanted to come but he was working. She will have to experience this next time. I really wanted Sierra Grill but Stew was so excited to try Meatball Monday, I could not let him down. And I will admit, I was a bit intrigued to try this new 20 cent sensation. The parking lot had enough cars in it to make me think that finding a seat at the bar might be difficult.
I was sorely mistaken. When we got there, it was 7 people including us taking up stool space.
"So, how does this meatball thing work" I asked the bartender who was not Dee. She explained the flavor choices, even went so far as to say the Sweet & Sour were her favorite to which Stew and I gave each other a look because the Sweet & Sour wings are NASTY!!! We ordered 5 of each flavor just to try. They came out fast and all in one plate. The Marinara meatballs do not have marinara sauce on them, they are plain. In the center of the dish there was a tub of marinara and a tub of sauce that was just wing sauce mixed with blue cheese which the bartender said tasted good on ALL the flavors. I think she was pregnant too because only a pregnant person would think that something coated in Sweet & Sour sauce and then dipped in blue cheese and wing sauce would be anywhere near good.
Now, they are meatballs, not quite cocktail size, certainly not anywhere near what you would find on spaghetti. Think what you might find in Italian Wedding Soup but a touch bigger. Honestly, i thought 10 cents was a good price for these. Good thing we ordered a small salad and an order of mozzarella sticks. The plain dipped in the wing/blue cheese sauce were my favorite. The BBQ and Sweet & Sour I could have done without.
After we finished, Stew ordered 5 more because he was still hungry. Meanwhile, I noted that we were the only ones in the place who took advantage of the meatball special. On Wednesday nights, platters piled high with wings fly out of the kitchen in troves. On Meatball Mondays, I think the only plate they sold was ours.
"Is this what it's going to be like when we're old" Stew asked eyeing the practically empty bar. "You should have seen this place in its hay day."
"It will be like our Ponderosa" I said, suddenly sorry because now i was upset there was no ice cream machine and sundae topping bar.
I am sure it's only a matter of time before the Meatball Monday banner comes down and is replaced by Taco Tuesday sponsored by Corona of course.
Friday, December 19, 2008
Color me uncomfortable
My mom and I share a lot of things. We share jokes, laughs and sometimes, when the mood hits, feelings. We also share the same colorist. Or, we did at least, until my mom replaced her with her friend who does it cheaper.
See, a couple of years ago, my mom turned me onto a colorist that worked a local salon. I loved her and after years of dealing with hair that never responded to color the way I wanted it to; I was finally happy. And then one day, a couple of days before my appointment I got a call from said salon who told me my colorist no longer worked there. Her departure was sudden and you know how these snooty places are, they will offer you NO DETAILS but throw in a 20% discount if you stay with them and try another colorist. Gray with roots and highlights that were coming to end of summer brassy hue, I panicked and called my mom. She quickly referred me to another girl there who she went to a few times and liked. I made an appointment with her, only to find out a few days later where my former colorist went. It was too late and 20% off at the salon's steep price was enough of an incentive for me to at least try. I went to my appointment, everything was fine and I recommended a friend who was also abandoned by our former colorist leaving.
By my second visit with the new colorist, my mom already replaced her with her friend. I figured she might casually mention how my mom was and that she hasn;t seen her in a while but i didn't expect a drilling on the topic.
"How's your mom? I haven't seen her in a while. I miss her."
"I haven't seen her either," I said.
Um, okay. I am hard pressed to believe that anyone would think in 6 weeks I heard nothing from my mom or saw her for that matter but the lie was worth a shot, right?
A few minutes later.
"I really miss your mom. Who is doing her hair these days?"
"Um, I dunno."
Now, anyone who knows my mom knows that anytime I see her she's either added more highlights, went darker, cut it herself or something. Either way, anytime I see her, I am asked what i think about her hair.
By the time I walk out ther door, the colorist has not so subtly asked me about my mother's whereabouts no less than five times. It made me a wee bit uncomfortable to say the least. I am sure my mom is not her ONLY client. In fact, I know that between my friend and I, she has at least two. So, really, what is the big f-ing deal? I came home and called my mom who thought it was just as obnoxious as I did. "Just tell her i am doing my hair myself," she said. Oh, okay, like she was going to buy that line any more than the line I fed her about not seeing or hearing from my mother in six weeks.
So, last night, I had another appointment and I forgot about the drilling until a few minutes before I left. I thought for sure she would not mention it again. The topic was off limits like me not asking if she's seen my former colorist or knew of her whereabouts. Two can play at the Where's Waldo game, missy. I sit down in her chair and she asks me how I am 5 times in a row and then it hits me that I may not be dealing with the sharpest tack in the box. After i tell her I am fine, great, wonderful and can't complain 5 times in a row she proceeds to remove my headband and sift through the root wreckage.
"So, how's your mom?"
You have got to be kidding me!!!!
"I miss her. Where has she been?"
I wanted to tell her she was there about an hour getting me a gift certificate which I almost wish she hadn't gotten because now I REALLY want to return to my former colorist.
"Well, in the winter she tends to go darker so I think she is just doing it herself."
Of course, she didn't buy that one. Who would?
Again, I did not escape without 3 more questions about my mom's MIA status as well as a reminder to say hi to her out the door and a standing invitation to come back whenever. Maybe I can use that giftcard for manis/pedis and a massage after I give birth.
See, a couple of years ago, my mom turned me onto a colorist that worked a local salon. I loved her and after years of dealing with hair that never responded to color the way I wanted it to; I was finally happy. And then one day, a couple of days before my appointment I got a call from said salon who told me my colorist no longer worked there. Her departure was sudden and you know how these snooty places are, they will offer you NO DETAILS but throw in a 20% discount if you stay with them and try another colorist. Gray with roots and highlights that were coming to end of summer brassy hue, I panicked and called my mom. She quickly referred me to another girl there who she went to a few times and liked. I made an appointment with her, only to find out a few days later where my former colorist went. It was too late and 20% off at the salon's steep price was enough of an incentive for me to at least try. I went to my appointment, everything was fine and I recommended a friend who was also abandoned by our former colorist leaving.
By my second visit with the new colorist, my mom already replaced her with her friend. I figured she might casually mention how my mom was and that she hasn;t seen her in a while but i didn't expect a drilling on the topic.
"How's your mom? I haven't seen her in a while. I miss her."
"I haven't seen her either," I said.
Um, okay. I am hard pressed to believe that anyone would think in 6 weeks I heard nothing from my mom or saw her for that matter but the lie was worth a shot, right?
A few minutes later.
"I really miss your mom. Who is doing her hair these days?"
"Um, I dunno."
Now, anyone who knows my mom knows that anytime I see her she's either added more highlights, went darker, cut it herself or something. Either way, anytime I see her, I am asked what i think about her hair.
By the time I walk out ther door, the colorist has not so subtly asked me about my mother's whereabouts no less than five times. It made me a wee bit uncomfortable to say the least. I am sure my mom is not her ONLY client. In fact, I know that between my friend and I, she has at least two. So, really, what is the big f-ing deal? I came home and called my mom who thought it was just as obnoxious as I did. "Just tell her i am doing my hair myself," she said. Oh, okay, like she was going to buy that line any more than the line I fed her about not seeing or hearing from my mother in six weeks.
So, last night, I had another appointment and I forgot about the drilling until a few minutes before I left. I thought for sure she would not mention it again. The topic was off limits like me not asking if she's seen my former colorist or knew of her whereabouts. Two can play at the Where's Waldo game, missy. I sit down in her chair and she asks me how I am 5 times in a row and then it hits me that I may not be dealing with the sharpest tack in the box. After i tell her I am fine, great, wonderful and can't complain 5 times in a row she proceeds to remove my headband and sift through the root wreckage.
"So, how's your mom?"
You have got to be kidding me!!!!
"I miss her. Where has she been?"
I wanted to tell her she was there about an hour getting me a gift certificate which I almost wish she hadn't gotten because now I REALLY want to return to my former colorist.
"Well, in the winter she tends to go darker so I think she is just doing it herself."
Of course, she didn't buy that one. Who would?
Again, I did not escape without 3 more questions about my mom's MIA status as well as a reminder to say hi to her out the door and a standing invitation to come back whenever. Maybe I can use that giftcard for manis/pedis and a massage after I give birth.
Sunday, September 07, 2008
Va-genius
It's no secret. I hate the word vagina. It just sounds so clinical. So, when I took to calling it a vagenius, my husband was not as amused as I was.
Seriously, tho, think of all the things it is capable of doing and I'm not even counting the fact that it's a conduit to creating, growing and expelling life. However, it can also turn on you in an instant like a diabolical scientist.
Bill gates, watch out. The Vagenius is hot on your heels.
Seriously, tho, think of all the things it is capable of doing and I'm not even counting the fact that it's a conduit to creating, growing and expelling life. However, it can also turn on you in an instant like a diabolical scientist.
Bill gates, watch out. The Vagenius is hot on your heels.
Saturday, August 09, 2008
Pity for the gene pool
I heard this bit of insanity while waiting in my gynocologist's waiting room. A receptionist was on the phone with a patient patiently trying to work through her medicinal woes.
"No dear, that's not Vicodin. It's birth control."
Wow, someone finally too stupid to be trusted with reproductive organs. I love it.
"No dear, that's not Vicodin. It's birth control."
Wow, someone finally too stupid to be trusted with reproductive organs. I love it.
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Midget Mayhem
Okay. So, I had a rather disturbing dream last night.
It started out as me driving aimlessly around the parking lot at the Italian Center. At first, I thought i was invited to go swimming but then it switched to me meeting Stew at some fancy French restaurant he was taking me to for our anniversary. Don't ask me why a French place was at the Italian Center. When we got inside, I was bit disappointed to find out that this overrated, overpriced fancy French place was full of obnoxious snooty drunks. And not the kind who are wine snobs but the kind you see in a bar and feel sorry for except they had a lot of money to spend.
I was trying to enjoy my meal when these two guys decided that they were going to wander over and sit at our table and talk to each other loudly. One was a midget. Suddenly the midget started taking these potato chips (but of course in a fancy French place they were called fried au' gratin or something like that) and throwing them all over the table. I said, "excuse me, sir, but this is our anniversary, could you stop doing that and go to another table so we can enjoy our meal." He refused and that REALLY pissed me off. So, I grabbed the midget, smacked him around, shook him and then dragged him down the hill to a house where the staff hung out and I was sure to find a manager. There was a waitress down there and i threw the now beat up and unconscious midget down on the floor and asked to speak to the manager. The waitress said she would go find him. She came back after what seemed like an eternity and offered me some chocolate covered biscotti to take home with me and said she was still looking for the manager. She disappeared for what felt like hours. Every once and a while, the midget would wake up and I would kick him.
Oh relax, it wasn't like he was bleeding and unconscious. He was so blitzed he had no clue what was happening. A lot of the time he appeared to be sleeping with a huge smile on his face.
I looked up the hill and saw Stew sitting at the table with what appeared to be steaming plates of our dinner. He was waiting for me to get back before he dug in. I didn't want the food to get cold so I grabbed the midget and dragged him back up the hill. When i got back to our table, the manager was there with these two huge brandy snifters full of creamy custard (I hate custard) sprinkled with cinnamon and chocolate. It looked like Taramisu. Don't ask me why everything about this French restaurant was Italian. The manager said the desert was on the house because of our troubles. I told him our whole dinner would be on the house and that i simply hate custard.
Then, I woke up
It started out as me driving aimlessly around the parking lot at the Italian Center. At first, I thought i was invited to go swimming but then it switched to me meeting Stew at some fancy French restaurant he was taking me to for our anniversary. Don't ask me why a French place was at the Italian Center. When we got inside, I was bit disappointed to find out that this overrated, overpriced fancy French place was full of obnoxious snooty drunks. And not the kind who are wine snobs but the kind you see in a bar and feel sorry for except they had a lot of money to spend.
I was trying to enjoy my meal when these two guys decided that they were going to wander over and sit at our table and talk to each other loudly. One was a midget. Suddenly the midget started taking these potato chips (but of course in a fancy French place they were called fried au' gratin or something like that) and throwing them all over the table. I said, "excuse me, sir, but this is our anniversary, could you stop doing that and go to another table so we can enjoy our meal." He refused and that REALLY pissed me off. So, I grabbed the midget, smacked him around, shook him and then dragged him down the hill to a house where the staff hung out and I was sure to find a manager. There was a waitress down there and i threw the now beat up and unconscious midget down on the floor and asked to speak to the manager. The waitress said she would go find him. She came back after what seemed like an eternity and offered me some chocolate covered biscotti to take home with me and said she was still looking for the manager. She disappeared for what felt like hours. Every once and a while, the midget would wake up and I would kick him.
Oh relax, it wasn't like he was bleeding and unconscious. He was so blitzed he had no clue what was happening. A lot of the time he appeared to be sleeping with a huge smile on his face.
I looked up the hill and saw Stew sitting at the table with what appeared to be steaming plates of our dinner. He was waiting for me to get back before he dug in. I didn't want the food to get cold so I grabbed the midget and dragged him back up the hill. When i got back to our table, the manager was there with these two huge brandy snifters full of creamy custard (I hate custard) sprinkled with cinnamon and chocolate. It looked like Taramisu. Don't ask me why everything about this French restaurant was Italian. The manager said the desert was on the house because of our troubles. I told him our whole dinner would be on the house and that i simply hate custard.
Then, I woke up
Sunday, July 27, 2008
Down with the sickness
Can I be frank?
What about Sally?
What about just plain gross but straight up honest with you?
So, every Sunday (well, pretty much every Sunday) for the last few months I have been getting a wicked case of ..... what my college roommates and I used to call, The squitters. It only happens on Sunday and it's sort of a relief because I'm pretty much bound up Friday and Saturday. The only really bad about my new Sunday movements is they can happen at any time leaving me to do what I hate the most and use a public toilet. But, lately, we've been lazy and at home so I have been able to come and go as I please. This Sunday, I was put in a pretty difficult situation.
At noon, The Hubs and I were heading over to his condo to hold an open house of sorts because his tenant is moving out and like any good landlord, we want new tenants ASAP. I had a bagel for breakfast, which caused a dramatic drop in my blood sugar about 10 minutes before we left. Knowing I needed some protein, I grabbed a protein bar, but a heavier one that I have not been able to stomach lately. I ate it slowly but apparetly not slow enough because on our way to the condo, I started to feel sick. Not stomach sick, just out of sorts. The fisrt appointment came and left and we waited for the next appointment. I was on my cell phone chatting with my friend when my stomach started to runble that familiar rumble and I clenched my sides. I told The Hubs, I had to go but didn't want to stink up the joint before the next perspective renters came. He shugged his shoulders.
"Maybe it's just gas," I said to him as I made my way to the loo.
It wasn't.
I flushed fast so that it didn't have time to smell. But, it wasn't all going down. And before anyone can say lincoln logs, let me just tell you there was NO WAY this couldn't go down. It may as well have been number 1 with some lumps. I flushed again, and again an again. Now, just the lumps were left. I called for The Hubs with about 5 minutes to spare before the next appointment showed up. I stepped back almost falling into the tub and almost taking the shower curtain with me. "Get outta here" he said shooing me to the living room. I went and sat down, my stomach still grumbling and my butt cheeks clenching together all of this made harder because I was still on the phone with my friends and we were both trying not to laugh too hard.
The Hubs comes out and says he got everything to go down but he should probably call the plumber and wonders why his tenants never told him about the lack of flush power. And something has been lost of the years. When I was just dating The Hubs, that toilet had the jet stream flush power of Shea Stadium.
Cramping again. I tell The Hubs the storm has not passed. He hads me his car keys and tells me to go home. I hate driving his car. But, I hate crapping my pants even more. However, I know there is NO WAY I will make it home. As I am hesitating taking his keys, his cell rings and the appointment is here. I walk outside with him to meet her. She is with her friend and they both look like they could have taken the place of Paris and Nicole on the Simple Life.
Okay, so do I leave my husband alone with two cute blonds or do I mark my territory by letting poop run down my leg? I decide there is no time like the present to run across Summer Street with my butt clenched together to Starbucks. Thankfully, the bathroom there is free, clean and the toilet flushes. Apparently I took so long The Hubs came looking for me but didn't see me because I was too busy convulsing.
What about Sally?
What about just plain gross but straight up honest with you?
So, every Sunday (well, pretty much every Sunday) for the last few months I have been getting a wicked case of ..... what my college roommates and I used to call, The squitters. It only happens on Sunday and it's sort of a relief because I'm pretty much bound up Friday and Saturday. The only really bad about my new Sunday movements is they can happen at any time leaving me to do what I hate the most and use a public toilet. But, lately, we've been lazy and at home so I have been able to come and go as I please. This Sunday, I was put in a pretty difficult situation.
At noon, The Hubs and I were heading over to his condo to hold an open house of sorts because his tenant is moving out and like any good landlord, we want new tenants ASAP. I had a bagel for breakfast, which caused a dramatic drop in my blood sugar about 10 minutes before we left. Knowing I needed some protein, I grabbed a protein bar, but a heavier one that I have not been able to stomach lately. I ate it slowly but apparetly not slow enough because on our way to the condo, I started to feel sick. Not stomach sick, just out of sorts. The fisrt appointment came and left and we waited for the next appointment. I was on my cell phone chatting with my friend when my stomach started to runble that familiar rumble and I clenched my sides. I told The Hubs, I had to go but didn't want to stink up the joint before the next perspective renters came. He shugged his shoulders.
"Maybe it's just gas," I said to him as I made my way to the loo.
It wasn't.
I flushed fast so that it didn't have time to smell. But, it wasn't all going down. And before anyone can say lincoln logs, let me just tell you there was NO WAY this couldn't go down. It may as well have been number 1 with some lumps. I flushed again, and again an again. Now, just the lumps were left. I called for The Hubs with about 5 minutes to spare before the next appointment showed up. I stepped back almost falling into the tub and almost taking the shower curtain with me. "Get outta here" he said shooing me to the living room. I went and sat down, my stomach still grumbling and my butt cheeks clenching together all of this made harder because I was still on the phone with my friends and we were both trying not to laugh too hard.
The Hubs comes out and says he got everything to go down but he should probably call the plumber and wonders why his tenants never told him about the lack of flush power. And something has been lost of the years. When I was just dating The Hubs, that toilet had the jet stream flush power of Shea Stadium.
Cramping again. I tell The Hubs the storm has not passed. He hads me his car keys and tells me to go home. I hate driving his car. But, I hate crapping my pants even more. However, I know there is NO WAY I will make it home. As I am hesitating taking his keys, his cell rings and the appointment is here. I walk outside with him to meet her. She is with her friend and they both look like they could have taken the place of Paris and Nicole on the Simple Life.
Okay, so do I leave my husband alone with two cute blonds or do I mark my territory by letting poop run down my leg? I decide there is no time like the present to run across Summer Street with my butt clenched together to Starbucks. Thankfully, the bathroom there is free, clean and the toilet flushes. Apparently I took so long The Hubs came looking for me but didn't see me because I was too busy convulsing.
Saturday, July 05, 2008
Sunnova Bee
Wouldn't you know it that now every Sim I have that I allow to procreate ends up with TWINS!!!!
I am so doomed.
I am so doomed.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Double your pleasure
So, I think if i ever pregnant I may have twins. I have gotten a few signs lately and anyone who knows me knows I do not take the getting of signs lightly. I mean, come on, I gave my notice at my first job out of college based on what a Bazooka Joe fortune said. Hey, if you were sitting there with your resignation letter in your desk drawer and some apprehension and someone mysteriously leaves a pile of Bazooka Joe gum on your desk while you're at lunch; and the first fortune says, "Now is the time" then what would you do?
I thought so.
Earlier this month, I went to CVS to get some stuff as well as another supply of my ovulation predictor sticks. I went with the month supply this time because the generic CVS ones were no longer working (according to them, I NEVER ovulated yet still got my period on time every month) and they only had a month's supply of a brand name one for the bargain basement price of $45.99. WTF??? So, I got those. On my way back to the car I find a lucky penny. And then about a foot away, another lucky penny. Weird, I think to myself, but i pick them up anyway and put them in the bathroom by the toilet.
I'm sickeningly in touch with my body and I can tell when I'm going through the other kind of big O; so really, the sticks are useless other than to confirm what I already know. And for a few days I get two lines, so bright and pink that I inform The Hubs that the fruit is ripe for pickin'.
Saturday, after a loooong day of cleaning, it suddenly hits me that it's 5:30 and all I had to eat all day was a protein bar at 11. The Hubs was working so I texted him to see if he was going to be home soon because I was hungry. Then, I worried that came off too bitchy and amended it with a text saying I was just wondering because if he was going to be home soon I would get something light like a Subway salad to tie me over. But, if he was going to be later, i will get Chinese food and get enough so he can have some when he gets home.
See, I'm not a total bitch. Altho' I did feel owed a nice romantic dinner at the restaurant of my choice since I did spend two WHOLE days cleaning for a BBQ HE planned.
He said he was going to be late so I got our usual at the Chinese place next door. After my lonely and rather disappointing dinner; I cracked open the fortune cookies. I knew Stew wouldn't want his anyway and I did spend ALL day cleaning and eating alone. I was owed.
The first fortune:
"Things are looking on the bright side"
And the Chinese word was "March."
Doesn't seem weird but if I got pregnant this month, nine months from now would be March.
The second fortune:
"Your deepest wish will come true"
And the Chinese word was "Intimate"
No explanation necessary, I hope.
And then, later that night, I was playing my Sims game watching my pregnant sim Macabre (because her whole family died in a fire the night she was born to her mom, Slurpee) Livingston waddle her way into he bathroom to puke up her dinner of lobster thermidor. My game froze signaling the impending birth. And yes, you guessed it, she had twins.
I thought so.
Earlier this month, I went to CVS to get some stuff as well as another supply of my ovulation predictor sticks. I went with the month supply this time because the generic CVS ones were no longer working (according to them, I NEVER ovulated yet still got my period on time every month) and they only had a month's supply of a brand name one for the bargain basement price of $45.99. WTF??? So, I got those. On my way back to the car I find a lucky penny. And then about a foot away, another lucky penny. Weird, I think to myself, but i pick them up anyway and put them in the bathroom by the toilet.
I'm sickeningly in touch with my body and I can tell when I'm going through the other kind of big O; so really, the sticks are useless other than to confirm what I already know. And for a few days I get two lines, so bright and pink that I inform The Hubs that the fruit is ripe for pickin'.
Saturday, after a loooong day of cleaning, it suddenly hits me that it's 5:30 and all I had to eat all day was a protein bar at 11. The Hubs was working so I texted him to see if he was going to be home soon because I was hungry. Then, I worried that came off too bitchy and amended it with a text saying I was just wondering because if he was going to be home soon I would get something light like a Subway salad to tie me over. But, if he was going to be later, i will get Chinese food and get enough so he can have some when he gets home.
See, I'm not a total bitch. Altho' I did feel owed a nice romantic dinner at the restaurant of my choice since I did spend two WHOLE days cleaning for a BBQ HE planned.
He said he was going to be late so I got our usual at the Chinese place next door. After my lonely and rather disappointing dinner; I cracked open the fortune cookies. I knew Stew wouldn't want his anyway and I did spend ALL day cleaning and eating alone. I was owed.
The first fortune:
"Things are looking on the bright side"
And the Chinese word was "March."
Doesn't seem weird but if I got pregnant this month, nine months from now would be March.
The second fortune:
"Your deepest wish will come true"
And the Chinese word was "Intimate"
No explanation necessary, I hope.
And then, later that night, I was playing my Sims game watching my pregnant sim Macabre (because her whole family died in a fire the night she was born to her mom, Slurpee) Livingston waddle her way into he bathroom to puke up her dinner of lobster thermidor. My game froze signaling the impending birth. And yes, you guessed it, she had twins.
Thursday, June 12, 2008
The universe doesn't revolve around you, you're just dizzy
So, I have PMS and I just had the worst day of my life. And even if I did't have PMS, I am still sure it would have been the worst day of my life so don't go saying, "Cheer up Dr. Horder, it couldn't have been that bad, you just have PMS." Because if you say that to me, I will hit you in the face with a shovel.
Around 8:15 (not even 5 minutes after i wake up) I get a lat minute call to go to our sister judicial district two towns over because someone called out sick. That someone calls out sick at least once a week so I kinda say it's time to FIRE THAT SOMEONE. I didn't bring any work home with so if there is any down time I'm just reading a book which, although I love reading, is a HUGE waste of time when I have work sitting on my desk in my town where I thought I would be today to do it. Thankfully, I manage some quick thinking and e-mail myself another project I can work on. However, since my whole morning routine is now thrown off I forget the CDs that contain the audio for said project. Luckily, I can work around some backdoors and get the audio I need.
I'm taken pity on and given what was supposed to be a short court that should be finished by lunch (which is good because my lunch is also sitting in my desk WITH my breakfast bars). I go into court at 10 and the Judge calls the calendar and then takes a recess. However, because I have no key to the office (or the bathroom) I am stuck there anyway.
Cut to 1 p.m. a few minutes before lunch and I think we're finishing up our last case. Turns out we're just about to start a trial. Lucky me. Come back at 2. There's not much around the court house in terms of food that doesn't start with a Mc so I am forced to go up the road a bit to Stew Leonards. Thanks to the creative genius of construction workers, I am now stuck in traffic for 20 minutes of my lunch.
Finally, I get to Stew's where every jackass is apparently learning to park and everyone in a wheelchair has decided to go shopping. There should be a ban on wheelchairs in Stew's from the hours of 11 - 6:30. Just my thought. I get some salad and some salmon and veggies which are cut into these huge hunks. When the cashier asks if I need utensils, I give an enthusiastic yes and even ask for a knife if they have one. I get back to the office and take my lunch out to discover he did not give me any utensils whatsoever and all they had in the office was spoons. Not one fork to be found. Do you know how hard it is to eat salad with a spoon? Do you know how much harder it is to eat huge hunks of veggies with a spoon? It's impossible. I ate some salmon and the rest got tossed.
The judge is late so i waste some more time just sitting there and waiting until about 2:20. Finally, the trial is ready to start and everyone is just about to wrap up when the plaintiff says they have another witness who can be there in 10 minutes. I have come to learn that 10 minutes to lawyers is really 30 in real time. They're only ever so slightly off. The whole case wraps up at 3:45. So much for a short court.
On my way home I decide to stop at Dunkin and I park next to this real hooptie. It's got more boxes in it than a moving company and the seat covers looked like someone has been sitting on them with an ass full of razorblades. I go into Dunkin and there is one person on front of me. She tells the guy behind the counter what she wants. The lady at the first register is now free and she stands on her tiptoes and asks if she can help me. The lady, in front of me, obviously confused because she thinks she is the only one in the universe, says, "No thanks I am being helped." The cashier smiles and I walk up and now the lady in front of me feels like she should - STUPID.
On my way back to the car, I notice the lady in Dunkin was the lucky owner of the hooptie. I have my hands a bit full with my coffee, my purse and trying to hold my skirt down as I get in and my door eases open a little bit more and accidentally hits her mirror. The door moved so slowly, it was a such a gentle tap that if she hadn't looked up and shot me the dirtiest look, I wouldn't have even known it happened. "Sorry about that, I said and looked to see if there was any damage (there wasn't) and then said, "It's okay, no mark, sorry."
WTF did she want me to do? Give her my insurance. And hello, lady, have you seen your car???? I put my coffee in the cup holder and glanced over again. She was out of her car. Oh my god, was she actually going to check it? And sure enough she came around to the passenger side to inspect the damage (or lack thereof) and brush off some dirt. Oh my freaking god. Seriously!!!! I had someone not watching where they were doing at a red light and roll into me and tap me and I didn't even get out to look.
She probably took down my plate and is going to call the police on me. But, then again, that has been my day. All I was thinking was, "go ahead, bitch, start with me. I will kick your ass. I'm hot, tired, have PMS, pissed off because I got NO work done today, and starving because I ate my lunch with a fucking spoon!"
She didn't say anything else to me which is unfortunate. I was looking to take someone down.
Around 8:15 (not even 5 minutes after i wake up) I get a lat minute call to go to our sister judicial district two towns over because someone called out sick. That someone calls out sick at least once a week so I kinda say it's time to FIRE THAT SOMEONE. I didn't bring any work home with so if there is any down time I'm just reading a book which, although I love reading, is a HUGE waste of time when I have work sitting on my desk in my town where I thought I would be today to do it. Thankfully, I manage some quick thinking and e-mail myself another project I can work on. However, since my whole morning routine is now thrown off I forget the CDs that contain the audio for said project. Luckily, I can work around some backdoors and get the audio I need.
I'm taken pity on and given what was supposed to be a short court that should be finished by lunch (which is good because my lunch is also sitting in my desk WITH my breakfast bars). I go into court at 10 and the Judge calls the calendar and then takes a recess. However, because I have no key to the office (or the bathroom) I am stuck there anyway.
Cut to 1 p.m. a few minutes before lunch and I think we're finishing up our last case. Turns out we're just about to start a trial. Lucky me. Come back at 2. There's not much around the court house in terms of food that doesn't start with a Mc so I am forced to go up the road a bit to Stew Leonards. Thanks to the creative genius of construction workers, I am now stuck in traffic for 20 minutes of my lunch.
Finally, I get to Stew's where every jackass is apparently learning to park and everyone in a wheelchair has decided to go shopping. There should be a ban on wheelchairs in Stew's from the hours of 11 - 6:30. Just my thought. I get some salad and some salmon and veggies which are cut into these huge hunks. When the cashier asks if I need utensils, I give an enthusiastic yes and even ask for a knife if they have one. I get back to the office and take my lunch out to discover he did not give me any utensils whatsoever and all they had in the office was spoons. Not one fork to be found. Do you know how hard it is to eat salad with a spoon? Do you know how much harder it is to eat huge hunks of veggies with a spoon? It's impossible. I ate some salmon and the rest got tossed.
The judge is late so i waste some more time just sitting there and waiting until about 2:20. Finally, the trial is ready to start and everyone is just about to wrap up when the plaintiff says they have another witness who can be there in 10 minutes. I have come to learn that 10 minutes to lawyers is really 30 in real time. They're only ever so slightly off. The whole case wraps up at 3:45. So much for a short court.
On my way home I decide to stop at Dunkin and I park next to this real hooptie. It's got more boxes in it than a moving company and the seat covers looked like someone has been sitting on them with an ass full of razorblades. I go into Dunkin and there is one person on front of me. She tells the guy behind the counter what she wants. The lady at the first register is now free and she stands on her tiptoes and asks if she can help me. The lady, in front of me, obviously confused because she thinks she is the only one in the universe, says, "No thanks I am being helped." The cashier smiles and I walk up and now the lady in front of me feels like she should - STUPID.
On my way back to the car, I notice the lady in Dunkin was the lucky owner of the hooptie. I have my hands a bit full with my coffee, my purse and trying to hold my skirt down as I get in and my door eases open a little bit more and accidentally hits her mirror. The door moved so slowly, it was a such a gentle tap that if she hadn't looked up and shot me the dirtiest look, I wouldn't have even known it happened. "Sorry about that, I said and looked to see if there was any damage (there wasn't) and then said, "It's okay, no mark, sorry."
WTF did she want me to do? Give her my insurance. And hello, lady, have you seen your car???? I put my coffee in the cup holder and glanced over again. She was out of her car. Oh my god, was she actually going to check it? And sure enough she came around to the passenger side to inspect the damage (or lack thereof) and brush off some dirt. Oh my freaking god. Seriously!!!! I had someone not watching where they were doing at a red light and roll into me and tap me and I didn't even get out to look.
She probably took down my plate and is going to call the police on me. But, then again, that has been my day. All I was thinking was, "go ahead, bitch, start with me. I will kick your ass. I'm hot, tired, have PMS, pissed off because I got NO work done today, and starving because I ate my lunch with a fucking spoon!"
She didn't say anything else to me which is unfortunate. I was looking to take someone down.
Wednesday, June 04, 2008
Sometimes you gotta give a little more than a wave
I have new neighbors to the right of me. They have one or two big dogs and the wife is knocked up so soon we will have to contend with not only constant barking but also a wailing baby.
Joy.
Oh yeah, did I mention that the husband wakes up everyday at 7 to the same blaring techno song like it's some OCD. Oh, and he must have his frat buddies over to play the Wii because it sounds like Sigma Alpha Assholes there sometimes on the weekends.
And yet my husband is still courteous not to play Rock Band too late or too loud as though not to disturb all their fucking concert of noise.
Why do nice boys always marry bitches like me?
Anyway, I'm not about to talk about how much I wish they would move. I make that point known to The Hubs at least four times a week (that's down from my 14). I don't even have to complain because I am sure they are thinking of moving anyway for the pure fact that they think i am totally crazy. If there's a bad moment, they catch me in it.
Not too long after they moved in and we introduced ourselves I was coming home after another EXASPERATING day. I was getting out of my car and I totally threw all thsoe ladylike manners I don't have aside and hopped out. Now, I have a truck, so hopping out in a dress isn't easy. Someone is going to get Britney Speared along the way. I just threw my legs open (I did have on black tights though and thankfully black granny panties) to hop out.
As I was showing my business to the world I thought, "fuck it, nobody is home anyway. It's just barely 5." I looked up at that very moment and my new neighbor was sitting in her Saab parked right NEXT to me with her husband and of course My truck is higher so I'm sure my crotch was at eye level with her. She got this totally "I am about to bust out laughing" look on her face and waved. I just waved back (because really, wtf else can you do?) and quickly went inside so I could burst out laughing at yet ANOTHER Seinfeld moment in my life.
I totally want to go over and apologize. Like you can even begin a conversation with, "Sorry, I just basic instinced you. It won't happen again. This is a family friendly complex." I told Stew to go over and apologize for me. Unity. He said he will wait until they open their door and then flash his crotch. I told him he should go sit on the hood of their car and when he sets off the alarm and they peek out the window to see what it is, he should batwing them. Welcome to the hood, bitches.
A few months pass with no incidents to speak of until today.
Today I stayed home from work because I was up until 5 a.m. typing one of the most heart wrenching divorce cases I have had to sit on. So, there was no way I was functioning on 3 hours of sleep and going in to more than likely get stuck in Court ALL DAY while I tried (unsuccessfully) not to let my head hit the keyboard taking notes in a series of zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
So, after I e-mailed the transcript to the law office who ordered it, I took a nice hot, long shower to ease my aching muscles. Since I had the time, I decided to give myself a deep conditioning treatment. So, i get out of the shower, load up my hair with goop, put my brightly colored blue and green frog shower cap on to heat up the conditioner and walk into my bedroom. I decide it's sort of hot in there and I walk over to window to open it. I whip up the blinds and put my hand on the window and my neighbor (the wife again) pulls right into her parking spot which happens to be right under my window. And she subsequently looks up (because who wouldn't if you saw a girl standing there in a puffy shower cap with a big blue satin bow and fake blue rose smack in the middle of it). I stood there like a deer in headlights before I decided to just swallow my pride and wave. Because, let's face it, she is totally going to tell her husband when he gets home (if she didn't get on the horn with him as soon as she walked in like I would have) so it may as well end with, "So, anyway, that crotch flashing lunatic next door waved to me in her silly shower cap."
However will I redeem myself? And do I really care to?
Joy.
Oh yeah, did I mention that the husband wakes up everyday at 7 to the same blaring techno song like it's some OCD. Oh, and he must have his frat buddies over to play the Wii because it sounds like Sigma Alpha Assholes there sometimes on the weekends.
And yet my husband is still courteous not to play Rock Band too late or too loud as though not to disturb all their fucking concert of noise.
Why do nice boys always marry bitches like me?
Anyway, I'm not about to talk about how much I wish they would move. I make that point known to The Hubs at least four times a week (that's down from my 14). I don't even have to complain because I am sure they are thinking of moving anyway for the pure fact that they think i am totally crazy. If there's a bad moment, they catch me in it.
Not too long after they moved in and we introduced ourselves I was coming home after another EXASPERATING day. I was getting out of my car and I totally threw all thsoe ladylike manners I don't have aside and hopped out. Now, I have a truck, so hopping out in a dress isn't easy. Someone is going to get Britney Speared along the way. I just threw my legs open (I did have on black tights though and thankfully black granny panties) to hop out.
As I was showing my business to the world I thought, "fuck it, nobody is home anyway. It's just barely 5." I looked up at that very moment and my new neighbor was sitting in her Saab parked right NEXT to me with her husband and of course My truck is higher so I'm sure my crotch was at eye level with her. She got this totally "I am about to bust out laughing" look on her face and waved. I just waved back (because really, wtf else can you do?) and quickly went inside so I could burst out laughing at yet ANOTHER Seinfeld moment in my life.
I totally want to go over and apologize. Like you can even begin a conversation with, "Sorry, I just basic instinced you. It won't happen again. This is a family friendly complex." I told Stew to go over and apologize for me. Unity. He said he will wait until they open their door and then flash his crotch. I told him he should go sit on the hood of their car and when he sets off the alarm and they peek out the window to see what it is, he should batwing them. Welcome to the hood, bitches.
A few months pass with no incidents to speak of until today.
Today I stayed home from work because I was up until 5 a.m. typing one of the most heart wrenching divorce cases I have had to sit on. So, there was no way I was functioning on 3 hours of sleep and going in to more than likely get stuck in Court ALL DAY while I tried (unsuccessfully) not to let my head hit the keyboard taking notes in a series of zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
So, after I e-mailed the transcript to the law office who ordered it, I took a nice hot, long shower to ease my aching muscles. Since I had the time, I decided to give myself a deep conditioning treatment. So, i get out of the shower, load up my hair with goop, put my brightly colored blue and green frog shower cap on to heat up the conditioner and walk into my bedroom. I decide it's sort of hot in there and I walk over to window to open it. I whip up the blinds and put my hand on the window and my neighbor (the wife again) pulls right into her parking spot which happens to be right under my window. And she subsequently looks up (because who wouldn't if you saw a girl standing there in a puffy shower cap with a big blue satin bow and fake blue rose smack in the middle of it). I stood there like a deer in headlights before I decided to just swallow my pride and wave. Because, let's face it, she is totally going to tell her husband when he gets home (if she didn't get on the horn with him as soon as she walked in like I would have) so it may as well end with, "So, anyway, that crotch flashing lunatic next door waved to me in her silly shower cap."
However will I redeem myself? And do I really care to?
Sunday, June 01, 2008
Mailbag time, bitches!
Dear Marshals,
Before I offer some highly constructive criticism let me start by saying I am one of your best customers. I've stimulated the economy by frequenting your store about three times a week in the past 5 years and its rare that I leave empty handed.
That being said, I have to ask, did you hit your heads when you decided to put your new "shoe world" right outside the fitting rooms. In case logistics never figured into the equation of your doing the new store layout; let me enlighten you as to why this is a bad idea. As you know, you are only allowed 5 items in the fitting room at a time. Your ever expanding inventory makes it rather easy to find five items before you even hit a second rack. If you are alone, the dressing room attendant asks you to get a cart and leave your remaining items outside the fitting room. This is bad for two reasons. Thanks to your lack of consideration when building Shoe World, you built the aisles right up to the fitting room entrance forcing people to clog aisles with their carts. Not to mention, leaving your carts there open up your pickins' to anyone passing by who thinks it's just an abandoned cart and open for business. This has forced your employees to have to post signs that read "no ogling carts outside the fitting room." In case you haven't noticed but a good portion of your clientele is not privy to having English as their first language. In fact, judging by some of the spellings of said signs, your employees have the same problem too.
You can fix this problem by doing two things. Push back two aisles of Shoe World to free up some space outside the dressing room to keep their carts. Or, better yet, change your 5 item only policy. I'd bet you would double your business if ladies did not have to try on five things, get dressed, grab some more, get undressed, try on some more and repeat the process. By the way, your dressing rooms don't exactly have spectacular air circulation either so after you work up a sweat you pretty much lose the desire to shop.
Now, I know the problem you are going to find with this is that if you push the aisle back, you lose a few square feet of shoes. Whoopty shit. The way you pack that store, I am SURE you will find somewhere to put the shoes. Be like Home Goods and use every inch of space by stacking things on each other. Also, if you allow people more than 5 items per trip, your dressing room attendant will become overwhelmed with clothes.
But, listen, what's the most people are really going to take in? Seriously, we only have two hands. Also, with all the unemployed people out there, I am hard pressed to believe you can't find some extra help in the dressing room. Better yet, if you allow people to take in however many items they want, you can eliminate the "here's a number" responsibility and that lady could start separating the clothes or putting them back. See, there's a fix.
I hope you take these suggestions to heart. I am sure you will ignore this like you often ignore stains and rips on clothing before you put them right back on the rack. But, seriously, this will increase your business in a doomed economy.
- A customer
Before I offer some highly constructive criticism let me start by saying I am one of your best customers. I've stimulated the economy by frequenting your store about three times a week in the past 5 years and its rare that I leave empty handed.
That being said, I have to ask, did you hit your heads when you decided to put your new "shoe world" right outside the fitting rooms. In case logistics never figured into the equation of your doing the new store layout; let me enlighten you as to why this is a bad idea. As you know, you are only allowed 5 items in the fitting room at a time. Your ever expanding inventory makes it rather easy to find five items before you even hit a second rack. If you are alone, the dressing room attendant asks you to get a cart and leave your remaining items outside the fitting room. This is bad for two reasons. Thanks to your lack of consideration when building Shoe World, you built the aisles right up to the fitting room entrance forcing people to clog aisles with their carts. Not to mention, leaving your carts there open up your pickins' to anyone passing by who thinks it's just an abandoned cart and open for business. This has forced your employees to have to post signs that read "no ogling carts outside the fitting room." In case you haven't noticed but a good portion of your clientele is not privy to having English as their first language. In fact, judging by some of the spellings of said signs, your employees have the same problem too.
You can fix this problem by doing two things. Push back two aisles of Shoe World to free up some space outside the dressing room to keep their carts. Or, better yet, change your 5 item only policy. I'd bet you would double your business if ladies did not have to try on five things, get dressed, grab some more, get undressed, try on some more and repeat the process. By the way, your dressing rooms don't exactly have spectacular air circulation either so after you work up a sweat you pretty much lose the desire to shop.
Now, I know the problem you are going to find with this is that if you push the aisle back, you lose a few square feet of shoes. Whoopty shit. The way you pack that store, I am SURE you will find somewhere to put the shoes. Be like Home Goods and use every inch of space by stacking things on each other. Also, if you allow people more than 5 items per trip, your dressing room attendant will become overwhelmed with clothes.
But, listen, what's the most people are really going to take in? Seriously, we only have two hands. Also, with all the unemployed people out there, I am hard pressed to believe you can't find some extra help in the dressing room. Better yet, if you allow people to take in however many items they want, you can eliminate the "here's a number" responsibility and that lady could start separating the clothes or putting them back. See, there's a fix.
I hope you take these suggestions to heart. I am sure you will ignore this like you often ignore stains and rips on clothing before you put them right back on the rack. But, seriously, this will increase your business in a doomed economy.
- A customer
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