Jezi's Jibba Jabba

NOT THIS GUY

2011-09-01T22:17:00.000-07:00

Every so often I check out the local paper from the county in which I blossomed until I up and left for a higher education. It's very entertaining. In fact I have posted the local police report on here before because you read about someone's change being stolen out of their car or a chainsaw that went missing. Or even some "skids" that disappeared from the local tractor distributor. Well, once again I sought and found cheap thrills from this paper. On the front page was a picture of a kid. Well, at first glance I thought "kid", nothing more. Kinda creepy looking, with dark, sullen eyes like someone who doesn't sleep or smokes too much weed. He had a smirk on his face like he's constantly got something up his sleeve and we'll never find out what it is. It was this guy:

Not sure why the black box to his left, but whatever. Anyway, I then see the caption. His title, so to speak. And as it turns out he is the new Youth and Family Minister at our local Lutheren Church. I'm alarmed. I don't know why. But if you are being introduced, and especially if you are to make an impression on parents whose youths you will be ministering, wouldn't you want to clean it up a little. Where was God when this picture was taken? I already don't like the guy. He looks smarmy. Icky. And he's only 20. He's still a youth! Oy. Call me crazy. Although I guess he has good charisma. Then again, Hitler had a lot of that too and we all know that went over like a Led Zepplin. However, maybe he'll rock and do great things for kids. Maybe had he counseled or ministered the couple below, they wouldn't look like they got their engagement photo taken amidst flying forward on a sex swing? Or like she's his mother pressing her teen aged son up against her breasts. Like this:

What goes on in this town?

Don't Forget Me When I'm Gone

2011-08-25T00:19:00.000-07:00

Wow. It's been a long time since I've blogged. It's ok though. I only have two followers so it's cool. Not that I don't care about my followers. You know who you are. SHOUT OUT!

Amazing things have happened. I gave birth to a beautiful baby boy. He was fat. He's now six months old and fatter yet. I love fat babies. And he's a good baby. Initially I was worried because he was high maintenance like our daughter, where you couldn't put her down and he would cry. He took only brief cat-naps and to get him to sleep you had to bounce him violently in a bouncy chair or swing him on high speeds. At one point I sent my boyfriend to the store for some rubber traction stickers to put on the bottom of our nursery "glider" because I had to rock with such force that the whole chair would move across the room. That was not cool. The stickers worked wonders! Happy rocking it was.

Then I remember the sleep bible. The book. The words of wisdom that saved us last time around. I thought I'd remembered everything about sleep patterns of infants, but once I started skimming the pages, I realized I'd forgotten most everything. OH SNAP!

Anyway, we got back on track. Our son still does not sleep as well as our daughter did. With her you could lay her in any crib, anywhere and she'd go to sleep without a peep. Our son, not so much. Even at six months he likes to complain before passing out. Or maybe he forgets each time that he has a thumb or finger he likes to suck on to soothe himself. I don't know. In general, I can't complain. He goes to bed at 5:30pm and sleeps until 6am. Well, we don't go to him before six unless he sounds like he has his head caught in one of those dangerous positions between the mattress and bumper. Most times he wakes up gayly around 5:30am and has a little party until we get to him. I refuse to "train" him to get up before 6am.

Another big event is my pending 20 year high school class reunion coming up this weekend! I've been helping plan it. I'm very anxious about it all, hoping it goes well. I found a fun outfit to wear. I lost a little weight. On average I have gained .75 or 3/4 of a pound every year since graduation. Not too bad. I'm not fat. AND..I JUST HAD A BABY! HAHAHA. Kidding of course.

So ya. I don't know how much longer I'll be at this blog. I'm thinking of starting anew with True Confessions of a Mediocre Mother. Stay tuned. I will lead you there if I go and you wish to follow. TOODLES!

Every Bit of Humor Helps

2011-06-30T19:58:00.000-07:00

I received a swimsuit today. One of four, yes FOUR, that I ordered online in search of the perfect..AHEM..miraculous fit. And I love it. And miraculously, it fits. Not like in the picture of course, but isn't it cute?

The first three didn't excite me like this one did.

So anyway, I like it sooo much that I thought I would tell all my girlfriends about it. I open my email and find the "payment confirmation/shipping confirmation" one and as I'm scrolling down and scanning the words looking for the name of the suit I see this:

Shipping Method: FEDEX Ground (Delivered by the attractive, shorts-wearing FedEx Guy in 3-5 business Days)

That kinda cracked me up. But it got me to thinking...do they not hire women?

And just in case you have to have it too, it's a Tommy Hilfiger Noepe Patterned Tankini. Dig it.

UNDIES UPDATE

2011-06-30T19:32:00.000-07:00

They were mine. Yup. I feel like such an idiot. A ruh-tard. I started doing some of the heaviest thinking to date and realized that they had the same exact cut and ribbon as another pair that I do wear; ones with cherries on them. They came in a pack of three. Maternity underwear. Yup. Shame on me. They matched up perfectly, just like the glass slipper in many ways. Sorry boyfriend. Sorry mind. Sorry blog. I guess I continue on waiting for the cheating to happen cause apparently it hasn't happen just yet.

The Case of the Mysterious Panties

2011-06-23T21:31:00.000-07:00

Bloomers, really. Pink. They come down in the front to form a "V" met with a tiny little ribbon tied in a bow. They are high cut, and certainly not small. On the back written in red is the cursive word LOVE. I studied these undies today after pulling them out of my drawer in effort to get ready to go to work. They were slightly folded and when I grabbed them I had anticipated that they were a pair of my pink maternity bloomers from '07 when I was prego with Miss M. What I didn't expect was that not only were they NOT that pair, but they weren't even mine or any I'd ever owned! Or were they? Do I possibly (but not really) remember buying a multi-pack and this pair was amongst them but because of their cheesy nature I stuffed them away and forgot about them? Nah. They look too tired for that. Although not worn enough to have stained. And lord knows we women stain crotches rather quickly with our expected "monthly" showing up unexpectedly and all. I kept my cool and started to run down the possibilities that would allow my man to continue to reside in our house.

T-bone? She's one of my best friends. She has spent many nights at our house and even done laundry there but that was a long time ago and even so, these didn't strike me as Tre's type. Regardless I call her immediately. She didn't really have a recollection of such an item but couldn't rule it out. I agreed, I didn't really know anyone who would advertise "Love" on the rear of their bloomers. She tried to calm me and assure me that "he" just wasn't the type and never would do that. But would he?

O? As in Wicky. She stayed at our house to help out when I had baby number two. These were slightly folded and she did fold the undies she washed. She denied the claim. Bummer. They probably were too big for her anyway. She suggested asking my Mom.

HAHAHAHAAAA!

That's funny because my Mother, like O herself, is 65. Now, my Mom is not huge but her ass is on the wider side and very flat and I guarantee you she has never purchased anything remotely close to the undergarment in question. Besides, she's strictly into silk. Then why would I suspect Wicky you wonder? Unlike my Mom, she is into stuff like that. She likes leopard print. 'Nuff said yo.

I sent out a couple more texts. One to my bestie from high school and one to my neighbor from my old hood growin' up. DENIED! DENIED! Both have spent nights at my house on many occasions. They could easily have gotten left behind in the mix, especially since my man and I always give up our room to our guests. Except for T-bone. She's too much of a mess with her C-pap machine and stinky feet. She gets the couch.

So, here I am. The mystery continues. When I discussed my perplexing panty issue with my other half he was just as confused. He suggested maybe I got them in a bag with all the baby clothes people have been handing down to me. Maybe? Quite possible, although JRae is known to try to convert you to wearing "thongs" (no thanks!) and the other two hand-me-downers aren't the right size or the type. I guess I can't say that for sure. Maybe their marriages are in need of some extra "love" if you get my drift. But I can tell you right now, men don't pay attention to your underwear. Except that they would rather see you without them.

It's not like I think I'm being cheated on. In fact I'm ninety nine percent sure that's not what's going on here. But I wouldn't be human if it didn't lay some "what ifs" out on the table. I grew up NOT trusting men. I can safely say that I know several unfaithful men. I've been on both sides and on the outside looking in. I grew up answering threatening phone calls from mistresses and then later questioning the hickeys on my boyfriends' neck that I did not create. Shit like that followed me into the college years as well. "Oh really? She's a friend from High school? Do you always grind on the dance floor with friends from high school?" Hey..I wasn't born yesterday. But the last time I thought my guy was being unfaithful I frrrrreeeeeeaked out. My blood boiled and I wanted to kill someone. I found this list on a piece of paper by our computer in the bedroom and it wasn't my handwriting. WHAT THE FUCK? I'd been waiting for it like I do in every relationship and now the moment was here. He had no clue how to explain it. He was scared and baffled. Then it hit me. T-bone. She'd been over the previous weekend while my man was up north fishing. She took the Aldi ad and went online to search some things out. That list was her grocery list. I felt so stupid. And it was actually Mr. Faithful that figured it out.

So I'm not all that concerned. Curious, rather. With just a hint of "what if". What if she left them there on purpose. What if she crawls in through our egress window at night. There is no screen. Although judging by the larger nature of these panties it's unlikely she'd go unnoticed and without a struggle. Wait..they aren't that big. In fact they would probably fit me. Maybe they are mine. Maybe I just don't remember. But what if....

When ya stumble upon some soft porn...

2011-06-09T19:47:00.000-07:00

I was searching for pajamas on amazon.com. What a score!

THIS IS NOT OKAY

2011-05-26T00:37:00.000-07:00

There are several things to not like about the following outfit. Then again, maybe "camel toe" is making a comeback.
http://www.eonline.com/photos/gallery.jsp?galleryUUID=6#124664

HEY YO!

2011-02-10T18:13:00.000-08:00

Thought I'd blog one time before I pop this pregnancy. I'm due to go in roughly 2 weeks and can't flippin' wait! I admit, I'm gonna miss this gravid uterus, well knowing it is my last. People are so nice to you when you are gestating, it's unbelievable. It's instantaneous too. Since my belly has visibly been "with child" I don't think I've encountered one rude individual. People's voices change when they speak to you. Their eyes light up with multiple questions. Even men who have never even had children show interest in your future offspring.

On the other hand, I hate attention so I won't miss it all that much.

I'm anxious to meet the little guy. To hold him and hear his little stretches and grunts. To find out if he's genetically normal and who he looks like. Does he really have a pig nose? Cause it looks a little piggish on ultrasound. Does he have hair? Cause I don't see any. My daughter had a ton. I had a ton. My boyfriend had none. Will he be over nine pounds? I was nine twelve. My boyfriend was just over seven and our daughter was just over eight. Will he have a birthmark? Those tend to run in the family. Maybe he won't have any pigmentation! Or a hemangioma on his face, like so many babies born these days. Apparently they go away over time. Or will he be perfect like our daughter was..well, until the labial adhesion discovery. HA!

So ya, my body is ready to have this kid. My house, on the other hand, is not quite there. Bottles are not washed, but I hope to not use bottles right away. I have a few things left to buy, like a baby boy Boppy cover and a more boyish floor arena. Will he be okay in a pink Bumbo? We shall see!

I've also decided that for quite some time I will use this blog to journal things about the new addition. I didn't do that with the first baby and when it came time to scrapping her first year I couldn't remember any milestones or funny things except for her "scooting" style of transportation. I didn't think you could possibly forget when she rolled, when she sat up, when she started scooting. I forgot it all.

For this baby however, it'll all be right here.

Until then....

WHA HAPPEN?

2010-12-30T18:36:00.000-08:00

I've never had a full-blown crush on Ashton or anything, but I have always considered him Eye Candy from time to time. Consider it NO MORE! Crush OVER! And by the looks of things his wife might be trying to sabotage Ashton crushes the world over. Friends don't let friends dress...well...gay! Check it..

http://www.eonline.com/photos/gallery.jsp?galleryUUID=6#106142

I couldn't steal the pic, so I could only provide a link. Well worth the click though.

Out Of Words

2010-12-29T20:46:00.000-08:00

Maybe it's the holidays. Maybe it's living with a chatty toddler. I'm not sure what it is but I am out of words. I have multiple things I could blog on about but I can't seem to get myself to do so. I'm posting this just 'cuz I didn't want December to feel left out! HA!

Trader who?

2010-11-30T23:10:00.000-08:00

It is with great pride that I announce I am no longer a Trader Joe virgin!

confetti falling and balloons dropping

For the past few years I have been invited on trips to and tasted many a snack from, and today I finally stepped foot in.

The adventure was quite overwhelming. It's a small store full of food gimmicks, if you will. Certainly you have your peripheral healthy foods like any grocer does; veggies, meat and dairy. The ground beef and other meats seemed a tad "over packaged" unlike the fresh look you get at say, CUB FOODS where they plop a brick of burger on a pink sheet of Styrofoam and clumsily wrap it with Saran wrap so it appears as though they just finished grinding the cow on site. TJ's uses very tight and sturdy sealing with labels that look as though they were crafted at scrap camp. Although lovely to look at, I'm wondering how long the meat sat around waiting for all this fanciness to be assembled!

Speaking of cows, if you haven't seen the movie Temple Grandin, you should see it immediately. Wonderful film!

Anyway, I then found the frozen isle which was somewhat of an appetizer circus. They had it all. Fun foods galore! Goat cheese pastry pinwheels in my cart please. Ooooh, salmon and spinach crepes! What's this? Swiss Gruyere flat bread with roasted onions? Mmmmm. Soooo glad we have an extra freezer in the basement! Step aside venison chops and pizzas, Trader Joe's is movin' in. Of course I didn't dare get too many of these fun foods and opted instead for items that my lovely man could enjoy as well, such as potato cakes and chicken verde burritos. (Save some for me please!). Did I mention the candy cane ice cream? It was a toss up between that and the pumpkin ice cream or mango sherbet. Next time!

I was just about finished with my frozen gluttony when this obnoxious desire to flee came over me. I wanted to abandon ship and run. This was absurd! I don't need this happy crap! I'm not hosting any upcoming event anytime soon. But I stayed with my cart and shamefully exited this isle of delight for more practical things, like cereal.

I brought a few of the items to work. The jalapeno cashews were VERY spicy, and I'm a spicy kinda gal but these left blisters. The fresh cob salad was less than exciting and the lobster sushi tasted like a tuna salad sandwich wrap somehow. I pray this isn't indicative of how my freezer goods at home will measure up!

Lunch tomorrow..steamed Gyoza with gyoza dipping sauce! Can't wait. Actually, I'm hoping it all sucks. I really do not want to ever go back to that store because there were sooooo many fun items I refused to even glance at that I'm afraid I'll cave.

Maybe I need a Trader Joe contraceptive...pronto!

The gift that keeps on giving

2010-11-23T17:49:00.000-08:00

Nope. Not talking about Herpes. Check this out:

I assure you this is not a joke. So pray tell...WHO and WHY?

Are you the person playing lawn games and don't want to set down your beer? I imagine most lawn games require bending, jumping, and reaching. So how is it this would be good for that? Or maybe you are doing yard work? Again, a lot of movement required. Are you in construction and need both hands free at all times? Not good to "drink and saw", much less hammer or climb a ladder. I just don't get it. Maybe you want to mow and drink? If your lawn is sooo big you can't go the distance without a beer, then you should have a riding mower equiped with a cup holder. Golfer? I'm not one myself but I've seen people tee off and again, there is a lot of hip action in that swing!

So ya, I need help here. Digame por favor...WHO and WHY?

Can Someone Put A Hood On This Vent?

2010-11-17T23:24:00.000-08:00

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale deeeeeeper....exhale louder.

This morning when I got home I couldn't park in the garage since my S.O.'s truck was in the way. It shouldn't have mattered, but I felt aggravated for really stupid reasons. We've been together 6 years now and have lived together a tad over 3 of those. From the minute I moved in he has continually reassured me that I will someday be able to park in the garage. "But I really don't need to park in the garage, really...I've never had a garage and don't need one now" I would say over and over. But he insisted- especially now that we have this new car- that I park in the garage.

Okay. I will.

I did, after all, give up my automatic starter that I OH SO CHERISHED in the winter and the hotter parts of summer. Our garage is heated, so it would be nice to get into a warm car, with clear windows to boot! So I have started parking in the garage.

But this morning I couldn't so I parked in the front driveway. I then sleep for roughly five, extremely interrupted hours and then get up to pick up Miss M from daycare and the minute I open the car door it begins beeping at me.

Huh?

I try to start it and NO GO. Huh? Hmph?

I take off the "key less" knob and try the auxiliary key to start it. Nope. Nada. Grrrrrrrr.

Then I realize it's not in park. The S.O. did not put it in park when he got back from dropping Miss M off at daycare. Put it in Park..problem solved. Zoom Zoom to daycare.

I get to daycare and pack up the kid, unknowingly with the wrong boots (Sorry "P"). We get home and the demands of Toddlerdome kick in immediately.

I wanna (s)nack. I wanna watch Dora. I up. (She feels the need to constantly remind me that she is not napping). I want my blankie. I want my lamb. I want juice. I want chocolate milk. I want trick-o-treat. I want movie. Then periodically she'll start whining or even crying cause she's trying to cover up with her blanket and failing, or trying to do something ridiculous and can't.

So up and down I am as though I'm at Catholic mass waiting on my princess (yes, well aware it's my fault). All I wanted was to have some coffee, check email and Facebook and slowly continue to WAKE THE FUCK UP! Nope. Not gonna happen. So I try to clean and she follows me around wanting to help, which anyone with a three year old knows they don't help, they just slooooow you down significantly.

I wanna push button. I wanna pour soap. I hold it for you?

NOOOOOO! Then I try to sit again, threatening a nap if she doesn't quietly play by herself. This backfires as she thinks it's funny and decides my legs need to be a slide and my back is turned into "play monkey bars". Then she starts poking me. Poke my belly..giggle. Poke my face...giggle. I'm losing it, although she doesn't know that. I honestly want to scream "GET THE FUCK OFF ME" but I gently pick her off me and explain that mommy doesn't feel good and doesn't want to play right now. Riiiiiiight. Then more demands come. I finally decide to get ready for work. It's my only way out. She won't follow me into the shower.

So the S.O. comes home and I make a comment about not being able to park in the garage and mention how he left my car in drive. His response:

"I wish all I had to worry about all day was whether or not I would be able to park in the garage."

He said that at roughly 4:45pm today. It's now after midnight and I'm still livid by that remark. Because.. not only in that short few hours from waking up and getting our daughter have I had to constantly please her and take care of her needs while sacrificing mine (cause that's what being a mother is all about, right?) while also managing to do chores and hang up HIS clothes that have been in a folded "clean" pile on the dryer for about a week, but also I have come to work and had nothing but complete insanity in the first five hours of my shift.

My first patient arrives 2 hours late and when I go to call her name she's on the phone and ignores me. I say it again, this time first and last and LOUDLY and she then gets off the phone. I begin scanning her pregnant belly and ask it she knows the gender of the child to which she answers "it's a boy. I really wanted another girl cause I have a boy and I don't know how I'm going to feed him cause they eat a lot". After the test I call the doctor with results only to be bawled out for doing the wrong test, and accused of changing the exam order. I won't even go into it, but basically this shitty OB doc ordered the wrong test and wanted someone else to take the blame. Then I go back into my patients room to deliver the OB pics that she basically instructed me on how to take by saying things like "oh, that's a good one right there, can you print that?" "Can you get another picture like that but with both eyes?" "Oh, stop there and take that one". Grrrrrr some more. Anyway, her boyfriend is now seated in my scanning chair and scrolling through the images on the ultrasound machine like know how to operate it and everything! WTF? The woman then comments about playing with my 70,000 dollar machine. Ummmm, more like a quarter of a mil! He continues scrolling and requesting certain pictures he sees and I just can't handle either of them anymore. He makes some comment about how I gave her a pic she was hoping she wouldn't get...I dunno...kill them? Can I?

Meanwhile my coworker is getting swung at by a patient who got up off her cart and was swearing and wandering the halls. Security finally escorted her back up to her room. That was a lovely blow up. It would be much appreciated if a nurse could tell us that the patient they are sending down to us is belligerent and violent and may need a "one on one"or restraints or sedation or in her case ALL THREE!

The night just continued that way. My next patient wouldn't stop talking throughout the entire exam. I was scanning the arteries in her neck, so this made for a crappy exam. It also distracted me to the point where I started mislabeling shit and forgetting to delete mistakes etc. She was so nice (for a change) that I didn't have the heart to ask her to stop talking! Then another patient comes with her son who won't shut up. I don't think people realize that I actually do need to concentrate on what I'm doing. Then people start asking me "what's that?" on the screen and don't realize there are thousands of pixels of different shades of grey on my monitor and I have no idea what group of pixels in particular you are asking me to identify. This woman's son wanted to know EVERYTHING. They are told I can't give them results right? Well they try to get creative by working around all that. "So, if there was a clot, what would it look like?" "So if the vein was blocked would you hear that noise?" "So, how do you know there isn't a clot?" Then you get all the basic questions "how long have you been doing this?" "where did you go to school?" "how long was the schooling?" "do you read the test?" "will we get the results tonight?" "will we talk to a doctor when we get to our room?" ET CETERA fucking ET CETERA.

Another patient had his son with to interpret for him. Little did I know the hospital had called an interpreter in for this patient. She shows up long after the patient was gone and while I'm trying to finish up paper work on another patient she is requesting a thousand things.

Do you have a phone?
Do you have a fax?
Can you sign this paper?
Can you fill this out?
Can I use your computer?

She's talking my ear off while I'm trying to get other shit done and I don't really care that she just got paged 15 minutes ago to come in for the patient who is long gone. I don't care. GO AWAY!

Then a nurse calls from a floor to ask about an ultrasound I'm supposed to go up and do bedside. The patients tube feeding was turned off at 5pm and she was told I would be up at 9:30 to do the test. Nope. Sorry. I'm trying my best and I'd rather she be "npo" at least six hours. She was told four. Although that's our policy or standard for tube feedings, I'd rather it be six since it's late at night and people are VERY gassy at night just from breathing all day.

Then the S.O. calls to chat. He vents about his day and then I try to vent about mine and everytime I start talking there is obnoxious background noise. I'm already pissy. I try to be calm. First I hear a blow torch going which sounds like someone handed the phone to a tornado. I stop talking and wait for the noise to stop. It does, I proceed only for the torch to start again. "Geeeezus, what are you doing?" I ask. "Trying to start the fire". Okaaaaay. Then that pesky interpreter comes back with more needs. I tell him I have to go and call him back later. When I do, he starts talking about stuff and I listen. Then I try to start to vent again and when I do I hear this clammering, hammering sound in my ear. OH MY GOD! Are you kidding me? "I think I have to let you go" I say. "do you even understand why?" I ask. "I guess sort of" he says which is basically saying YES to please me. "I'm done now..I'm listening he says". At this point I can't speak. I want shit out of my night and it's everywhere I turn and I'm going to lose it. "Do you wanna finish your story before you let me go?" he asks. Then I get choked up. I actually start to cry. "No...I just have to hand up".

Click.

I pull myself together enough to go do this bedside exam. The room is packed with IV's and the only way I can plug my machine in is by throwing cords over the head of the bed and dance around the room to search for a plug-in. I can barely even get near the patient to scan her. She's snoring (she's in SO MUCH PAIN) and she has a gigantic ostomy bag covering most of her abdomen, right where I'm supposed to do her ultrasound. I finally manipulate the room so I can kinda get close to her torso. It's an ugly exam. I can't see shit for several reason. She continues to snore. I call it quits with the best I can do. It's just par for the course of my evening.

So ya. Parking in the garage is ALL I ever have to worry about. No, my tool belt didn't break. My nail gun didn't blow up and pieces of the siding weren't missing. You're right. I should just be thankful that I had another driveway to park in.

I DIDN'T THINK IT WOULD HAPPEN TO ME

2010-11-11T21:15:00.000-08:00

If I fart, I pee.
If I cough, I fart.
So I guess that means when I cough, I also pee?

Regardless, it's all so gross. I've heard rumors a plenty of women having loss of bladder control after multiple (meaning 2 or more) children, but my multiple in the making is just that! Technically, I've still only had one child! Hopefully this is just a pregnancy thing. It's alarming sometimes since I am prego, to feel that wetness "twain ma legs" cause I imagine it's the same feeling you get when you leak amniotic fluid. Oh joy. Kegels Kegels Kegels! The easiest do-them-while-you-sit-and-do-nothing exercise and I still can't remember to, or make myself do them. What's that all about? It's Kegels or an eventual bladder sling? C'mon girl..get with the program.

Other random things I never thought would happen to me:

* I never thought I'd purchase Summer's Eve vaginal wipes for that PTA (Pits, Tits and Ass) shower my mother always warned me about. But I've come to that point in my life where I have less time to pretty up by taking a long, hot shower with a full leg/pit shave (maybe even a yoo-hoo trim). Don't vomit just yet...I do indeed keep clean and still shower, just not daily like I once did. It doesn't help things that my hair actually looks better each day it goes unwashed. Lucky me! And did you know they now make Dry Shampoo in case your head tends to lean toward greasy after a day or two? Who knew? LOVE IT!
* I never thought I'd be researching microderm abrasion treatments before turning 40. Something wicked is happening to my skin. When I smile, the creases don't subside. My cheeks look sunburned and are actually peeling without any contact with the sun whatsoever. I have brown spots attending the funerals of adult acne. Crows feet. Lines between my eyes from not wearing sunglasses, or possibly from my Lasik surgery starting to fail. I'm considering spending a Benjamin on some designer hydrating formula that probably doesn't work. I've already puchased a few wrinkle creams and moisturizers that got rave reviews on the Today Show, only to stash them away with other unsuccessful items such as my hemorrhoid cooling gel. Yes, that would be another "I never".
* I never thought my body would stop wanting sex. My mind still wants it. My common sense and desire for a healthy relationship still wants it. Lord knows my boyfriend still wants it, but my libido ain't havin' it. Hopefully, eventually, I can add a Sexual Peak to my "I never". I used to laugh at my married friends when they spoke about the rarity of their intimate romping claiming "I will never not want sex" and now I never thought I would never not want sex. Disturbing.
* Along the same lines, I never thought I'd see so much vagina. I had no idea going into this profession that it was so...vaginal. And in all the vagina I've seen, I've learned that I am in the minority when it comes to pruning my hedge, so to speak. Lately I've been thinking of finally goin' for that Brazilian. I suppose that is going to cost another Benjamin. But maybe once I finish (laser) removing the hair above and around my lips up north, I can afford to attack the lips down south. I wonder if they can somehow permanently remove nasal hair?

I never...

To be continued.

My Home Town

2010-11-04T22:42:00.000-07:00

Every Thursday night at work I look forward to visiting http://www.mcrecord.com/. It's our local newspaper The Record from the home town and county that I grew up in. It's very entertaining. Here's just one example of why. The following is the weekly crime report:

Oct. 14 — Scrap iron and copper items were stolen from a property on 330th Avenue in Foley.
Oct. 17 — An older model Northwestern skid loader, yellow in color, with a bucket and fork bucket, was stolen from a residence on 330th Street in Motley. Value of the skid loader was $5,000. Later, the owner reported two three-wheelers and frame/wheels for a four-wheeler were also stolen.
Oct. 17 — A property on Skyview Road in Hillman was trashed.
Oct. 17 — A cup with $50 worth of change was stolen from a residence on 200th Street in Little Falls.
Oct. 18 — A 3-foot by 2-foot wooden sign was stolen from the end of a driveway on Quarter Road in Pierz. The sign said “Uncle Bob’s Cabin” and was valued at $100.
Oct. 19 — Someone broke a window in a loader that was parked in a pit west of Genola.
Oct. 20 — A Lincoln brand arc welder valued at $400, a radiator for a Super A Farmall tractor valued at $150, a 10-speed bicycle, a 1980s model Remington brand chain saw and a 12-inch crescent wrench were stolen from a garage on property on 10th Avenue in Burtrum.

And if that isn't entertainment enough, check out the following link. Now, I have had a baby and thankfully all Mom's think their baby is the cutest because (and some of you will argue) NOT ALL BABIES ARE CUTE. See for yourself:

http://www.stgabriels.com/Sept2010storkreport.html

Maybe you are fretting about retiring your plow. If so, find comfort in this story:
http://mcrecord.com/archives/476789/swanville-will-continue-to-see-the-same-old-plow-truck-this-winter/

You can also visit the Society news and read about engagements here:
http://mcrecord.com/archives/category/society/engagements/ I don't recognize anyone anymore since everyone from my town that is my age, except me, is already married.

Or check out wedding photos in search of the good ole "up nort" spirit such as this glamorous shot :
http://mcrecord.com/archives/476623/melissa-stuckmayer-kenneth-kasella/

Gotta LOVE John Deere. Which reminds me of something my Grandma once said regarding my Grandpa's obsession with his lawn: "If I was a lawn mower, Bob would ride me all the time!"

Amen Grandma.

Cat and Mouse

2010-10-28T19:02:00.000-07:00

This morning when I got home from work I "put out", for lack of better words. I rarely do that since I'm so exhausted from a twelve hour shift that when I hit the warm bed I want nothing but SLEEP!

All day I've been called things like beautiful, hot, sizzling, sexy and he even told our daughter that "Mom still sends shivers up my spine, maybe even more so now than in the beginning."

I need to do that more often. It sure makes for a lovely day.

Baby You Can Drive My Car

2010-10-26T19:36:00.000-07:00

And baby I love you... Tootooot, tootooot ya!

I'm not sure what people really know about me, but what they might not know is that I don't like attention, therefore I do not brag.

Enter BLAGGING.

As one can see, I have a scant following and those that periodically follow are located half way around the world and for some reason that makes them as good as anonymous to me (no offense) and so I'm going to take this opportunity to BLAG! Yup, that my term for bragging and blogging. BLAGGING! HA!

After a few weeks of researching and test driving 7 passenger crossover vehicles I have finally purchased a new car!

Drop confetti here.

The search was not fun. I don't do well with making decisions (another thing you may not know about me) especially now that my decisions effect others. I actually lost a lot of sleep over this whole car shopping ordeal (most of you know about my affliction with anxiety) and drove very badly the past couple of weeks ("I'm an excellent driver"-Rainman) because I was constantly checking out other vehicles on the road. I ruminated daily about whether to buy new or used, or keep my current PAID OFF vehicle and continue to ~~spend~~ save extra money. I couldn't stop worrying about what would happen if I bought a car and then it blew up, like so many have in the past. I stalked Car Soup hourly in search of the perfect vehicle and prayed (jokingly, since I would never really waste a prayer on a material possession) for a sign so I'd know when I'd chosen the right wheels for our expanding family! Ya think it wouldn't be so hard?

I learned a lot in this process, however. The old me would be driving around in a lightly used Toyota Highlander right now, cursing that inflated monthly car payment. You see, I've wanted a Highlander for a few years and when I have my mind set on something....look out! But the revised, somewhat reprogrammed me, is the new owner of a 2008 Mazda CX9 Grand Touring AWD.

That's not the car, but mine looks just like it. It has everything! I've never felt so overprivileged and spoiled! Heated leather seats. 6 disc cd changer with Bose speakers. Keyless entry AND keyless ignition! Automatic windshield wipers? Who knew! And so much more. I should mention the Bluetooth technology on the steering wheel as well, since the sales guy really tried selling me on that, even after I told him I didn't own a Bluetooth. HA!

Unlike the Chevy Traverse that I also had my eye on, the only bad review I could find on this vehicle was from a person bitching that they hit their head often while getting in the driver seat? HUH? What a melon! And, foreign car lovers might be disappointed by the fact that Ford built the engine. But Ford and Mazda have been married for years (although I hear they are divorcing). The Traverse had multiple consumer complaints of frequent repairs in the first year, even month of it's life. The Buick Enclave was just waaaaay too fancy. The Acura MDX too pricey. The Mazda5, although very fitting, was just not for me. Etcetera etcetera.

So now that I did some blagging, I have to throw in a little (teeny weeny) whining. Cause it's not perfect. In fact, this entire time I refused to look at anything that had over 40,000 miles on it. Well my new wheels (Italian tires, btw, to keep up with the 3.7 liter V6 engine; blagging over now, I promise) has almost 77,000 miles on it. I'm not excited about that. But I'm willing to go with it. My favorite man in the whole world helped me buy this car and although he did not FORCE me to go with high miles, he did sway me. A lot of the low mile cars I was looking at had been rentals or had more than one owner in a short period of time with absolutely no service records. "Keep looking", he'd say, "for a car with ONE OWNER that has all of its service records. This car was that car. It was owned by a traveling business man in St. Cloud, Minnesota, who drove all over the state putting on miles but had all of his vehicle maintenance on record with the dealership who sold it to him. 17 records in all for oil changes, tire rotations, brake replacements, you name it. So that's my gripe. But I'm coming to terms with it cause we've bonded, my Mazda and me. And you know what they say...

Zoom Zoom

PS: Sorry Mom. I will no longer have extra cash to spoil you with, but a nice car to drive you around in!

DID YOU KNOW?

2010-10-20T20:48:00.000-07:00

Cause I didn't.

October is Liver Awareness Month! I feel a bit sad for the liver, for having to share the limelight with Breast Cancer but I guess there are too many things to be aware of, so they have to double up.

Now you know.

GO ON AND LOVE YOUR LIVER!

"AND I JUST CAN'T HIDE IT"

2010-10-14T22:23:00.000-07:00

I'm so excited!

I'm feeling sooooo much better, almost euphoric these days. I never thought it would happen with this pregnancy. I no longer feel like puking and I'm hungry for everything! Bring on the occasional bout with hemorrhoids cuz I don't even care. I feel that good. Big ole weight gain, here I come. Well, hopefully nothing draz-tik.

Anyway, to celebrate my regained, lucious appetite I have officially declared it CROCK POT SEASON. I started it by making crock pot pizza for my daughters 3rd birthday party. It was meant to be served to the kiddies, but you know how picky they are.

"What's thiiiiiis?"
"Pepperoni".
"I don't liiiiiike pepperoni!"
"You eat it on pizza all the time."
"But there are noodles in this piiiizzzzaaaaa!"

Actually, a few did eat it, but it was definitely a bigger hit with the adults, me included! With no heart burn to boot! WOOT WOOT!

The other day I was filtering out my junk e-mail and came across a link from Cooking Light magazine and it just so happened to be dedicated to crock pot recipes. Mmmmm. I don't know where to start, but ima make all a dem! Okay, maybe not. But check 'em out for yo'self and tell me they don't sound delish. (Not quite sure why feeling good makes me wanna talk like a "bru-tha" but sheeeet, ima do it!)

http://www.cookinglight.com/food/top-rated-recipes/slow-cooker-favorites-00400000038588/

I don't want to copy Julie & Julia or anything, but I will definitely crock pot some of this shit up and share my opinion with all ya'all!

"I'm about to lose control and I think I like it. YA-A-YA!" (Okay, so it's not HIP HOP. Say WHA?)

What's worse?

2010-10-06T23:11:00.000-07:00

Have you ever been "SWANKED"?

I used to think it was painful to watch Hilary in any movie. My sister and I dubbed it "gettin' Swanked". We could be talking on the phone and one of us would screech in horror:

Me: "What?"
Her: "I just got Swanked"
Me: "Oh no! I'm sorry!"
Her: "I need a drink"
(We are always looking for reasons to drink)

Seriously, she was at one time cute but maybe she lost so much weight that she became man-faced or something, I dunno. But I can't watch movies with her in them! I seriously thought nothing could be worse.

Until now. Until this happened:

You have now contracted The Zellweger! UGH! Lately every photo I see of her makes me cringe. I feel nauseated and dizzy like I'm gonna puke or faint. What happened?

And how did she land this?

Well helloooo BLUE EYES!

I now think I'd rather get Swanked any day. I do not want another case of The Zellweger. Now could someone be so kind as to "Cooper" me?

The UPs and DOWNs

2010-09-30T19:35:00.000-07:00

So today we went for the genetic counseling and level 2 ultrasound. Things went rather well, as I presumed they would. The geneticist was very positive and friendly in a "we could hang out" sorta way and told me that she's worked with some clinics that would have considered my lab results to be normal. HuH? Interesting. I'll be honest, I'm still upset I had the damn test. Here's a breakdown of how stupid it all is. And I'm not saying people shouldn't do it, but it should be better explained going into it.

* At age 38 I have a 1/138 chance of having a baby with Down Syndrome.
* The QUAD screen showed that 2 of the 4 results of mine were slightly off. This actually decreased my odds to 1/252.
* The range for "normal" at my clinic is 1/295, but some clinics us 1/250 as normal in which I would have been considered normal.

So basically, this should all be great news! So why the further testing? You would think that they would only do further testing if the results showed anything under 1/137. OY.

The ultrasound today was fabulous. The Tech was wonderful and again "we could hang out" and in fact we'll be at the same conference this weekend. YAY me for finding a friend for the weekend! She looked at the heart from every angle. Definitely more than I could have since I'm not that skilled in the fetal heart. Our ultrasounds look for 4 chambers and we basically eyeball it when it comes for finding something irregular. She also measured the nasal bone and compared that to the ear-to-ear measurement and that looked good. She was able to see he had all the bones in his pinkies, which is good. His PENIS was out and about, flashing us constantly. Just like his Daddy...

This all means that the ultrasound further decreases my chances of having a baby with Down's. This can't rule it out completely. Your baby can look entirely normal on an ultrasound and still have that extra chromosome. The only way to COMPLETELY rule out DS is by having an amniocentesis which tests the fluid around the baby. Ouch. There are risks. Babies can die. And if that comes back positive? What then?

This is my dilemma. I had no idea until today that you can by law terminate a pregnancy up until 22 or 23 weeks if the baby has an abnormality. I tell myself I couldn't live with myself if I did that and so would never, but how do I really know? Am I just saying that because it's the right thing to say? So people won't be mortified by the truth of me not wanting to raise a baby with DS? Most I know, which is few, live with their parents for the duration of their life. Most people say they are the sweetest God given gift ever. We had quite a group of them that ate lunch in the cafeteria with us in High school. I remember "TINA" who would strut down the hall in her denim jacket and cowboy boots with her head held high. She thought she was the shit. Save for all the belching she'd do behind me in the salad bar line, I did too. Some would arm wrestle while the rest of us cheered them on. The winner would stand up and pump his biceps to the crowd, all proud. And they have bad days too. But something tells me this extra chromosome they have prevents them from seeing evil. From what I know, they are happy more than I. They don't see themselves as different, but rather, superior. They represent unconditional love because they don't comprehend the multiple complex conditions we do. Does this make them abnormal? So much so that you are allowed by law to terminate the pregnancy because they lack the shit that makes "us" complicated and conditional bastards? Dunno.

I only hope I can make the right decision. My heart tells me that the baby boy developing inside my uterus, kicking me already, is perfectly fine and lovable to every degree. Normal? But can my mind listen to my heart between now and February? Will I have to convince myself on a daily basis that "it's fine" and if it's not I'll love him regardless. If I don't find out will the first words out of my mouth be "Does he look like has Down's?" Cause it's fine. It is. He is. IS HE?

Up iN The aIR

2010-09-21T18:52:00.000-07:00

I got some stoopit test results back today that hinted to the fact that my baby in-utero may have a chance of having Down's Syndrome. Granted, it's less that one percent chance, but that chance is still there. Now I'm hating myself for opting in on the QUAD screen test that delivered this bad news.

You see, with my first pregnancy it was offered by I refused because of all the "false positives" I had heard about. My Aunt, for one, had this "scare" with her youngest daughter who turned out to be fine. A classmate in college went through it as well. But being I am now OF ADVANCED MATERNAL AGE my doctor pressured me a tad more with this pregnancy and I caved.

So what do I do? I meet with a perinatologist for genetic counseling to find out more odds and percentages. Then I have an ultrasound done that looks for soft Down's markers, such as missing finger bones, shortened legs bones, wide spaced orbits...to name a few. As an ultrasound tech I have glanced at my baby boy several times and haven't noticed anything different, but I'm only trained to look for certain things. I haven't gotten a real good view of his face since he likes to hide his face downward. Anyway, after that test I imagine I'll be offered an amniocentesis, where they stick a needle in my belly and test the amniotic fluid that surrounds the baby. And that will rule out things..

Less than one percent chance.

I want my baby to be normal. Children are a challenge as is. Could I handle this? People do.

Less than one percent chance.

My Dad, My Hero

2010-09-02T20:58:00.000-07:00

Last weekend my man and my kid and me packed up the rusty suburban and headed nort'. Waaaay up dare too, eh! Well, okay, not exactly to Canada, but close. We went to visit my Aunt and Uncle at their cabin for some fishin' and grillin' with a side of Dominoes (the game, not the pizza). On Saturday morning we headed even further north to visit my Dad's "Deer Camp" so that my Uncle could fix my Dad's satellite TV. You see, my Dad (bless his technically challenged heart) only screws things up more in a panic trying to fix something. My Uncle, on the other hand, grew up inside of a TV console and knows everything you need to know about appliances. He's fixed 'em all.

As we pull into camp and exit the vehicle, I hear a really faint and sickly "meoooow" that I figured was a squirrel mating call or something of the sort. Yet I somehow felt compelled to yell "I hear a cat". Nobody heard, or so I thought. And we went about our visit.

I started getting chewed to beat hell by mosquitos and the heat so I took Miss M into "the lodge" of sorts where random hunters take shelter and play foosball and drink lots, I imagine. She ran around jumping on bed after bed and scavenging for lemonade and bananas while I cooled off under the ceiling fans that spun from the vaulted ceilings. Eventually that got old (for the toddler) so we ventured back outside to check on the progress of the dish positioning. This is where my entire day quickly changed.

"There are kittens in this trailer" says my Aunt. "Didn't you say you saw a cat?"

"I didn't see a cat, but I thought I heard some meowing when we got here" I said.

She brought me closer to the wood filled trailer all littered with spiders and their prospective webs. I peered down into a hole between logs and there they were..the tiniest of tiny little orange baby furballs. They were meowing and wiggling. One looked up at me and appeared to have a dirty or bloody nose. I immediately started "awwwwe"ing at the cute site. Then my Dad caught wind of what was happening.

"There are kittens in there?" He asked all surprised. You see he didn't have his hearing aide in and probably didn't hear the high pitched meows all weekend...or did he? Anyway, he went on to tell us that he pulled the trailer from a business in our home town about 4 hours south and when he started loading the trailer to the hitch of his truck, a big orange cat jumped out.

"WHAAAAT?"

Here I thought these kittens were suckling on mama's teets this whole time I was admiring them. Suddenly everything changed. I freaked. I'm sure I hid it well on the outside, but on the inside my pregnant self wanted to take these babies and get them fed and loved, at all costs!

"Dad, you have to take them back with you! The mama has probably been looking for them".

I don't remember the insensitive shit that all got said, but basically I was told that they'd been there for two days and likely would die in that trailer and become food for some wild animal.

"What about the farmer down the road?" my Aunt asked. She felt my panic. She knew my motherly instincts were on fire about now and was trying to be helpful.

I felt hopeless. We are in B.F.E afterall. There is no animal rescue or humane society down the street. I knew if I tried to give them cows milk they'd get diarrhea, so that was out. Water? Would they get desperate enough to know how to drink out of a bowl? I thought of my friend in the cities that volunteered at a feline rescue. I bet if I called, she'd make the 4 hour trip and come get these kittens. Although she would never find the place. WHAT DO I DO?

More jokes were made about the fate of the kittens. I resided to the fact that they would in fact, die from starvation. It was out of my hands. I had to give up and move on about my day.

We packed in the car and headed back to the cabin. The kittens didn't leave my mind. I could have done something. Why did I leave?

A couple hours later and we were on the boat fishing when my phone received a text message. It was from Dad. (Okay, so he can text. He's not ALL that technically challenged)It said this:

Jen who lives dwn the road is taking cats n will find a home 4 them. I couldn't leave them either. Spent 2 hrs finding someone but now will b ok.

And before I could process that this wasn't a sick joke I got another text:

Jen went 2 g rapids 4 bottles n formula. Told her id pay 4 it.

Had I not been on a boat fishing with two grown men whom I'm never seen cry, I woulda started bawling right then and there. But I held my composure and told everyone on the boat the good news! And then I responded:

Awwwwe. Softy. Thanks Dad!

And eventually another text:

Jen has kits. 2 very weak n not sure if make it. 4 days old she thinks.

At least you tried! Never know. I replied, in which he said:

Damn things but deserve a chance.

And if you know my Dad, he is NOT an animal lover, especially the feline family. Don't get me wrong, he loves his own dog, but that's about as far as it goes cause he won't even admit that!

The rest of the afternoon I kept getting updates including this forward from Jen:

I found someone whos cat just had kittens in the last 2 weeks so im gonna take these ones in and see if she will nurse them.

It was wonderful news. The next morning I got another forwarded text from Jen:

Good morning! One kitten died last night but the other 4 are doing great with their new mom!

It was wonderful news! Sad as well, because one died. But first of all, I had no idea there were five to begin with and to find out that they were being nursed by a foster mama? Tears swelled in my eyes. And just when I thought I couldn't get more emotional, I get this text from Dad:

U made me look at kittys from a dif view. Thx. I luv u. Enjoy the day.

And I did enjoy the day. My Dad saved the kittens. My Dad, My Hero.

Update: I spoke with Dad yesterday and all four are still thriving! He and his wife are going to deer camp this weekend and are planning on stopping by to visit them. All four have already found homes when they are big enough! Isn't that fabulous? I cry every time I think about it all. I'm crying right now. Thanks again Dad. You absolutely rock.

He's gonna take a picture for me, but this is how I imagine they will look. Orange and fluffy and happy and loved and waiting to get into trouble.

Cod vs. Cud

2010-09-01T19:12:00.000-07:00

"Panko encrusted Cod" was the description. And I watched as she put out a whole new pan of fresh pieces all crispy lookin' and garnished with parsley and lemon wedges. "Mmmm" thought my pregnant appetite. (Welcome back, by the way). So I ordered up a chunk, along with some peas and roasted new potatoes. Dinner is served.

WHAT THE FUCK did I just eat? Is there such thing as imitation cod? Cause I guarantee you that what I ingested just now was ne'er a swimmer. NO..this grew stationary in shit and muck, and not the good fertilizing shit and muck either. I could barely chew it? And to make matters worse, it is now stuck in my teeth and I don't have any dental floss at work. I found a straw but since my adult braces I lack gap so that failed. OY, I'm distoybed.

Even more disturbing is the fact that I ate it all! But really, anything smothered in tartar sauce is edible.

Speaking of parsley, here's a joke that my bro told me at a recent family function:

Q: What is the difference between parsley and pussy?
A: Nobody eats parsley.

Yup. That's my family. Come to think of it, that cod is what I imagine pussy just might taste like.

What's wrong with me tonight? I best hang this thing up~

Weeeee for Wii!

2010-08-24T21:32:00.000-07:00

Back in January I started workin' out. I was gettin' fat and there wasn't much gettin' left about it. Then I joined Seattle Sutton Healthy Eating and I managed to drop about fifteen very unwanted pounds. Then I got pregnant and stopped working out. As you know I've been quite "ick" this time around and food just hasn't meant the same to me. It's not enjoyable, but necessary.

So I eat and do my best to keep it down. I usually succeed, especially since the doc gave me a prescription for nausea-one that cancer patients take. It works most of the time.

Oh, and I never poop. It's rare. Once or twice a week. Now I drink Miralax in hopes that will help.

Anyway, I decided to do some step aerobics on my long lost, forgotten Wii Fit Plus in hopes that my bowels might get jostled a tad and some shit might make it's way to the door. So I set it up, get it goin' and the freakin' thing gives me grief about not working out in 74 days. REALLY? That long eh? Time is flying. I do my balance test and then set down the remote (so as not to add extra weight) and listen for the scale to "boopboopboop" up the numbers. And to my surprise my avitar starts jumping up and down and then flowers appear on the screen and a message pops up "You have reached your goal weight!" Are you kidding me? All I had to do was get pregnant to lose that last ten? Crazy. I am officially down 25 pounds from where I started.

I reckon I'll make up for it. I'm well prepared. So I set a new goal. August of '11 is my 20 year class reunion. I will birth this boy in late February early March (provided all goes smoothly) and so I set my goal that one year from now, I will weigh even eight pounds less than I weigh today since the Wii told me that would be a good weight for me. Unfortunately I can't explain my situation to the Wii. Maybe they can add that feature? A Pregnancy Wii Fit PLUS PLUS. HA!

I LOVE WEED(s)

2010-08-12T18:19:00.000-07:00

Oh how I wish I had Showtime! I don't even have cable. Season 6 of Weeds has begun and it's killin' me that I have to wait another 6 months (hopefully less) to get it on Netflix. If you don't watch it you should. It's is my drug. I never really took a liking to marijuana, so this is my weed.

And I simply can not wait for my next hit!

Weight Lifting

2010-08-03T18:09:00.000-07:00

I am now eleven weeks pregnant. I want to be soooo happy, but I've been soooo sick! I'm not a good puker and a pukin' I be doin'. I'm nauseated constantly. My entire colon cries at the job it has to do the minute it punches the clock. My stomach is producing more bile than an elephants gallbladder, causing even my feces to be yellow. Every time I take a sip of water or a bite of food I belch constantly for a half hour. I'm not even exaggerating! One day in six will be what I consider "a good day" in which I actually eat well and don't have to brace myself for a possible VURP. Is this all really first trimester shit?

The other evening I actually ventured outside which is HUGE since the heat and humidity have rendered me an A/C addict, and my man alarmingly commented on my body with a "you look really thin." HUH? I dunno what that's about. I feel fatter than ever. I'm bloated, I seldom crap and the food I manage to choke down is bottled up in my small intestine making the bloat solid and not just gassy. FuN FoR Me!

So I dared to do what I haven't yet done since finding out I was preggers. I step on a scale. I do a double take. Humph. He's right. I've lost another eight pounds. Mind you, I had been working out and lost fifteen or sixteen already since January, but this past eight was unintentional. Water weight? Maybe. Lack of alcohol? Likely. Not being able to pig on out like I normally do? Fo sho!

So I made my first OB appointment for Thursday. I hear there is medicine for what I have going on. I would give anything to not feel this way. My poor BF is trying to be understanding. He hates to see me horizontal in front of the television 24/7 but honestly I'm not capable of much more and I am NOT, for the record, enjoying it. I would rather be outside in the garden, grillin' and chillin' and what have you. I've turned my toddler into a demanding princess since giving in to her ridiculous requests is easier when I feel this way. She watches movies all day long, makes messes I don't make her clean up and eats food all over the house and has stained (over and over) every piece of furniture on the first floor. I am creating a monster. And I think I'm spawning one as well.

Cross your fingers this goes away soon....

The Gas We Pass

2010-07-15T21:07:00.000-07:00

Why is it that the minute I fart someone appears? Not just a normal, kind fart either. I'm talking the hot, silent, stinky ones. The SBD's of Assland. I'm alone all evening at work except when I have to scan a patient. I sit in my "control room" and mind my own everything waiting for my pager to go "beep beep beep" in the night. On a really sloooooooow night I check the web, read a book, check the web some more and no one even comes near me or my four walls.

Then the gas kicks in. Heats up. And stinks rotten hell! POOF goes the fart and POOF appears a person. It's not just work either. At home I'll let one fly and within seconds there's a knock at the door. And weirdest of all, I swear sometimes after laying a vapor pooper in my car a passenger will all of the sudden be sitting next to me. How is that?

Food Review

2010-07-07T21:45:00.000-07:00

I'm not often a sucker for food commercials. Here and there I see one for Olive Garden or Don Pablos that has me scramming to find a partner in crime to indulge with me. Or maybe a new flavor of the month at Culver's, even though I've only ever had ONE frozen custard from there. The last few days I've been drooling over the new Sub at Subway. The Cuban pulled pork. I love myself some pulled pork so I thought I'd give it a shot. It's on my way to work and I needn't find a friend to accompany me on a "take out" bender. So I stopped, they built and I bought. Subway always baffles me to begin with. The commercial and the poster show the sandwich with pork, sliced ham, swiss cheese, pickles and mustard and maybe something else I'm forgetting, but the sandwich artist always asks what you want on it. That always causes me to run amuk with the suggested fixin's! So I end up with pepper jack cheese, lettuce, pickles, black olives and southwest chipotle mayo. Toasted please, with a bag of plain chips. Hold the soda.

So me with my current state of raging hormones and constant nausea inhales half the sub (I always get a foot long so I can have seconds at some point) and shortly after wants to puke. Granted, everything has made me feel that way lately, but there was something "porky piggy" about the flavor of this meal. I tasted a tad too much oink for my liking. So I decided I didn't like the new Cuban pulled pork sammy from Subby.

Nonetheless I just ate the other half nearly 24 hours later and it didn't get any better, even with the added mustard packet. Bummer.

Attack of the Tic Tac

2010-06-30T18:03:00.000-07:00

About a year back my daughter stopped wanting to leave daycare when I came to pick her up. I wasn't really offended since I was never one to leave a party before passing out or being dragged out. I understood there was fun to be had. It was the fight that got old so I came up with the perfect solution all on my own. I'll give her Skittles when she gets buckled in her carseat as her reward for leaving peacefully and at her own will. And it worked!

Well, certain members of my parenting party didn't like that she was eating six Skittles a week and asking for them after "punching out" so to speak so I switched to the ONE CALORIE TIC TAC and made sure she understood she was only to get them in the car, after daycare. And maybe occasionally on longer road trips. For example, on our way to my nieces graduation party.

"Can I have a Tic Tac peeeees?"

The talented driver I am I pour the usual two out into my palm and twist my arm just so in the direction of the back seat and she diligently picks them out of my palm. She's gotten good too, because in the past she'd often drop one and it would disappear into carseat space and all hell would break loose until I replaced the one that'd vanished at the expense of her little fingers.

All of the sudden I hear crying. What now? Did she drop one? She doesn't usually cry about it. Then my nephew who luckily was sitting next to her in the back seat informed me that one did indeed get lost. But this time it faded up into nasal space. And there around her teeny tiny nostril was a hint of apple green candy color that got left behind to prove the crime.

Now I've heard of this before. I think my bestie's daughter put a felt tip from a marker up her nose and had to see a physician to get it out..or something like that. I panicked. I was driving, what could I possibly do? I was on a super fast, crazy busy interstate. Do I pull over? Then before I could make a decision my nephew announces he successfully retrieved the evil little culprit. Whew. And guess who sat very quietly in the passenger seat without saying a word or reacting the least bit. Yup...the Skittle Nazi himself that also tried to police the Tic Tac consumption and I refused to reform.

Needless to say (then why say it?) no more Tic Tac's. Although it coulda been worse. It coulda been a Skittle.

The Smell of Water

2010-06-30T17:35:00.000-07:00

So I may as well come out and say it. I'm knocked up again. This time, however, there were two willing participants as opposed to zero. HA! Well, my man "gave it up" one night and I'm guessing by all the pacing and blank looks lately that he didn't think it'd actually take. Cuz..you know, it only took one time last time. He's doing alright with it though. He's coming around. It's definitely different this time. He's talking about it. Asking questions about it. Has positive remarks about it. I'm sure I have my critics who'd say we have too much relationship rescuing to do to bring another child into our family but we will always have that. It's our thing. We will always be learning about one another.

I'm trying to enjoy it this time. With my previous pregnancy I was soooo stressed and in a constant state of uncertainty that I honestly only remember feeling a little nauseated. Not this time. Noooo. I'm feeling it all and smelling it all.

OH the SMELLS!

When I open up the washmachine, I wanna puke. Wha? It's clean laundry? When I put on deodorant, I wanna puke. When I put an effin' glass of water up to my face, I wanna puke. It's everything. My coworker is currently eating a buffalo chicken wrap and I wanna puke. I don't think I would make it as a dog. And I love love love to eat but now it's become a fret. For at least an hour after eating I have to concentrate on not puking. Why not just puke? Have you ever puked immediately upon eating? No fun. Chunks hit the toilet and water splashes back up in your face. Ick. Especially here at the hospital. I don't wanna puke in a hospital toilet. That thing has seen a lot of ass and a lot of that ass has been sick with something.

So ya. Prego. Bun in oven. Saw the heartbeat yesterday. Due February 22nd. I wonder if this time around he'll fetch me Blizzards from the DQ. Nah...doubt it. Oh well.

Mental Tattoos

2010-06-24T20:26:00.000-07:00

Oh how I love to get a good massage. Not a feel good massage either. No no. The kind I get are not for the weak. They hurt. They make you wanna cry but you know you need the work so you distract yourself by holding conversation with the massage therapist. Initially this bothered me. She'd start asking me questions and I'd give short answers hoping she'd just let me relax and enjoy. But then I realized that I not only needed the conversation, but wanted it as well. How were her kids-her Albino son with the vision issues? How's the bathroom remodel coming along? Did her Brittish hubby find work yet? And occasionally I'm reminded of a funny that is worth bloggin' 'bout.

As she pressed, pulled and beat on me we began discussing tattoos. "Yup" I assured her "I only have the one". But I've always secretly wanted another on my back somewhere, ideally my lower back, of a smooshed fairy from Lady Cottington's Pressed Fairy Book. (Not sure that's the exact title but it's A MUST READ). When you get to the end of the book this so called pressed fairy cutout falls out onto your lap. It did mine, at least. Since then I thought it would look hilarious on my back, as though I personally sat back against a chair and smooshed her with her stretched out leg and foot trailing down between my ass crack. However, with lower back tattoos gettin' a trampy rap I decided against anymore ink until I can figure out a better place for my fairy to float.

Insert joke here:
Why do women get their belly buttons pierced? (Answer can be found at the end of this post)

SOOoo, I explained to my massage gal that I thought about getting the tattoo on my ankle touched up. It's quite sun kissed and dull and I wouldn't mind that pain again. It's a sexy pain. In fact one of my highschool classmates is a Tattoo Artist and I know she would do it! But would she? This is my dilemma. You see, she used to have a crush on me. I wasn't really aware of it..I don't think..until a rumor circulated at my sister's wedding that I actually SLEPT with this person. HUH? Ya, okay. True. I did share a bed with her in highschool when we'd have sleepovers but I never SLEPT slept with her. I even recall a time she put her arm around me "spoonishly" and I thought nothing of it cause she was affectionate. She had a boyfriend, besides. Rumors went around that she was a lesbian but I defended her then and now she was spreading rumors about me, er...us!

There's more to the story. It was before the rumor, after she'd "come out". Since our Mom's lived across the avenue from one another, I'd visit her when I was home from college. We sat chatting on the couch and I spilled some frustration about the divorce of my parents and how dating was the furthest thing from my mind. Well, apparently what she heard was "I'm a lesbian too. Please help me find a date."

Now I can see where one might read into that and get that. KIDDING of course. HUH? So I'm at my best friends cabin and she gets off the phone and announces that "E" is coming to the cabin as well and bringing a bunch of gay people! I didn't mind. I was hip and open and accepting of E's lifestyle and welcomed her presence.

Hours go by and no "E" and no gay posse. I got sleepy and decided to crawl into bed and call it a night. I'm pretty sure I was asleep when this took place.

ME: Wakes up startled by E jumping on the bed
E: "Jezi waaaaake uuuup!"
ME: Now kinda sleeping and kinda pretending because I hear a lot of loud, festive man voices downstairs and wasn't sure if I could ever get the energy to join that party.
E: "Jezi, I brought a girl for you".
ME: (very calm and groggy) "E, I like penises"
E: "No you don't"
ME: "Yes, I do"

With that she left the room and joined her friends downstairs. I was rather confused, yet grateful had I actually thought I was a lesbian, or reaching out to become one, that she was there to hook me up. However, it made for an awkward evening. I eventually crawled out from my safety hole because quite honestly, the group of 5 or 6 sounded more like a group of infants on a rollercoaster and sleep was not gonna happen. This girl o'mine (teehee) was not shy about staring at me. I was shy about even remotely glancing in her direction in fear of misleading her. And yet, because it's a fault of mine, I actually felt sorry for my blind date because it was too blind to even be a date.

The rest of the evening from what I recall was quite entertaining for a girl from a small town that didn't have much experience around gay men. The most vivid in my memory is that of the boys running into the water in their white bikini/thong undies squealing from the chilly water and splashing and galloping about.

So, as a wrap up, although things have since been smoothed over (and she denied starting the rumor), I'm not sure I want to give her access to my leg with permanent ink. Maybe I'm just being paranoid. Indeed, we are Facebook friends and she's been "married" for years and has the most beautiful daughter from Guatemala and probably has no interest in toying with me.

Afterall, she's already tattooed my brain.

A: So they have somewhere to hang the air freshener!

The Unthinkable

2010-06-15T19:00:00.000-07:00

I got an invite via Facebook the other day that was for a cancer benefit. I didn't recognize the name so I did some research and it turns out an ex-boyfriend, whom I dated briefly years back, is dating a woman who was recently diagnosed with..of all things..Pancreatic Cancer. She's 34 freakin' years old. You can check out her story here:

http://www.caringbridge.org/visit/daynabrown

As someone who works in the medical field (but by NO MEANS is an expert) I know two things. First, it's a fluke or a mistake cause young women do not get pancreatic cancer. And secondly, I can tell just by reading her journal that world is going to be worse off without her. Life is so unfair. It's likely she won't see her 35th birthday. She won't get to see her mini potbelly pig Oscar Piggy grow up...or out rather. There are so many "she won'ts". I can say this however. She has a great man beside her on her cancer journey. She's lucky for that.

~Smile today~

Don't Shake the Baby

2010-06-08T19:28:00.000-07:00

We had a great weekend up at the Lake as a family + one (my nephew/nanny for the weekend). The weather could have been better but I'm almost thankful it wasn't since the air conditioning unit in the cabin was obnoxiously loud and irritating. The first night was a tad muggy so I turned it on to get some air going through the place and had to turn it off! Anyone that knows me knows that I looooooove myself some cold air inside even when it's chilly on the outside. But this..thing..this rickety, old box has a screech and a clank and clunk way beyond tolerable. So much so that I would rather lie awake miserable with sticky, stagnant room air! Air tantrum aside, we did manage to fish a little. My daughter didn't want to go on the boat at first. She HATES loud engines and I felt somewhat apprehensive about forcing her on it but we did. She didn't enjoy herself one bit. Until we were done, that is. She was on my lap the entire time with this cross look of torment upon her pretty little face. Only once did she speak and that was after I got her pumped up to see the minnows! "Fish!" she exclaimed. That was about it. On the way back to shore she tipped her head back with her eyes closed and let the sun shine on her face.

She is soooo me sometimes.

Back on land she was all fired up and didn't stop talking about the boat and fishing.

"I wanna feeeesh". (The eeeeesh is indicative of whining). Knowing this was not at all true I shrugged it off. "No no honey. All done feeeeshing for today".

She didn't let up much but I was able to keep my sense of humor because toddlers DO NOT give up. Especially if you've ever, even once, given in. She is relentless and driven.

She is sooooo not me sometimes.

As the weekend progressed she got progressively more whiny. To be expected, really, since her naps were shorter and she was waking up earlier and getting restless sleep due to a cough that only comes out at night. (She only comes out at night...watch out boy she'll chew you up!) Ahem..sorry. I have these days where everything reminds me of a song.

Back home yesterday I woke up around 6:19 to "Mama! (pause..pause) Mama! Where you? (pause pause) Mama!" I love when she wakes up talking instead of crying because it's usually a sign of a good day ahead.

I did say usually.

I got her up and all hell came up right through the floor and landed right smack in the middle of my house. It was persistent demands and tenacious whining all fa-reaking morning, up until I managed to take her for a lengthy stroller ride. There were several time-outs that although normally proven to be successful, failed to phase this little beeeotch..and I use that word sparingly!! Yikes. So it made me think, I need to learn better coping skills because I know this is just the beginning. What will puberty bring other than the terrible teens? I thought of that video I was supposed to watch before leaving the hospital but didn't because the nurse couldn't get it to work. It was about not shaking the baby. Well yesterday it came to me. Be it an ad campaign or a bumper sticker but let it read this; DON'T SHAKE THE BABY. You'll have plenty of time for that later. HAHA. I'm sure only I would laugh to see that since it is quite offensive but that's how my brain was working yesterday. That was my coping skill. Sick humor.

Today was a new day. She rocked. She was sweat and playful and well..

...she is sooooo me sometimes.

Men Are From Where?

2010-06-02T22:23:00.000-07:00

I'm trying, I really am. I've been sticking with the book, the one about being from different planets. It started to hit home and make some sense and I could really relate to it. I just can't seem to remember what I read when it comes time to apply the advice in real life, here on Earth. I want badly to nag my man with "have you done this yet? Can you do that soon?" but the book says absolutely not, under any circumstances do that because that makes him feel as though you don't trust him to take of things himself. But I don't! And if he's to go to his cave and I need him for something I can't trust he'll come out by himself! What about MY needs? I want to stop myself from saying things I know might upset him BUT I CAN NOT. It's going to take a lot of work. I can word things differently, that I'm good at. I can word things carefully. Oy. It doesn't help either, that a good portion of the time I'm reading I relate more to the Martians than the Venutians. Hmph. Harrrrumph. Pbbbblt.

Recently I spoke with a relative of mine who said that way back when the book came out there was some controversy because the author claimed to be a doctor and really isn't one. Or maybe he got some shabby degree or certificate that didn't actually count. So the book is his theory? He does share several examples pertaining to his wife and marriage. I dunno. I'll pick it up again soon because it does help me feel normalcy. Relationships have waves and cycles and sometimes they go together and often times not. Sunday night my cycle didn't jive with my mans but then Monday it came together. It's a constant thing. We'll be alright and we both know it. We are trying to understand one another. We are trying to accentuate one another. Sometimes we both just lack the ability to do any of it.

Ten reasons why I hate to leave my house

2010-05-25T23:16:00.000-07:00

1. Traffic. People DO NOT know how to drive. Every day that I get on the road I feel like I'm in a friggin' video game. Anyone remember that Paper Boy one? Where the boy is riding a bike delivering papers and has to avoid all sorts of obstacles? That's me driving. Constantly on the defense and for good reason.

2, 3, 4 and 5. Customer service sucks. SERIOUSLY! Okay, it started out fantastic at the White and Black store with the sales lady on my every need (although I think it was cause I hadn't showered and appeared impoverished) but then she kind of agreed that my dresses weren't working. "I like the way that one looks better than the beaded one." I never asked her preference! That's like saying "well if you have to make one work, that one is better." HAHA. No harsh feelings. I should know better than to go shopping for dresses whilst on the rag. After that uplifting experience I decide to give Macy's a shot. I actually found a couple of dresses I liked and couldn't decide which to go with so I purchased both figuring one would be returned. You couldn't beat the prices! Now, needing a tummy tucker (no one deserves to be assaulted by the deep indentation of my umbilical remnants) I head to that dreaded department and find something rather quickly. However, when it comes time to make my purchase there's not a soul to be found. I think I finally found someone in the mens department and THANK GOD it wasn't a man working the register cause I don't know that I could have let him ring up my body silmmer! A woman, who was obviously doing some paperwork, tried hard not to notice me so I asked loudly (cause I'm not normally loud), "Can I purchase this here?" and she let me. On to find shoes! Woohoo for shoe shopping. I stood around for about 15 minutes trying to get the attention of a sales person running around all frazzled cause the phones kept ringing. Finally I see her stop and do nothing so I ask loudly (cause loud worked last time) "Do you think maybe you could get me some shoes to try on? Or is there someone who can?" She does, but then when it comes time to purchase them I have to wait, once again, until she freezes in her tracks. Keep in mind I have a toddler with me who hates to shop more than I do and now knows how to unbuckle herself, therefore is no long restrainable and wants to run around the entire shoe department just as I'm paying for my shoes. She's clever that way. She waits until I'm vulnerable with my purse splayed out and credit cards or photo ID out. She knows I will hesitate to chase after her because I don't want to abandon my belongings, much less tie up a sales person. And keep in mind it is a Monday afternoon and the place is not at all busy. So then it's on to find some accessories to dangle off a limb or two. No problem finding the damn things but is anyone working the counter so I can pay? FUCK! Then I'm in the food court for lunch..okay, ya it's a "food court" but I still pay good coin..and the first guy at the counter takes my order which included a Lil' Chicken Quesadilla and he starts making it and asks "you say cheese, right?" I was too exhausted from shopping at this point AND too hungry to correct him so I said "sure". Then the woman wrapping up my burrito starts to fold and tuck without adding the lettuce I'd requested. Loud loud loud I say "I asked for lettuce with that too please" and I'm sure the look on her face was disgust at herself for fogetting what extras I'd asked for, but I couldn't help feeling sour about it. FOCUS people. Listen!

6. Rarely do I get to shop "kid free". I touched on this a tad above, with the stroller escaping and running away, but my little princess is very shy so ANYONE that looks at her causes us stress. She will crawl up the back of the stroller, headed straight for my arms if you say HI or anything directed her way. It's annoying. I don't know why cause she's been very socialized. When we sat down in the food court to eat she insisted on sitting on my lap. She's done this before and I've let her and not been able to enjoy my meal so I decide to end the bullshit here and now. After some harsh discussion and small whining I'm able to get her to kneel on the chair next to me. I just take a bite of my now cold burrito and "whap" then "AHHHHHH" the shrill of an injured child rings through the echo dome. Apparently she was going to sit on her buttocks and the transition caused her lips to come in contact with the table. Just a little blood and surprisingly not much crying. Does she ever eat? No. Do I continue to purchase food for her everytime I take her out to eat? Yes. Does she ever eat it? No. Who's food does she eat then? Mine. UGH!

7. Buyers remorse.

8. Knowing that the fear and hatred of that Mall will probably prevent me from returning the dress I don't wear and probably never will wear and so it'll hang in my closet forever reminding me of the shopping trip I need to take, and eventually the shopping trip that it's too late to take.

9. Ah shit, I guess I can't think of two more cause I'm still SO exhausted from that shopping trip yesterday! It wears a person out! It's like jet lag. So I guess that's number nine. Exhaustion.

10. Having to try my hardest NOT to throw away receipts. I'm a really bad receipt storer/archiver person so even if I did want to return something and actually pumped myself up enough to go back that effin' place I probably wouldn't be able to return it! Maybe that's why I lose them? So I don't have to go back.

aH Ha!

Wax On, Wax Off

2010-05-18T18:43:00.000-07:00

No, I'm not refering to my facial hair, which by the way has definitely decreased greatly status post two laser treatments. I go again for a third in June. That is, if I can keep remembering to apply the 30 SPF on my upper lip so the laser doesn't mistake my entire soup strainer as a stache needing zapping.

So I have to admit, I haven't read too much of either of my new books. I did start the Venus/Mars one and actually underlined a few things I found to fit my situation. I also learned that when a man goes to his cave he does not want help getting out of it.

No comments. No questions. Nun-a-dat.

HUH? How can I not nag a tad when he is distancing himself more and sinking further into a depression that resembles familial abandonment? So at first I did. I tried to ignore his continuous cave visits and multiples random naps throughout the day until finally on Friday after about 11 straight days of rain I found him once again sleeping the day away in the spare bedroom. I crawled up on the bed and asked if there was anything I could do to help? "I'm fine" he says. "Well good" I replied "cause we aren't." "huh?" he asked. "there are three of here altogether and it's affecting us all and you are losing me". I got up and walked upstairs cause the faucets were liking to start running and he hates that. About fifteen minutes later he was up and about and functioning like it was go time. Maybe it wasn't anything I said. But whatever it was, he's all into me and all over me again. Hell, he even asked me to marry him, albeit in the heat of passion. I told him that discredits any proposal, especially when we weren't really connecting recently..or were we? Somebody tell me! Will I ever understand? Oh the rollercoaster. The ebb, the tide. How long will the tide be out this time?

SIMPLY THE BEST

2010-05-12T21:40:00.000-07:00

Today I purchased a couple of books that should have been displayed in the self-help section but were found in the relationship category. The first, Men Are From Mars Women Are From Venus is an oldie, however I never had a desire to read it before cause hey, what could a man possibly know about where women are from and what they are thinking? But I'm ready now. I have to be. I'm desperate and searching for how to understand my relationship, my role in this relationship (I've been told I'm not the woman) and most of all I need to understand the MAN in this relationship, even if he claims emotionally he is not the man.

A month ago when I returned from Arizona I experienced possibly the best two weeks of any relationship I have been in. We were working on things. Finding the connection. Letting guards down and taking risks and I felt we were swimming in the benefits of all the hard work we were putting forth as a successful couple. Key point here : "I felt". He did not feel that way and before I could even get used to being the type of girlfriend I've often wanted to be, he stepped off.

Off the spectrum that is.

I tell him he's sooo not a spectrum guy. He's either ON or OFF. He won't hang out on it. Perhaps if I could find a way to hide some beer along the spectrum he'd linger a little. Hmph. Anyway, It's the hardest thing I've had to learn about a person, ever. All or nothing. Black or White. That doesn't work for someone who is learning a trait that does not come naturally for whatever reason. It takes everything I have to compliment someone. It takes even more to tell them face to face that I love them. I constantly WANT to say things to people that I'm thinking..ahem, nice things..but I usually can not do it. But I'm working on it. And I'm working on affection. When I feel like touching him I actually will instead of just thinking of how badly I want to do it. I don't know why it's so hard. The only thing I can come up with is fear of rejection. Or fear of looking or sounding like an idiot. Here's an example:

One evening last week the hospital had a "Nurse Appreciation" breakfast in the cafeteria at 1:30am consisting of a free waffle buffet. I wasn't even aware it was nurse appreciation week, but free waffles are definitely a good way to draw my attention to anything. A nurse from the floor calls and wants to know if I can come up and do a bedside exam on a patient who needs her gallbladder scanned. I ask why I need to come up, to which she replies "because we don't have anyone to bring her down and she's not feeling well". I've given into this in the past and was very familiar with what it meant to not have anyone to bring the patient down. Translation: We don't have a PCA tonight and all of our nurses are busy checking their emails (perhaps even blogging) and don't feel it's in their job title to stoop to transporting a patient. I've gone up before and watched in horror as all these unavailable nurses sat around laughing and eating and shootin' the shit while I'm rearranging the patients room in order to fit my machine next to the bed and bending in positions that'll cut my career short because I can't move some things, like IV poles and large recliners. Ergonomically, it's a back bender and a shoulder shatterer and I can't afford to seize having employment. Capeche? If the patient is hooked up to ventilation, or in ICU for whatever reason it's a given we go bedside and we get enough of those that we really can't afford favors. WHOA..pull it back in blogger girl..enough with the tangent.

I explain to the woman on the phone that typically a nurse will bring the patient down and she agreed to find someone. About fifteen minutes later my patient arrives via wheelchair being pushed by a very friendly and helpful nurse. She even helped get the patient onto the bed! We started chatting and I thanked her for bringing the patient down and on the tip of my heavy, weighted and frozen tongue were the words "I really appreciate what you nurses do", "Thank you thank you for bringing her it means a lot to me and I really appreciate it, happy Nurse Appreciation Week". What came out?

"Did you get the free waffles?"

So that's me. My struggles with my reservations to tell people how I feel. Don't get me wrong, I can tell certain people things that most can't. I can tell my sister that she's sick and needs help and dating a psychotic man who I hope gets wiped out by an IED in his 3 month stint in Afghanistan (and I sincerely mean it). I can tell my Mom she's depressed and needs to start moving or she will be in a wheelchair in a year. Or that I think she lives beyond her means and shouldn't be buying pulltabs. I can tell my Dad's wife that she needs to be careful with pain pills cause they really only mask pain, whereas ibuprofen actually decreases swelling and speeds up healing and you can't get addicted to Ibuprofen. I can't, however, tell her that I believe she may already have an addiction. I can tell you I like your hair, your coat, your new car, the gift you gave me. But I can't tell you I think your gorgeous and sexy and make me tingle. I can only think it.

Enigma.

So anyway, maybe if I can understand men and women and their different needs and wants and hopefully get my man to read as well (he's usually on board with that kinda thing) we can make this work afterall. Because I want those weeks back. They truly were, simply the best.

Oh Sandy

2010-04-28T21:44:00.000-07:00

I get it now. I shouldn't care, but I do and now I completely get it! Jesse James couldn't handle having adopted a black child. There's no way. A guy who was once obsessed with Nazi's is also likely to be racist across the board. Sure, he loved his movie star wife and was willing to go along with what she wanted but I think he cracked and sabotaged the marriage, likely without even realizing why. Well, who knows. I could be waaaaay off. Afterall, he is Jesse James and there's always been a lot about him that I didn't think was right for some independent, all-American down-to-earth silly girl like Sandy. Maybe it was his bad complexion, or his non-existent smile trying to smirk that shouted "I'm constantly pulling one over on you". His slicked back balding crown maybe? It wasn't even the tatt's or the two exes that made me dislike him. Dudn't matter what I think though. We've all been known to chase those bad boys. Luckily for me, I never caught one. I think it was my Mom that once said, "men like that want a lady in the kitchen and a whore in the bedroom." Or maybe it was all men she was refering to. Nonetheless, you can't put a Sandra with a Jesse. Something like a "Bombshell" or a black baby is bound to break that.

What went wrong

2010-04-27T21:51:00.000-07:00

We need to move. I almost can't take my neighbors anymore. Well most are okay but one in particular, along with his family, I could do without. I'm sorry for feeling that way. I feel bad for feeling that way because I've befriended them, her more so. You see, he has anger issues when he isn't smoking pot. It's Jekyll and Hyde..on acid. He can't indulge as of late because he is going to have to piss in a cup soon and it's getting so that I'm about to force feed him some happy brownies if he can't control his ignorant and angry mouth. I don't even know exactly what was being said by the fire the other night, but I heard this "ya know when it all started to go downhill? When women were allowed to vote". HUH? "Oh, I totally agree" I said "they are hormonal, politically uneducated and make decision soley on fashion and hair!" Mouths dropped. I think my man was about to vomit until I declared it a joke. The funny thing is, I thought the ignorant one was joking as well until today when my honey and I were discussing the evening and he reassured me that "anger man" was serious. Ouch. How did I miss that. I guess I didn't know there were people my age who felt that way. And I guess I don't want to believe that people that feel that way have the balls to share it. We all are entitled to opinions, yes? But wow...some are hard to hear. HOUSE FOR SALE

Pretty Pretty Please.

2010-04-22T22:52:00.000-07:00

About 6 years ago I did an ultrasound on a very sick little girl that had been battling Ewing's Sarcoma, a bone cancer that afflicts children. I believe she was about 10 back then. Ever since I have been following her Caring Bridge site, celebrating her triumps and wiping tears over her flare ups. She has been and continues to be one of the bravest young women I know. Thankfully, I don't know many that are as sick as she has been or gone through anything nearly as horrible. She's had multiple rounds of chemo and radiation and surgeries on her bones. And yet, through it all she has remained a "dancer" and a champ. She's been bald most of her life and has never even worn a wig! I mean c'mon! It breaks my heart that a few days ago I read on her website that she is at the U of M hospital, likely in hospice care so she can be kept comfortable while she passes on. There is nothing left that anyone can do..on this side anyway. And I don't know who is braver at this point, her or her parents? How do you accept that? How do you say goodbye? She has a new baby brother she won't get to help raise. She might of gone to prom but did she get to kiss a boy? Well maybe it's a good thing she doesn't have to ever experience that heartbreak. Anyway, each day I check in on her I do so with great hesitation, fearing the worst when I click and see her pretty face smiling and scroll down to read the final words.....
And so let me ask just this one favor,
Please make it quick. Please make it painless. Pretty, pretty please.
http://www.caringbridge.org/mn/maryah/

Ode to Odor

2010-04-15T19:53:00.000-07:00

Illness stinks. Literally. Most things unhealthy do, I spose. Like obesity, for instance. Morbid obesity, not just a spare tire or two. Stuff settles under and in between and waaaay deep beyond that tends to surface when someone lies down, or just begins to undress. The only way I can describe it is by throwing out the word yeast. Like when homemade bread is rising. Or pizza crust is being tossed in the air, and not in that cool, sexy way. Ever recall making glue from scratch? I don't remember what was all in that, but that is the smell. Just like that. That is not even as bad, really. Cause that isn't hiding under someones pannis. Sometimes you can see it too, and it looks more yeasty than it smells. It curdles up on the end of my transducer. It gets on my gloved hand (so thankful for gloves). It settles in your nostrils for hours.

Equally stinky is stomach acid. Most patients that vomit in my presence project acid my way. I assume it's because they have thrown up everything at home before even coming to the ER and then they are given pain meds that make them nauseated and then given something for the nausea and it all comes up in front of me just as I'm about to lie them flat for the exam. It's sour. It's bitter. It's day-glo yellow. I've experienced my own acidity before and it burns through your nose. And it settles there. Just like yeast.

Worst of all is the sick smell of jaundice, usually from liver disease. These patients are golden, seriously. Again, not in that cool, sexy way. They are very ill. They look pregnant because their liver has stopped functioning properly and they are full of ascites (aka fluid). This fluid has a smell very similar to stomach acid, but worse for some reason. Maybe because it's seeping through the skin? I don't know. If you wiped up the acidic vomit with a musty, dirt dish towel you'd probably come very close to matching the scent of liver failure. And as you inhale it swings from nasal hair to cilia to the very core of your oropharynx olfactory factory and it settles there. Just like yeast and stomach acid, but with the urgent need for a shower.

Believe it or not, feces does not make my list of stanky stinky odors. I don't deal with it often in my department. Occasionally, I am overcome by a patient in ICU that just had a movement and it's quite overwhelming. But it is because of Vicks VapoRub that I've been able to withstand several years with these smells. And for that, I am grateful. I just wish that settled in your nostrils just like yeast, and stomach acid. And jaundice.

Que Pasa?

2010-04-14T23:02:00.000-07:00

I feel like I need to write, or blog just to satify my own "blog withdrawal" but I have nothing to say! Actually, I have to pause for a moment to scan a man's scrotum...doot di do...

10 minutes later....

Blogger's block. Is there such a thing? I hate to waste people's time with meaningless words of nothing. Then again, who's reading? Not to offend the few that are! LOL! So how 'bout an update.

I'm back from Arizona and had the most wonderful time. It was the first time I recall being there when the desert was "in bloom" and it was soooo much prettier and sightly than ever before. I've always been an ARIZONA: TAKE IT OR LEAVE it bumper sticker and now I think I've become a bit more ARIZONA: YA GOTTA SEE THE DESERT BLOOM. The weather was gorgeous, the accomodations were superb ('cept for the litle scorpion that tried to crash our pad but got violently evicted) and the company was absolutely GRAND! I even found a new boyfriend on the trip! If only I was 30 years younger. We ate great, soaked up a little sun and a lot of wine and had intellectual drunken conversations. What more could you ask for? And the best part was that I got to do it all with my Mom and Sister. THANK YOU, if you are out there.

Just an update on my relationship-it's rockin' like never before. I don't know why one waits a year to vomit all his supressed shit on me, but he made some valid points and after I burped back things seem to be going so smoothly (for now) that he told me today that if this "fix" continues we can soon try for numba two! I'm very happy 'bout dat. It made me cry and tingle. Oh, speaking of tingling...

...the nite I returned from my AZ trip I had my first non-coppertop orgasm! Well, I've had a couple before, a decade or so ago but since then my mind has checked out down there due to lack of activity sans the energizer bunny. And it was a good one! Not some little miniscule "o" that makes you think later that maybe you were just kinda...close? It made my man cry! I'm not kidding either. It's been weighing on him for five plus years the poor, patient thing. It came about orally, but that's okay! And then two nights later I had another. My secret? If one must know...I did some serious fantasizing. I didn't exclude him at all, but rather added several more of him. Well, T.M.I. really. But I thought I'd share. Now he's really gonna want it ALL THE TIME! haha.

On that note, it's back to work time. Nite.

I'm GAY

2010-03-31T22:42:00.000-07:00

Those are the recent words of Ricky Martin. This is about as shocking to me as when Ellen Degeneres came out. C'mon people. Maybe that's insensitive because I am not gay (yet) and I don't know what it's like to be discriminated against because of my sexual orientation. But ah...sometimes it's just sooo obvious. Do you suppose Ricky saw Adam Lambert still gettin' all the female fan love even though he's about as flamin' as they come and went "waddaminut, I can be cool and gay too!" Or maybe it's like he claims. He says his twin boys have inspired him to be real. Well, whatever. My hat goes off to you Ricky. To all of you that are out and proud. And for those still in the closet..put on some clothes and step on out!

Post Traumatic Stress Disorder

2010-03-30T11:27:00.000-07:00

I don't live or function much during normal hours when most people would, therefore I almost ALWAYS get to avoid rush hour. (Yay me!). So the other day when I was on my way up nort' to celebrate with my sister and I got on 35W going north, I was a tad surprised to see the congestion that was already starting on the tar at 3pm. Granted there is a gaggle of construction going on at the "crosstown" which makes people freak a little more, slow a lot more and even swerve some. As I started approaching the bottleneck where its two main arteries come together, my heart began to pound. I started to sweat. My hands got clammy, my vision blury. Then it hit me. This was the very place it happened; the traumatic event a few years ago as I was stuck in this very spot during stop and go traffic.

I didn't know at the time what was going on. I could only see out of my peripheral vision that the old beat up Cutless next to me was keeping the same pace as I. So I sped up a little. The Olds followed suit. Sped up more, the jalopy did the same. Since traffic was fairly thick it wasn't like I could just step on the gas and go, so I just tried to ignore the bastard. Then I noticed something even more strange. He had a gazillion feet in front of him allowing him to advance far in front of me and yet he was choosing not to. It was, at this point, confirmed in my mind's eye that I had an unusual situation going on next door. And so I turned to look. I'll forever regret that decision.

My vehicle sits up higher than most. My boyfriend calls it a hermaphodite or a "cruck" cause it doesn't know if it's a truck or car. I call it a crossover, cause that's what they are called. The Cutless rode lower to the road, lower than the normal Oldsmobile for whatever reason. Bald tires? A dead body in the trunk? Who knows, but I could see right into the lap of this man's luxury. And so it was, he was chokin' the chicken. Rubbin' one off! All while driving and staring at me! ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? Now the anxiety turned to rage. My face got flushed, my breathing got shallow and I felt my heart jump out of my chest to slap that asshole! I felt so violated! ROAD RAPED! Then, after the brief viewing of the up and down motion of his clutched knuckles, I looked him in the eye. I can't tell you how creepy the creep was, but it stopped me in my tracks. Literally. I didn't care that there were miles of vehicles behind me. I was NOT moving forward so as to be this preditor's daily flavor any longer. I don't recall exactly because I blacked out after that, but I think he stopped for a minute as well, and then laid on the gas and sped off, possibly a result of an orgasmic jetstream.

Okay, I didn't exactly black out. I'm not one hundred percent prude afterall. I was just so mortified and fascinated at the same time. I told EVERYONE about it. I had to. I just had no clue something as such could happen. Ignorance, I figure. Well, to my elated surprise, I found out through telling my story that I am not alone! There were several others who had been beaten off to under the same exact circumstances. "Oh ya, that happened to me about 10 years ago" or "I remember when I was in highschool and some guy..." WHAT? You mean to tell me that this is like a rites of passage and it was just now happening to me? Just like that I became offended. Hurt. I felt like a loser. Ugly. Pitiful. No one on the road wanted me. I can't believe it had happened to so many of my friends years ago and now, in my thirties I was finally "hand picked" in traffic to lose my rush hour viginity. UGH. Disgusting.

I really hope when the city is done tearing up that part of the freeway, that pukes DNA goes with it. I don't want to remember that every time I'm on that stretch. I still get the chills when that merge slows up. It's post traumatic stress at its best. Flippin' Jack Off. At least get a different car. Maybe a Volkswagen next time with a bumber sticker alert that reads "Fuckin' Spewin'" or maybe you should just "Schlang up and drive". Or get a Semi so there is no chance in hell that you'll be outed. Or is that.. was that.. the entire motive? Honestly, I no longer care to guess.

Mama never told me there'd be days like this. She showed me.

2010-03-26T22:48:00.000-07:00

I'm wide awake tonight yet very tired, exhausted. I'm tired of my self-centered man. Selfish? No. Just self-centered. Is one worse than the other? Really? We go over hurdles more than we sail through the course without hitting any cones. We have our "quarterly discussions" on how to make our shit work better together and for a few days, maybe a couple of weeks we are on track and happy and then soon it falls apart again. So easily. I wish it went together as smoothly as it falls apart. But it doesn't. He talks, I cry and we agree to try to meet those needs of the other. It's more of the same every time. And it gets progressively more exhausting. I pull away and put the wall back up built with more resentment each time I lay down another brick. In fact, since I couldn't sleep tonight I decided to retreat to the garage to mix more concrete.

Last night I called him from work saying we need a date, or something to help us reconnect because I don't feel the connection right now and when I feel that way my whole life sucks. He agreed and claims he's been trying to communicate but I never want to. That's not true. It's usually bad timing. I'm a baby. I'm a cryer. Our therapist once pointed out that all my emotions come out with crying cause that is what I know. I'm basically a flat-lined person until I cry. So when he tries to start a discussion about US right before I have to pick up the daughter from daycare, or before I have to leave for work I have to decline so as not to show up all puddled. (Case in point: he just came out to the garage where I am to see if everything is alright. It's after midnight and I really don't want to solve anything right now cause I'm really pissed, it's late and it would take us into the early morning if we started in right now.)

You would think it would be easy to meet your partner's needs. It ain't so eeee-say. His needs are all about sex. He needs sex to feel connected. I need the connection to want to have sex. See where this is a problem? SEX SEX SEX. I assume it's an issue the world over. Men want it a lot. Women want it a little, if that much. My cards are stacked against me. I'm not even here three nights out of the week. On weekends we go to bed often two hours apart from one another and since I get up with the toddler on weekends I don't want to wake up to lose an additional hour for sex. I don't wake up horny. He did nothing all day/week/month to make me horny, yet I'm the one with the problem. For the last few months he's been fishing every weekend so I can't really get horny that way since I'm left at home with a sassy little girl while he drinks beer, catches fish and sleeps in. Horny starts with my head. Horny does not happen by me seeing your bare chest..not anymore. Maybe in the beginning, but that stuff fades. Horny happens when I ovulate. That's the nature of the women, especially one that wants to have another baby. But I'm told I can't have another baby until our sex life meets his standards. But what about my needs? I just want to be thought of. I want affection. I don't want to be groped while leaning over the kitchen sink pealing carrots. That's not affection, that's annoying because I'm cooking and if I drop my pants in the kitchen the meal might get ruined.

I read once that a man thinks about sex every 30 seconds. That's way off. It's on the second, every second of the day unless he's working which he isn't right now. How did this all come about tonight you wonder? Me out in the garage blogging about it? I was awake in bed and heard him come in but he never came to bed. I know what this means. He's sleeping in the basement bedroom because he knows I have my monthly and sex isn't an option. How fucking rude is that? How fucked up is that, the poor sex starved baby. If he had erectile dysfunction would I ostracize him to make a statement? And it's not like we don't have sex. It might only be twice a week instead of his twice daily wishes, but if you take into consideration that I only share a bed with him 4 nights a week IF he doesn't go fishing or hunting for the weekend, I'd say that's pretty good. He says he doesn't want pity sex. Than don't take it. Or do something..ANYTHING to make me horny. There are sooo many little things a man could do to make that happen.

Offer to pick up the kid from daycare so I can sleep an extra hour instead of the usual 5 hours I get. You're not working! You pick her up! LET ME SLEEP.

Ask me questions about my day. Ask about my night out with my sister. Ask about work. Ask about my plans for the weekend. Ask me to FUCKING DO SOMETHING with you. Take me out. Get a babysitter. Dust the furniture. Again, you aren't working. Show interest in me. I know you have little interest and that makes horny so far away for me.

So I get up and go downstairs and inquire why he's sleeping in the basement. "I just felt like sleeping here". Bullshit. So what did I do? I crawled back in bed and grabbed my vibratin' boy and had my own little taste of horny. So there. Your loss.

It's all Steve Madden's fault

2010-03-25T22:04:00.000-07:00

I leave for Arizona in just over a week. I'm looking forward to it like you wudntevenfuckingbelieve. The man is bored, depressed and flat out lazy lately and the kid, well she's driving me up the wall! The persistence of a two year old is like no other, save for maybe a crack whore. I have taken away her snacks, yet she finds multiple other things to zone in on and beg me for. Here's an example of our exchange when she comes home from daycare today.

Can I have a tic tac peeeees?
No. No tic tac honey.
(Voice gets a tad louder) I wanna TIC TAC!
No. I said no. No tic tac.
I WANNA TIC TAC!
NO!
(Louder yet) I WAANNNNA TIC TAAAAC!!!
(Now I'm loud) NOOOO!
At this point her arm swings back to gear up for the hit and luckily she makes the decision to hit the couch rather than me...this time.
I WANNA TIC TAC! *slap couch*

Normally at this point I would scoop her up abruptly, so as to mean business, and put her in her corner. It works every time. It changes her focus, even if it is just a teeny time out in the rule book of time outs. However, because of a stupid pair of old Steve Madden shoes with the chunky, early to mid 90s heel, I can barely walk today. I did not want to get off the couch to train my toddler.

I was told I "rolled" my ankle. I didn't trip, or fall I just rolled. And this morning after a night of partying with my sister on her 40th birthday, I woke up with not a headache, but an ankle..ahem...cankle ache. Ouch. And ewwwwwe. It's swollen and purple and ugly. It's about ten times the normal size, right on the ball of the ankle. I can't remember ever having an ankle issue. In fact the only other time I can recall swelling is when I was pregnant and my feet swelled up to look like a duck-billed platypus, but there was no pain to escort that puff.

Now today I'm pissed. I'm mad because this likely means no elliptical training, no Wii Fit Plus for awhile. A connection in the emergency room said I need to stay off of it and elevate it when possible. She said sprains can be just as bad as fractures because people assume they can keep on keepin' on when really they should stay off the foot if possible and baby the hell out of it for a speedier recovery. How da heck am I supposed to lose more weight if I can't work out? I was just getting addicted. The one addiction I fought all my life was finally wrapping itself around me and now I gotsta push it back, say no and keep it at arms length? I guess I might have to. I need this foot to heal so it can travel around Arizona. I don't wanna be climbing those streets in Jerome on a bad ankle.

Curse you Steve Madden. Can't you make roll-proof shoes? Or maybe you do by now and I don't know it because I just don't shop much. Maybe you invented some whilst in prison. Maybe you started thinking about how you could better the lives of your shoe wearin' drunkards. Could you do that SM? It's too late for me, but you could save someone else!

Day-glo Blue

2010-03-23T22:12:00.000-07:00

I don't feel very inspired to write tonight, so in fear of writing crap I'm just gonna take this time to thank the makers of the ultrasound gel I use. I have been "on the gel" for about nine and a half years if you count school. For at least five of those years I've complained about not being able to see the wet goop because I work in a dimly lit room. I tend to use about four to six ounces on one patient alone and when I'm done, believe you me, they want to be DRY as DRY can be. It's astounding how many people care about a little cold slime left behind on a piece of clothing or under their bra. I know it feels icky. And I'm sorry and I tried to get it all off but don't you have other shit to bitch about? Like the fact that you are in the emergency room AGAIN because you ovulated and it hurt. Or the fact that you might have a blood clot in your leg and that gel on your briefs ain't gonna matter once they start pokin' and proddin' and not letting you sleep during your 3 day heparin stay. A recent elderly woman asked that I please be careful not to get the stuff on her new undies. I try to reassure patients by explaining that it's made mostly of water- it doesn't stain and it will dry. Or I just joke it off by saying "ya, I sure wish they'd make this stuff glow in the dark..ha ha ha..." then I throw a towel at them so they can help out since it is in fact easier to feel the gooey muck than to see it.

Well guess what? Praise the lord jesus christ allelujah (lights shining down from heaven and all) cause the gel is now a sort of day-glo aqua blue color! Or teal. Doesn't matter, cause I can see it. I feel kinda bad, actually, because I now see just how much I really do use on one patient and it drips into places I didn't even venture to go. And that's another thing! They made it thicker so that it doesn't take off running down someones flank area and seep into the part of their shirt that I forgot to conceal with a towel. It is a viscous utopia! I'm ecstatic. Euphoric! YAY ME! YAY GOO! It's a happy marriage at last. Ah yes, it's the little things. Thank you.

A scene from Psycho

2010-03-20T21:24:00.000-07:00

In exactly two weeks I will be off to sunny (cross fingers here) Arizona to join my mother and other great company for seven days of lazy! Sooo excited, for the most part. As previously mentioned, I have been dieting in preparation for this vaycay and it's going rather well. What I haven't prepared for this trip is my southern region, my "twain" if you will. Today I started thinking that with all that is ~~growing~~ going on inferior to my umbilicas, I should probably start the bikini prep now so that one: there will be less maintenance once poolside and two: starting now would leave ample room for any incident such as ingrown hairs, razor bumps or accidental snipping of the labia minora. What? you ask? Well it's your lucky, ahem...unlucky day cause I'm in the mood to tell a good story, even if means looking back at a very painful and traumatizing memory.

Toward the end of my pregnancy I decided to do very minimal trimming of my Don King due mostly in part of visibility issues. Accessibility was somewhat limited unless I contorted my full-term body into compromising positions. But I didn't want to alarm my OB doctor either. I know, he has seen it all but not on me, not yet. I had stayed trimmed up out of respect for him. I already had anxiety about the possibility of having a bowel movement during the delivery and if that was gonna happen I didn't want the turd(s) to get lost in a nest of all things hairy. This meant very careful and precise riddance of even the fuzz that happily hangs its ugly head on your...yes...taint.

After the baby came I stayed out of that area, this time out of respect for that area. I had stitches, afterall. So I soaked and I soaked but I let the tarantula thrive. Until, that is, my six week follow up appointment. Now, I don't know if breastfeeding had anything to do with it, but that shit grew and spread like a sod farm since I'd last paid any attention to it. It was obvious to me that I would be needing Edward Scissorshands.  Not a problem. I'll just grab my trusty (somewhat rusty) little scissors for the occasion, and invite a brand new shaver blade to the party as well! And we're off.

Something I otta mention is that the hot water in our upstairs shower runs out quickly, especially in times of shaving ones legs, pits and muffy so I went directly to my Kramer and started to clip clip clip away at the thicket below. I went in like a dozer clearing the brush for a manicured landscape.  It was going rather well, but I was starting to get a little worried about losing my heat so I sped things up and got a little sloppy. A lot sloppy. And then this. As I pulled the hair out and away from my hood, I took one quick snip at the gathered tuft and then did this.

AAAUUGH!

Actually I don't remember hearing sound come from my mouth, just a really loud silent scream. And then this.

Blood everywhere.

You know when you cut yourself shaving, how the blood in water, for some reason, looks like three times more than it actually is? Well, this was that times ten. I imagine even Janet Leigh would have been grossed out and only Carrie could remotely relate.  Red was running down my inside thigh and Pink was pooling in the tub and spinning down the drain like a Paint'N'Swirl art machine. I immediately expelled the scissors from my possession and transfered my injured privates to the toilet. It was here, out of the water, that the pain set in. It felt like a burn or paper cut, only with a tad more intesity and throbbing. I didn't really know what to do with the vascular area, so I took some toilet paper and held pressure. I was not expecting what I saw next. I gently took off the soiled tissue and inspected the delicate inner lip. To my horror, I had lacerated it enough to expose the fat. Not good. Not right. Not know what to do. I decided my 6 week follow up could wait so I canceled that appointment. I mean really. How would I explain this to the doc who did a much better job on my episiotomy. I decided in the end to ride it out to see what would happen and then this.

It started to heal together UNEVENLY!

Moist areas tend to heal quickly, such as in the mouth. Well this unplanned incision started to fuse back together GODSPEED, and I don't get God most of the time. At this point I felt disfigured. I was disfigured. Pulverized by my decision to approach a tender task full throddle. I botched my crotch. Is this something I could live with? Would I need cosmetic surgery? Certainly I couldn't go under the knife for something so minor-a. Or could I?

Well, fast forward a few very sore episodes of wiping and several days of cumbersome clothes rubbing and the funny little lip actually healed quite nicely and not all jagged like it initially appeared it would. I went to my six week follow up a week late and I guarantee that even with the voluminous, luminous light shining down on the injured flap, my doc didn't notice a thing.

Since that episode two years ago, I have been very shell shocked and slack on my upkeep. I have been avoiding any extensive decor tactics down yonder. I might run a quick shave along side each bikini junction, but those scissors have yet to show up at another shaving gala. Apparently, fear is a factor, but now is the time to face it. Clean up my act. Give Lady Gaga a new do and hopefully avoid a don't. Wish me luck.

'puter poetry

2010-03-18T20:43:00.000-07:00

Click click freeze
wait
click scroll freeze
wait wait
scroll
wait
back click freeze
wait
click freeze
wait
ctrl alt delete
wait wait
freeze end task freeze
wait
wait
wait
wait
wait
wait
not responding
wait wait wait
click click click
curse curse curse
push hold power off.

I have multiple computers at work that I could use. All of them suck. I tend to gravitate to the corner computer cuz that's the one with all my bookmarks. It's so ~~fucking~~ frustrating! The monitor is on a pedestal that resembles the neck of a fathead and I have actually been compelled to stimulate a not so PC strangulation. I've said this before and I will say it ten times over "it's good that I work alone."

Maury Material

2010-03-17T21:12:00.000-07:00

I can't recall whether or not I mentioned before that I'm an ultrasound tech and I'm too lazy to refer back to my prior lengthy posts to find out, but that is my bread and butter. I've put in seven point five years as of about now and I must say it is definitely more interesting than I had originally thought it would be. Going in I assumed it was all about babies. Happy Mommies and scared Daddies watching an image of their love child being created from gel on a belly to black and white pixels on a screen. He'd be holding her hand and they'd gaze into one anothers eyes searching for that tear of glory and joy that would gestate into a genetic compilation of his eyes, her smile and Grandpa Springer's nose. Hearts would be floating above their heads. Birds would chirp chirp in the background somewhere and I would get to say "He has a really strong heartbeat". Then Ken and Barbie would take deep breaths in unison and slowly exhale in a cavalier manner.

I've experienced that twice maybe, sans the birds chirping. Ya...no..my experiences with pregnancy ultrasounds are much more homely. If there is a baby daddy (and I'm not one to judge, remember) he is usally texting or playing games on his phone looking up once at the screen to inquire if I can tell the gender yet. The most common ultrasound I do is for the early pregnancy, say around six weeks so and if I can see it at all, likely it's the size of a sesame seed and NO I can't yet tell you if it's the baby boy that you can finally, proudly wear. More times than not there is a friend along who stands in for the BD or SO (significant other). This usually represents an ambiguous situation in which the BM doesn't know who the BD is or maybe the BD doesn't believe he is the responsible party or maybe he just wasn't available for this particular emergency of cramping or spotting because he was out flaunting his meat. Nonetheless, an ultrasound is completed. Often times with normal, healthy results. Then the question I too often anticipate sheepishly emerges. "So, can you tell me when I got pregnant?" And guess what? I can! Well, roughly and within a four day window provided my measurements are truly as accurate as they can be. I grab my LMP calculator wheel thingy and do my magic and deliver the estimated date of conception. "Are you sure?" Now that's not a fair question really. Cause no, I'm not sure at all. You are the one that had sex, afterall, not me. If you want to sleep with 2 of 3 different men in a 4 day time frame of ovuation then you figure it out. I can just provide the window. "But I can't be because I had a period last month". This is called an implantation bleed. It likely was not a real period. Thus the entertainment begins and sometimes the questions persist.

How far along before I can get a DNA test?
What is the cutoff for having an abortion?
Is it possible I'm really not as far along as I'm measuring?

I remember this one time in particular where a white girl wheeled up to my office where I was doing her paperwork, all distraught over the spread in which the magic wheel claimed she conceived. She wanted an exact date and I can't do that. Ovulation starts around day fourteen and can last 4-5 days or more depending on ones cycle. And since I nor the wheel was there to experience your mittelshmerz (abdominal pain occurring between the menstrual periods and usually considered to be associated with ovulation) or your clear, jelly-like discharge also associated with ovulation, I can't help you anymore. I'm sorry. You'll probably have to wait and get a DNA test after the baby is born. "OH NO, I'll know once the baby comes out!" she says. That's when I turn my head, bite my lip and cry silently.

I have even had the suspected baby Daddies follow me out of the room and basically corner me to ask when conception was. It always throws the men off. I will tell them they are 6 weeks and immediatly the man's own mental magic wheel starts turning. " Uh uh that's not right. We didn't have sex then..we'd broken up". Then before I can explain how the dating system works, claws come out and voices shout and that's when I turn my head, bite my lip and cry silently. Yes, I said you were six weeks but that counts the two weeks from the day you first got your period. That means conception was around four weeks ago. Confetti falls from the sky and I'm now the hero! I love my job.

Sometimes, albeit rare, I get to tell couples the gender because they are far enough along and can't wait to find out. I have to confess I get anxious about having to tell them it's a girl. Not because I don't trust my scanning, but because men get livid! Not always, but most of the time. And the BM gets upset as well because she knows the SO wants a boy, regardless if he has three somewhere already, he wants her boy now. It's insane. I've watched them walk out during the exam. I've heard them argue in foreign languages, some of which I understood because I know the words for boy and girl. I've seen expressions I don't care to remember. Having had a baby girl I know that Daddies end up adoring their little ladies and I want to give them words of encouragement but don't. I might tilt my head to the side and soften my eyes and smile as though to say "it's gonna be okay" but that's as far as I go. Usually because I'm pissed as all hell and want to shoot the semen spreading megalomaniac. Recently I had a girl come in alone, wreaking of that marijuana stuff, just wanting to know her baby was okay because she was being abused by the father. They fight all the time, she informs me. It wears me out this time. I don't always want to know. So I turn my head and bite my lip and cry silently.

One Whiskey. One Scotch. One bottle of wine!

2010-03-16T12:22:00.000-07:00

This is so much harder than I thought, this NO DRINKING thing. I keep slipping. I keep guilting myself. I am eating 1200 calories daily which does leave room for about two glasses of wine a day if I wish. But I can't and don't drink Tuesday through Thursday so technically I could drink those 6 glasses in one night, right? I figured out there are 85 calories in 3.5 ounces of wine. With twenty-four ounces in a bottle that is 582 calories. OY. Now I'm flat out obsessing over what I can drink the MOST of with the least caloric spanking. Beer; 12 ounce can of my choice has 155 calories so that's out. Brandy with water and lemon? 85 calories per ounce! Who puts one shot in their drink? Not me! My mom taught me better than that! Then I had an ingenious idea. Drink the wine, but with diet spritzer and lemon. Well, last night I forgot to buy the soda water at the liquor store and the local convenient store dudn't even carry it. Wha?

So straight up red wine it was. And so yummy it is! I love the shit so much that if you were gonna make me choose between my wine and my daughter I'd choose my daughter of course, but only because people would chastise me for choosing the glorious taste of tannins. Granted, it's not the same as drinking beer in the warm sun or by a warm bonfire since it is a warming beverage. But I'm willin' to compromise if it's gonna keep me from gettin' fatter.

So there I am, outside enjoying the first really nice day of March, so gallantly sipping on my little glass of red blend. I sip and I have a smoke and I sense guilt sitting on the steps behind me but I'm able to ignore the beast, for now. Afterall, I haven't lost the fight yet. My gloves are still on and I'm probably gonna have one more small glass of wine before the day is over.

Eventually the wine gets set aside for playtime with the kid and guilt fades away. We go for a walk. Well, she runs and I walk briskly behind her trying to keep a finger on her hoodie so she doesn't get too far ahead of me. The neighbors start to gather, save for one that is stricken with the flu. Bikes are cycling about and skidding here and there in the alley trying to make tire marks. Remember that? I used to do that. I didn't wear a helmet back then though. They were so like, not cool.

The kid starts to get absolutely insanely crazy about not getting her way so we retreat into the house to eat dinner and get ready for bed. She falls asleep on the couch watching E.T. Her daddy puts her to bed. I look at the clock and OH EM GEE it's only six o'clock? I go back outside to reunite with my meager serving of vino and discover a petite winged insect had decided to assault my scant drink. After several failed attempts at a rescue, I involuntarily toss the wine in the grass. Mournfully, I go back inside to refuel. These wasted ounces prove very important later in the evening.

This glass (my second poured but only my first consumed in it's entirety) goes down quickly. Not only does guilt reappear, but I can feel the bastards breath on my left shoulder but don't have the breadth of mind to care..yet. I pour more. I keep it teeny, around three ounces. I drink it and have more smokes. My baby daddy starts a fire in our rusty patina of a pit and I pull up a chair and kick back. I'm pretty sure at this point that I'm sitting on guilt but I don't care. I have come up with rather insightful and sensible justifications as to why I deserve this wine, even if it is more than I'd planned on having. Here are a few examples:

*It's the first really nice day since winter and I just need to get this out of my system.
*I didn't eat the pineapple that came with lunch so that must add up to a spare 100 calories.
*OH, and I rarely drink my 2 glasses of milk that is included in my daily dietary caloric intake. Another 160.
*I didn't drink saturday night and only had one dinky cocktail sunday night.
*The kid crashed so early, surely that's a sign that it's MY night.

ETCETERA.

They were lame justifications, yes? Simultaneously entertaining nonetheless. On the contrary, Guilt did not appreciate the humor but by now I'm thinking that fucker can kiss my fat dieting ass! I fight guilt on a daily basis and usually win, or at least come out enough ahead so that the menace has no desire to come to bed with me. And that's what eventually happened here. The asshole retreated. Saw that I was done with. I was drinking beyond my allowed intake. I poured another and another and another until the bottle was empty. I had even recorked a couple of times thinking that would deter me but it didn't and why would it? I'm not to be trusted, afterall. I'm a veteran of drinking. I know what I'm capable of. Sobriety was something that went in unison with pregnancy, but nothing else....ever.

And I wasn't done, or at least I didn't feel I was. New neighbors had just shown up to partake in our natural heat and I didn't want to miss anything. It wasn't even nine o'clock yet, was it? Then a light went on! An epiphany. A revelation. I didn't actually drink the whole bottle. I unwillingly discarded my first puny glass of wine due to the invasion of a sesame seed sized critter. What would be so wrong with opening another bottle and having just one more teeny glass of beauty? So I did. But the cork stopped there.

I was done. Ready for my feather tick. I checked a few messages and brushed my teeth and retainer and entered the bedroom door only to discover GUILT! Guilt was in my room. That never happens! WTF WTF WTF do I do now? OMG and I'm not LOL. The prick won't leave either, so I crawl in bed and close my eyes and try to tune satan out. All I can do now is wait for my man to come to bed to kick guilt's ass. It would be like a "two-fer" for him since guilt is probably there for dual reasons. I haven't been such a good "puter outer" lately and maybe if I give in tonight guilt will go running. Afterall, a bottle of wine does make me HO-nay. HO hum.

Applesalse anyone?

2010-03-10T21:57:00.000-08:00

Two and half years ago I walked into the hospital to have my pregnancy induced. I weighed 182 pounds. When I found out I was preggers I weighed 159 which may sound like a lot, but I'm five nine and that actually looks alright on my frame. Clothes fit nicely. There was no back fat or muffin top. My belly- my weakest link- has always been quite gelatinous. In highschool a male classmate poked me in the abdomen at a kegger and slurred something about my jelly belly. Then in college a boyfriend referred to it as a pussy pouch. Not to my face of course. He let one of his roommates deliver that award. Oh the joys of not being perfect. Anyway, what I'm trying to get at is that I barely put on any weight during pregnancy and actually all of the weight I did gain ended up in the biohazard container along with the placenta.

Fast forward two and half years. WTF? Where did all this crap come from? It's hangin' off to the left and saggin' to my right and it's attached to me. And my mid section! I kid you not people are looking at me like they wanna ask me if I'm pregnant again. I have had indirect questions like, "so when are you going to have another?". I'd put money that if I responded with "four weeks" they would not act surprised. I now weigh just a couple pounds less than the day of my induction. I did alright the first year. Somehow I managed to keep the weight off for over a year without watching what I ate and doing just light exercise, like stroller walks and such. But then I kinda wasn't really watching what I ate. And even more damming was that I wasn't watching what I drank.

Enter beer.

It's a staple at our house. If you are outside, you are drinking beer. If you are in the garage, you drink beer. If you are in the neighbors driveway, you drink beer. By the bonfire, beer. Gardening? Ah heck..grab a beer. Badminton anyone? Beer breaks a plenty! I was probably consuming 4800 calories during my four days off from work when all four allowed for it. I wasn't getting hammered or smashed or any of that. It was just a lot of nonchalant beer drinking through out the day. Having once been arrested for DUI (see my intro post) the only place I felt safe drinking was at home and drinking we did. Then there was the grilling out. Granted, it was all healthy stuff. (sidebar: I did read that my chances of having breast cancer are 10% greater because of our frequent use of charcoal). And then there was take-out. Not so healthy stuff. We didn't really eat out much anymore because of the kid and all, but we'd pick up some Thai food, or some yummy authentic Mexican food. Then there were the potato chips. I love love love potato chips. The saltier the better, which is odd since I don't like to add salt to my food. Sometimes a day of beer drinking would lead to a big bowl of plain potato chips dipped in ketchup! YUMMY! And then I'd go straight to bed. What a wasted drunken snack that turned out to be. My man would often comment how fast I ate. That habit started after the kid was born. She was a tad fussy after a coupla weeks old and I had to eat fast or not at all. I'd be shoveling food in my mouth while rocking her bouncy seat with my foot in hopes I'd get it all in while still hot. I spent too much of her "non fussy" time cookin' the shit and now just as I was about to enjoy the meal she'd wake up pissed. Have I mentioned portion size? I'm not and never have been much of a snacker other than my drunken chip fests so when I did have a meal I made it count. It wasn't that I didn't know better, I just couldn't stop. I love food and if it's in abundance on my plate I will finish it.

Enter Disgust.

When you look down at your belly and you have rolls beneath your breasts that you never had before, or cottage cheese sitting front and center with your belly button, it's time to do something about it. It ain't goin' away by itself. I got so disgusted with myself that I could barely stand to look at my naked body in the mirror. I'd turn sideways and have to pick my jaw up off the floor after seeing the thickness I'd become. I had never been this big without being pregnant. I remember thinking several pounds ago that I still wasn't as big as I've been. Well now I was bigger. I was puffy too. I was spiraling fast with only a few pieces of clothing left to hide behind and even those didn't fit comfortably. To make matters worse all I could think about was my upcoming trip to Arizona and whether or not I'd have to bring my maternity bathing suit. What effect would that have on my psyche? It was time. I'd hit an all time caloric and gluttonous rock bottom.

Enter Seattle Sutton Healthy Eating. SSHE for short.

A very good friend of mine was doing a promo and had lost 20 pounds on this portion controlled, freshly prepared three meal a day diet in two months. Granted she had more to lose from the start, but impressive nonetheless. It's not cheap. In fact she got three months free. I wasn't sure if I could part with that amount of money on a diet of all things, when I should be able to discipline myself to cook and count calories at home. And like my hair removal homework, I was a tad intimidated by the sum of money it would all add up to in the end. Then I discovered that through work I could receive ten dollars off of the first week and save five a week from then on out. It wasn't that much of a discount, but now for some reason I felt like I had found it at a garage sale. Sign me up Scotty!

A little over one week in and I've lost 6 pounds. I feel better already. I'm not bloated. I'm not puffy. Between going on a diet and off of effexor I'm actually pooping nearly every other day which is a huge accomplishment for me. I've had a few glasses of wine but not much and absolutely no beer. The food is just okay. A couple of times I've been pleasantly surprised, like the quesadillas, and the spinach quiche and squash. I've become very protective over my food, the little amount there is. My daughter is like a dog when it comes to eating and she's constantly trying to steal food off my plate. I growl loudly now. The other night I was trying to stab my cooked honey glazed carrots with a plastic fork and two of them jumped on the floor. That was very sad. Had I not been at work at the hospital I probably would have picked them up and brushed them off but I have rules about hospital floors. When certain things, like tapioca or apple crisp (without the crisp) come in these little plastic cups I make sure to lick those containers clean. Often times my side dishes become a topping for the main course. For example, yesterdays garden burger came with a side of beans that ended up on my burger since it didn't come with cheese or even lettuce. I've also discovered some new combinations like with todays salsa chicken sandwich. They gave me way more salsa for that sandwich than necessary and since I couldn't have any tortilla chips, I sliced up the supplied apple and used it to scoop up the leftover salsa on my plate. It really wasn't that bad. Instead of applesauce I was eating applesalse.

omg. I am in culinary hell.

Effexor will Fix Her!

2010-03-10T12:41:00.000-08:00

I'm trying to change several aspects of my life, one of them is to regain custody of my mind and body. The first step was to remove the IUD I've had in place for over two years. I recently had my first real menses since the "knock up" and it felt reeeeally good. Never thought I'd say that about my time of month. As far as birth control goes, it did what it was meant to do but for over two years I have had a rainbow of discharge, a buffet if you will, every fucking day. Talk about feeling not-so-fresh. One day it was pink, the next it was yellowish. Then a tint of green would enter the picture followed by some brown or red and whiter than white. A Monet of sorts. Now, as a woman you are told that these colors mean something like, infection? Yeast? Bacteria? Every time I thought I was diseased I checked out clean with the doc. "The string tends to irritate the cervix of some women". Mine was flat out irate. Gone were the days of going commando. Gone were the days of going down. So, the foreign object is now out of my invaded uterus and other than the mild latex irritation I've had to once again embrace, I couldn't be happier.

IUD out. Check.

The next thing on my list was to begin weaning myself off of the anti-depressant Effexor XR. The XR stands for extended release? Anyone that has ever been on this drug, or one in the same family knows that if you go more than twenty four hours sans pill poppin' your brain begins to pop. For those of you who aren't familiar, allow me to try to give you the best description.

Wow, this is harder than I thought. I can't think of a similarity. Ummmm. "They" call them brain zaps. Everything will be completely normal and all of the sudden you look to your left then straight ahead again and it's as though the earth couldn't keep up with your vision. Your peripheral vision wobbles, so to speak, and is about a millisecond behind the shift of your eyesight. It's almost like an instant replay in your head? I'd be driving down the freeway and glance at a billboard than back to the road in front of me and for a second that visual pattern I had just created would coming swinging back. It's very odd. You also get a brain flush feeling. When you take effexor daily, you only get a hint of this if you forget to take it and the meds "half life" expires. Weaning, on the other hand is hell. You get only small breaks between these zaps/shifts/flushes because you are decreasing your dose slowly which shortens the half life of the dose you take and it's a dangerously aggressive cycle of staying on top of those horrible sensations with taking as little dose as possible at a time so that eventually you are barely taking any effexor to make it all go away. Keep in mind, the medical world..the Brain docs..claim that these meds are not addictive or habit forming? There should be no withdrawal. Look up effexor on Wikipedia and you'll read this "Venlafaxine hydrochloride is in the phenethylamine class of modern chemicals, which includes amphetamine, methylendioxymethamphetamine (MDMA), and methamphetamine". Pardon me? Meth? HUH? And it apparently is a sister to Tramadol, which is a pain pill often used by Veterinarians. Hmph. No withdrawals eh?

Fuckers.

Weaning is not for the weak. I imagine it sends most people over the edge and right back on the shit. Weaning causes depression and anxiety. The drop you feel when you cut the dose down, even gradually, is horrific. I've done it before, when I first found out I was pregnant. It didn't seem as difficult, probably because I was in Mazatlan and was so emotional anyway from all the other nonsense going on in my life (see my intro post) that I didn't realize the craziness the weaning was causing. After about a month or more of weening, I think I'm finally effexor free. I'm still getting the pops or zaps but it's very mild and I can ride it out now. I no longer have this ravenous pull to take a nibble off of a pill so that I can make the withdrawals go away. It makes me wonder about that Wilson-Philips girl that just got out of rehab for anxiety. Was she there to withdrawal? Maybe she couldn't handle it and needed to be put in a coma until the drug was entirely gone from her neurons. If that's the case, I'm jealous. Cause it sucks.

Effexor out. Check.

Stubble stubble toil and trouble.

2010-03-09T23:29:00.000-08:00

I had a revelation a few months back. I was getting all prettied up to go out and realized that the upkeep on my facial hair had gone by the wayside. One of the many groomings neglected post partum. I didn't have time to wax, nor did I want the redness so without even hesitating I grabbed my disposable and with a few short strokes my stache was history-for now. I had no more than washed the razor off and placed it back on its perch in the shower when the burn set in followed by shame. THE SHAME burned worse than the burn itself. What had I just done? Did I really just shave my mustache? The thicker than fuzz that I had kept fairly tidy over the years since developing the manly trait had just eloped onto a blade meant for legs and I wanted to cry hard. I called one of my bestest friends ever with whom I share the hair bond (she's half Chilean) and spilled to her what I had just done and the despair I now far from reveled in. She laughed. I sulked. Then like she so often does, she found the pot of gold at the end of my bic. "Think of it as a prep for laser hair removal because that is something you have to do before getting it done." Aha! Perfect! Now all's I gotta do is commit to that laser. I looked into it and was immediately intimidated by the cost of a smooth upper lip. And as my lip continued to suffer razor burn, I put my hair free hopes on the back burner.

Until now. Uncle Sam was good to me this year. A plus for being unwed with child. I did a little research and found a couple of places to consult. Both places molested me with calls and emails but one called Permanent Choice appeared to impress so I set up a consult. It was located in Apple Valley, a good 20 minutes from my house so I left with plenty of time to spare. I had semi-prepped for this consult by not tweezing or waxing for a couple of weeks and a lovely upper lip it was not. As I pulled up to the economony stricken new development with multiple FOR RENT and OFFICE SPACE AVAIL signs in painted neon, I questioned my decision for a second. Then I heard my mom telling me not to judge a book by its cover, or something like that so I went in and climbed up and entered through. A very sociable woman with just okay skin greeted me and brought me directly back to the laser room to sing me her unwanted hair song and I started to dance. Let's do this. Right here, right now. I signed a paper or two (wrongly dated..oops) and relaxed as the mag mirror hovered over my face. My god, what she must see with that thing. Is that why she has not so great skin? Because she has access to a mirror that magnifies every little pore and blemish and hair and yuck to be seen? Moving forward I was shaved once again. Now I was glad I had experience a shave prior to this because had I not I might have cried right there on the chair in front of this nice laser lady. The probe zapped and the hair was stanky. If you've ever lit your bangs on fire trying to light a cig on a stovetop you know the smell. It was quick and painless, save for the anticipation of the little zaps and smells.

In six weeks I will return for another treatment. I have some stubbles right now that should fall out or "brush off" which is just the follicle dying and the hair being forced out or something. I can't tweeze or wax or tan. I'm going to AZ in April and the latter might be difficult but SPF 30 will be my friend, at least on my face. I have to say I'm very glad I finally went to battle with the follicular fillers that menace my upper lip. I'm looking forward to not worrying every time the sun is shining on my face and someone is looking at me. No longer will I wonder if my man can feel the regrowth after waxing. Of course, he'd rather I focus on other hairy areas, but hey, I can cover those.

When I got home I checked the messages on the home phone, one of which was from the other laser place I had considered. A nice lady on the wire said something along the lines of "please call us back immediately regarding a contest you entered online". Go figure. I got "burned" for grabbing the razor too quickly once again.

The ferret boy

2010-03-09T21:41:00.000-08:00

I figure I should get a person or two up ta speed on the turn of events that took place in my life somewhere after the age of thirty, when things got interesting. Prior to that milestone my life was rather normal, if not somewhat boring. I'd gone to school a few times and ended up with a good career. I owned my very own place and was no longer moving annually, which was very relieving to my annual movers. I had several somewhat successful relationships behind me, some more meaningful than others. My friends rocked. Other than the 'rents deeee-vorce, my family was stable. It was all lovely. I even shared my life with a 7 year old ferret named Jimmy, whom I acquired after a ferret-sitting gig turned permanent. This ferret would later prove my fate after a friend of mine set me up with a contractor that was hangin' up hammer time for happy hour at her residence each night to socialize with her husband and other contractors. One evening around 5pm I too joined this happy hour with Pabst and company to check out my possible suitor which eventually led to this conversation:

Him: "Did you say you live in a condo in South Minnepolis?"
Me: "Ya, by lake Nokomis".
Him: "I just renovated some laundry rooms in some condo's by lake Nokomis".
Me: "Those must have been my laundry rooms cause those are the only condo's over there and we just had ours updated".
Him: "Ya, one day I found someone's ferret in the laundry rooms"
Me interrupting "You found my ferret?!"

And the rest was history. How could I not go out with the man who rescued Jimmy? The man I now referred to as The Ferret Boy. Jimmy got out one day as I stood with the door propped giving the UPS man my sig for a new coffee pot. I didn't know he got out. Jimmy was old and slept 23 hours or more a day and it wasn't abnormal for me to not see him since I worked evenings overnight. However, two days later when I noticed he wasn't eating his rice cakes or seedless cukes, I panicked. I called a good friend of mine to come over asap to help me turn my place upside down to find my dead Jimmy. I was certain that woud be the end results. And we exhausted every search possibility in my 650 square feet (or less depending on what appraisal you look at) and came up empty. My friend then suggested maybe there was a sign in the entry way. I hadn't seen one but I'd check. Turns out someone had found Jimmy and "stored" him in the second floor laundry room storage closet. We jolted airborne to that storage closet only to find another scavenger-hunt-type letter informing us and instructing us on how to find and retrieve Jimmy. So we called the number listed and left a message. Soon after I got a call back and within minutes Jimmy was back in my arms thanks to a lovely woman in my building who had a soft spot for adventurous rodents.

The story on the other end wasn't as pleasant. Apparently when Jimmy waddled sideways into the laundry room some of the nosey residents thought he should be killed, but The Ferret Boy knew this was someone's pet and saved Jimmy. We continued to date and fall in love with giddiness and hormones and a lot of drinking. Mostly we would stay up til around three am in his kitchen drinking, smoking cigs and listening to his eclectic music collection. I told him that in the beginning I called him Ferret Boy and he confessed the same, having called me the Ferret Girl. Hearts afloat above thy heads.

For nearly two years things went great. We had a few conflicts, nothing big. We spent weekends fishing on water, sleeping on land, then fishing on ice and sleeping on the ice. We saw a few shows of his choice. We had bonfires in his backyard. We grilled a lot and drank more and had conversations about life and his sordid past and my...stuff. But there was this one thing. He was a career bachelor. He didn't want marriage or children. Once again, I was with that type of man. The type I always fell for. WHY-eee? Yet I stuck with him. I guess I was calling his bluff. Maybe I could change his mind. Well I didn't and he only got more distant as my desire increased with age. I was getting old, afterall.

In September of '06 I made a dumb decision to get adult braces. Apparently my overbite was wearing away at my top teeth..etc.etc.etc. I was told in highschool I should have braces but my parents were already in the poor house from my other two siblings having them and since my teeth weren't visibly messed up they saw no reason. I opted in on the "back to school special" and the very same month my man sat me down to dump me. It wasn't really out of nowhere. Things were not so great anymore. Sex was feeling desperate by this point and he was treating me like an outsider. Gone was the giddy. Time to Giddy UP. It felt almost like a divorce but I'm not one to sulk. I've always handled gettin' kicked to the curb fairly well and this was no different. Easy really. You just go on. You move forward. You discuss it with friends and family and shed tears and those who are your best friends rip him to shreds and tell you how much better off you are without him. For over a month I refrained from trying to contact my ex man so that I could remain sane, unscathed and to be quite honest with you...I had a little fun being single again. Isn't that how us women move forward? By revisiting our past and seducing the present? How else would we rebound and gain back our confidence after being told we aren't the one. Anyway, at 33 years old I had a little bit-o experience in the rebound department and wasn't gonna change that this time around. C'mon. I was hot! HAHA. Oh, and just for the record and to clear any speculation, although I had fun I didn't have that much fun.

That was most of October. I can't remember exactly but I know it had been a month or more since the breakup. It was still slightly warm out because I remember getting the call from my ex man who was sitting outside by a bonfire when he spoke the words "Do you know why we broke up?" Silence. "Because I don't." Silence. I'm sure I must have said something. But in that moment I knew what was going to happen. I had moved on. I didn't crawl back or beg or booty and he missed me. We got together. It was weird. We talked. It was careful. We had sex. It was sad. I was soooo confused now. Anyone that knows me might say I hate not knowing and I hate surprises. I hated this.

We didn't exactly fall back into place. It wasn't even gonna happen fo sho. I think this is what made me even wilder in not really my rebounding, but my partying. At the end of November I was home for Thanksgiving and although I was a self-proclaimed master drunk driver (okay, my friends thought I was too) I got pulled over after slamming several Vodka Red Bull's and not using the turning lane. I was so smashed I handed the policeman my credit card. I surrendered. I remember thinking FINALLY you got me. It's about time. The streets will be safer now. The cop was very green behind the knees and immediately gave me a breath test which should have come after the field sobriety test but who was I to correct him at this point. I blew a .22. I remember thinking it matched my birthdate! Then two more squads pulled up and insisted I now take the field sobriety test. "I am obviously drunk" I slurred. I refused repeatedly until they agreed to just get my ass off the street and into the cell. At the station I blew a .26 because of the way the stomache thing works, ya know? Come to think of it maybe it was the other way around. Who cares. I was smashed and still surprisingly together. Over the coarse of the night I spoke with a friend who was a local attorney. I cried and cried. I gave pee in front of a really cranky female cop who kept yelling at me to hurry up and pee already. Once in my cell I tried relentlessly to dim the place a tad so I could sleep it all off but you can't. There are no corners so the blanket would not hang on this obnoxious flourescent light that took up one wall of my cell. Eventually I laid on the floor with my feet up on the concrete bench..happy to be by myself no doubt..and fell asleep with a blanket draped over my face. I had chewed a hole in the blanket with my teeth, breaking my braces but allowing my nose to get fresh air, and I fell asleep thanking GOD I did not injure or kill anyone in my drinking and driving career.

I'd rather not focus on this event in my life but I must say it was way overdue and taught me the greatest lesson thus far. I got out of jail the following day and went home to hug my mom and apologize up and down and around and around. We bawled. She was glad I was okay. I was glad no one was hurt but was sorry for hurting and disappointing her. My car had been impounded on a weekend when the lot was closed so I couldn't get back to Minneapolis for a couple of days. By now my ferret had been dead awhile (he died from pancreatic pseudocysts) and I had acquired a cat that I figured would starve if I couldn't get home to feed her. I called my ex man to tell him what happened. He'd been there. He empathized and offered to help however he could. I just wanted it all behind me. The last couple of months 'n all.

Our friendly talks and encounters became more frequent as I went down the probate path for DUI punishment. I waited for paperwork. Waited for my license to be revoked. Waited for a court date. Then waited for my period. And waited. I was never late. Never. I knew we'd been careless one evening when I thought my cycle allowed for it. But I still didn't think..you know. Prego? No. Can't be. I felt like I was getting my period soon. We went ice fishing that weekend and I kept going to shore with tampon in hand convinced I'd see that tinge of blood on the wipe. Nope. I gave it a few more days and when finally I had that feeling, I made the dreaded call to Ferret Boy.

Me: we need to talk.
FB: okay.
Me: come over?
FB: yup.

Not much was said really. I giggled nervously. More nervous for him really, being he was the career bachelor-never a father-guy. He went to Walgreens and bought of all things a GENERIC brand home prego test. You got two in a pack for a lot cheaper. Oh...here we go. I was positive. It was positive. I don't remember if I cried. I think I was still in disbelief. I remember giggling and wondering and worrying and hoping he wouldn't hate me. He did. I'm sure of it. He validated his concern about abortion; I didn't think I could do that. He'd done it twice before. You what? He what? All of the sudden I felt it was his fault. You didn't learn by now? How? Why? And this never came up in two years of sitting in your kitchen talking about life. Twice? Really? Again...here we go. Then he got kinda mean. Sharp. Said I'd have to move in with him because he wouldn't feel right with him having a big house and all, to let me live in my little 630 square feet (according to one appraisal) with baby. Okay. But I don't have to. You can go. You don't have to be here for any of it. Go. Do you want me to go? No, but I don't want you to have to stay. And so on. He told me I have him by the balls. I was not flattered. I was a good catch. An awesome chick and a damn fine score. He scored me and now he knocked up his third victim but this victim isn't gonna fall victim to him or his. I was self sufficient and I could do this. The last thing I wanted was a miserable partner that felt his balls were in my vice grip. No way no how.

Fast forward a rollercoaster of emotions. Could I have it? Should I give it away? What if it's my only chance to be a mother? My family was sooo excited for me and that's how it should be, but it was misery. This is NOT how it was supposed to happen. I made it this far. I was now 34 and up until the last few months I had a good, clean record. And now I have a "baby daddy". I'm an ultrasound tech by trade and see several "baby mommas" and never did I think I'd be one. Catholic guilt, perhaps? Values? Morals? Dreams? Barbie had higher hopes for me. Ferret boy didn't get much nicer through the entire pregancy. He would say hurtfull things that I tried to stowe away in the "temporary insanity" box. Comments were made about stretch marks and weight gain. He'd say he needed more girl friends to hang out with. His life, as he knew it was over. What life? I wondered. Drinking and partying and staying up late. Being self employeed and not having to kick ass cause you aren't resposible for anything but a Beagle. (RIP Bailey Beagle) Man up Ferret Boy! Your Dick played with my Jane.

We spent most of my pregnancy remodling our places. Mine needed freshening up so I could rent it out and his needed a lot of love in the kitchen and so we kicked holy ass to make it work. I didn't have a license and althoug my baby daddy helped a lot in getting me to and fro work, he was less helpful in getting me from my place to his and back. He figured I needed the exercise and biking from my house to his in ninety degree heat would keep me from gettin' fat. So would carrying fifty pound bags of concrete. As would chipping and digging up cement blocks from the old garage foundation. And standing on the countertops to paint the kitchen walls. I did not have one of those pampered pregnancies. I think once I asked for a blizzard from the DQ. I didn't get it. He was an ass through and though. I was being punished. Everyone assured me he'd change once he met the little Ferret girl. And he did. I moved in a month before she was born and was induced October 11th. She was precious. Still, I couldn't help but feel I had to be less happy than I was. Afterall, she was here by accident. I didn't get to experience the joy of getting the furniture and clothes and although I had a couple of babyshowers they were somewhat bittersweet. I'm sure I gloated more when my man wasn't around. Then he came around. He was in love. Still is. She's awesome. We struggle as a couple with the ebb and the tide but we are makin' it. I don't doubt we'll make it. I hope so anyway.