I love me some Kenny Loggins, particularly Danny's Song - you know, "even though we ain't got money, I'm so in love with you honey, blah blah blah..." I used to think it was so romantical, and it's how I would feel if I were having a child. Wow, what a crock, huh? I think if I was having a kid 5- 7 years ago, still in my 20's and earlier in my career, I could get by on the power of hugs and kisses.
But now I'm jaded enough to know that Kenny Loggins didn't consider the incredible inflation of education and health care costs coupled with the sharp decline in access to retirement funds. Nor could he have predicted the current state of our economy and job market. Kenny also clearly never worked an office job, where after you've done it for a few years you begin to consider the cost benefit analysis of every hour spent, and the price of everything comes sharply into focus as you calculate how many hours you worked to make that purchase. Also, Kenny must have rented - because the maintenance costs of owning a home, and the repairs that are associated with replacing a roof, getting new carpet, installing a dishwasher....all things necessary to welcome baby... are not paid for with sunshine and candy canes.
No, we are living in a material world, and I am a material girl. It has been many years that I have avoided admitting that, years spent trying to convince myself that I don't care as much as other people about "things." But now, with each little kick and flutter of my baby warrior princess (yes, it's a girl for sure!), I am reminded of all the things I want to be able to give her. And all the things I want for myself. I want a nice house, in a nice neighborhood - with nice landscaping and neighbors that don't sell bootleg DVD's off their front porch at all hours of the night (even if the neighbor discount rates are commendable).
And sweetheart...now that I've come clean about my vile materialistic nature - it does matter to me if I get an anniversary present, birthday present, valentines day present (I know! Who am I?), and Christmas/holiday present(SSSssss). I do not like yellow roses, but I do like any orange or purple flower, I do not like gaudy jewelry, but I do like candy - as have previously mentioned in earlier posts. I am also particularly appreciative of handmade gifts and cards, so keep em coming.
And just who the hell are you Kenny Loggins to make me feel bad about myself for saying these things? Does it mean I love less if I want nice stuff? You sing, "In the morning when I rise, bring a tear of joy to my eyes..," about the only thing that would bring a tear of joy to my eyes would be knowing that I had enough money to quit my job. Otherwise any tears cried at the waking hour are not tears of joy. If I knew you Kenny, I'd punch you in the face myself, for all the women who have been bamboozled by you selling your unwillingness to get a decent job as some type of romantic endeavor. F U!
I don't think I should listen to the radio on my morning commute anymore...
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
the baby made me do it...
Chris and I just got back from a quick weekend cruise to Nassau. Again, this was another trip that was planned pre-pregnancy and I was a bit skeptical about the amount of fun I would have on a boat for four days with no alchohol. Luckily I was pleasantly surprised and for the most part it was a relaxing weekend, well - for me at least.
Chris got to listen to me bitch at him every time he glanced at a beer or gave me a concerned look as I made my third trip to the all you can eat ice cream bar. I wish I could be one of those cool wives that have no problem with their husband drinking while they are pregnant, I really do want to be that person. But alas I am not; in fact, I am about as close to being that girl as I am to being on next months cover of Sports Illustrated. It's not that I don't want to be these things, it's just that he and I must come to terms with the fact that I will never be that kind of wife. I am the kind of wife that laughs at off color jokes, can hang all night drinking beers, and that can have an intelligent debate about a variety of issues, but unfortunately I'm also the kind of wife that can hang all night drinking beers (borderline alchoholic?), laughs at off color jokes (insensitive?) and can have an intelligent debate about a variety of issues (argumentative?). So if we look at the latter - a pregnant, argumentative, insensitive, borderline alchoholic probably doesn't have sympathy for a beat down husband that just wants a few beers to relax. ("You think YOU need a drink??!!")
In an effort to keep me entertained because I couldn't do a lot of the cruise activities, Chris offered that we play mini golf on the top level of the cruise ship. It was a nice gesture and the first half of the game was fun. Right before hole 6, Chris ducks into an enclosed net area that is meant for people to practice their driving swing - he took a took a nice slow statuesque swing at the ball and I got excited to show him the swing I had learned a few months ago from a brief one time lesson I got from a golf pro. I duck into the enclosure with him, line myself up and take a whack at the ball... now I knew he was still standing behind me, it just for some reason did not cross my mind that swinging a golf club in that close proximity of another person might not be the best idea. Like I said, I was really excited to show him what I learned. Chris, I think, thought I was going to take a nice, slow, practice type swing like he did. Nope, I swung away, missed the ball but found his head. The temple and ear area to be exact. Head bleeding, yelling, crying (on my part) and medical assistance ensued. This was followed by continued head bleeding, concussion headaches and nausea, more crying (again on my part), and a lot of dead silence. While Chris knows this was an accident, a very, very stupid and easily preventable accident at that, I think he was justified to have little to say to the person that almost took his ear off for a few hours. A few inches in a different direction and we're talking gorged eyeballs and not just head trauma. The thing is, I don't know WHAT I was thinking about- seriously, those of you that know me well know that I am the biggest worry wart on the planet - if there is a way to get hurt doing something, I am the one that will be the first to identify it. I am generally not one to go swinging golf clubs willy nilly. Now I'm aware of the fact that I'm vastly lacking in the common sense arena, I don't want to misrepresent my own self knowledge- but this was still somewhat unlike me.
I feel absolutely terrible and there is little I can do to make it better. For some reason, spoken apologies just don't seem to cut it in this type of situation and Hallmark doesn't dip its toes in the waters of the things real apologies are needed for. They just say "I'm sorry I forgot your birthday," or "I'm sorry about our argument," but I've never seen an "I"m sorry I bashed your head in with a golf club for no apparent reason" card on the shelves. I am hopeful that Chris will be ok, but he might still need a cat scan to make sure there is no internal bleeding. This was a very serious accident and a seriously shitty way to spend the last night of our vacation. Any advice on what I can do to make it up to him (besides the whole pushing a living creature of my body scene that will be happening shortly) would be greatly appreciated.
Worst thing is, his head trauma card totally trumps my pregnancy card. There goes my leverage.
Chris got to listen to me bitch at him every time he glanced at a beer or gave me a concerned look as I made my third trip to the all you can eat ice cream bar. I wish I could be one of those cool wives that have no problem with their husband drinking while they are pregnant, I really do want to be that person. But alas I am not; in fact, I am about as close to being that girl as I am to being on next months cover of Sports Illustrated. It's not that I don't want to be these things, it's just that he and I must come to terms with the fact that I will never be that kind of wife. I am the kind of wife that laughs at off color jokes, can hang all night drinking beers, and that can have an intelligent debate about a variety of issues, but unfortunately I'm also the kind of wife that can hang all night drinking beers (borderline alchoholic?), laughs at off color jokes (insensitive?) and can have an intelligent debate about a variety of issues (argumentative?). So if we look at the latter - a pregnant, argumentative, insensitive, borderline alchoholic probably doesn't have sympathy for a beat down husband that just wants a few beers to relax. ("You think YOU need a drink??!!")
In an effort to keep me entertained because I couldn't do a lot of the cruise activities, Chris offered that we play mini golf on the top level of the cruise ship. It was a nice gesture and the first half of the game was fun. Right before hole 6, Chris ducks into an enclosed net area that is meant for people to practice their driving swing - he took a took a nice slow statuesque swing at the ball and I got excited to show him the swing I had learned a few months ago from a brief one time lesson I got from a golf pro. I duck into the enclosure with him, line myself up and take a whack at the ball... now I knew he was still standing behind me, it just for some reason did not cross my mind that swinging a golf club in that close proximity of another person might not be the best idea. Like I said, I was really excited to show him what I learned. Chris, I think, thought I was going to take a nice, slow, practice type swing like he did. Nope, I swung away, missed the ball but found his head. The temple and ear area to be exact. Head bleeding, yelling, crying (on my part) and medical assistance ensued. This was followed by continued head bleeding, concussion headaches and nausea, more crying (again on my part), and a lot of dead silence. While Chris knows this was an accident, a very, very stupid and easily preventable accident at that, I think he was justified to have little to say to the person that almost took his ear off for a few hours. A few inches in a different direction and we're talking gorged eyeballs and not just head trauma. The thing is, I don't know WHAT I was thinking about- seriously, those of you that know me well know that I am the biggest worry wart on the planet - if there is a way to get hurt doing something, I am the one that will be the first to identify it. I am generally not one to go swinging golf clubs willy nilly. Now I'm aware of the fact that I'm vastly lacking in the common sense arena, I don't want to misrepresent my own self knowledge- but this was still somewhat unlike me.
I feel absolutely terrible and there is little I can do to make it better. For some reason, spoken apologies just don't seem to cut it in this type of situation and Hallmark doesn't dip its toes in the waters of the things real apologies are needed for. They just say "I'm sorry I forgot your birthday," or "I'm sorry about our argument," but I've never seen an "I"m sorry I bashed your head in with a golf club for no apparent reason" card on the shelves. I am hopeful that Chris will be ok, but he might still need a cat scan to make sure there is no internal bleeding. This was a very serious accident and a seriously shitty way to spend the last night of our vacation. Any advice on what I can do to make it up to him (besides the whole pushing a living creature of my body scene that will be happening shortly) would be greatly appreciated.
Worst thing is, his head trauma card totally trumps my pregnancy card. There goes my leverage.
Monday, September 14, 2009
Victorias Secret Revealed!!!
I have always been curious as to the secret Victoria has been so good at keeping all these years...is it how to keep your man, how to wear a size XL thong with confidence, how to make cellulite sexy??? After some soul searching, or rather butt digging, I think I have it figured out.
Within a matter of a week, my underwear stopped fitting. They just stopped. Literally I was sitting down at work last Thursday, and I had the realization that the elastic on the legs of my panties was causing me pain - not discomfort, but pain. I made it 5 months wearing the same clothes (thanks belly band), and in a matter of hours I apparently gained 12 lbs - in my ass. There is nothing more exciting than knowing you have to go shopping for bigger underwear. Not sexy, but bigger.
Standing in front of the wall 'o panties at Target on Saturday, I consider my options. Of course there are the "Just my Size" varieties, which I have spent my whole life desperately avoiding by slim margins - so there is no way in hell I am voluntarily purchasing those, I would rather my thighs bleed. I have a solid philosophy in "women's" size undies - "once you go fat, you'll never go back..." meaning, if I were to put on a size 10 underwear, why would I ever want to go back to a smaller size?? Imagine that level of comfort...now imagine a thong - I just avoid the temptation altogether.
Next, I examine the Hanes and Fruit of the Loom options....I consider myself a sporty spice type underwear wearer, meaning I like the athletic string bikini varieties. Full coverage, but not homely, comfy but cute. Too bad I currently apparently wear the biggest size they make in this style, so I have very limited options in the next size up if I'm going to avoid the Just My Size panties that are now mocking me. I settle for the classic bikini Hanes in a size up, comfort fit Fruit of the Loom in my current size and a Hanes bikini in (zoiks!), two sizes up (for my last trimester, I reason). Guess which ones I'm wearing today? They are roomy, too big, and wonderful and my ass will probably never be back in a string bikini - inadvertently proving my own theory.
So what's Vikki's Secret?
Me thinks it's birth control, or surrogacy, adoption......maybe V(a)S(estomy)?
Within a matter of a week, my underwear stopped fitting. They just stopped. Literally I was sitting down at work last Thursday, and I had the realization that the elastic on the legs of my panties was causing me pain - not discomfort, but pain. I made it 5 months wearing the same clothes (thanks belly band), and in a matter of hours I apparently gained 12 lbs - in my ass. There is nothing more exciting than knowing you have to go shopping for bigger underwear. Not sexy, but bigger.
Standing in front of the wall 'o panties at Target on Saturday, I consider my options. Of course there are the "Just my Size" varieties, which I have spent my whole life desperately avoiding by slim margins - so there is no way in hell I am voluntarily purchasing those, I would rather my thighs bleed. I have a solid philosophy in "women's" size undies - "once you go fat, you'll never go back..." meaning, if I were to put on a size 10 underwear, why would I ever want to go back to a smaller size?? Imagine that level of comfort...now imagine a thong - I just avoid the temptation altogether.
Next, I examine the Hanes and Fruit of the Loom options....I consider myself a sporty spice type underwear wearer, meaning I like the athletic string bikini varieties. Full coverage, but not homely, comfy but cute. Too bad I currently apparently wear the biggest size they make in this style, so I have very limited options in the next size up if I'm going to avoid the Just My Size panties that are now mocking me. I settle for the classic bikini Hanes in a size up, comfort fit Fruit of the Loom in my current size and a Hanes bikini in (zoiks!), two sizes up (for my last trimester, I reason). Guess which ones I'm wearing today? They are roomy, too big, and wonderful and my ass will probably never be back in a string bikini - inadvertently proving my own theory.
So what's Vikki's Secret?
Me thinks it's birth control, or surrogacy, adoption......maybe V(a)S(estomy)?
Thursday, September 10, 2009
It's a ....baby!
After waiting for what has seemed like a lifetime, we finally had our appointment for the ultrasound that would determine our "fetal anatomy." I could not wait...it's weird having something growing inside of you and not knowing what it is. I have joked for weeks that I hope it's a unicorn, but secretly have wanted it to be a boy. It may be wrong for a mother to say this, but as you have probably figured out, I think I'm saying a lot of things you're not supposed to.
The woman that administered the ultrasound was a complete bitch. She dumped warm goop all over my stomach, and then didn't talk to me for twenty minutes. If she hadn't had the ultrasound thingy in her hand, I would have felt like I'd just been taken advantage of. When I tried to ask her a question about what was on the screen, she snapped at me that she was just trying to do her job, and she had to do it as quickly as possible while the baby wasn't moving and she couldn't talk at the same time. I thought, "so it is a baby! - tough luck on it not being a unicorn, but glad to know all is normal in there."
She spent the next 5-10 minutes complaining that my baby was difficult and she couldn't get the pictures she needed. I asked her if she could at least tell us the sex, her response - "you want to know that?!" WTF - why is everyone so against us finding out the sex? I don't need the surprise on the day of, trust me. Pushing a living creature out of my body will be enough of a surprise for the day, thank you very much. She pretty much said she thought it was a girl, but couldn't be sure. I would probably have to come back if I wanted to know 100%.
I got in the car with my husband and cried. I'm not sure why I wanted a boy so badly, I think it's because I can relate more to playing baseball in the yard than I can to ballet practice. I think also because it's so hard being a girl, we have to work so much harder, and what if she ends up a giant like me? What if her favorite color is pink, she loves barbie dolls and wants an easy bake oven??? I don't even know how to use our real oven. It freaks me out.
Then of course I feel guilty for being upset, because I should just be thankful. I remind myself, that no matter what the sex of the baby is, I can make it be whatever I want it to be, and make it like whatever I want it to like ... this makes me feel better. ;)
The woman that administered the ultrasound was a complete bitch. She dumped warm goop all over my stomach, and then didn't talk to me for twenty minutes. If she hadn't had the ultrasound thingy in her hand, I would have felt like I'd just been taken advantage of. When I tried to ask her a question about what was on the screen, she snapped at me that she was just trying to do her job, and she had to do it as quickly as possible while the baby wasn't moving and she couldn't talk at the same time. I thought, "so it is a baby! - tough luck on it not being a unicorn, but glad to know all is normal in there."
She spent the next 5-10 minutes complaining that my baby was difficult and she couldn't get the pictures she needed. I asked her if she could at least tell us the sex, her response - "you want to know that?!" WTF - why is everyone so against us finding out the sex? I don't need the surprise on the day of, trust me. Pushing a living creature out of my body will be enough of a surprise for the day, thank you very much. She pretty much said she thought it was a girl, but couldn't be sure. I would probably have to come back if I wanted to know 100%.
I got in the car with my husband and cried. I'm not sure why I wanted a boy so badly, I think it's because I can relate more to playing baseball in the yard than I can to ballet practice. I think also because it's so hard being a girl, we have to work so much harder, and what if she ends up a giant like me? What if her favorite color is pink, she loves barbie dolls and wants an easy bake oven??? I don't even know how to use our real oven. It freaks me out.
Then of course I feel guilty for being upset, because I should just be thankful. I remind myself, that no matter what the sex of the baby is, I can make it be whatever I want it to be, and make it like whatever I want it to like ... this makes me feel better. ;)
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Bacon, books and beaches
This past weekend was my first vacation while pregnant. It was a party weekend my brother and I planned with our cousins well before I knew I was pregnant. As I boarded the plane on Friday, I must admit I was a little concerned about how I would feel being the sober person amongst was was sure to be a booze infested weekend for the others. Never in my entire adult life have I experienced being in a party environment without being a partier...I am not one of those people that is just as much fun sober as I am drunk. To those of you that are, kudos - but I am skeptical of anyone that would voluntarily hang around a bunch of drunks and claim to have just as much fun as they do. It's not natural.
My cousin Matt and his fiance Stephanie were letting us crash at their place for the weekend, and on Friday night I experienced the first upside to my being pregnant (besides the whole "baby" deal) - I got a bed to myself! My brother slept on the floor, the homeowners on an air mattress and Jill in a couch/cocoon/bean bag/hot dog device that looked like a recipe for back surgery. I gave a small pat to my belly and thanked the fetus for finally being good for something. While they spent the evening outside having drinks, I coziedup in the bed and read a book. I was asleep within two minutes, at least I didn't even know the fun I was missing.
Day two started with a breakfast that consisted of BACON RICE...my first encounter with this delectable treat and the first time in months I had a homemade breakfast (I don't cook so much). This vacation was panning out to be quite the retreat. We then made our way to the beach, with four people (including me) stuffed in the back seat of a truck and my cousin and aunt as pilot/co pilot. It took us "35 minutes" to get there - my cousin Matt thought it was funny to keep saying this even though it took 1.5hrs, not realizing it's not funny to jack with a pregnant woman about the time frame in which she will get to pee. I got the last laugh though, I just peed on his back seat. They took a cooler with beer to the beach, and there was also a bar less than 100 yards from where we planted our towels. The scene looked like a community college spring break party - not the MTV type co-eds out to hook up, but the people that have night jobs, or full time day jobs, and kids at home and don't have time to f*ck around and are just looking to tie one on. Thank goodness no one was checking me out in my maternity tankini - I guess that's another plus side of pregnancy, usually I'm having to beat guys off with a stick when I go to the beach. The family proceeds to start drinking while I down virgin daiquiris - which at first where delightful and made me feel included in the group - of course the novelty of this wore off when they became drunk and I got a tummy ache from too much pina colada mix. A nice nap on the beach resolved this problem, and before I knew it I was driving everyone home. Last thing I remember from that night is watching my drunk brother and cousin Matt play "cowboy, ninja, bear," a life size version of "paper, rock, scissors," -and me commenting on how nothing is as funny as drunk people think it is, then heading off to bed. Again I read for about three minutes and was out like a light.
Day three was me accompanying them on a bar tour of the "bad part" of Tampa (I live in Philly, it looks like the worst thing that happens in the bad part of Tampa is people don't tip 20%). This actually was fun to get to visit with everyone - we found a bar with mega touch (i am a champion) that served spicy virgin bloody marys and I was a happy camper. We then went to the Hard Rock Casino where my cousin Jill made out like a bandit within 30 minutes. Again we were home early, I was in bed reading, and they had their fun without me.
All in all, this was a fantastic and much needed break. I feel like such a grown up being able to go to the beach and casino w/o drinking. I got tons of sleep and lots of reading done. Plus bacon rice. It's amazing how your perspective changes on what constitutes a good time.
Thanks fam for being so considerate of 71.... I found out this weekend that my baby will be the 71st born into that side of the family. Yet another reason to consider the name "seven" (for those of you that are seinfeld fans).
My cousin Matt and his fiance Stephanie were letting us crash at their place for the weekend, and on Friday night I experienced the first upside to my being pregnant (besides the whole "baby" deal) - I got a bed to myself! My brother slept on the floor, the homeowners on an air mattress and Jill in a couch/cocoon/bean bag/hot dog device that looked like a recipe for back surgery. I gave a small pat to my belly and thanked the fetus for finally being good for something. While they spent the evening outside having drinks, I coziedup in the bed and read a book. I was asleep within two minutes, at least I didn't even know the fun I was missing.
Day two started with a breakfast that consisted of BACON RICE...my first encounter with this delectable treat and the first time in months I had a homemade breakfast (I don't cook so much). This vacation was panning out to be quite the retreat. We then made our way to the beach, with four people (including me) stuffed in the back seat of a truck and my cousin and aunt as pilot/co pilot. It took us "35 minutes" to get there - my cousin Matt thought it was funny to keep saying this even though it took 1.5hrs, not realizing it's not funny to jack with a pregnant woman about the time frame in which she will get to pee. I got the last laugh though, I just peed on his back seat. They took a cooler with beer to the beach, and there was also a bar less than 100 yards from where we planted our towels. The scene looked like a community college spring break party - not the MTV type co-eds out to hook up, but the people that have night jobs, or full time day jobs, and kids at home and don't have time to f*ck around and are just looking to tie one on. Thank goodness no one was checking me out in my maternity tankini - I guess that's another plus side of pregnancy, usually I'm having to beat guys off with a stick when I go to the beach. The family proceeds to start drinking while I down virgin daiquiris - which at first where delightful and made me feel included in the group - of course the novelty of this wore off when they became drunk and I got a tummy ache from too much pina colada mix. A nice nap on the beach resolved this problem, and before I knew it I was driving everyone home. Last thing I remember from that night is watching my drunk brother and cousin Matt play "cowboy, ninja, bear," a life size version of "paper, rock, scissors," -and me commenting on how nothing is as funny as drunk people think it is, then heading off to bed. Again I read for about three minutes and was out like a light.
Day three was me accompanying them on a bar tour of the "bad part" of Tampa (I live in Philly, it looks like the worst thing that happens in the bad part of Tampa is people don't tip 20%). This actually was fun to get to visit with everyone - we found a bar with mega touch (i am a champion) that served spicy virgin bloody marys and I was a happy camper. We then went to the Hard Rock Casino where my cousin Jill made out like a bandit within 30 minutes. Again we were home early, I was in bed reading, and they had their fun without me.
All in all, this was a fantastic and much needed break. I feel like such a grown up being able to go to the beach and casino w/o drinking. I got tons of sleep and lots of reading done. Plus bacon rice. It's amazing how your perspective changes on what constitutes a good time.
Thanks fam for being so considerate of 71.... I found out this weekend that my baby will be the 71st born into that side of the family. Yet another reason to consider the name "seven" (for those of you that are seinfeld fans).
Friday, September 4, 2009
Youth in Asia
We have three dogs. My husband and I each brought our own dogs to the relationship, and have since added a third. They are all rescue dogs, and while my choice wouldn't be to ever have three dogs -our third dog was chosen for us, not necessarily by us, but has been a wonderful addition to our family.
A clean house is basically impossible with three dogs. Particularly a small house such as ours. It is a nonstop carpet cleaning, floor sweeping, dander dusting place to live. Over the past year, the oldest dog, Mini (Chris's original dog), has gotten progressively worse with her vision, hearing, and most importantly peeing. Along with all the other anxieties I have about having a baby, bringing a baby into a house with three dogs, particularly one that is pretty much a baby herself in terms of having to clean up after her, has consumed me worry and anger.
Unfortunately, I have a hard time separating the dog from the owner and as demonstrated yesterday and this morning, I can sometimes treat Chris as if he is personally unzipping his pants and pissing all over the carpet. I swear if I could rub his nose in it I would. However, me sending Mini death threats and offering the other dogs reward money for offing her probably isn't the nicest way to discuss this issue. At this point in my pregnancy, I find being nice a foreign concept, and I find it impossible to discuss things that make me mad without screaming, crying and saying things like "how could you do this to me and your unborn child?!" While Chris didn't actually "do" anything - he did say that he spends half his life listening to me bitch at him..... Honey, I'm sure everyone that has been in contact with me for the past 5 months feels the same way, the only difference is they didn't knock me up, so you're just going to have to deal with it, and try to accommodate me. The more you remind me that I'm a bitch, I promise the more of a bitch I"m going to be.
However, in retrospect, although it is so uncharacteristic of me - I might have overreacted. You do not have to kill your dog for me. This is my public apology - which I think is a pretty big gesture seeing as how I am never wrong.
Love you. Hopefully you and the dogs can get some peace and quiet while I'm on a much needed vacation for a few days. Enjoy your pee palace.
A clean house is basically impossible with three dogs. Particularly a small house such as ours. It is a nonstop carpet cleaning, floor sweeping, dander dusting place to live. Over the past year, the oldest dog, Mini (Chris's original dog), has gotten progressively worse with her vision, hearing, and most importantly peeing. Along with all the other anxieties I have about having a baby, bringing a baby into a house with three dogs, particularly one that is pretty much a baby herself in terms of having to clean up after her, has consumed me worry and anger.
Unfortunately, I have a hard time separating the dog from the owner and as demonstrated yesterday and this morning, I can sometimes treat Chris as if he is personally unzipping his pants and pissing all over the carpet. I swear if I could rub his nose in it I would. However, me sending Mini death threats and offering the other dogs reward money for offing her probably isn't the nicest way to discuss this issue. At this point in my pregnancy, I find being nice a foreign concept, and I find it impossible to discuss things that make me mad without screaming, crying and saying things like "how could you do this to me and your unborn child?!" While Chris didn't actually "do" anything - he did say that he spends half his life listening to me bitch at him..... Honey, I'm sure everyone that has been in contact with me for the past 5 months feels the same way, the only difference is they didn't knock me up, so you're just going to have to deal with it, and try to accommodate me. The more you remind me that I'm a bitch, I promise the more of a bitch I"m going to be.
However, in retrospect, although it is so uncharacteristic of me - I might have overreacted. You do not have to kill your dog for me. This is my public apology - which I think is a pretty big gesture seeing as how I am never wrong.
Love you. Hopefully you and the dogs can get some peace and quiet while I'm on a much needed vacation for a few days. Enjoy your pee palace.
Rail Rage
Generally speaking, riding the train to and from work is preferable to driving in rush hour traffic -both on a environmental level and a personal stress level. There are however the minor details of public transit that the car dwellers will never have to deal with and that I as a hormonal pregnant woman have come to loathe in the past few weeks. One of my other pregnant girlfriends has told me she has developed an inexplicable road rage throughout her pregnancy, I think I am beginning to develop a case of rail rage - which presents many more problems than road rage because I am not in my own isolated vehicle...I have no protection when I am compelled to give someone the finger and tell them to go f*ck themselves...such was my ride home last night.
Opening Scene: I enter the first car of the train, as I have done everyday for the past several years. This is now a quiet train, which means cell phone use is minimal, no talking, etc... This is an approx 45 min train ride, my stop is the last - so the handful of us that ride the train all the way to the end see each other everyday. While the car may start the journey with standing room only, by the time we get to my stop, there are only the same 10 or 15 of us getting off at that final stop each day.
The incident: I'm guilty, I forgot to turn my cell phone to vibrate. With about 10 minutes left on the ride, and most of the car empty, my cell phone rings 3 times before I can grab it out of my bag and talk quietly to Chris for 30 seconds. The woman in front of me turns and gives me the stink eye. As we are pulling into our final stop, literally you can see the station, my phone rings - 1/2 ring before I cut it off and apologize out loud for the mistake. The stink eye woman makes an over exaggerated sighing sound and says without looking at me, "Jesus, this is the quiet train. In case you can read, there is a sign above your head that will explain what that means." Now let me preface the rest of this story with the fact that the woman in question is probably pushing 60 and has a beehive like hairdo - just a grumpy old ninny. I should have just let it go, but...
My reaction: "WHAT DID YOU SAY? YOU HAVE SOMETHING TO SAY TO ME LADY? I CAN READ AND I ALREADY APOLOGIZED - SO WHAT THE HELL IS YOUR PROBLEM?INSTEAD OF MAKING PASSIVE AGGRESSIVE COMMENTS, WHY DON'T WE JUST MAKE THIS AN AGGRESSIVE CONVERSATION - YOU HAVE ANYTHING ELSE TO ADD?" The girl sitting across the aisle gets startled and drops her cell phone. The woman gives me another stink eye, but doesn't say anything, she thinks her nasty looks are somehow going to intimidate me. At this moment we pull into the final stop. She gets out of her seat and walks past me, I grab my bags in a very dramatic fashion and stand as close to her as possible while we wait to exit the train. I am standing right behind her, making sure to be standing up straight to emphasize my 3 foot height advantage and let her know she is messing with the wrong person. As we get off the train, she tells the ticket collector to have a nice evening - the same guy I always say goodnight to - I shoot him a nasty look for being in co hoots with this bitch. I follow her, closely, all the way out of the station and to her bus, which was on the way to the parking garage I was heading to anyway. But I made her think I was going to kick her ass. I'm sitting in my car, considering following the bus to wherever it's going to give her a piece of my mind, or my fist. At this point I realize I might have been in the wrong here - whatever, I'm tired, I go home.
A few additional comments about the people I ride the train with:
"hey guy, i don't care about your wife's colonoscopy. i don't mind the hellos and small chit chat b/c we see each other everyday, but I"m not going to disclose to you the details of my last pap smear so please keep your family medical history to yourself."
"hey lady, I can smell your adult diaper. Your Avon perfume isn't helping. Unless you clean your ass with it, Jean Nate is doing you no favors"
Opening Scene: I enter the first car of the train, as I have done everyday for the past several years. This is now a quiet train, which means cell phone use is minimal, no talking, etc... This is an approx 45 min train ride, my stop is the last - so the handful of us that ride the train all the way to the end see each other everyday. While the car may start the journey with standing room only, by the time we get to my stop, there are only the same 10 or 15 of us getting off at that final stop each day.
The incident: I'm guilty, I forgot to turn my cell phone to vibrate. With about 10 minutes left on the ride, and most of the car empty, my cell phone rings 3 times before I can grab it out of my bag and talk quietly to Chris for 30 seconds. The woman in front of me turns and gives me the stink eye. As we are pulling into our final stop, literally you can see the station, my phone rings - 1/2 ring before I cut it off and apologize out loud for the mistake. The stink eye woman makes an over exaggerated sighing sound and says without looking at me, "Jesus, this is the quiet train. In case you can read, there is a sign above your head that will explain what that means." Now let me preface the rest of this story with the fact that the woman in question is probably pushing 60 and has a beehive like hairdo - just a grumpy old ninny. I should have just let it go, but...
My reaction: "WHAT DID YOU SAY? YOU HAVE SOMETHING TO SAY TO ME LADY? I CAN READ AND I ALREADY APOLOGIZED - SO WHAT THE HELL IS YOUR PROBLEM?INSTEAD OF MAKING PASSIVE AGGRESSIVE COMMENTS, WHY DON'T WE JUST MAKE THIS AN AGGRESSIVE CONVERSATION - YOU HAVE ANYTHING ELSE TO ADD?" The girl sitting across the aisle gets startled and drops her cell phone. The woman gives me another stink eye, but doesn't say anything, she thinks her nasty looks are somehow going to intimidate me. At this moment we pull into the final stop. She gets out of her seat and walks past me, I grab my bags in a very dramatic fashion and stand as close to her as possible while we wait to exit the train. I am standing right behind her, making sure to be standing up straight to emphasize my 3 foot height advantage and let her know she is messing with the wrong person. As we get off the train, she tells the ticket collector to have a nice evening - the same guy I always say goodnight to - I shoot him a nasty look for being in co hoots with this bitch. I follow her, closely, all the way out of the station and to her bus, which was on the way to the parking garage I was heading to anyway. But I made her think I was going to kick her ass. I'm sitting in my car, considering following the bus to wherever it's going to give her a piece of my mind, or my fist. At this point I realize I might have been in the wrong here - whatever, I'm tired, I go home.
A few additional comments about the people I ride the train with:
"hey guy, i don't care about your wife's colonoscopy. i don't mind the hellos and small chit chat b/c we see each other everyday, but I"m not going to disclose to you the details of my last pap smear so please keep your family medical history to yourself."
"hey lady, I can smell your adult diaper. Your Avon perfume isn't helping. Unless you clean your ass with it, Jean Nate is doing you no favors"
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Get out of my dreams...
Never the type to remember my dreams, I have always considered myself a rather mundane sleeper. I never had any cool stories about the weird dreams I had last night, or felt compelled to look up the meaning of my dreams. Except of course for that one time I took Tylenol PM and then dreamt my great grandmother was an evil cowgirl out to kill me....my first and only encounter with sleep aids.
I guess another little secret of pregnancy are the incredibly vivid dreams - the kind of dreams that make you wake up in a panic wondering what's wrong with you to imagine such things and make you hesitant to fall back asleep for fear someone might be able to tell what you're dreaming about. Sure, "they" (by they I mean my Dr.) say many women experience "insomnia" related to pregnancy - but I call it "wtf is going on in my head, I don't want to see it anymore, so I'll just stay awake." And I'm not talking steamy type dreams, I'm talking freak show dreams that make me wonder if my baby isn't secretly trying to lure me into parental submission already by instilling fear of everything in me.
In addition to the delightful nightmares, the AM peeing is out of control. Short of cutting off all liquids at 3:00PM, I'm not sure what I can do to prevent the 1:30, 3:00 and 4:30 AM bathroom trips. Nothing funny to add here - really any advice would be much appreciated.
I'm beginning to think the fact that my mom has a knack for calling when I'm napping or already in bed for the evening, isn't so much a coincidence but payback.
I guess another little secret of pregnancy are the incredibly vivid dreams - the kind of dreams that make you wake up in a panic wondering what's wrong with you to imagine such things and make you hesitant to fall back asleep for fear someone might be able to tell what you're dreaming about. Sure, "they" (by they I mean my Dr.) say many women experience "insomnia" related to pregnancy - but I call it "wtf is going on in my head, I don't want to see it anymore, so I'll just stay awake." And I'm not talking steamy type dreams, I'm talking freak show dreams that make me wonder if my baby isn't secretly trying to lure me into parental submission already by instilling fear of everything in me.
In addition to the delightful nightmares, the AM peeing is out of control. Short of cutting off all liquids at 3:00PM, I'm not sure what I can do to prevent the 1:30, 3:00 and 4:30 AM bathroom trips. Nothing funny to add here - really any advice would be much appreciated.
I'm beginning to think the fact that my mom has a knack for calling when I'm napping or already in bed for the evening, isn't so much a coincidence but payback.
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