I am, of course, referring to blogging. I have no idea what you're talking about. Collins was conceived immaculately. Just like I was, and just like my sister and brother were.
I just want to know why in the HELL E! is still airing Kim K's wedding special? Talk about beating a dead Armenian. Jesus, they got married like 4 months ago, pretty sure they are already calling it quits.Why remind us? I don't have to watch the 17-hour "special" to know everything about this wedding. Tacky? Check. Over-the-top? Check. Complete lack of humility? Check. Glaringly obvious noveau riche celebretards? Check.
How many times do you people have to air this "special" to convince yourselves that it was money well-spent, and that they aren't actually "Living Separate Lives!" It's like when someone continually makes a point to talk (when no one asked) about how perfect their life is, and how perfect their marriage is, and how they pity anyone else who doesn't have their life. Its so obvious that they are insufferably miserable. No one's life is that perfect. Anyone who says it is, is trying to convince herself that her life doesn't suck. I'm not saying that it isn't possible to be truly grateful for everything in life - but its like, who are you trying to convince? Me, or yourself?
Clayton has spent the better part of the decade, I mean evening, replacing all the polished brass knobs and hinges in the bathroom and pantry doors and cabinets. Wow. What a job. Who knew it would take FOUR friggin HOURS. It looks so much better though.
Well it appears that Carlisle has taken his relationship with his hump bear public. Some people complain that their dog humps anything it can. I don't really have that complaint. Carlisle doesn't hump anything except hump bear. I appreciate that. I don't want him out there being a player pimp. I just think he's getting too serious with this bear. He's been monogamous with this bear since we got him, but she was always downstairs. We would come home from Lincoln and he would hightail it downstairs to get a little sweet lovin. That was fine. Like a friend-mom - if you're going to do it, do it under my roof.
I don't need to see my sweet little 4 pound dog hump himself inside out. Well now he drags this bear with him everywhere he goes. The bear is bigger than he is. Carlisle is a chubby chaser apparently. I'll be playing with Collins, or sitting with her on the floor playing with her and her toys, and Carlisle will bring us his bear and drop it on my lap. Like, thanks bro but I don't want to play with your disgusting jizz bear. But he's persistent that I embrace this relationship. I think he's going to be bringing her around a lot more regularly. He certainly has the basic positions mastered. I bet you can guess which one is his favorite.
Well now that we are all thoroughly grossed out, Clayton is telling me to come check out "how amazing these oil-rubbed bronze hinges and cabinet pulls look!" Gotta go congratulate him on a 4-hour job well done.
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Why God, why did you invent cookie dough?
Seriously, I can feel my thighs flattening out further and further with every spoonful. I think I'm just going to throw it in the dumpster. Those damn tubs of raw cookie dough are the devil. There is no reason why I should be eating that delicious shit. Alessandra Ambrosio doesn't look like she eats that shit, and she could stand to gain a few pounds.Collins and I are never going to be able to share her clothes if I eat that crap. Okay I just threw it in the dumpster.
I don't feel like I have that many vices, aside from swearing, watching reality television, makeover shows, the occasional bottle of wine, and the hidden pack of cigarettes in the console of my Jeep for really horrible days, but ever since I got pregnant with Collins, I have an insatiable sweet tooth. My early pregnancy cravings were lemons and fruit roll ups. I hoped that those cravings would go away. Uhhh nope.
Since I mentioned cigarettes for really terrible horrible no good very bad days, I should probably mention Friday. The day that will live in infamy as the day I plowed over Clayton's Honda lawn mower. Not once. Not twice. Three times. I don't even want to get into it, but suffice it to say that the wheel of the mower was perpendicular to where it was supposed to be.
When I'm in a panic, I have this superhuman strength that somehow allows me to safely move a 200 pound hutch from the dining room down the stairs into the garage; likewise, it allowed me to lift the lawnmower (which Clayton initially needed my help with a few months ago) and put it into the back end of my Jeep. When I explained to Bob at Home Depot that I needed this fixed before my husband got home from work, he goes, "Who got this in the back of your Jeep?" When I told him I did, by myself, without help, he looked at me like I had two heads. Look, Bob, you sweet, portly sweaty old man, I carry around a 15 pound baby all day every day. I carry 3 heavy loads of laundry up and down the stairs every day. I get my squats in lifting Collins off her playmat and scrubbing the dog's piss marks on the carpet. I'm no weenie. I'm no pampered princess. I don't lay in a hammock all day with handsome Latin American men fanning me with palm leaves and feeding my grapes.
Anyways, he fixed it! It took awhile, but he only charged me for a new wheel, which was $10. Clayton wasn't thrilled when I told him, but he wasn't super upset either. He was just shocked that I lifted it. That's all he's talked about for the last few days, too. "Babe, I just don't believe you. You had to have had a neighbor help you." Whatever dude. Keep underestimating me, you'll see.
I don't feel like I have that many vices, aside from swearing, watching reality television, makeover shows, the occasional bottle of wine, and the hidden pack of cigarettes in the console of my Jeep for really horrible days, but ever since I got pregnant with Collins, I have an insatiable sweet tooth. My early pregnancy cravings were lemons and fruit roll ups. I hoped that those cravings would go away. Uhhh nope.
Since I mentioned cigarettes for really terrible horrible no good very bad days, I should probably mention Friday. The day that will live in infamy as the day I plowed over Clayton's Honda lawn mower. Not once. Not twice. Three times. I don't even want to get into it, but suffice it to say that the wheel of the mower was perpendicular to where it was supposed to be.
When I'm in a panic, I have this superhuman strength that somehow allows me to safely move a 200 pound hutch from the dining room down the stairs into the garage; likewise, it allowed me to lift the lawnmower (which Clayton initially needed my help with a few months ago) and put it into the back end of my Jeep. When I explained to Bob at Home Depot that I needed this fixed before my husband got home from work, he goes, "Who got this in the back of your Jeep?" When I told him I did, by myself, without help, he looked at me like I had two heads. Look, Bob, you sweet, portly sweaty old man, I carry around a 15 pound baby all day every day. I carry 3 heavy loads of laundry up and down the stairs every day. I get my squats in lifting Collins off her playmat and scrubbing the dog's piss marks on the carpet. I'm no weenie. I'm no pampered princess. I don't lay in a hammock all day with handsome Latin American men fanning me with palm leaves and feeding my grapes.
Anyways, he fixed it! It took awhile, but he only charged me for a new wheel, which was $10. Clayton wasn't thrilled when I told him, but he wasn't super upset either. He was just shocked that I lifted it. That's all he's talked about for the last few days, too. "Babe, I just don't believe you. You had to have had a neighbor help you." Whatever dude. Keep underestimating me, you'll see.
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
He's a She...
I'm not talking about Chaz Bono...or Khloe Kardashian...
When a woman walks into home depot to buy a rake, carrying a baby dressed head to toe in pink, with a pink headband, don't stop her and jokingly say, "He looks a little young to be raking leaves." This man was old. Old old old. Like one foot real deep in the grave old, so I was a good sport. I said, "Yeah, SHE is a little young...good thing her dad is just old enough!"
This is not the first time someone has assumed my femininely dressed child is a he. I would rather someone refer to her as an "it" than as a "he." There's nothing wrong with being a "he," except for that she's a "she." It never fails, it's always an old person.
"Ohhhh how old is he?"
"SHE is 7 months."
"Ohhhh 'she?'"
No, old man, Collins is a boy. I dress him head to toe in pink and purple in public, because I desperately want to saddle him with a socially debilitating gender identity disorder. Good lord. And they say our generation is chock-full of degenerates? At least we understand the implication of context clues. There's a reason why she's wearing a "Daddy's Little Girl" onesie and not a Bob the Builder tee shirt, got it?
"Well what if she likes Bob the Builder?"
Likes? She's 7 months old. Aside from eating, pooping and the sound of her own voice, she doesn't know what she likes. The day she decides what she likes, as long as it's legal and morally sound, I'm right there with her...cuz God knows that's a step above some of the things I've liked in my day.
When a woman walks into home depot to buy a rake, carrying a baby dressed head to toe in pink, with a pink headband, don't stop her and jokingly say, "He looks a little young to be raking leaves." This man was old. Old old old. Like one foot real deep in the grave old, so I was a good sport. I said, "Yeah, SHE is a little young...good thing her dad is just old enough!"
This is not the first time someone has assumed my femininely dressed child is a he. I would rather someone refer to her as an "it" than as a "he." There's nothing wrong with being a "he," except for that she's a "she." It never fails, it's always an old person.
"Ohhhh how old is he?"
"SHE is 7 months."
"Ohhhh 'she?'"
No, old man, Collins is a boy. I dress him head to toe in pink and purple in public, because I desperately want to saddle him with a socially debilitating gender identity disorder. Good lord. And they say our generation is chock-full of degenerates? At least we understand the implication of context clues. There's a reason why she's wearing a "Daddy's Little Girl" onesie and not a Bob the Builder tee shirt, got it?
"Well what if she likes Bob the Builder?"
Likes? She's 7 months old. Aside from eating, pooping and the sound of her own voice, she doesn't know what she likes. The day she decides what she likes, as long as it's legal and morally sound, I'm right there with her...cuz God knows that's a step above some of the things I've liked in my day.
Monday, October 17, 2011
It's Been Awhile!
Last week was a rough week. If you've ever had a panic attack, you know how it feels when you can feel one coming on. You talk yourself out of it, telling yourself that nothing is bigger than yourself, nothing is too big to handle, nothing is too difficult to withstand. What's frustrating is when you realize that maybe you are your own problem.
I am not sure that being a full-time stay-at-home mom is the right choice for our family. A stay-at-home mom doesn't necessarily ensure a happy mom. When 5 pm rolls around and Clayton looks at me the wrong way and I fly off the handle, it might be time to reconsider this situation.
Okay so you know when you get acrylic or gel nails? I am NOT an acrylic nails type of girl, but I decided to try a Shellac french manicure like 2 weeks ago, and it looks really pretty. But now it's super annoying because now they have grown out to the point that it is hard to type, and it make an obnoxious clicking noise when I type, which is soooo acrylic-y. The lady said I had to come back in like 3 weeks to have them soaked off. I was like, "OMG you sound just like my daughter!" She asked how old my daughter is, and I pretended I didn't hear her/couldn't understand her, because I didn't want to be rude. So I just ignored her.
So last week some little punk bitch stole my Halloween headstones from my yard. WTF! Who does that? Not only did they really make the display cohesive, but they would kind of sway in the wind. When I took Carlisle/Carlos/Napoleon out, the swaying would scare the shit out of him.
I mean literally scare the shit out of him. The only way to get him to do his business in a timely manner is to scare him or get him really excited. If he sees a squirrel, or a stranger, or another dog he goes ballistic and promptly dumps. Otherwise, he will take you for laps around the house, unable to decide whether he is prairie doggin it or just has to fart. One time I took him out for like 15 minutes, begging and pleading him to just dump already so we could go back inside.
So this perpetrator not only totally effed up my Halloween display, which now looks piss-poor and pathetic, he or she has also constipated my dog. All I can say is that karma is a bitch - a bitch who probably has loose bowels.
*Disclaimer: I just reread this entire paragraph below - and it's pretty dark - you might not want to read it. I'd delete it, but I sacrificed like 5 minutes of RHONJ reunion, which is not recording, and if I delete this paragraph, I will have nothing to show for it, damnit! Damn, Tree is one crazy bitch, am I right? Can I get a hell yeah?
Sad story about that Indy 500 racer, Dan Wheldon. These cars are going about 200 mph. I understand adrenaline and that kind of thing, but can I just say one thing? There is a good chance in any race that there will be Miller High Life tallboys, mullets, crop tops, cutoff jorts, and fiery deadly crashes. I don't want to encounter ANY of those horrific scenes. Now, a few weeks ago when that air show crash took place in Nevada, I got curious about where the body of the pilot was. That is to say, what happens to a body when you get in a high-speed crash? I asked Clayton, and he said something like, "I know...but it's disturbing and as much as you think you want to know, you don't truly want to know." Well yes I did. Just like I wanted to know what was wrong with my foot, and lo and behold, according to WebMD I have terminal advanced joint cancer.
Well Clayton couldn't stop me and neither could Google. Now I have a breadth of information that will forever haunt my dreams.
Basically, most of your body's organs virtually liquify. This driver's body was still travelling 200+ mph when it crashed. His organs might not have been going fast enough to have liquified, but most plane crash victims' bodies do. Innnnnnnnnnnn fact, usually what is left of people's bodies is severed by their seatbelts. And apparently a long time ago (I don't know if this is still the case, my info is only as legit as wikipedia) instead of taking Air Force members' fingerprints, they would take footprints, because in the event of a crash, the only identifiable body part would likely be the foot, which would still be found in the boot.
Okay so let's all regret reading/writing that, and let's also regret Googling that. Clayton warned me. I should have listened. *bawling and rocking in the fetal position in the corner* why didn't I listeeeeeeen?
I am not sure that being a full-time stay-at-home mom is the right choice for our family. A stay-at-home mom doesn't necessarily ensure a happy mom. When 5 pm rolls around and Clayton looks at me the wrong way and I fly off the handle, it might be time to reconsider this situation.
Okay so you know when you get acrylic or gel nails? I am NOT an acrylic nails type of girl, but I decided to try a Shellac french manicure like 2 weeks ago, and it looks really pretty. But now it's super annoying because now they have grown out to the point that it is hard to type, and it make an obnoxious clicking noise when I type, which is soooo acrylic-y. The lady said I had to come back in like 3 weeks to have them soaked off. I was like, "OMG you sound just like my daughter!" She asked how old my daughter is, and I pretended I didn't hear her/couldn't understand her, because I didn't want to be rude. So I just ignored her.
So last week some little punk bitch stole my Halloween headstones from my yard. WTF! Who does that? Not only did they really make the display cohesive, but they would kind of sway in the wind. When I took Carlisle/Carlos/Napoleon out, the swaying would scare the shit out of him.
I mean literally scare the shit out of him. The only way to get him to do his business in a timely manner is to scare him or get him really excited. If he sees a squirrel, or a stranger, or another dog he goes ballistic and promptly dumps. Otherwise, he will take you for laps around the house, unable to decide whether he is prairie doggin it or just has to fart. One time I took him out for like 15 minutes, begging and pleading him to just dump already so we could go back inside.
So this perpetrator not only totally effed up my Halloween display, which now looks piss-poor and pathetic, he or she has also constipated my dog. All I can say is that karma is a bitch - a bitch who probably has loose bowels.
*Disclaimer: I just reread this entire paragraph below - and it's pretty dark - you might not want to read it. I'd delete it, but I sacrificed like 5 minutes of RHONJ reunion, which is not recording, and if I delete this paragraph, I will have nothing to show for it, damnit! Damn, Tree is one crazy bitch, am I right? Can I get a hell yeah?
Sad story about that Indy 500 racer, Dan Wheldon. These cars are going about 200 mph. I understand adrenaline and that kind of thing, but can I just say one thing? There is a good chance in any race that there will be Miller High Life tallboys, mullets, crop tops, cutoff jorts, and fiery deadly crashes. I don't want to encounter ANY of those horrific scenes. Now, a few weeks ago when that air show crash took place in Nevada, I got curious about where the body of the pilot was. That is to say, what happens to a body when you get in a high-speed crash? I asked Clayton, and he said something like, "I know...but it's disturbing and as much as you think you want to know, you don't truly want to know." Well yes I did. Just like I wanted to know what was wrong with my foot, and lo and behold, according to WebMD I have terminal advanced joint cancer.
Well Clayton couldn't stop me and neither could Google. Now I have a breadth of information that will forever haunt my dreams.
Basically, most of your body's organs virtually liquify. This driver's body was still travelling 200+ mph when it crashed. His organs might not have been going fast enough to have liquified, but most plane crash victims' bodies do. Innnnnnnnnnnn fact, usually what is left of people's bodies is severed by their seatbelts. And apparently a long time ago (I don't know if this is still the case, my info is only as legit as wikipedia) instead of taking Air Force members' fingerprints, they would take footprints, because in the event of a crash, the only identifiable body part would likely be the foot, which would still be found in the boot.
Okay so let's all regret reading/writing that, and let's also regret Googling that. Clayton warned me. I should have listened. *bawling and rocking in the fetal position in the corner* why didn't I listeeeeeeen?
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Appropriate Isn't Exactly My Middle Name, but...
...is it inappropriate for a married mom with a college degree to be a bartender at a dive to have some extra cash? I'm trying to get life set up so that I can started teaching and working towards my restricted teaching license, so that I can teach high school business, coach cheer, do something that makes a difference for someone. Sometimes I feel like I'm going to lose my mind being a stay-at-home mom, which makes me feel unbelievable selfish. But I talk to one human being all day, and she isn't old enough to talk back. Anyways, the program doesn't start until July, at which time I have to secure a teaching position and take a few online classes. Once I get that done, if I take 15 more credits I'll earn my Masters.
In the meantime, the budget we have doesn't really allow much freedom. Like, I could not go to Nordstrom and buy a pair of jeans on a random Tuesday without having to check first. And when Old Blue bites the dust, which will be sooner than later, I won't be able to go buy a car...or even take on a car payment until we pay off the Camry. We are NOT credit card people...Clayton uses it but he pays it off in full every month - and I am certainly not comfortable with having any kind of credit card. I had a meltdown and started crying to my mom because I racked up $123 on my Gap card and had no idea where I was going to come up with $123 without Clayton knowing. He doesn't have the most realistic idea of how much clothes cost. I don't have the most realistic idea of how long it takes to make the money used to purchase the clothes. I'm more of a Dave Ramsey cash kinda girl.
Why can't I just be rich? Why couldn't I have been born into a Southern old-money family? With a house on a plantation and peach trees and servants and hundred dollar bills to wipe my ass?
It could be worse. Right? I mean, I could be like a girl I know who uses food stamps to buy Red Bull instead of food for her three illegitimate children.
Anyways, onto something else. Can I just say right now how much I despise people who think they are better/cooler/more entitled than me? Because we all know I am the coolest, most entitled person ever and I deserve everything. I'm KIDDING. I'm actually referring to one person in partick, who I don't actually see often anymore but used to see allllll the time. I used to dig this individual's sense of humor because I thought it was a lot like mine: blunt, somewhat snarky sometimes, sarcastic, but good-natured. But now I hope it's not like mine. Like, at all. Because now I think this person has crossed the line, to be callous, mean-spirited, and basically a total effing b. And I certainly did not appreciate the bitchy attitude this weekend. Oh well - it's not like we were total besties to begin with - more like convenience friends. Ya know where you have lots of mutual friends but really don't care a whole lot to be close with the person?
I have way too much going on in my life to give a damn what someone lame like that thinks anyways, I just think it's funny how you think you know someone sometimes, and then they turn out to be so polarizing. Actually I think it's sad!
Anyways, is it inappropriate for a married mom to work nights at a freakin dive bar where all our married KC friends go for beers? I really need to know, so that people won't judge me as being a white-trash mom.
In the meantime, the budget we have doesn't really allow much freedom. Like, I could not go to Nordstrom and buy a pair of jeans on a random Tuesday without having to check first. And when Old Blue bites the dust, which will be sooner than later, I won't be able to go buy a car...or even take on a car payment until we pay off the Camry. We are NOT credit card people...Clayton uses it but he pays it off in full every month - and I am certainly not comfortable with having any kind of credit card. I had a meltdown and started crying to my mom because I racked up $123 on my Gap card and had no idea where I was going to come up with $123 without Clayton knowing. He doesn't have the most realistic idea of how much clothes cost. I don't have the most realistic idea of how long it takes to make the money used to purchase the clothes. I'm more of a Dave Ramsey cash kinda girl.
Why can't I just be rich? Why couldn't I have been born into a Southern old-money family? With a house on a plantation and peach trees and servants and hundred dollar bills to wipe my ass?
It could be worse. Right? I mean, I could be like a girl I know who uses food stamps to buy Red Bull instead of food for her three illegitimate children.
Anyways, onto something else. Can I just say right now how much I despise people who think they are better/cooler/more entitled than me? Because we all know I am the coolest, most entitled person ever and I deserve everything. I'm KIDDING. I'm actually referring to one person in partick, who I don't actually see often anymore but used to see allllll the time. I used to dig this individual's sense of humor because I thought it was a lot like mine: blunt, somewhat snarky sometimes, sarcastic, but good-natured. But now I hope it's not like mine. Like, at all. Because now I think this person has crossed the line, to be callous, mean-spirited, and basically a total effing b. And I certainly did not appreciate the bitchy attitude this weekend. Oh well - it's not like we were total besties to begin with - more like convenience friends. Ya know where you have lots of mutual friends but really don't care a whole lot to be close with the person?
I have way too much going on in my life to give a damn what someone lame like that thinks anyways, I just think it's funny how you think you know someone sometimes, and then they turn out to be so polarizing. Actually I think it's sad!
Anyways, is it inappropriate for a married mom to work nights at a freakin dive bar where all our married KC friends go for beers? I really need to know, so that people won't judge me as being a white-trash mom.
Monday, October 10, 2011
Is It Weird that I'm Thankful it's Monday?
I would just like to preface this entry by citing my last entry regarding how my mom dressed Maggie and me up as twins - and in all sets of twins, there is always an evil twin and a good twin. The "good twin" is usually the evil twin, and the "evil twin" is usually the good twin, and the other twin purposely made her look bad.
Well my lovely mother wrote some snotty facebook remark about how I actually WAS an evil twin, and Maggie was so sweet.
All I have to say to that is FALSE. Was I a snotty bitch? Um no surprise there, always have been, always will be. Embrace it. Love yourself. However, Maggie always got what was coming to her...she deserved it every time, she started every fight we ever had. Basically, she was a conniving little whore, painting me as the Bad Guy.
When I die, my tombstone will read, "She started it!"
Partly why mom sides with Maggie is because like Maggie, she is also a younger sister. I'm sure Mom played Grandma and Grandpa and everyone in her family like a fiddle (except for her older sister Tish who was too wise to fall for that shit, and Tish probably got in trouble for calling her out about it, only to be labeled a demon child). So, when my feelings were hurt for a split second regarding my mom's comment, I had to stop and consider the source.
Thank God Maggie grew out of that stage, mostly. Well somewhat. KIDDING.
This weekend taught me a number of things.
1. Collins can and will survive being without me for 12 hours.
I, on the otherhand? Well I had Clayton take me back to Nebraska City Saturday night. Now I realize that I have been taking the blessings in my life for granted, ie., my husband and baby girl, and how hilarious she is and how she likes to grab my face and give me her version of kisses, which is just her breathing heavily with her mouth wide open on my cheek.
2. I can still be counted on to pull a Houdini around mindnight.
Clayton happened to be right outside the Rail when I was talking to him on the phone after he left the game, and I decided I was ready to go home and see Coco. One one hand, at least I know when to say "when"...on the other hand, it's usually several drinks later than when I should have said "when" in the first place, and I usually don't know to tell my friends that the time has come for me to make my exit.
3. Lincoln is the cheapest place to drink in the world. Nay, in the universe.
I spent $14. For an entire 10 hours of drinking.
4. It is possible to eat Lazzari's till you puke.
I obviously don't need to elaborate on this.
5. Just because Kari did it, does not mean I should do it.
In fact, it probably means that I should NOT do it.
As we were walking to the Red House, we were outside the stadium and some gentlemen offered us pieces of meat on toothpicks. I guess they were touting it as Nebraska corn-fed beef. Kari takes a piece, and starts raving about how wonderful it is, and how I have to try it. So I look into the plate this guy is holding and it's now clear to me why everyone in America is fat. Honestly, a 1/2" X 1/2" cube of meat would have been sufficient. But no, everyone is bigger in Nebraska. I get the smallest piece on the plate, which is about 3"x3". In my whole life, I have never had a piece of meat that big in my mouth. If you just said "that's what she said," I award you no points and may God have mercy on your soul because that was way too easy and obvious.
Well, I will never just stick a piece of beef in my mouth ever again. As we are walking up the hill over the train tracks, I'm like, dry heaving because I couldn't swallow this piece of beef. My eyes were watering, the smell of beef is flooding my olfactory senses, and it was just a mess. Eventually I swallow this shit down, but once we get to the Red House, it becomes clear to me that I have the smell of meat on my breath. I've had beer breath, hell, I've even had barf breath. But beef breath? That was a first - and a last. So I do what any normal person would do - make a whiskey and Dr. Pepper, and do a beer bong, obviously.
All in all, Saturday was a good day. Sunday of course sucked. Mom hangovers are especially painful, mostly because my baby A) is not hungover so she wants to play and squeal and B) hasn't mastered the motor skills to hold my hair back and rub my back at the same time.
Well my lovely mother wrote some snotty facebook remark about how I actually WAS an evil twin, and Maggie was so sweet.
All I have to say to that is FALSE. Was I a snotty bitch? Um no surprise there, always have been, always will be. Embrace it. Love yourself. However, Maggie always got what was coming to her...she deserved it every time, she started every fight we ever had. Basically, she was a conniving little whore, painting me as the Bad Guy.
When I die, my tombstone will read, "She started it!"
Partly why mom sides with Maggie is because like Maggie, she is also a younger sister. I'm sure Mom played Grandma and Grandpa and everyone in her family like a fiddle (except for her older sister Tish who was too wise to fall for that shit, and Tish probably got in trouble for calling her out about it, only to be labeled a demon child). So, when my feelings were hurt for a split second regarding my mom's comment, I had to stop and consider the source.
Thank God Maggie grew out of that stage, mostly. Well somewhat. KIDDING.
This weekend taught me a number of things.
1. Collins can and will survive being without me for 12 hours.
I, on the otherhand? Well I had Clayton take me back to Nebraska City Saturday night. Now I realize that I have been taking the blessings in my life for granted, ie., my husband and baby girl, and how hilarious she is and how she likes to grab my face and give me her version of kisses, which is just her breathing heavily with her mouth wide open on my cheek.
2. I can still be counted on to pull a Houdini around mindnight.
Clayton happened to be right outside the Rail when I was talking to him on the phone after he left the game, and I decided I was ready to go home and see Coco. One one hand, at least I know when to say "when"...on the other hand, it's usually several drinks later than when I should have said "when" in the first place, and I usually don't know to tell my friends that the time has come for me to make my exit.
3. Lincoln is the cheapest place to drink in the world. Nay, in the universe.
I spent $14. For an entire 10 hours of drinking.
4. It is possible to eat Lazzari's till you puke.
I obviously don't need to elaborate on this.
5. Just because Kari did it, does not mean I should do it.
In fact, it probably means that I should NOT do it.
As we were walking to the Red House, we were outside the stadium and some gentlemen offered us pieces of meat on toothpicks. I guess they were touting it as Nebraska corn-fed beef. Kari takes a piece, and starts raving about how wonderful it is, and how I have to try it. So I look into the plate this guy is holding and it's now clear to me why everyone in America is fat. Honestly, a 1/2" X 1/2" cube of meat would have been sufficient. But no, everyone is bigger in Nebraska. I get the smallest piece on the plate, which is about 3"x3". In my whole life, I have never had a piece of meat that big in my mouth. If you just said "that's what she said," I award you no points and may God have mercy on your soul because that was way too easy and obvious.
Well, I will never just stick a piece of beef in my mouth ever again. As we are walking up the hill over the train tracks, I'm like, dry heaving because I couldn't swallow this piece of beef. My eyes were watering, the smell of beef is flooding my olfactory senses, and it was just a mess. Eventually I swallow this shit down, but once we get to the Red House, it becomes clear to me that I have the smell of meat on my breath. I've had beer breath, hell, I've even had barf breath. But beef breath? That was a first - and a last. So I do what any normal person would do - make a whiskey and Dr. Pepper, and do a beer bong, obviously.
All in all, Saturday was a good day. Sunday of course sucked. Mom hangovers are especially painful, mostly because my baby A) is not hungover so she wants to play and squeal and B) hasn't mastered the motor skills to hold my hair back and rub my back at the same time.
Friday, October 7, 2011
TGIF MFs!
I just put Collins down for a nap. Since she screamed at the top of her lungs for the entire time I was in the shower, I thought maybe she was hungry. I was like, Collins, I don't think you understand how badly the world wants - no, NEEDS - me to take a shower. Well for some reason, the past couple of days she hasn't really had much of an appetite. I wonder if that's from the teething. Poor baby. Well, now she's passed out. I guess she'll eat when she's hungry.
It's been SO beautiful out! You would never believe it's October. Low 80s during the day, 50s at night, love it. I know it's coming to an abrupt end shortly though. As I sorted through Collins's clothing the other day, I realized that we are pretty short on cold-weather gear (save for her North Face vest, true Theta-in-training). At Buy Buy Baby, also known as The Most Overpriced Friggin Store Aside from Neiman Marcus, I browsed the baby clothes. I have come to a very profound conclusion:
What we dress our baby in today has implications on their personality later in life. I haven't done any studies on this, because studying isn't really my thing - I'm much more comfortable making blanket statements that have little to no factual information to support them. But I think I can come up with several categories for the future personality of a baby, depending on how their mom dresses them today. The following are some baby clothes I found that illustrate this hypothesis:
iPood
A white onesie, with headphones and an iPod screenprinted on it. The little boy who wears this will one day become the boy on the playground surrounded by friends, teaching the dirty words and showing them the Hustler magazines he found under his dad's bed. He will grow up and become a handsome young man, whose friends' moms secretly crush on. Girls will be attracted to his naughty sense of humor, and guys will willingly participate in the pranks this guy sets up.
This Thanksgiving, Everyone is Thankful for Me
Designed for the narcissistic baby, this little girl is mostly likely the oldest or intended to be the only child. Her parents will cater to her every whim, and according to her parents, she can do no wrong. She will be the little girl in class who always raises her hand and smiles smugly when she gets an answer right, alienating herself from the other little girls who want a chance at the spotlight. Chances are, her mom was either raised the exact same way, or was raised in foster care with no one to love her and enable her.
Career-Oriented Onesies
This little boy's parents dress him exclusively in career-geared onesies, such as the doctor, the mechanic, or the suit-and-tie onesie. This kid's parents are going to push him incessantly toward higher education, but all this little boy really wants to do is be a dancer. Eventually, his parents' well-meaning pushing is going to send him into a tailspin of drug and addiction, at which time he will have an epic meltdown resulting in him expressing his lifelong desire to be a ballet dancer, followed by an inspiring recovery. His mother will support his decision, and his father will distance himself, biting his tongue and trying not to turn up his nose at his son's choice of career.
The Princess
My least favorite of all personalities, the little princess will be babied her whole life by parents who cannot say "no" to their little miracle. She was probably born into a wealthy family and will grow up to be a coke-addicted little snot, much like Paris Hilton. Her entire room is floor-to-ceiling pink, with lime green as the accent color. (I have nightmares about this kind of color scheme, yuck) She will carry around a purse dog and turn up her nose at anyone who doesn't carry a Birkin bag. She idolizes Suri Cruise and is pretty sure that Shiloh Jolie-Pitt is a lesbian.
The Baby Lesbian
This onesie is simple and to the point. It says: Born To Play Softball
The Cool Baby
This baby doesn't give a eff...she's happy-go-lucky, mellow, easygoing, doesn't take things too seriously, and is charismatic and funny, but also slightly aloof and standoffish. She probably comes off as bitchy to people who aren't lucky enough to know her. She isn't really concerned with the Princesses or the Narcissists, as she can see right through their insecure little facades. As she grows up, people will be drawn to her devil-may-care attitude. She will try cigarettes for the first time as a junior in high school, but quickly be disgusted with them because people expect her to be a rebellious smoker. She enjoys defying others' unfounded, judgemental expectations of her.
Where does Collins fit? Definitely the Cool Baby. Note that I didn't expand too much about the little boys...I don't have a little boy, thus I don't feel like I'm authorized to make many more hypotheses about them.
Oh, I forgot a very important one.
The "We Aren't Twins but Mom Dresses Us Identically" Girls
There is always an evil twin. It's usually the oldest. The oldest gets blamed for everything, gets chewed out for being such a huge bitch to her younger sister, who pulls the "Sophie is so mean to me!" card at every opportunity - when in reality, the younger sister was a conniving, manipulative little snot who figured out this good sister/bad sister act way more quickly than the older sister, seized upon the good sister role and forced everyone into believing her older sister was the devil's spawn. But noooo, no one believed me when I argued that Maggie started shit nine times out of ten, and knew what she was doing! "No Maggie is too sweet to do that. She looks up to you!" Yeah, she looks up to me as the person she's going to royally eff over.
Deep breath.
Thank God those days are over.
The truth is, in most cases, perception becomes reality. It takes me back to sophomore year Honor's English. Mrs. Hunnicutt rudely told me I reminded her of Phoebe on Friends. I took this to mean that she thought I was stupid. Yes it was ten years ago. No, I'm not over it. Everyone knows Phoebe as being the friend who is dense, naive, quirky, and has no common sense. Maybe she meant in endearingly, but I find nothing endearing about someone who's effing stupid.
So that made me feel like maybe I truly was stupid, and who wants to be the stupid girl who thinks she's smart? Ummm Sarah Palin, maybe. I sure didn't. So I played up the airhead, ditzy act, because it's what people expected of me. Therefore, perception became reality. And I was MISERABLE. Then I got to college, dropped that pathetic act and embraced who I really am - an intelligent, witty girl who says out loud what everyone is thinking but no one else has the balls to say, likes to have a good time and occasionally get loaded beyond all recognition.
I have to be extremely careful about what Collins wears. Usually when we are bummin around the house, she's just in plain white Garanimals onesies (they are waaaay thicker and softer than Gerber onesies, crazy I know!) because she's just that cool and doesn't give a crap.
Hopefully no one was offended by my offhand Hitler remark yesterday. I totally disagree with everything he ever stood for. Anne frankly he was a cowardly, closeted gay Jewish guy who despised every innate quality about himself and he's lucky he off'd himself before any one else could get to him.
Toodles.
It's been SO beautiful out! You would never believe it's October. Low 80s during the day, 50s at night, love it. I know it's coming to an abrupt end shortly though. As I sorted through Collins's clothing the other day, I realized that we are pretty short on cold-weather gear (save for her North Face vest, true Theta-in-training). At Buy Buy Baby, also known as The Most Overpriced Friggin Store Aside from Neiman Marcus, I browsed the baby clothes. I have come to a very profound conclusion:
What we dress our baby in today has implications on their personality later in life. I haven't done any studies on this, because studying isn't really my thing - I'm much more comfortable making blanket statements that have little to no factual information to support them. But I think I can come up with several categories for the future personality of a baby, depending on how their mom dresses them today. The following are some baby clothes I found that illustrate this hypothesis:
iPood
A white onesie, with headphones and an iPod screenprinted on it. The little boy who wears this will one day become the boy on the playground surrounded by friends, teaching the dirty words and showing them the Hustler magazines he found under his dad's bed. He will grow up and become a handsome young man, whose friends' moms secretly crush on. Girls will be attracted to his naughty sense of humor, and guys will willingly participate in the pranks this guy sets up.
This Thanksgiving, Everyone is Thankful for Me
Designed for the narcissistic baby, this little girl is mostly likely the oldest or intended to be the only child. Her parents will cater to her every whim, and according to her parents, she can do no wrong. She will be the little girl in class who always raises her hand and smiles smugly when she gets an answer right, alienating herself from the other little girls who want a chance at the spotlight. Chances are, her mom was either raised the exact same way, or was raised in foster care with no one to love her and enable her.
Career-Oriented Onesies
This little boy's parents dress him exclusively in career-geared onesies, such as the doctor, the mechanic, or the suit-and-tie onesie. This kid's parents are going to push him incessantly toward higher education, but all this little boy really wants to do is be a dancer. Eventually, his parents' well-meaning pushing is going to send him into a tailspin of drug and addiction, at which time he will have an epic meltdown resulting in him expressing his lifelong desire to be a ballet dancer, followed by an inspiring recovery. His mother will support his decision, and his father will distance himself, biting his tongue and trying not to turn up his nose at his son's choice of career.
The Princess
My least favorite of all personalities, the little princess will be babied her whole life by parents who cannot say "no" to their little miracle. She was probably born into a wealthy family and will grow up to be a coke-addicted little snot, much like Paris Hilton. Her entire room is floor-to-ceiling pink, with lime green as the accent color. (I have nightmares about this kind of color scheme, yuck) She will carry around a purse dog and turn up her nose at anyone who doesn't carry a Birkin bag. She idolizes Suri Cruise and is pretty sure that Shiloh Jolie-Pitt is a lesbian.
The Baby Lesbian
This onesie is simple and to the point. It says: Born To Play Softball
The Cool Baby
This baby doesn't give a eff...she's happy-go-lucky, mellow, easygoing, doesn't take things too seriously, and is charismatic and funny, but also slightly aloof and standoffish. She probably comes off as bitchy to people who aren't lucky enough to know her. She isn't really concerned with the Princesses or the Narcissists, as she can see right through their insecure little facades. As she grows up, people will be drawn to her devil-may-care attitude. She will try cigarettes for the first time as a junior in high school, but quickly be disgusted with them because people expect her to be a rebellious smoker. She enjoys defying others' unfounded, judgemental expectations of her.
Where does Collins fit? Definitely the Cool Baby. Note that I didn't expand too much about the little boys...I don't have a little boy, thus I don't feel like I'm authorized to make many more hypotheses about them.
Oh, I forgot a very important one.
The "We Aren't Twins but Mom Dresses Us Identically" Girls
There is always an evil twin. It's usually the oldest. The oldest gets blamed for everything, gets chewed out for being such a huge bitch to her younger sister, who pulls the "Sophie is so mean to me!" card at every opportunity - when in reality, the younger sister was a conniving, manipulative little snot who figured out this good sister/bad sister act way more quickly than the older sister, seized upon the good sister role and forced everyone into believing her older sister was the devil's spawn. But noooo, no one believed me when I argued that Maggie started shit nine times out of ten, and knew what she was doing! "No Maggie is too sweet to do that. She looks up to you!" Yeah, she looks up to me as the person she's going to royally eff over.
Deep breath.
Thank God those days are over.
The truth is, in most cases, perception becomes reality. It takes me back to sophomore year Honor's English. Mrs. Hunnicutt rudely told me I reminded her of Phoebe on Friends. I took this to mean that she thought I was stupid. Yes it was ten years ago. No, I'm not over it. Everyone knows Phoebe as being the friend who is dense, naive, quirky, and has no common sense. Maybe she meant in endearingly, but I find nothing endearing about someone who's effing stupid.
So that made me feel like maybe I truly was stupid, and who wants to be the stupid girl who thinks she's smart? Ummm Sarah Palin, maybe. I sure didn't. So I played up the airhead, ditzy act, because it's what people expected of me. Therefore, perception became reality. And I was MISERABLE. Then I got to college, dropped that pathetic act and embraced who I really am - an intelligent, witty girl who says out loud what everyone is thinking but no one else has the balls to say, likes to have a good time and occasionally get loaded beyond all recognition.
I have to be extremely careful about what Collins wears. Usually when we are bummin around the house, she's just in plain white Garanimals onesies (they are waaaay thicker and softer than Gerber onesies, crazy I know!) because she's just that cool and doesn't give a crap.
Hopefully no one was offended by my offhand Hitler remark yesterday. I totally disagree with everything he ever stood for. Anne frankly he was a cowardly, closeted gay Jewish guy who despised every innate quality about himself and he's lucky he off'd himself before any one else could get to him.
Toodles.
Thursday, October 6, 2011
Attention Everyone: My Baby is My Own, Stop Looking at me Like I'm a Kidnapper
I have been to multiple places today, Collins is having what we like to call a "Good Day." Her teeth aren't bothering her, and she doesn't have a chip on her shoulder, so we set about town to accomplish the things I couldn't get done yesterday because she was possessed by the Tooth Devil. Believe me, we tried, but it looked pretty bad because everytime we changed her outfits, she would barf on herself. I guess that's an indicator of teething (or an exorcism of the Tooth Devil), along with a fever, runny nose, and diarrhea (hope you are eating right this second.) So in an effort to avoid looking like a shitty mom with a sick baby, we stayed home and watched the America's Next Top Model marathon.
Back to the point of this entry: I am perfectly aware that I have the quintessential Aryan child. Beautiful little girl. Hitler, damn him, would give Clayton and me a high five. Well, he would try, but we would leave him hanging because he was a total dick. Dark blonde hair, huge navy blue eyes, two teeth sprouting up on her bottom gums. The beautiful little baby girl, Lisa, who went missing the other day in the Northland is also blonde/blue eyed with two bottom teeth. I feel for the parents of this little girl, and I prayed for this little girl and her family so hard last night that I began to cry, just imagining an iota of the pain and anguish they must be feeling.
But to people who see Collins and me at Pottery Barn, Victoria's Secret, and Price Chopper, please stop looking at me as though I swiped this kid. Collins's face is NOT on the back of a milk carton.
For one, Collins is almost 7 months old and when people first see her they guess that she is about 4-5 months old. She's a petite, tiny little thing...odd considering that Clayton and I are 6'2 and 5'10. Clayton is very very slim due to his anorexia, and although I see myself as the size of a pregnant wildebeest, from what I hear my build fits somewhere between Giselle Bundchen and Rosie O'Donnell. We are not huge people, so maybe that's where her petiteness comes from. Regardless, she's nowhere near being the age or size of your typical 10-month old baby.
Secondly, most people have seen the picture of this little missing baby. As cute as she is, she looks nothing like my Collins. Collins isn't fair-skinned, and she sure isn't close to standing or walking. Hell, I can't even get the lazy girl to sit on her butt without her toppling over. We're working on it. So, point being that on paper, every blonde/blue eyed baby girl with two bottom teeth is going to remind you of the missing baby. But my child is the spitting image of Clayton some days, and me on other days (usually on what we like to call her "Bad Days.")
Third, Collins and I venture into this particular Price Chopper about 2 days a week. Same staff every time, they always recognize us. So, to the New Girl, unless baby Lisa's mom is Casey Anthony, I've been bringing my kid to this store for 4 months longer than this sweet baby has been missing.
I don't mean to be hostile. If it was my baby that was missing, I would probably want everyone on high alert as well. But come on, don't point and whisper in the dinnerware section of Pottery Barn and then come up to me and say, "Your baby is so cute! She looks an awful lot like the missing baby. (waits an awkward second and examines Collins further) She's too small though, to be that baby." Uhhh, YA THINK? Hopefully my appalled look and response of, "Thanks...I...think?" was good enough. Because there is only one blonde/blue eyed baby girl in the entire Kansas City metro area?
I really did pray last night, so hard, for this little girl to be somewhere safe, someplace warm, with lots of warm milk in her tummy, and that she gets back to her mommy and daddy. Only a mommy and daddy can snuggle a baby exactly how she wants to be snuggled.
I had to make an appointment with a pediatric ophthamologist for Collins. My mom confirmed what I suspected all along, but never verbalized because I hoped I was imagining things: Methinks Collins's right eye is a tad lazy. Its most noticeable when she is tired, but sometimes it wanders off when we are playing or just hanging out. Luckily it is easy to fix.
But now I'm constantly on high-alert for karma to zing me again. I knew I shouldn't have made fun of Vienna from Bachelor/Bachelor Pad. It always comes back to bite me in the ass.
Back to the point of this entry: I am perfectly aware that I have the quintessential Aryan child. Beautiful little girl. Hitler, damn him, would give Clayton and me a high five. Well, he would try, but we would leave him hanging because he was a total dick. Dark blonde hair, huge navy blue eyes, two teeth sprouting up on her bottom gums. The beautiful little baby girl, Lisa, who went missing the other day in the Northland is also blonde/blue eyed with two bottom teeth. I feel for the parents of this little girl, and I prayed for this little girl and her family so hard last night that I began to cry, just imagining an iota of the pain and anguish they must be feeling.
But to people who see Collins and me at Pottery Barn, Victoria's Secret, and Price Chopper, please stop looking at me as though I swiped this kid. Collins's face is NOT on the back of a milk carton.
For one, Collins is almost 7 months old and when people first see her they guess that she is about 4-5 months old. She's a petite, tiny little thing...odd considering that Clayton and I are 6'2 and 5'10. Clayton is very very slim due to his anorexia, and although I see myself as the size of a pregnant wildebeest, from what I hear my build fits somewhere between Giselle Bundchen and Rosie O'Donnell. We are not huge people, so maybe that's where her petiteness comes from. Regardless, she's nowhere near being the age or size of your typical 10-month old baby.
Secondly, most people have seen the picture of this little missing baby. As cute as she is, she looks nothing like my Collins. Collins isn't fair-skinned, and she sure isn't close to standing or walking. Hell, I can't even get the lazy girl to sit on her butt without her toppling over. We're working on it. So, point being that on paper, every blonde/blue eyed baby girl with two bottom teeth is going to remind you of the missing baby. But my child is the spitting image of Clayton some days, and me on other days (usually on what we like to call her "Bad Days.")
Third, Collins and I venture into this particular Price Chopper about 2 days a week. Same staff every time, they always recognize us. So, to the New Girl, unless baby Lisa's mom is Casey Anthony, I've been bringing my kid to this store for 4 months longer than this sweet baby has been missing.
I don't mean to be hostile. If it was my baby that was missing, I would probably want everyone on high alert as well. But come on, don't point and whisper in the dinnerware section of Pottery Barn and then come up to me and say, "Your baby is so cute! She looks an awful lot like the missing baby. (waits an awkward second and examines Collins further) She's too small though, to be that baby." Uhhh, YA THINK? Hopefully my appalled look and response of, "Thanks...I...think?" was good enough. Because there is only one blonde/blue eyed baby girl in the entire Kansas City metro area?
I really did pray last night, so hard, for this little girl to be somewhere safe, someplace warm, with lots of warm milk in her tummy, and that she gets back to her mommy and daddy. Only a mommy and daddy can snuggle a baby exactly how she wants to be snuggled.
I had to make an appointment with a pediatric ophthamologist for Collins. My mom confirmed what I suspected all along, but never verbalized because I hoped I was imagining things: Methinks Collins's right eye is a tad lazy. Its most noticeable when she is tired, but sometimes it wanders off when we are playing or just hanging out. Luckily it is easy to fix.
But now I'm constantly on high-alert for karma to zing me again. I knew I shouldn't have made fun of Vienna from Bachelor/Bachelor Pad. It always comes back to bite me in the ass.
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
Let's Talk About Teething.
Also known as The Worst Effing Thing in the World, teething is a pain in the ass. Why can't they all come in at the same time and just make it 3 days of pure hell? Instead, they come in one at a time - the tooth moves up and down, causing pain and anguish. They finally break the skin (I shudder just thinking about it) and slowly rise up. I felt Collins gums today, and lo and behold, she's got another one right next door, about to pop out. I don't know how long the teething phase lasts, but Maggie Seitz told me Emery had a tooth coming in recently, and she's almost 2. I would take 2 days - even 2 weeks - of constant torture over 2 years of intermittent hell. It's like ripping off a bandaid or tweezing your eyebrows.
Not that I would know much about tweezing - I look like Groucho Marx right now. It's on my list of things to do, okay? Lay off me.
Not that I blame her, but this kid has a big chip on her shoulder today. I finally got her down for a nap, so the screaming has ceased, if only for a couple hours. Well now, I have a big chip on my shoulder too! Her agony is contagious.
Clayton had to go to Lincoln for a career fair, to represent Burns and McDonnell. I will say this again, "Where is HR for this kind of shit?" I need my husband HOME. I could never ever ever be a single mother. If I was a single mother, I would be an alcoholic single mother. Just 5 or 6 shots, just to take the edge off. I don't know how they do it. At night, especially! Don't make fun of me, yes I know I'm 26, but I'm afraid of the dark. It feels really good to get that off my chest. I would rather the dog lay his tootsie-roll size turds on the floor (sometimes he eats them, which works out really well for me) and then have to clean it up, than take him out in the pitch darkness.
Add to that the fact that a 10-month old baby girl from KC got kidnapped from her crib the other night, and you have a bunch of on-edge mamas. Before I had a baby if I heard a story like that, I would think to myself, "How sad, I hope they find her soon!" Now, hearing a story like that makes me jump at every little sound, get up to check on her constantly, and double, triple, no quadruple check the locks. It also makes me cry and feel terribly sad and afraid for that little girl and her family. I read the KC Star website story, and it said that the search team ended their search for the night at 8:30 and will resume in the morning.
May I just say, that being a public service, you do not have the right to "take the night off" from searching high and low for this little baby girl? I understand exhaustion and fatigue, but get other shifts to take over. How many hours is that, that this baby girl is unaccounted for and not being searched for? That's like 12 hours of a free-for-all for whoever has her! That's a 12-hour head start, and that makes me really mad. If, God forbid, anything like that ever happened to my daughter or anyone I know, you bet your sweet ass every second of every day that child would be searched for until that little baby was found.
I just pray that they find her alive and well, and that law enforcement's "break" doesn't turn out to be a big mistake.
Not that I would know much about tweezing - I look like Groucho Marx right now. It's on my list of things to do, okay? Lay off me.
Not that I blame her, but this kid has a big chip on her shoulder today. I finally got her down for a nap, so the screaming has ceased, if only for a couple hours. Well now, I have a big chip on my shoulder too! Her agony is contagious.
Clayton had to go to Lincoln for a career fair, to represent Burns and McDonnell. I will say this again, "Where is HR for this kind of shit?" I need my husband HOME. I could never ever ever be a single mother. If I was a single mother, I would be an alcoholic single mother. Just 5 or 6 shots, just to take the edge off. I don't know how they do it. At night, especially! Don't make fun of me, yes I know I'm 26, but I'm afraid of the dark. It feels really good to get that off my chest. I would rather the dog lay his tootsie-roll size turds on the floor (sometimes he eats them, which works out really well for me) and then have to clean it up, than take him out in the pitch darkness.
Add to that the fact that a 10-month old baby girl from KC got kidnapped from her crib the other night, and you have a bunch of on-edge mamas. Before I had a baby if I heard a story like that, I would think to myself, "How sad, I hope they find her soon!" Now, hearing a story like that makes me jump at every little sound, get up to check on her constantly, and double, triple, no quadruple check the locks. It also makes me cry and feel terribly sad and afraid for that little girl and her family. I read the KC Star website story, and it said that the search team ended their search for the night at 8:30 and will resume in the morning.
May I just say, that being a public service, you do not have the right to "take the night off" from searching high and low for this little baby girl? I understand exhaustion and fatigue, but get other shifts to take over. How many hours is that, that this baby girl is unaccounted for and not being searched for? That's like 12 hours of a free-for-all for whoever has her! That's a 12-hour head start, and that makes me really mad. If, God forbid, anything like that ever happened to my daughter or anyone I know, you bet your sweet ass every second of every day that child would be searched for until that little baby was found.
I just pray that they find her alive and well, and that law enforcement's "break" doesn't turn out to be a big mistake.
Saturday, October 1, 2011
I Got Robbed
Not literally robbed. So don't go freakin out. What I mean is, I got robbed because I was in college at Nebraska during the four most embarassing years in Husker football history: The Callahan Era. Every game day, Clayton and I fantasize about what it would have been like to be a student at Nebraska during the golden years - ya know the nineties. We always talk about having a 1994 party, complete with the National Championship game on loop on multiple rear-projection tube televisions. We would wear multiple colors of neon socks with our white Keds, black bike shorts underneath neon Umbro shorts, cropped tank tops, terry cloth wrist sweatbands and tease our bangs. Perhaps we would crimp our hair (Clayton included, he is a whiz with a crimping iron) or even get a perm. We would also have celebratory Nebraska earrings that looked like corncobs.
Seriously, we really missed out. I know I had entirely too much fun in college and probably would die if I went back to redo it...like, I would probably actually die. With a funeral and everything. But I wouldn't mind risking it. I would seriously consider paying another 40K to go back to school at a time when our team was back-to-back dominating every other team and conference. I was pretty fortunate the first time around, what with not having any student loans or anything, but I would consider making the investment, especially now that Slimy Steve is out of the picture. I love Creepy Carl and Bi-polar Bo, and I have a real soft spot in my heart for Tom "Octogenarian" Osborne.
Last night we went to the American Royal BBQ festival thingy out at Kemper Arena, which I didn't know existed. Its located in the butt-ugly industrial part of Kansas City. Great scenery. Lots of rusted train parts, crushed vehicles and meth labs. Beautiful round them parts. Well get this, its $15 per person to enter...for all living, breathing human beings. That means we had to pay $15 for our SIX MONTH OLD to enter. I contemplated just leaving her outside the fence and checking on her every couple of hours but I relented and shelled out another 15 bucks, but not before semi-chewing out the box office personnel and looking at them like they had three heads.
So we stroll up to the box office, which is fashioned out of a lifted double wide trailer. She sees Clayton behind me, manning the stroller, and this lady says, "Forty-five dollars please." I said, "It's $22.50 per person?! Are they serving BBQ on fine china and beer in Waterford crystal???" "No it's $15 per person and there are three of you."
My jaw hit the floor.
"She's 6 months old. Unless you have a food processor handy, she ain't eatin. And she's driving, so she's certainly not drinking."
Homegirl gave me a blank stare.
"Wait a minute. So you are seriously going to charge me $15 to push her around in a stroller? You have got to be kidding me. You have alot of nerve! I am not paying $15 for an infant!" I looked at Clayton who just shrugged. We'd already paid $20 to park, and considering this part of town, I was pretty sure that when we left and went back to the car, we would find it completely stripped. So what are we gonna do? Burns and Mac was kind enough to give Clayton an invitation to an invitation-only event...so I handed her my debit card through the tiny slot in the bulletproof glass.
I just cannot believe the nerve of the American Royal. The BBQ at Burns & Mac was ahhhhmazing though. We had to leave right around 8:15 - just when all the good-looking people were entering. When we got there, the only people that were there who weren't working it were morbidly obese people who wanted to get their fill before the rations ran out at all of the 4000 BBQ exhibitors. I felt like a supermodel walking around.
Thus I have decided to befriend only morbidly obese people in an effort to raise my stock value.
And I don't mean stock as in livestock however that may also apply here.
Seriously, we really missed out. I know I had entirely too much fun in college and probably would die if I went back to redo it...like, I would probably actually die. With a funeral and everything. But I wouldn't mind risking it. I would seriously consider paying another 40K to go back to school at a time when our team was back-to-back dominating every other team and conference. I was pretty fortunate the first time around, what with not having any student loans or anything, but I would consider making the investment, especially now that Slimy Steve is out of the picture. I love Creepy Carl and Bi-polar Bo, and I have a real soft spot in my heart for Tom "Octogenarian" Osborne.
Last night we went to the American Royal BBQ festival thingy out at Kemper Arena, which I didn't know existed. Its located in the butt-ugly industrial part of Kansas City. Great scenery. Lots of rusted train parts, crushed vehicles and meth labs. Beautiful round them parts. Well get this, its $15 per person to enter...for all living, breathing human beings. That means we had to pay $15 for our SIX MONTH OLD to enter. I contemplated just leaving her outside the fence and checking on her every couple of hours but I relented and shelled out another 15 bucks, but not before semi-chewing out the box office personnel and looking at them like they had three heads.
So we stroll up to the box office, which is fashioned out of a lifted double wide trailer. She sees Clayton behind me, manning the stroller, and this lady says, "Forty-five dollars please." I said, "It's $22.50 per person?! Are they serving BBQ on fine china and beer in Waterford crystal???" "No it's $15 per person and there are three of you."
My jaw hit the floor.
"She's 6 months old. Unless you have a food processor handy, she ain't eatin. And she's driving, so she's certainly not drinking."
Homegirl gave me a blank stare.
"Wait a minute. So you are seriously going to charge me $15 to push her around in a stroller? You have got to be kidding me. You have alot of nerve! I am not paying $15 for an infant!" I looked at Clayton who just shrugged. We'd already paid $20 to park, and considering this part of town, I was pretty sure that when we left and went back to the car, we would find it completely stripped. So what are we gonna do? Burns and Mac was kind enough to give Clayton an invitation to an invitation-only event...so I handed her my debit card through the tiny slot in the bulletproof glass.
I just cannot believe the nerve of the American Royal. The BBQ at Burns & Mac was ahhhhmazing though. We had to leave right around 8:15 - just when all the good-looking people were entering. When we got there, the only people that were there who weren't working it were morbidly obese people who wanted to get their fill before the rations ran out at all of the 4000 BBQ exhibitors. I felt like a supermodel walking around.
Thus I have decided to befriend only morbidly obese people in an effort to raise my stock value.
And I don't mean stock as in livestock however that may also apply here.
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