June
29, 2004...11:30pm
gah
I think the little poops are asleep.
The
Toddler had an all-nighter last night, didn't finally go down
for an extended period until 4:30am. Hubby got home around
3:15am and I allowed him to take over at that time. heh
heh.
Teething
again, I suspect. I got her up around 10:00am this morning and
she looked it...looked like she had stuck her chubby little
finger in a light socket. So cute! Kinda.
So
ANYHOW...today I was about to reply to The Only Girl I Ever
Kissed...that's my old friend from the previous post's name now
so get with it....when I was interrupted on numerous occasions
by my pesky offspring. It's currently 11:30pm and I've been
trying to reply to her since 2:00pm.
She
emailed me back, if you were too stupid to follow that gap in
this story. She emailed me and I suspect we'll get together at
some point after many years of not getting together. She
reminded me how I was the maid of honor at her wedding and how
she was present at the birth of The Eldest, so all these years
of not talking to one another are looking more stupid than ever.
But
now my internet connection won't log me on so screw them. I'll
just type here, a portion of what I was going to type to her
because it might be of some interest:
Hubby
and Me How we
met.
When
you tell someone that you met your spouse on the internet, they
immediately draw the dumbass conclusion that you met in an
online bingo chat room or through a dating service or some other
such thing.
Not
the case. We met while role-playing in the
Dragonlance.com forums.
I
was Autumn...the fiery redheaded warrior. He was a big blue
dragon.
Exactly
how wrong does that sound? Pretty
wrong, but when you learn that he was 19 and I was 33, well boys
and girls, that kinda blows people out of the water. You think
people look at you funny because you've got stupid hair?
Try walking around the fair in a small town holding hands with a
man much younger than you.
He
chased me, mkay? I need to get that straight. A typical reply
from me to his advances would be "I'm 33" or "You
live in New Hampshire" or "You're 19" or "I
have a kid and doesn't that scare you" or "I don't
KNOW you, you're on the internet and you're nuts".
But
I think I was having too much fun. And I think he was just
too...I dunno...why do you fall for someone? Dunno. You just do.
And there is something so romantic about long distance
relationships...the mystery, the anticipation.
Yahoo
Chat Room women are wrecking homes daily. Beware. If it can
happen in the Dragonlance forums, it can happen anywhere.
I
was alone, raising my son, I wasn't dating because I was being a
mommy. I also had no interest in dating because all the single guys
I'd come in contact with were either not my type (gay, on the
lam, retarded, etc), or had some serious baggage....emotional,
chemical, or otherwise. Bleh...who needs it. "Not me,"
said I.
But
I had a computer and I discovered the internet in February of
2000. And I had a love for Dragonlance and that led me to their
site and to my future husband (so says the unsuspecting prey of
a guy who also loved Dragonlance).
And
it led me to many other friends as well, they know who they are.
I've even met a few of them in person, others I'd still like to
meet.
About
the role-playing - do you know what Dungeons and Dragons is? Ok,
well this is kinda like that without the math and a domineering
master. You and other people pretend to be a characters you've
all created and you post in a discussion forum, creating
stories.
It
can be very fun, creative, and time-consuming. And when you are
doing this, you need to (or you want to) talk to the other
people you are creating these stories with. That's where instant
messaging like ICQ or Yahoo Messenger come in.
You
get to know people that way, and that's how I got to know my
husband.
Long
story made longer - I met him online in February 2000. On October
5, 2000 I flew out to Boston alone to meet this guy.
Crazy.
After
having a panic attack in the airplane as it docked, I got off
the plane and panicked again because I didn't see him. When I
finally spied him from a distance, I had yet another panic
attack so I ducked and hid in a phone bank, sitting there saying over and over "You're
crazy, that's him, what are you doing, go home, his hair is
really red, call your dad, call the police, he looks nervous,
check your armpits to see if they smell, you've really done it
this time, get up get up GET UP."
So I
got up.
I
went to him and buried my face in his jacket. He smelled good.
You can't smell people over the internet.
We proceeded
to the parking ramp and my suitcase on rollers kept tipping over
as I pulled it along. I kept tripping on my shoes that were
floppy. I went on a moving sidewalk for the first time. I wondered why
Logan airport had dolphins and other aquatic life sketched out
in the tile floors, "Am I in Orlando? Did I get off at the
wrong city?" I asked myself. Amazing how stupid you can be
in situations like that.
He kissed me in the elevator.
We
drove in his Toyota pickup truck to New Hampshire and stayed in
a cottage on a lake.
I
molested him. He molested me. We ate crappy Chinese food, played
Star Wars monopoly, went to the fair to watch loggers chop wood
and go on carnival rides and eat fried dough and éclairs
the size of your head. He saved my life in the forest. He
discovered that my feet "smell like feet". I
discovered that his feet smell like feet. We went grocery
shopping.
It
was all very scandalous.
On
Thanksgiving 2000, he flew out to see me and my boy. He came
back again for Christmas and New Years.
On
Memorial Weekend 2001, I flew back to Boston and we drove to New
Hampshire again and I...you aren't going to believe
this...stayed with him at his parents house. His dad is 10 years
older than me and said I looked cute one morning when I came
down to the kitchen wearing only an extra-large Vikings jersey
and underwear.
The
jersey was like a dress on me, but WHAT THE HELL WAS I
THINKING?!
After
that very weird experience, we jumped in his truck and drove
1400 miles to my house surviving a flat tire in Vermont,
thunderstorms in New York, and the sedative-like qualities of
the Ohio turnpike...and he hasn't gone back.
Except
to get married. To me.
We
got married at the base of a granite waterfall on October 5,
2001 in New Hampshire in a fairytale forest with moss-covered grounds...exactly one year after our first meeting.
And
his parents didn't kill me.
About
all that, I never thought I'd do something so crazy as to meet
someone online...even by accident...and then fly out to meet
them. I had to have been off my nut. But I did it, all the while
staring that insanity in the face and saying to it "you are
crazy, but regardless all the risks, present and future, I will
no longer turn my back on potential happiness just because
getting there is kinda scary."
And
I'm so glad I had that talk with insanity. We are on much better
terms nowadays.
Thank
you, insanity, for being my friend.
And
I love my Hubby. A lot.
And
I'm online now and I'll post this and...then I'll go to bed.
It's 12:15am June 30th now.
June
28, 2004...12:01am
Phew.
Glad to know I'm
not the only mother who doesn't put up with shit from her
son's friends.
Joey
the Whiner used to be a good friend of my son, The Eldest. But
they are both "leaders" and that don't click well in a
gang of a few boys.
My
son...he's a leader because he's fun to be with and has cool
ideas, and because his mother also has cans
of soda and microwave popcorn on hand.
On
the other hand, Joey
the Whiner is a leader because when something doesn't go his
way...he bitches. A LOT.
Kinda
like me...only he's not as proficient.
So
Joey's demeaner makes kids nervous that Joey the
Whiner might tell on them and his mother will call their mother
and so on. So he gets his way. By whining. Yay!
ANYHOW
- short story...Joey the Whiner was over at our house the other
day with Timmy the Masturbator and 2 other boys I don't know and
one girl who looked "like she could handle herself with a
bunch of boys." My mother's words.
They
were playing with the garden hose and water balloons and Joey
the Whiner was all "I don't want to get wet."
Fine.
He
should have gone home to mommy at that moment, the little fucker
whiner. It wasn't Sunday morning, there was no church to attend,
he was already looking like he'd rolled himself in a tar pit.
And he was sweaty.
"Gimme
water!" I'd be saying. Is he allergic to water?
Christ.
SO -
My son throws a water balloon at him...like a pansy. That
balloon...I tell you honestly that I could have tracked it's
path as easily as it left my son's hands as I would the way I
can track an iced tea to my mouth. I was standing on the
porch...I saw it all.
The
water balloon didn't even break. It hit Joey the Whiner's arm
and fell on the ground and still didn't break.
Joey
the Whiner goes berserk.
Red-faced,
he starts SCREAMING at my son and he goes at my son with his
fists raised.
What
do I do? I holler "JOEY! Knock it off! Calm down...."
What
does Joey do? He turns on me and yells at me, "I DON'T WANT
TO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" then goes on to tell me his story of
woe.
But...he's
YELLING that story at me. Yelling, yelling, yelling.
I
tell him to "GO HOME!" and "I think I'll call
your mother" and "what would she think if she knew you
yelled at an adult that way?" and "you don't have to
come back here anymore."
I
never called his mother.
But...grandpa
saw Joey the Whiner at the park the other day and said to him
"So...I hear you made an ass out of yourself at my house...."
Joey
left the park soon after.
he
he.
Little
shit. Come after my son with fists raised. Yell at ME. On my
property.
Joey...you
have an anger management problem. You need a blog.
AND
I have
friends. Or I used to. Babies and shit happens. I found my
friend Joy's web site. She's a writer, like she always wanted to
be. I was SO happy to see her picture and know that it was her.
I always envied her hair and we haven't talked in YEARS. She
sent me a Christmas card a few years back, and I sent her one
the next year feeling like and idiot...and that was it.
That's
all.
I
sent her an email tonight. I hope she gets it 'cause I'm too shy
to call even though Hubby found her number in the book.
I
think I kissed her on the lips once when we were drunk. I'm not
sure.
I
hope she emails me back. tee hee.
If
you are reading this, Joy...I'm sorry...I have always struggled
with whether his name is spelled with a "c" or a
"k". And I got it wrong in my email.
Whoops!
hehe I'm bad at spelling!
I
love you. Kiss me again.
I
have horns. Like a unicorn...if you take one off. Then it'd be
like a unicorn. Kinda? No. I'm such a loser!
comments deleted to preserve
someone's anonymity, and because I'm too much of a retard to
know how to delete just their comments
June
27, 2004...1:30pm
Guess what?
It's cold and rainy. What a shocker.
Guess
what else?
Last night, Hubby passed up an opportunity to play DnD. Instead,
he gave me a full-body massage with nice smelly lotion.
He
gave me an orgasm, too.
Then
we had sex.
I
can't get pregnant, right? I got my tubes clipped and tied,
right? Plus I just gave birth 6 weeks ago, right?
I'm
right, aren't I? No little ovum hanging around in my recently
butchered uterus, right?
Couldn't
possibly happen, right? Not with the sterilization and the cut
up uterus. Am I right? I'm right, right?
RIGHT?!
RIGHT?!
I'm
a nervous wreck. Gotta surf the web to find information on this.
If I find a woman who got pregnant 6 weeks after having a
c-section and 6 weeks after having her tubes tied, I think I'll
shave my head in protest.
And
I won't pay my sterilization bill. And I'll sue my doctor for
child support.
You
know...they never gave me an instructions on this. Never said
what to do about getting tubes tied and if I should use some
other birth control for a couple months or what.
*blink
blink*
Impossible.
My mind is fucking with me. That's all.
I
had Apple Jacks for lunch. Maybe they make you loony.
June
26, 2004...1:30pm
You know you
want it.
Pictures. Plus...I got these pics off of a cd. They look great
on my computer. Why do they look fuzzy when I view them on the
net? Any ideas? Or maybe it's just my net connection? I know I
got more image-savvy people than myself reading this (Q? Ren?)
Danka.
...and so are pooping dogs, obviously.
(hubby found this sign in our local park)
This is the new Metallica t-shirt I told you about.
Cute?
Adorable?
Endearing?
(street suitable for marching band practice)
Awwww...he's attacking you. How sweet.
Toddler on Porch. Gee...it was sunny that day. I
should frame this one.
Have
a nice day. The gecko is currently crawling up The Eldest's
sleeve. He's screaming. I think I'll let him deal with it for
now...hard to tell if that's a "I'm having fun"
scream, or a "I'm gonna die soon" scream.
Oh...and
yet more blogs to my list of interesting reads. Enjoy them. They
taste good.
June
25, 2004...10:44pm
This new high
speed dial up makes logging on and posting so much less...you
know
The Toddler is asleep. I think.
The
Baby is asleep but is gonna wake up any time soon. I know this
because I'll peak around the corner to check on him and I'll see
his little fists waging in the air above the edges of the car
seat bed.
It's
a bad-mom-who-allows-her-baby-to-sleep-in-his-car-seat thing.
He'll be 3-years-old with the posture of The Hunchback.
I
keep thinking to myself "go pinch him". That way he'd
wake up sooner and maybe not want to stay up too late tonight
when I could be getting an orgasm.
But
then I think "no".
Orgasm?
Bleh. How boring.
I want a deep dark tunnel
filled with 8 hours of uninterrupted
sleep. At the end of that tunnel will be Godiva dark chocolates,
deep-fried clam strips, diet ginger ale, and a dvd player full
of movies I haven't seen yet...and a big comfy sofa with poofy
pillows and blankets on which to indulge in all that.
And
the curtains must be drawn to keep out the world.
Please?
I'm
close to begging.
Even
kids in the room would be ok as long as they are snuggly don't
want anything but snuggling.
And
I'll share my clam stips with them. Maybe.
Mwahahahahahahaha.
*wakes
up*
That
was a nice dream. Thank you, God.
June
25, 2004
What I did
today. It's currently 3:00pm
My life is so thrilling that it should be documented, put to
press, and sold right next to other exciting works such as The
Dictionary and TheBetty Crocker Cookbook.
1.
Got up at 3:30am with Baby after having fallen asleep around
1:00am.
2. Fell asleep again around 5:00am, got up again at 5:30am.
Stayed up with the little cock a-doodle-doo.
3. Bitched. Cried. Cuddled.
4. 8:30am - woke up The Toddler. Gave nourishment to The Toddler - toast and orange chunks
which I
surgically removed from the rind and the interior filmy orange pulp
casings. It beats peeling grapes when you're living on 2 1/2
hours of sleep and some change. Got lotsa cuts on my fingertips,
though. Dammit.
5. At 9:00am, told Hubby that I hope he enjoys sleeping alone. A
few minutes later, he got out of bed.
6. I showered and prettied myself up as best I could.
7. I yelled at the dog.
8. 10:00am - left with The Toddler to run the following errands:
Returned
breast pump. Paid $2.00 for parking during this 5 minute
stop. The Toddler said "hi" to everyone...which is
a lot of people in a busy hospital lobby and parking lot.
Went
grocery shopping for oranges, milk, pop, chicken wings,
chicken drumsticks, and Pop Tarts. The Toddler said
"hi" to everyone, which is a lot of people in a
busy grocery store on a Friday/pay day.
Left
the grocery store with $96 dollars worth of food, most of it
I won't eat, and including one Clifford balloon and one
Shrek balloon so that I could get out of that fucking store
before The Toddler reached critical mass...she was tired of
being friendly. With anyone.
Returned
one video game and one movie to Blockbuster, with 5 minutes
to spare before late fees were incurred "It's not noon
yet. It's not noon yet. It's not noon yet," says I
until the clerk notices me. *wags the video cases in the air
for the retarded clerk to see before I dropped them in the
box* I expect late fees for those items the next time I
visit because Blockbuster SUCKS. I would have waited for the
retarded clerk to actually check in my videos, but I needed
to hurry out of that god-forsaken store before The Toddler
saw and mistook for her own all the shit they got for sale
in there.
Went
to the liquor store for beer and wine because it's gonna not
be rainy this weekend and the porch is calling to me and
because I'm out of my Percocet.
Went
home.
Son
brought in groceries. He and I put them away.
Hubby
showed me The Baby who was by that time wearing the
Metallica onesy outfit Hubby ordered for him on the
internet. It says
"Metallica" and "Gimme Milk" on it with
a green monster wearing a baby bonnet and tubes going to
it's mouth from baby bottles. Only
Metallica fans (or ex-fans, Toooodddd), will
appreciate that.
Smiled.
Kinda.
Grumbled.
Cried.
Grumbled.
Cooed
at The Baby.
Smiled
at The Toddler telling her she's a good girl and "Do
you want the poop taken out of your diaper or WHAT?!"
Let
The Toddler play on the porch in her poopy pants while I
successfully (*gasp*) cleared up yet another medical bill
mistake over the phone and who the hell is Randall Reefer
and why is he on my caller ID?
Fed
The Toddler lemon yogurt while she played on the porch in
poopy diapers (try the Yoplait Whipped yogurts...they
are delicious and go well with the smell of shit in pants,
enhancing that experience in ways only I can probably
appreciate)
Cried.
I
think I bitched a bit.
Got
hugged by Hubby a bit and I didn't respond much because if I
did I would have started to cry blubbering things like
"please don't go to work" and "please stay
with me".
Did
some other stuff I don't recollect.
Don't
worry. The Toddler got her poopy diapers changed. Courtesy
of The Hub.
And
now I'm here because they're both asleep and although it's sunny
outside, it's a bit chill and the winds are reaching hurricane
strength...in my mind.
Worse Case Scenario
Woman will be arriving soon. Yesterday she brought over a new
trash bin for the basement. Last week, a new vacuum cleaner. I
wonder what goodies she'll bring today. I wonder if she's trying
to tell me something.
Oh.
My father is here. Huh? Oh. My father has been here for 30
minutes? He's been cleaning my garage. Huh.
And
everyone is awake now.
*sigh*
Time
to cook dinner - spaghetti and that garlic bread they sell in
the foil bag, buttered and spiced and ready to pop in the oven.
Only I'm gonna put cheeeeeeese on it, too. Because I'm
cool that way.
June
24, 2004....laterer??
Look what my
aunt found in an old, moldy shoe box
I'm the one on the right, losers:
Little
tramp. How old am I in that pic? Dunno. 5 maybe? I still
remember that bikini. Apparently I thought I looked pretty nifty
in it.
The
lady on the left? That's my grandmother, Lucy. She was cool
lady. She had a flair for fashion that rivaled my own.
Speaking
of shoe boxes....
The other night I made up a song while I was playing with The
Baby. I don't think it was very late in the evening, but he had
been awake for too long (my determination) and whiney for too
long (the household's determination) and I was
all babied-out by that point.
It
happens. Even when they're cute.
And
when you get all babied out, it's helpful to make up songs that
poke fun at your baby. It's a stress reliever for you, and since
babies language skills are very limited you can coo to them
soothingly things like "you're a stinky little poop factory
aren't yoooooou" and they don't get offended. They get
happy. Poking fun at your baby can be enjoyable
for them as well!
Here's
my song:
We'll
put you in a box
And put you under the bed
We'll make sure there's tissue for your head
(repeat)
Like?
And...
I'm joking. But...I felt the need to let you know
that I'm joking because I don't need child protective services
on my ass.
"This
lady...I don't know her...but she said she was gonna put
her baby in a box and stick him under the bed. Hurry. He might
be there right now."
Do
you have any idea how low to the ground my bed is? I can barely
fit my arm under there to fetch my slipper, let alone stick a
box with a baby in it under there. Pfft.
Gecko
The Eldest used the rest of his birthday money and his
"here...feed The Baby while I put The Toddler to bed"
money to buy a leopard gecko. $105 with all the supplies,
including a tub of mealworms that have taken up residence in my
fridge.
"Keep
them in the fridge or they'll turn into beetles," the
reptile helper lady at Pet Co said.
I
said to The Eldest, "Make sure the tub of mealworms is
pushed way back in the fridge. Your sister might find them and
eat them."
Speaking
of The Toddler's eating habits...
Hubby was giving her little thin slices of apple the other day.
I said "make sure the pieces are small enough so she doesn't
choke."
Actually,
I kinda spazzed that out instead of simply saying it, "MAKE
SURE SHE DOESN'T CHOOOOOOOOOOKE!"
Hubby
said, "If she can eat dog food and not choke, she can eat a
small sliver of apple."
June
23, 2004....later?
Ok...as I
wait to download newer version of Internet Explorer at 1:00am
I added some to my list of blogs. Neato.
I'm
so stupid. I should be either sleeping or fucking right now.
Alright...while
I wait for IE to download, I'll tell you a little story:
Once
Upon a Time... There was this lady who hadn't seen her nether-regions in
some time. Only recently had she been able to get a good look
down there.
Normally
this lady is a finely shorn woman, but whilst pregnant and completely
not because she got lazy...the nether-regions got scraggly.
Kinda. She thinks. She's not sure.
But
now that she can tame the nether-region with a Lady Bic
Shaver, the nether-region which shall from this day forth be
referred to as Thar By Which No Woman Shall Lick Unless She Be
Angelina Jolie And Even If That Opportunity Ever Presents Itself
Is NOT a Sure Bet At All™, she has taken great care in
taking care of the hair down there.
This
is why, one wicked evening when she was bending over is short
shorts to pick Cheerios from the living room carpeting, she was
shocked when her husband whispered to her that he could see some
hair peeking out from down yonder.
She
cried. A lot.
Then
mortified and embarrassed...she checked.
"Must
have been a frayed underwear elastic fuzzy," she declared.
Frayed
underwear whose elastic fuzzies can cause severe and almost
irrecoverable emotional damage to the fair lady of our really
crappy story is not acceptable and completely lays
to waste any efforts at pruning thy hedges.
June
22, 2004
Wish he'd
like me at noon, as opposed to liking me at midnight. The Baby
has gotten into this annoying pattern of sleeping all day with
small spurts of not sleeping thrown in, like during Toddler's
nap time thanks a lot I appreciate that. And when he really
wakes up, it's nighttime when I'm about to put The Toddler to
bed. Therefore, little dude is wanting such things like food and
holding and attention and stuff at an hour when I should be
sipping a cocktail on the porch and gazing at the warm summer
moon.
Pesky
kid.
But
since our one week of summer is over and autumn has arrived with
cold rains and cold winds and mosquitoes, and since when I was
giving aforementioned pesky kid attention this evening he smiled
at me...then I guess everything turned out just fine.
June
21, 2004
Not going as
I had anticipated. Maternity
Leave. So I had all these grand designs of spending these 9
weeks out on my porch and in my yard, enjoy nature and stuff, barbequing, hanging with the kids and Hubby.
Weather's
been rainy or cold. Or both. Sometimes it's nice, but most of
the time...well, it ain't summer. Hard to have baby out on the
porch or in the yard when it's late October.
Plus
it's been hard being alone in the evenings. I miss my hubby. We
aren't getting much sleep. During the day I'm frazzled, he's
sleepy, then he has to go to work and earn a living.
He
took two emergency days off to be with me...today and tomorrow.
I dropped the casserole dish this morning in which I had just
prepared dinner so that I wouldn't have to stress out about that
at dinner time when I'm alone and The Baby is going coo coo and
The Toddler is going coo coo and I'm going coo coo.
I
dropped the casserole dish on the floor at 9am this morning,
ruining dinner. Hamburger and cheese and tomatoes all over every
imaginable spot.
And
then I FLIPPED OUT.
"Ummm...we
had a baby a month ago and my wife just dropped the casserole
dish. Can I have the next 2 days off?" I think his phone
conversation with the manager must have gone something like
that.
Sincerely.
I've been kinda depressed and having a hard time coping with
everything. And I'm not feeling well. So I need him. We spent
the day on the porch, him and I, in the cool windy cloudy summer
weather we're having.
And
I only have 4 more weeks left. I really wish I'd perk up. It's
not that bad. Christ, woman.
Other
stuff
As I lay in
bed feeding The Baby at about 4 this morning, my husband was
sleeping on his side facing me. His mouth was open, a deep and
dark cavern.
Know
the sound water makes when you blow air through it? Almost like
air through a straw into a glass of water, only not?
Yeah.
That's the sound that was coming from his mouth. I lay there,
fascinated. I spent many minutes waiting for the stream of drool
to come pouring out of his mouth.
It
never came. Man, I was afraid he was going to drown.
Bills
Oh yes, they
are streaming in. Eep. Thank God for health insurance, but
jeezly crow.
I
sat on the phone earlier today with a billing clerk at the
clinic, trying to explain to him that my prenatal care includes
gestational diabetes visits so there should be no co-pay and
why...if you didn't make a mistake...am I only getting billed
for one of my many appointments. Someone messed up on one of my
appointments.
"Well,
they must have keyed in the wrong code when they were signing
you in blah blah blah," billing clerk dude says. He ended
that sentence with "ma'am". Oh how I hate to be called
"ma'am".
Not
my problem, billing clerk dude, but because I'm tired I'll pay
you the $15 co-pay just the same. It'll be crammed up your ass
in about 20 minutes, depending on traffic.
And
after you pull it out, you can wipe your poop off of it and cram
it up the medical receptionist's ass in Adult Endocrinology,
too.
OH
YEAH! I found
the Fisher Price Little People chicken. She magically appeared
on my living room floor.
No
one is accepting responsibility for my partial nervous breakdown
over her absence. Bastards.
*kisses
Fisher Price Little People chicken* I love you.
June
18, 2004
Happy
Birthday! To my
firstborn, who is 12 today.
He
had shrimp and steak for lunch. He bought a $100 race car with
the money we gave him that hopefully runs really fast because if
it doesn't, he's going to be distressed. We'll find out at
6:00pm.
Just
a few moments ago, we were out on the porch...The Eldest and
I...out on the porch where it's apparently gone from June 17th
to October 17th because God thinks summer weather sucks, or
something...and The Eldest was sitting on my lap.
"Awww,
I'm not going to be able to do this anymore," he mourned.
My
thigh fell asleep, but I got to cuddle with my big kid. I miss
that.
He'll
be back to telling me how I "suck" and how I'm
"mean" soon, though. For now, I'm mommy for a little
bit more. At least until his new race car ends up
"sucking", then somehow that will be my fault and I'll
"suck" too.
I
love my big kid. He has the most perfect eyebrows.
Happy
Father's Day this Sunday! To my
first husband...may he be my last.
Remember
Sex? Remember
when I probably had sex last Saturday? I thought I was getting
my period a couple days ago. Wasn't my period.
What
if it's implantation bleeding?
"What's
implantation bleeding?" Hubby asked.
"That's
the slight bleeding you get, often mistaken for a period, when
the embryo embeds itself into the wall of your uterus," I
answered.
"No.
You got your tubes tied. No. No no no nooooooooooo,"
Hubby said.
Yes.
I got my tubes tied. Yes I did.
Wouldn't
that be something else, though.
Yes.
Yes it would.
Impossible.
Improbable at the least.
ANYHOW.... So Hubby
and I took The Eldest out to lunch for his birthday today, and
when we returned to the house, Worse Case Scenario Woman was
locked in the basement.
Because
she couldn't work the doorknob.
"Help!
Help!"
And...you
are not going to believe this...there was a problem with
preparing The Baby a bottle.
You
see, the bottles we use for him now are on the kitchen counter,
next the formula. Right there. On the kitchen counter.
In a
bowl atop the microwave...a big, deep bowl (you know the one, I
posted a picture of it once)...there are some Playtex bottles we
used to use for breast milk. They are without bottoms, these
bottles. They have no bottoms because you use bags, putting the
breast milk in bags and attaching the bags to the bottomless
bottles.
Grandpa
was trying to make formula in these bottles. The ones with no
bottoms.
Darn
formula wasn't staying in the bottles.
What
I need is hidden video cameras in my house because that
scene...the one right before we got home...with Grandma locked
in the basement and Grandpa trying to make formula stay in a
bottle without a bottom...well it must have been precious.
Something
akin to precious, anyways. Yes...precious is the word I am choosing
to describe it. Precious is a generous word, and I'm a generous
woman.
I
love my mommy and daddy.
June
17, 2004
eBay
Chicken If I
wanted to, I could spend my precious time finding the entry I
made in My
Bitchy Pregnancy about the Frisher
Price Little People Farm Set, and how I get obsessive
compulsive about the times when one of the farm animals has gone
missing. I will search for days until I find the pig or the cow
or whatever God forsaken piece of farm animal HELL has gone
missing because if one of the farm animals is missing then youdon'thave
acompleteset!
Get
it?
But
I don't have time to find that link so I'll cut to the chase....
The
chicken is gone. Has been gone for 2 weeks now. Worse Case
Scenario Woman says she accidentally took it home with her in
one of her slippers. Yes I know how odd that sounds, but coming
from a woman who accidentally took home my husband's car keys,
sending us all into a frenzy of key-finding which ended with
Hubby calling me a key-loser "You key loser!"
(which I am btw, hence him initially blaming me), it ain't
so strange.
Ok..in
her slippers? That's a little strange.
ANYHOW...I
have been very patient and very non-obsessive compulsive about
this. Which is good for me.
Finally, though, I asked my father
the next time he came to help me out if mom had given him a
chicken to bring over to my house.
He
said she hadn't.
I
was patient and the next day I asked
my father again about the wayward chicken and he said that my mother said that she had
given it back to me.
No,
she had NOT.
Ain't no chicken here. No chicken in the swiveling
chicken egg nest that goes "bock bock bock bock BOCKAH!"
when it's swiveling from "just eggs" to "cracked
eggs with baby chicks in them" modes.
No
chicken. Not a painted plastic feather of such a fowl about the
house.
So -
if you got one, put it on eBay and I'll buy it for 5 bucks. No
shit. I'll pay the shipping and handling, too. Mkay?
You
think I'm joking and that, my friends, is why you will end up 5
dollars poorer when you die.
Hubby Took
today off. We spent today together. He even bought Chinese
food...which I'll eat later. It's 11:30pm. I ain't got time for
food. I've been enjoying having my hubby here.
Now
though, he's playing a video game with The Eldest (whose bday is
tomorrow), and I'm doing this typing thing. And I have to pee.
And I just peed and someone left poop marks in the toilet.
And
I've been drinking a lot of coffee lately, which I normally
don't do, and you know what? Coffee makes my poop burn. I'm
afraid to poop now.
Fireworks They sell
them at Wal-Mart. I looked for them this morning, but didn't see
them.
Hubby
comes home from a trip to Wal-Mart later on, carrying fireworks
in his arms.
"Where,"
I said, "Did you find those?"
"At
Wal-Mart," says Hubby.
"I
didn't see them at Wal-Mart," says I.
"What?"
says Hubby, "There is a huge display of them as you
walk into the store."
"Oh,"
says I, "Guess I was too intent on watching the jiggly ass
of the girl in jogging pants jiggling into Wal-Mart ahead of
me."
"Another
lesbian moment?" asks Hubby.
I
say nothing, although I was quietly disturbed. Yet oddly
pleased.
Great
Clips The
Eldest, who turns 12 tomorrow (his forearms are longer than
mine, hands as large as mine, wrists wider than mine, I'm so
depressed my baby is growing up), finally got his
hair cut today. He's been putting it off for weeks because he
doesn't like talking to the Vietnamese ladies who work at the
Great Clips joint we go to.
"I
think she asked me what I got for Christmas, but I wasn't
sure because I couldn't understand her so I just said yeah and
looked down avoiding mirror eye contact with her I felt so
stupid I'm never getting my hair cut again GAH!" he said
once.
So
he hates getting his hair cut now. I don't blame him. I hate
jibber jabbering when I get my hair cut.
But
ANYWAYS...the chick who cut his hair today was American and she
was...well...my son put it this way: "She looked like a
s-l-u-t."
What
she looked like was someone who should have been working at a
bar with dancers in cages, not at Great Clips. She had on this short dress
with that sheer black wispy shit all over it and knee-high
boots with shiny silver zippers (and they were cool, but...) and I could see the large tattoo on her thigh...partially.
I think it was a serpent of some sort.
Cool.
I don't care, but your clientele includes boys my son's age.
Dress the part, for Christ's sake. You work at Great
Clips. And it's noon.
I
think she moonlights as a dominatrix. That's the impression I
got as I sat in my chair reading Seventeen Magazine with one of those monkey-faced Olsen Twins on the cover and
waiting for my son get his hair trimmed.
She
was a bigger woman with a glint in her eye who handled cutting
tools well and really had a love of standing over people and she
had interesting choice in day-time clothing that probably just
shadowed the rubber cat-suits she prefers for evening
wear.
80
bucks, and she'll belittle you. 160, and she'll spank you too. I
had the whole imaginary world of this woman worked up in my mind, right down to the web site she operates.
Thing
is...she's probably only a Bible school teacher on the side.
It's a shame, really. I enjoyed my mean-spirited fantasy of the
Great Clips Dom very much.
And
it was mean-spirited and not at all lesbian in nature.
June
16, 2004
What bullshit
looks like:
What
does bullshit sound like? "Once you finally introduce a
bottle, I can help with late night feedings so you can
sleep."
Hubby?
He's frickin' Rumplestiltskin. I can't wake the guy up when he's
sleeping.
In
other news It's The
Eldest's birthday is this Friday. Were gonna take him to Red
Lobster for lunch. On Saturday, Hubby and my father are taking
him and his friends to play laser tag.
Hubby's
like "Can grown-ups play too?" then he giggled.
That was a little unsettling.
I
sure hope the joint doesn't require reservations because I've
totally spaced that out until about an hour ago. Yay. And I wish
I could go along because I'd like to fulfill a long standing
fantasy of mine - zapping Timmy the Masturbator with a tightly
woven ray of light until he plays dead.
No
fun? I've been
told in the comments that I don't sound very fun anymore. Well
shit a noodle. I feel fun.
You
know what I'd like, though? A date night. I need to go out to
dinner with Hubby, have a margarita or two, then go make out in
the car like a couple teenagers. That'd be fun. I could get all
spiffied up. He could get all spiffied up. Spiffy is good.
Holy
shit! It's Father's Day on Sunday. Hubby isn't a breakfast
person so perhaps I'll grill him a hamburger and serve that to
him in bed. Is that fun?
God...I
know what he'd really like, though. Me on a bun.
June
15, 2004
3:10pm Gotta get
The Toddler up soon so she doesn't stay up all night.
The
Baby's sleeping. Kinda.
I've
tried to post for a couple days now. You know how it goes.
The
Baby projectile vomited all over my neck last night. That was
interesting.
On
another note I have
gallstones. They don't bother me when I'm pregnant (which is the
exact opposite of how they are supposed to behave, or so I'm
told) and now they have started acting up again. Because I'm not
pregnant. I expected this...happened after The Toddler was
born.
Here's
a prediction - I'll have my period by the weekend. Trust me,
same pattern forming here.
Anyhow...I
woke up at 2:00am Monday morning in PAIN.
Thank
you. You know I needed a gallstone attack like I needed a lion
to pin me to the ground and lick out my innards while I was
still alive.
Found
some really potent pain killers for this very problem which I
had forgotten were in the medicine cabinet. Holy shit. I am the
lizard king, I can do anything.
And
Hubby? Well he slept on the living room floor while I writhed in
pain and then eventually slept (floated like a fucking fairy on
a cloud of narcotics) on the living room sofa - most comfortable
place to writhe in pain, I've found, when writhing in pain is
unavoidable.
He
said he slept on the floor because he loved me. What I really
need, though, is for someone to give the dude an operator's manual for living with
postpartum women. Or even something general on human psychology.
Dude's
in dire need of a lesson on the human condition. It took him a
week to finally say "I'll try to get some vacation days
off" and actually sound like he wanted to as opposed
to sounding like the idea annoyed him.
As
if Wal-Mart is a more pleasant place to be than home.
And... Merlot?
It gets me drunk so don't ever feed me any. Unless you want to
get laid.
I
think I got drunk Saturday night...I think...in a "I'm not
feeling drunk but obviously I'm acting drunk" sort of way.
Then
I believe that I had sex. Not sure, but Hubby said I had sex. I
hope I enjoyed myself.
All
I have to remember that evening by is underwear that smells like
the seashore and a video tape of me killing a June bug and
saying "Nasty Asssssss...." and "Shiiiiiit"
while scraping that dead June bug off the porch floor with a
spatula.
The
next morning, I used that same spatula to flip the French toast
in the frying pan. I'm passive-aggressive in a psychopathic sort
of way. At times.
Beauty
Treatment I got up
this morning and said "I'm going to work" and then I
left for 3 hours.
I
got my hair cut, then started a tanning program at the Girls
Gone Wild Tanning Salon. Don't go there if you are a man and get
woodies easily. I almost got a woody, and I don't even have a
penis.
After
this, I decided against getting my nails done professionally
because of the price and because of the cuts and blisters all
over my hands due to peeling and slicing grapes for The Toddler.
SO...I went to Target instead to spend my gift card which MIL
gave to me for my birthday.
Originally,
I was going to get new silverware. What I ended up getting was
new make-up with new colors, new hair goop, new nail polish, and
some new jeans and shorts to get through this post-pregger flab
stage I'm in.
I'm
tired of wearing jammie pants all day long.
And
why the hell can't you find jeans that aren't low rider jeans? I
don't want my underwear, as cute as it is, to show. Thank God
having a big butt is in vogue these days, though.
On
that note, man am I fat. I need to lose this extra stuff
I've grown on my thighs. It's not a lot of extra stuff, but it's
extra stuff just the same and my thighs have never had extra
stuff on them. It's making me feel...old? Like I'm falling
apart.
I
think I'm gonna lower the seat on Hubby's bike and ride that to
the tanning salon every day. That's a pretty good idea,
actually.
But,
my beauty treatment must have worked because Hubby said I looked
really nice. I think despite the tears in my eyes and the quiver
in my lips, I have that shiny freshly washed new car look about
me today.
My
rims are beaming.
Then
he went to work. He offered to take the day off and call in
saying The Toddler was ill or something, but I told him that was
a bad idea because what's he gonna do when she's really ill. Or
I'm ill.
When
he made the offer to call in and stay home tonight, what I felt
like doing was crying and hugging him and saying "thank you
thank you thank you" because I've been so lonely at night.
I think it'd be easier if he was gone during the day, instead.
But what I did was I said "I don't think that's a good
idea" and "I'm not in the mood for company."
What
the fuck?
I'm feeling conflicted. I'm lonely, but I want to be alone. How
stupid is that? But I do this, all the time. I want one thing, but
then I push him away instead.
I
wonder if I were to shove a pencil into my ear and into my brain,
if it'd come out coated with custard.
Someday
he's not gonna come back after I push him away. Poor guy. I
don't know how many times he told me he loved me before going to
work. I want to just smother him and be all lovey dovey like we
used to be because he's obviously wanting that.
Eh.
Ok...these
hormones can get back into line any day now. That'd be nice.
June
11, 2004
My tongue is
BLEEDING Not
really. I gotta tell you about this super bitch at the wart
doctor the other day.
BIG
waiting room, ok? Full of people. LOTSA people with pimples and
warts and hairy growths, man. Anyhow, I was sitting in one
corner alone (my big day out without the kids woo hoo!), super
bitch lady was sitting in opposite corner. She was about
60-something and was sitting with a man who looked as if he was
born sometime during the Civil War and who was about 7 feet tall
and maybe 100 bills soaking wet.
(Ok
- what is with things on people getting longer when they age.
Like ears. Does gravity have that kind of pull on ears?)
In
walks a mother. Mother was there with her 3 kids - big kid,
medium sized kid, little kid 'bout 3-years-old. Little kid was
whiny. Sounded tired to me, probably didn't go to bed until
midnight like someone else I know. Whine whine whine, hugging
his blankie, grabbing onto his mother yank yank yank at mommy's
pants. You get the idea. Little dude wanted to go home and watch
Sesame Street, or something. Don't blame him, that's where I'd
rather be.
Super
bitch lady starts talking to that ancient man she was with, loud
enough for me to hear her on the other side of the room, about
how annoying crying children are...on airplanes. Oh she
just couldn't go on enough about how it's the number one
complaint, "Number ONE!" she exclaimed, holding up a
finger to get the point across to apparently deaf ancient man.
Super
bitch's mouth wouldn't stop running about annoying crying
children. Lady, why don't you just tell that mother that her kid
is annoying you? Huh? Why be coy? Bitch.
I
wanted SO BADLY to say "You know what really annoys me?
Rude super bitches who can't keep their mouths shut. That
child...music to my ears, compared to you. You should be more
concerned about what's coming out of your own mouth, super
bitch."
Like
that mother was there just to annoy super bitch. Made a special
trip...to annoy super bitch. Think that mother was enjoying
herself? Doubtful.
When
the nurse called that mother in, that mother grabbed her little
kid and said "We'll go now so your crying doesn't continue
to annoy this woman."
Oh
and super bitch was all shocked and all atwitter that the mother
spoke to her in such a fashion. "That was bored crying that
boy was doing...she should have just put something in his
mouth," super bitch said to ancient man who probably didn't
hear a damn thing she had been going on about.
Well,
super bitch, I got something I'd like to put in your mouth.
Yeah.
Don't you hate it when you stew about something and go home
thinking "I should have said this" or "I should
have said that"? Yeah.
And
my nipples were leaking they entire time that little kid was
whining. That was fun.
Just
so you know If anyone
ever touched a hair on my daughter's head, I'd kill 'em. She is
so innocent and so full of light and life and sprinkles and
sparklies...it breaks my heart to know that hers will be broken
someday.
That
said...little miss fancy pants isn't napping during the day now
because it's the only way I can get her to bed in the evening
without her foaming at the mouth. This means that from about 3pm
until 8pm, I have to jump around the house like a circus clown
riding on the back of a pony and twirling flaming hula hoops on
my nipples in order to keep her awake until bedtime.
Little
miss fancy pants is going to have to cut the comedy pretty soon
so that mommy doesn't lose her fucking mind.
Hubby Isn't mad
that I called myself the bride of frankenstein in my little
"about me" section. I thought he'd be all mad,
"Does that mean I'm Frankenstein?"
I
had my speech for him all planned out had he protested.
"No...that's
a huge misconception. You see, Frankenstein is the
brilliant (albeit crazy) scientist. That monster you see
lumbering about the movies is Frankenstein's monster.
See? So you are really the brilliant scientist, darling."
I
was gonna leave the "crazy" part out.
Oh...and
can we bury Reagan already? Christ almighty, flying him from
coast to coast and back again, on the television all day. Be
done with it already, fuckidy fuckaroo, dude wanted to spend
billions on a missile defense system that if it worked properly
would destroy maybe a dozen of the 10,000 nukes the Soviets
would be launching at us.
Don't
quote those statistics. I'm a moron. And it's been 20 years.
June
10, 2004
Maiden Voyage Welcome
to my new site.
I
figured that since I'm no longer pregnant that it'd be stupid to
continue with My
Bitchy Pregnancy. Most of you will be coming to this site as
a result of visiting that site, so I'm not going to spend
any time explaining myself because you already know me.
But
I will say this - since I'm no longer pregnant, I'll have more
stuff to flap my yapper about. Yay for you? Possibly.
I
have to tell you, though, that I have been shooting around names
for this new site in my mind for a while like Bumblebitch
or Bubblebutt or Big Titted Woman With Absolutely NO
Breastmilk So What Good Are They Except For Squeezing And Going
"Honk Honk!" or I'm Never Going to Europe Now
or I Wanna be a Rock Star or I Hate
You or I Really Really Hate You or Saint Bitch (my old site's name) and I'm a
bit nervous with the one I chose - Momster. That's The
Eldest's name for me and it just kinda kept creeping to the
forefront of my brain.
I'm
nervous about the Momster name because this isn't meant to be a
mommy blog. There is much more to me than mommy. That said,
being mommy is a big part of my life so I'll be writing about
that. That said, I still intend on talking dirty to you.
It's what I do best.
I
didn't become mommy because I don't know where my vagina is.
June
2004 Archives
