Much like Christmas, I find the stress of Thanksgiving nearly unbearable....which is likely why I'm hiding out in my car in front of my in-laws instead of socializing like I should be.
And I have a serious case of PMS. This is shaping up to be a very fine day.
Hopefully, you enjoy yours.......
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Rising from the Dead with an Axe to Grind
I know, I know. It's been a while.
A long while in fact. And I just want you to know that I'm sorry.
But having an infant in the house keeps me hella-busy.
Anyway, the last time I wrote I was covered in baby shit and breast milk.
I'm happy to report that I am now only covered in baby shit. I am able to sleep through the night (for the most part). I am back to working thanks in large part to J, my blessed nanny.
Notice how I did not mention my wonderful someday spouse and all his help? There's a little story behind that. Let me fill you in.
I have been ill exactly 3 times in the last 9 months (in other words, since TOK has been born). 2 of those times, the SS got sick at the exact same time (convenient, isn't it). The other time, he left me home alone with the baby and carpool duty (which I completed successfully after pulling over twice to puke in front of the neighbor kids) so he could go to work. Hrmph.
Since these three occurrences, I have stopped giving him credit for anything. I'll begin giving him credit again when he begins pulling up his big-boy panties and stops his goddamn whining about having the flu. Because guess what? The baby is sick right now too whiney boy....and so am I. But I'm sucking snot out of her poor little nose, cleaning up diarrhea, working and entertaining her at the same time because the nanny has a kidney stone, AND I'm running to the store to buy your sorry ass ginger ale and chicken noodles soup. Pansy.
At any rate, this was the kick in the pants I needed to get back to blogging. You can now fully expect that I will continue to rant and fill your lives with snark, one day at a time.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Covered in Breast Milk and Baby Shit: The First Two Weeks
Once upon a time, I took a clean shirt for granted.
No longer is that the case, I can assure you.
After being home with The Other Kid for two weeks, I can honestly say that I don't even bother getting out of my pajamas unless I'm going somewhere really important - and by important I mean the pediatrician's office where you have to look put together or they might call DHHS and report you as unfit.
I also no longer take 60 seconds for granted. In 60 seconds, you can get a lot done. 60 seconds also happens to be just about the length of time between when you put TOK down and when she starts screaming her bloody head off because really, she just wants to be snuggled. These 60 second intervals allow me to brush my teeth, pour myself a cup of coffee and occasionally shove a bite of food in my mouth. Not all at the same time of course.
In two weeks I have learned that, until she stops nursing, I will be covered in spit-up breast milk (no matter how large the bib or burp cloth that is used) and there will always be a hint of yellow, seedy baby shit on my hands (no matter how many times I wash them). My skin will be dry and cracked because I wash my hands 537 times a day and I will consider myself lucky if I get to take a shower before lunch.
The most important lesson in these two weeks? With a newborn in the house (no matter how damn cute and snuggle-able) you can't afford to lose your sense of humor.
No longer is that the case, I can assure you.
After being home with The Other Kid for two weeks, I can honestly say that I don't even bother getting out of my pajamas unless I'm going somewhere really important - and by important I mean the pediatrician's office where you have to look put together or they might call DHHS and report you as unfit.
I also no longer take 60 seconds for granted. In 60 seconds, you can get a lot done. 60 seconds also happens to be just about the length of time between when you put TOK down and when she starts screaming her bloody head off because really, she just wants to be snuggled. These 60 second intervals allow me to brush my teeth, pour myself a cup of coffee and occasionally shove a bite of food in my mouth. Not all at the same time of course.
In two weeks I have learned that, until she stops nursing, I will be covered in spit-up breast milk (no matter how large the bib or burp cloth that is used) and there will always be a hint of yellow, seedy baby shit on my hands (no matter how many times I wash them). My skin will be dry and cracked because I wash my hands 537 times a day and I will consider myself lucky if I get to take a shower before lunch.
The most important lesson in these two weeks? With a newborn in the house (no matter how damn cute and snuggle-able) you can't afford to lose your sense of humor.
Tuesday, January 05, 2010
Why Saving a Buck is Not Always Worth It
I'm typically a loyal Hannaford shopper. Close to home and with reasonable prices, it's a no-brainer.
However, in an effort to save a buck, I made the executive decision that I would travel to the new Super Wal*Mart in Scarborough to get groceries this week. I was stocking up, not wanting to have to go to the grocery store for at least two weeks and thought the home of cheap would be a good idea. Especially on a Monday morning at 9am on the first day back to school and work for many people.
Clearly, I forgot about all the unemployed people also looking for a deal.
3 hours later, I pushed $250 worth of groceries out of the store. I'm happy to report that I did get a lot of groceries and will likely not have to go to the store (except maybe for milk) for the next two weeks. However, it was what I witnessed while I was there that has me so shaken (not stirred).
Upon entering the store, I saw a man (and a large man at that) perusing the aisles wearing a full-length black and white striped fur coat with a furry black fedora and reflective aviator sunglasses. Just pushing his cart along like it was not unusual in the least.....and again, when I say he was a BIG man, I mean BIG. And not like, fat big, but big, big - like hitting the gym on a very regular basis big. I chased him all over the store trying to get a picture of him to post but at the last second I chickened out. Even pregnant, I worried he'd snatch my phone and crush it like a bug.
Then, as I get to the check-out lane, I had yet another Wal*Mart-exclusive experience. The line was short and the woman ahead of me had two carts. Not full by any means and I just assumed that she was likely shopping for herself and an elderly parent or neighbor. After I was boxed in and had part of my cart up on the check-out belt, I realized this was not the case.
She had compartmentalized her items on the belt, complete with the little divider thingy, by what she really wanted - all the way down to what she could live without. On top of that, she had multiples of everything (window cleaner, sandwich baggies, avacados.....) After the first few sections, she asked the cashier to subtotal her order.
I'm still thinking that she's shopping for herself and someone else.
Then a few more sections go by and she asks for a subtotal again. Then we get down to subtotaling after each section.
She gets to the final section and all is good. She gives the cashier (who is trying really hard not to lose his patience) the go-ahead to ring through the last 15 or so items (including the window cleaner and avacados) and when the final tally is rung, she says, "oh, I must have mis-calculated. I can't afford to pay for all of this."
She then proceeds to have the cashier void the items, one at a time, until she's at a balance that she can afford to pay. She then pays with all small bills and change. And we're talking about close to $100 worth of stuff.
Now, I'm all about being on a budget. I am that person that walks through the grocery store with a calculator to make sure that I'm sticking to our alloted grocery amount. But I'm also person that buys the store brand whenever I can (or whenever it doesn't conflict with my favorite brands that I won't compromise on). This woman had no generic items in her cart, had all reusable bags from Whole Foods and was clearly not your typical bargain shopper.
Which is what made me so damn annoyed.
So, the moral of the story? Saving a buck is not always worth it.
However, in an effort to save a buck, I made the executive decision that I would travel to the new Super Wal*Mart in Scarborough to get groceries this week. I was stocking up, not wanting to have to go to the grocery store for at least two weeks and thought the home of cheap would be a good idea. Especially on a Monday morning at 9am on the first day back to school and work for many people.
Clearly, I forgot about all the unemployed people also looking for a deal.
3 hours later, I pushed $250 worth of groceries out of the store. I'm happy to report that I did get a lot of groceries and will likely not have to go to the store (except maybe for milk) for the next two weeks. However, it was what I witnessed while I was there that has me so shaken (not stirred).
Upon entering the store, I saw a man (and a large man at that) perusing the aisles wearing a full-length black and white striped fur coat with a furry black fedora and reflective aviator sunglasses. Just pushing his cart along like it was not unusual in the least.....and again, when I say he was a BIG man, I mean BIG. And not like, fat big, but big, big - like hitting the gym on a very regular basis big. I chased him all over the store trying to get a picture of him to post but at the last second I chickened out. Even pregnant, I worried he'd snatch my phone and crush it like a bug.
Then, as I get to the check-out lane, I had yet another Wal*Mart-exclusive experience. The line was short and the woman ahead of me had two carts. Not full by any means and I just assumed that she was likely shopping for herself and an elderly parent or neighbor. After I was boxed in and had part of my cart up on the check-out belt, I realized this was not the case.
She had compartmentalized her items on the belt, complete with the little divider thingy, by what she really wanted - all the way down to what she could live without. On top of that, she had multiples of everything (window cleaner, sandwich baggies, avacados.....) After the first few sections, she asked the cashier to subtotal her order.
I'm still thinking that she's shopping for herself and someone else.
Then a few more sections go by and she asks for a subtotal again. Then we get down to subtotaling after each section.
She gets to the final section and all is good. She gives the cashier (who is trying really hard not to lose his patience) the go-ahead to ring through the last 15 or so items (including the window cleaner and avacados) and when the final tally is rung, she says, "oh, I must have mis-calculated. I can't afford to pay for all of this."
She then proceeds to have the cashier void the items, one at a time, until she's at a balance that she can afford to pay. She then pays with all small bills and change. And we're talking about close to $100 worth of stuff.
Now, I'm all about being on a budget. I am that person that walks through the grocery store with a calculator to make sure that I'm sticking to our alloted grocery amount. But I'm also person that buys the store brand whenever I can (or whenever it doesn't conflict with my favorite brands that I won't compromise on). This woman had no generic items in her cart, had all reusable bags from Whole Foods and was clearly not your typical bargain shopper.
Which is what made me so damn annoyed.
So, the moral of the story? Saving a buck is not always worth it.
Tuesday, December 08, 2009
8 Weeks and Counting
Wow, we're getting down to the wire here. Although, I guess if I feel like 8 weeks is, "down to the wire," then once we only have a few weeks to to I'll be jumping off furniture trying to put myself into labor. And while my pregnancy is going admittedly very smoothly, I'm ready to have this baby. Little Miss Ella has taken up residence right on my Sciatic nerve and it's killing me. Sleep is done in the upright position, getting out of bed is a chore and standing, sitting or walking for more than 10 minutes at a time causes me to have excruciating pain through my back and hips.
So what do you do when you can't sit, stand, lay or move? I'm not sure about you, but I bitch about it - a lot.
For the most part, the boy has taken up residence on the couch. He says it's so I can sprawl out in the bed, but I suspect it's more for his own benefit so he can get some sleep. Which I can understand. Were I in his position, I would do the same. But last night he decided to sleep upstairs. And when he came to bed, he promptly set his alarm for 4am. It's now 4:48 and I'm up typing to all of you while he lays in bed, sound asleep. Asshole.
"Why are you setting your alarm for 4?"
"It might snow. The forecast said there's a chance for flurries, up to an inch."
"What forecast are you looking at? I watched the weather and they said no snow."
"I looked it up online, duh."
Very mature Dan, very mature.
So, at 4am, his alarm went off, he peeked out the window and saw that there was NO SNOW, and promptly went back to bed. I laid awake for 20 minutes contemplating the things I could do to him while he snored and in the end, decided to play nice and just get up.
"Where are you going?"
"I'm getting up."
"Why?"
"Because I'm awake, duh."
Real mature Stacie, real mature.
I made sure to make plenty of noise letting the dogs out, feeding them, letting individual pieces of chunky kibble clink into their plastic bowls slowly, wadding up newspaper to make a fire, dropping firewood on the living room floor and as soon as I'm done with this, I'll go ahead and start doing dishes.
Now who's the asshole?
So what do you do when you can't sit, stand, lay or move? I'm not sure about you, but I bitch about it - a lot.
For the most part, the boy has taken up residence on the couch. He says it's so I can sprawl out in the bed, but I suspect it's more for his own benefit so he can get some sleep. Which I can understand. Were I in his position, I would do the same. But last night he decided to sleep upstairs. And when he came to bed, he promptly set his alarm for 4am. It's now 4:48 and I'm up typing to all of you while he lays in bed, sound asleep. Asshole.
"Why are you setting your alarm for 4?"
"It might snow. The forecast said there's a chance for flurries, up to an inch."
"What forecast are you looking at? I watched the weather and they said no snow."
"I looked it up online, duh."
Very mature Dan, very mature.
So, at 4am, his alarm went off, he peeked out the window and saw that there was NO SNOW, and promptly went back to bed. I laid awake for 20 minutes contemplating the things I could do to him while he snored and in the end, decided to play nice and just get up.
"Where are you going?"
"I'm getting up."
"Why?"
"Because I'm awake, duh."
Real mature Stacie, real mature.
I made sure to make plenty of noise letting the dogs out, feeding them, letting individual pieces of chunky kibble clink into their plastic bowls slowly, wadding up newspaper to make a fire, dropping firewood on the living room floor and as soon as I'm done with this, I'll go ahead and start doing dishes.
Now who's the asshole?
Friday, October 23, 2009
Old People Are Pissing Me Off
And I'm not talking "old" like my grammie and grampie (in their late 80's), I'm talking about those damn meme's that are in their 60's and have bad dye-jobs.
I just left an intramural soccer game at The Kid's school and I was sitting behind one of these meme's, which is where my bad mood started. Keep in mind that this was an intramural game - no high stakes, no trophies, no World Cup, just a bunch of kids running around chasing a soft yellow "soccer" ball in a pint-sized gym.
"Come on Hannah! Block the ball Hannah! Run Hannah! Good block Hannah! Dribble the ball Hannah, dribble the ball." And on, and on, and on. Jesus God. Really? And then when Hannah would miss-kick, "What ah ya doin' Hannah? Get on that ball Hannah!"
It's a f'ing intramural game grammaw! Half the kids playing in this game are doing so because they're not qualified to play "real" soccer. Just ask my kid, "Syd, are you good at soccer?"
"Um, no. I pretty much suck. But that's why I play intramural's. I can still play but just have fun."
And that's the way it should be.
So then I decided that I needed a change of scenery today since half of my office is disassembled upstairs and the other half is re-assembled in the basement, I've made the decision that I'll surf all the free Internet I can find in town today (meaning Panera, Border's and the library). I no sooner get to Panera and another one of these goddamn meme's is bitching because there's no light roast coffee in the urn. And as the manager comes walking out of the back with an urn in each hand she huffs and says, "Oh! So there you are. I was wondering if we were ever going to get some light roast."
It's a good thing I'm not the manager. I would have thrown the light roast right at her, hopefully drenching her ugly snowman sweatshirt and her ugly mouse-brown dye job. I mean, really, if you're going to dye your hair, at least pick a decent color.
I just left an intramural soccer game at The Kid's school and I was sitting behind one of these meme's, which is where my bad mood started. Keep in mind that this was an intramural game - no high stakes, no trophies, no World Cup, just a bunch of kids running around chasing a soft yellow "soccer" ball in a pint-sized gym.
"Come on Hannah! Block the ball Hannah! Run Hannah! Good block Hannah! Dribble the ball Hannah, dribble the ball." And on, and on, and on. Jesus God. Really? And then when Hannah would miss-kick, "What ah ya doin' Hannah? Get on that ball Hannah!"
It's a f'ing intramural game grammaw! Half the kids playing in this game are doing so because they're not qualified to play "real" soccer. Just ask my kid, "Syd, are you good at soccer?"
"Um, no. I pretty much suck. But that's why I play intramural's. I can still play but just have fun."
And that's the way it should be.
So then I decided that I needed a change of scenery today since half of my office is disassembled upstairs and the other half is re-assembled in the basement, I've made the decision that I'll surf all the free Internet I can find in town today (meaning Panera, Border's and the library). I no sooner get to Panera and another one of these goddamn meme's is bitching because there's no light roast coffee in the urn. And as the manager comes walking out of the back with an urn in each hand she huffs and says, "Oh! So there you are. I was wondering if we were ever going to get some light roast."
It's a good thing I'm not the manager. I would have thrown the light roast right at her, hopefully drenching her ugly snowman sweatshirt and her ugly mouse-brown dye job. I mean, really, if you're going to dye your hair, at least pick a decent color.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
24 Weeks and 15 Pounds
I was sitting in a client meeting yesterday with my legs crossed ever so daintily (which, btw, is no easy feat when you've got a protruding belly). I had an itch on the back of my thigh and when I rubbed my hand over it to scratch it, I actually FELT cellulite THROUGH my pants.
Seriously?!?
And while the doctor assures me that my 15 lb. weight gain over the last 24 weeks is entirely normal, I'm so grossed out by the fact that I can actually feel cellulite through my clothes that I can barely even stand it.
Here's what's interesting though. When I was pregnant with The Kid, I put on a total of 50 pounds - so right around the 24 week mark I was probably 10 pounds heavier than I am now. And I didn't care! So why am I so body conscious now?
I'm 31, feel like my boobs are becoming cow udders and my thighs are permanently soldered together. Shaving my legs has become a chore and if I stand on my feet to long, my socks leave little lined in my calves. I sleep sitting up because I have heartburn from everything I eat, whether it's a cookie or an apple.
Hi, my name is Stacie. I'm 31 and pregnant. And I fear there's no amount of therapy that will cure me.
Seriously?!?
And while the doctor assures me that my 15 lb. weight gain over the last 24 weeks is entirely normal, I'm so grossed out by the fact that I can actually feel cellulite through my clothes that I can barely even stand it.
Here's what's interesting though. When I was pregnant with The Kid, I put on a total of 50 pounds - so right around the 24 week mark I was probably 10 pounds heavier than I am now. And I didn't care! So why am I so body conscious now?
I'm 31, feel like my boobs are becoming cow udders and my thighs are permanently soldered together. Shaving my legs has become a chore and if I stand on my feet to long, my socks leave little lined in my calves. I sleep sitting up because I have heartburn from everything I eat, whether it's a cookie or an apple.
Hi, my name is Stacie. I'm 31 and pregnant. And I fear there's no amount of therapy that will cure me.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
The Ultrasound
Last week we went in for the standard 18-20 week anatomy scan of the baby. For weeks, the boy has stressed about his reaction if it wasn't a boy. I assured him that, if he were to swear out loud, it would be okay - he's surely not the first dad to be pissed off that they're having a girl instead of the coveted boy.Instead, I was the one swearing. No, more like demanding that the ultrasound tech take it back. She lead me on, first of all. Which is entirely unfair to a hormonally imbalanced pregnant woman who has had just about enough of tween drama.
"See those three little dots right there?" she asked.
"Uh-huh....." I responded dreamily, my eyes quickly misting with tears at our good fortune to have a boy. 3 dots surely means two testicles and a little turtle, right?
"It's a girl!"
I nearly punched her in the face. A girl?!? What?!? How am I supposed to deal with that? How, when I am FORTY-TWO-years-old am I going to deal with a whining tween coming home from school, rolling her eyes and telling me how wrong I am about everything that comes out of my mouth.
At nearly FIFTY, how am I supposed to deal with horny boys and eating disorders? I am not prepared for such things.
In the elevator, the boy tried to console me, "maybe there's still time honey - maybe one will grow."
My reply? "Honey, if it's this small now, I don't want it to be a boy. No son of mine will bear that burden."
Of course, now the guilt is setting in. My rational side is telling me that I waited a long time for this baby. I should be thrilled, even if it is a girl. I should feel blessed and overjoyed that we will soon be parents for a second time.
Instead, I'm a neurotic mess (this seems to be a golden thread that runs throughout my life). So, welcome to the family Ella Alexandra. Your mom's a neurotic nut job, your dad has decided not to put you up for sale on eBay as was his original plan if you were a girl and your sister has already picked out your wardrobe for the next 5 years of your life. We love you, even if we are crazy as hell.
Friday, September 04, 2009
The Weekend Wrap-Up
So yeah, the weekend officially ended like, 5 days ago. And there is a new one starting in approximately 7 hours, but hey, who's counting? And the fact that I'm just getting around to posting about my ever-so-exciting weekend of last, we're all just gonna go with it.
#1. I found shit in my bathroom cabinet. Not like crap that people don't bother putting away - actual HUMAN FECES folks. On toilet paper.
Now, I know my own kid well enough by now to understand that she would not do such a thing. And certainly the boy and I would not do this either. So who exactly wipes their ass and then puts the dirty toilet paper in my bathroom cabinet with my nice Downy-fresh towels? Oh, that might be the neighbor kid across the street who I heard going through my cabinets when she was using the loo the last time she was over. And I know it's her because she's the only other person that's been in our house since then. Hm.
#2. My kid was offered a Playboy. By the same neighbor girl. Who's like, 8. WTF? She came over to our house and was like, "you've got to come over, I've got to show you something." Apparently, she'd been in her parents room and (shockingly!) been pilfering through their private spaces (between the mattress - how original) only to come up with a Playboy which she promptly hid in her own bedroom to show my kid. Lovely.
The first question that I have is, "why is she rifling between her parents mattress?" The second question I have is, "why must I have this knowledge?" I can no longer look out my kitchen window without seeing the man who owns the Playboy and getting visuals that no one should ever have. Short, squat and with a beer belly, he's a man that loves his leaf blower a little too much.
#3. I wasted 3 hours of my life that I will never get back at the spanking new Wal*Mart Super Center. It's a lot like Meijer's. Which was a little nostalgic for me. Anyway, the Sunday before many kids went back to school, 30 lanes open, every one of them 15 people deep. Who do I end up in line with? The old lady on the motorized scooter with an 18-pack of Ensure, a 24-pack of Busch Light and a value-size pack of Depends. I didn't actually talk to her, but I desperately wanted to take her picture and post it - too bad I couldn't find an excuse to get in front of her and do it.
#4. I realized the boy has no clue what Orange Crush is. Again, I ask, WTF? Sometimes I wonder if his parents kept him locked in a closet when he was little. We attended an outdoor wedding reception this weekend (which was in the middle of "Hurricane Danny") and of course I couldn't drown my sorrows at the open bar, so I opted for an Orange Crush. Dan walks up and asks for one, only to get in an argument with the bartender. When he is handed said can of Crush, he is thoroughly confused because he is thinking an orange slushy-type thing. I promptly edumacated him that it also comes in Strawberry and Grape. Yikes.
#5. I bought a new-to-me-vehicle. Without consulting the boy. Which is exactly what he gets for buying a new truck and plow last fall without consulting me first. I am still sticking out my tongue at him over that one.
So that's my weekend wrap-up. I'm headed north for the weekend to visit the 'rents for a night and then Sunday and Monday I have a wee bit of work to do. I've been bit of a slacker lately and it shows. Have a fun and safe holiday weekend!
#1. I found shit in my bathroom cabinet. Not like crap that people don't bother putting away - actual HUMAN FECES folks. On toilet paper.
Now, I know my own kid well enough by now to understand that she would not do such a thing. And certainly the boy and I would not do this either. So who exactly wipes their ass and then puts the dirty toilet paper in my bathroom cabinet with my nice Downy-fresh towels? Oh, that might be the neighbor kid across the street who I heard going through my cabinets when she was using the loo the last time she was over. And I know it's her because she's the only other person that's been in our house since then. Hm.
#2. My kid was offered a Playboy. By the same neighbor girl. Who's like, 8. WTF? She came over to our house and was like, "you've got to come over, I've got to show you something." Apparently, she'd been in her parents room and (shockingly!) been pilfering through their private spaces (between the mattress - how original) only to come up with a Playboy which she promptly hid in her own bedroom to show my kid. Lovely.
The first question that I have is, "why is she rifling between her parents mattress?" The second question I have is, "why must I have this knowledge?" I can no longer look out my kitchen window without seeing the man who owns the Playboy and getting visuals that no one should ever have. Short, squat and with a beer belly, he's a man that loves his leaf blower a little too much.
#3. I wasted 3 hours of my life that I will never get back at the spanking new Wal*Mart Super Center. It's a lot like Meijer's. Which was a little nostalgic for me. Anyway, the Sunday before many kids went back to school, 30 lanes open, every one of them 15 people deep. Who do I end up in line with? The old lady on the motorized scooter with an 18-pack of Ensure, a 24-pack of Busch Light and a value-size pack of Depends. I didn't actually talk to her, but I desperately wanted to take her picture and post it - too bad I couldn't find an excuse to get in front of her and do it.
#4. I realized the boy has no clue what Orange Crush is. Again, I ask, WTF? Sometimes I wonder if his parents kept him locked in a closet when he was little. We attended an outdoor wedding reception this weekend (which was in the middle of "Hurricane Danny") and of course I couldn't drown my sorrows at the open bar, so I opted for an Orange Crush. Dan walks up and asks for one, only to get in an argument with the bartender. When he is handed said can of Crush, he is thoroughly confused because he is thinking an orange slushy-type thing. I promptly edumacated him that it also comes in Strawberry and Grape. Yikes.
#5. I bought a new-to-me-vehicle. Without consulting the boy. Which is exactly what he gets for buying a new truck and plow last fall without consulting me first. I am still sticking out my tongue at him over that one.
So that's my weekend wrap-up. I'm headed north for the weekend to visit the 'rents for a night and then Sunday and Monday I have a wee bit of work to do. I've been bit of a slacker lately and it shows. Have a fun and safe holiday weekend!
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Summer is Officially Over
I truly believe that summer is over. Although we're supposed to reach 80 in a few days, it won't be the same 80 that we had last week.
And that's just fine with me. 80 and humid sucks - when you're pregnant, it sucks even more.
We're slowly getting ready to ease back into a routine. The kid is excited to go back to school, I'm excited to do the same and my mind is swimming with all the things I need to get done before February. It's a long list and includes moving my office to the basement where I'd really like to make some major changes so that it's a little more "homey" and inviting. The prospect of working next to the hum of the furnace and staring at the washer and dryer is not exactly appealing, but done right, I think it will be alright. That is my major fall project - I'll post pictures and you can be the judge of how well I do.
The summer has been productive though we didn't do anything major at all. Just laid around, spent lots of time at the pool and the kid learned about money management with not one, but two, jobs that she juggled. Pretty impressive for a 10-year-old. Now she's looking forward to May when she's 11 and can take the Red Cross Babysitters Class. When we were in NYC for her birthday we of course visited the American Girl store where she purchased a babysitter's kit, complete with business cards. She's got them filled out and ready to go. Bless her heart.
Hopefully now that fall is nearly here, I'll be visiting the blog more frequently. I'm having a hard time deciding what direction to take it - should it stay the same? Or change? I have lots of creative projects in mind that I'd like to talk about, but are those really as funny as my bitchy comments about the world around me? Probably not. And I could spend a lot of time bitching about pregnancy over 30 (because, by the way, it's a hell of a lot different than when you're pregnant at 21), but I feel like that might be bad jou-jou. Of course, after the baby is born, I'm sure I'll have plenty of stories about how our life has been turned upside down, how Dan is bitching about diaper changing (he opposes cloth, I think it's more environmentally friendly - and besides, what's the difference between disposing of dog crap and disposing of baby crap?) and how we're dealing with two kids that are a decade apart. It should be fun. But for now, I'll just keep rambling and showcase my slowly but sure changing office in the basement. Good times.
See you soon.
And that's just fine with me. 80 and humid sucks - when you're pregnant, it sucks even more.
We're slowly getting ready to ease back into a routine. The kid is excited to go back to school, I'm excited to do the same and my mind is swimming with all the things I need to get done before February. It's a long list and includes moving my office to the basement where I'd really like to make some major changes so that it's a little more "homey" and inviting. The prospect of working next to the hum of the furnace and staring at the washer and dryer is not exactly appealing, but done right, I think it will be alright. That is my major fall project - I'll post pictures and you can be the judge of how well I do.
The summer has been productive though we didn't do anything major at all. Just laid around, spent lots of time at the pool and the kid learned about money management with not one, but two, jobs that she juggled. Pretty impressive for a 10-year-old. Now she's looking forward to May when she's 11 and can take the Red Cross Babysitters Class. When we were in NYC for her birthday we of course visited the American Girl store where she purchased a babysitter's kit, complete with business cards. She's got them filled out and ready to go. Bless her heart.
Hopefully now that fall is nearly here, I'll be visiting the blog more frequently. I'm having a hard time deciding what direction to take it - should it stay the same? Or change? I have lots of creative projects in mind that I'd like to talk about, but are those really as funny as my bitchy comments about the world around me? Probably not. And I could spend a lot of time bitching about pregnancy over 30 (because, by the way, it's a hell of a lot different than when you're pregnant at 21), but I feel like that might be bad jou-jou. Of course, after the baby is born, I'm sure I'll have plenty of stories about how our life has been turned upside down, how Dan is bitching about diaper changing (he opposes cloth, I think it's more environmentally friendly - and besides, what's the difference between disposing of dog crap and disposing of baby crap?) and how we're dealing with two kids that are a decade apart. It should be fun. But for now, I'll just keep rambling and showcase my slowly but sure changing office in the basement. Good times.
See you soon.
Thursday, August 06, 2009
This Much I Know
Being pregnant is a lot like having constant PMS.
If you're a man, you only know that this means I'm being bitchy.
If you're a woman, you know that this means I'm tired, bitchy, feeling ginormous, having headaches, not sleeping well, have swelling feet and back pain.
So, here's the scoop. I'm totally not complaining - I'm only stating the absolute truth. My family is currently walking on eggshells, not sure if I'm going to be Happy Harriette or Psycho Sally at any given moment. But the other night tops all others to date.
Our neighbors are away doing who knows what and their just-barely-21-year-old children decided to throw a party the other night. Now, our bedroom window faces their house, so all of their wonderful yelling, bottle throwing and illegal firework playing assaulted us like Lionel Richie - all night long.
Just as I dozed off, I woke up to go to the bathroom (of course - what's a full night's sleep?) As I stumble downstairs, willing myself to not completely wake up thinking my chances of falling right back to sleep are greater if I can at least keep my eyes half closed, I go tinkle and flush. No sooner had I walked out of the bathroom and laid one foot on the hallway floor when I heard the tell-tale sign of a toilet that was not going to flush. No, it was definitely filling, quickly.
And before I could reach the plunger, it over-flowed.
Does life get any worse than being pregnant, half-asleep and plunging a toilet while cursing whoever took the offending shit that clogged it? It only gets worse when you realize that you still need to clean up the bathroom floor and you're now definitely fully awake.
Not surprisingly, no one in the house will admit to being the offending shitter and I've been Psycho Sally for two days.
If you're a man, you only know that this means I'm being bitchy.
If you're a woman, you know that this means I'm tired, bitchy, feeling ginormous, having headaches, not sleeping well, have swelling feet and back pain.
So, here's the scoop. I'm totally not complaining - I'm only stating the absolute truth. My family is currently walking on eggshells, not sure if I'm going to be Happy Harriette or Psycho Sally at any given moment. But the other night tops all others to date.
Our neighbors are away doing who knows what and their just-barely-21-year-old children decided to throw a party the other night. Now, our bedroom window faces their house, so all of their wonderful yelling, bottle throwing and illegal firework playing assaulted us like Lionel Richie - all night long.
Just as I dozed off, I woke up to go to the bathroom (of course - what's a full night's sleep?) As I stumble downstairs, willing myself to not completely wake up thinking my chances of falling right back to sleep are greater if I can at least keep my eyes half closed, I go tinkle and flush. No sooner had I walked out of the bathroom and laid one foot on the hallway floor when I heard the tell-tale sign of a toilet that was not going to flush. No, it was definitely filling, quickly.
And before I could reach the plunger, it over-flowed.
Does life get any worse than being pregnant, half-asleep and plunging a toilet while cursing whoever took the offending shit that clogged it? It only gets worse when you realize that you still need to clean up the bathroom floor and you're now definitely fully awake.
Not surprisingly, no one in the house will admit to being the offending shitter and I've been Psycho Sally for two days.
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Holy Shit. It's Stacie.
Summer vacation is half-way over and our 1st trimester is at a close.
Hallelujah.
Overall, I'm not as crazy as I thought I would be with the kid home all the time, and my moodiness has nearly disappeared. What I am totally disgusted with is the weather - why has it rained all summer?
Last week my sister came for a visit, which was fun, and the weather was good so we weren't cooped up inside. Although, between a 14-year-old girl and a 10-year-old girl, I think we definitely came to the conclusion that military school might be in order for our oldest - at least if she gets that moody and mouthy.
And it wasn't even moody and mouthy to my face (or the kid's), it was behind closed doors and via email, which was a little disheartening. If you think your niece is being a spoiled snotty bitch, tell her to her face - don't waste your time emailing all your friends about how you can't wait until she gets her ass kicked in middle school so that you can laugh in her face and then forget to sign out of your email so I end up reading it.
Yikes.
Of course, I didn't want to confront her because I felt a little bit like I had invaded her privacy. And, I know for sure that my kid can be a spoiled snotty bitch, absolutely. In fact, I've told her as much on occasion. But to email it and then act sweet to her face? Not okay.
And, before you think I'm throwing stones in glass houses, bear in mind that if I'm bitchy to someone in my blog, I'm bitchy to their face; that includes the neighbors across the street.
So, we'll see what the rest of the summer brings. I'm feeling like the "other kid" is a girl, but the heartbeat is at 126 which is old-wives-tale boy-range. The boy is hoping for a boy - and after last week with my sister, it's become an absolute necessity for him. In fact, the other day he asked, "if it's a girl and I swear out loud at the ultrasound, do you think the doctor will be mad at me?"
I've assured him that it probably happens more often than he knows.
Hallelujah.
Overall, I'm not as crazy as I thought I would be with the kid home all the time, and my moodiness has nearly disappeared. What I am totally disgusted with is the weather - why has it rained all summer?
Last week my sister came for a visit, which was fun, and the weather was good so we weren't cooped up inside. Although, between a 14-year-old girl and a 10-year-old girl, I think we definitely came to the conclusion that military school might be in order for our oldest - at least if she gets that moody and mouthy.
And it wasn't even moody and mouthy to my face (or the kid's), it was behind closed doors and via email, which was a little disheartening. If you think your niece is being a spoiled snotty bitch, tell her to her face - don't waste your time emailing all your friends about how you can't wait until she gets her ass kicked in middle school so that you can laugh in her face and then forget to sign out of your email so I end up reading it.
Yikes.
Of course, I didn't want to confront her because I felt a little bit like I had invaded her privacy. And, I know for sure that my kid can be a spoiled snotty bitch, absolutely. In fact, I've told her as much on occasion. But to email it and then act sweet to her face? Not okay.
And, before you think I'm throwing stones in glass houses, bear in mind that if I'm bitchy to someone in my blog, I'm bitchy to their face; that includes the neighbors across the street.
So, we'll see what the rest of the summer brings. I'm feeling like the "other kid" is a girl, but the heartbeat is at 126 which is old-wives-tale boy-range. The boy is hoping for a boy - and after last week with my sister, it's become an absolute necessity for him. In fact, the other day he asked, "if it's a girl and I swear out loud at the ultrasound, do you think the doctor will be mad at me?"
I've assured him that it probably happens more often than he knows.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
And So Summer Vacation Shall Commence
So today begins my unravelling. Really.
At noon today, summer vacation will begin.
Summer vacation is always a challenge at our house. The kid is just old enough that she feels she should be able to run free and rampant all over town, yet not quite old enough to make that happen. Which means that I either have to a) drive her everywhere, or b) tell her she can't go and listen to her whine and complain until I want to rip my eyes out (or maybe hers).
And did I mention that I'm finally pregnant? That's right, months and months of endlessly pissing on ovulation sticks has finally paid off. 6 pregnancy tests later (I had to make sure none were defective) and we are expecting. My future MIL can now rest soundly knowing that "certainly, it's not Dan's fault that you can't carry a baby. There's nothing in his family history that would cause a problem." And I can rest soundly knowing that a little bit of Prometrium goes a hell of a long way in keeping things in place - bless the drug companies, bless them.
However, early pregnancy means that I'm generally in a terrible mood, tired and bitchy all the time - which should make this summer even more enjoyable. Currently, it's a rare occasion when I'm awake past 7:30 - I'm a real winner.
Not that I'm AT ALL irritated that I'm pregnant mind you - that's what we've been aiming for. But I'm notoriously neurotic, and pregnancy is only compounding the issue. Of course, we're early in the pregnancy and so I'm neurotic about every ache and pain that I might have, but after seeing the heart beat earlier this week, I'm pretty confident that this kid is sticking around. And so we'll have "The Kid" and, "The Other Kid." Along with two dogs and a cat in our hobbit house.
If I'm not certifiably crazy now, I sure as hell will be by next summer.
At noon today, summer vacation will begin.
Summer vacation is always a challenge at our house. The kid is just old enough that she feels she should be able to run free and rampant all over town, yet not quite old enough to make that happen. Which means that I either have to a) drive her everywhere, or b) tell her she can't go and listen to her whine and complain until I want to rip my eyes out (or maybe hers).
And did I mention that I'm finally pregnant? That's right, months and months of endlessly pissing on ovulation sticks has finally paid off. 6 pregnancy tests later (I had to make sure none were defective) and we are expecting. My future MIL can now rest soundly knowing that "certainly, it's not Dan's fault that you can't carry a baby. There's nothing in his family history that would cause a problem." And I can rest soundly knowing that a little bit of Prometrium goes a hell of a long way in keeping things in place - bless the drug companies, bless them.
However, early pregnancy means that I'm generally in a terrible mood, tired and bitchy all the time - which should make this summer even more enjoyable. Currently, it's a rare occasion when I'm awake past 7:30 - I'm a real winner.
Not that I'm AT ALL irritated that I'm pregnant mind you - that's what we've been aiming for. But I'm notoriously neurotic, and pregnancy is only compounding the issue. Of course, we're early in the pregnancy and so I'm neurotic about every ache and pain that I might have, but after seeing the heart beat earlier this week, I'm pretty confident that this kid is sticking around. And so we'll have "The Kid" and, "The Other Kid." Along with two dogs and a cat in our hobbit house.
If I'm not certifiably crazy now, I sure as hell will be by next summer.
Friday, June 05, 2009
Oh My Blog.....How I've Ignored You.....
I actually had someone tell me today that they thought I'd closed the doors on my blog - can you imagine?
As if.
What I have done though is be completely ignoring it.
There's a good reason - I promise. It's mostly because I've been totally uninspired to write anything snarky and I don't find myself funny AT ALL unless I'm making fun of someone - like my kid, or the boy, or random strangers.
However, all that changed with just one trip to Hannaford last night. The kid and I are breezing through the store, grabbing just four things: milk, peanut butter, wraps, and toothpaste. We get to the Express Lane, which by the way, I don't know why I bother, it's not like the damn Express Lane is ever fast. If anything, it's slower than any other lane in the whole effing store.
Anywho, the guy in front of me has 14 assorted bottles of liquor on the conveyer belt - let me make that even more clear - 14 assorted FIFTHS. So, needless to say, lots of liquor. The cash register guy gives him his total which is well over $100 and when the guy whips open his wallet, I peek.
That's because I'm nosy.
And what do I spy in the very front of his wallet, in that little clear place where his license should have been?
His Food Stamp Card.
How does he pay for his liquor? 2 crisp benjamins my friend.
This enrages me more than you could ever know. First of all, I want to know why people are allowed to do that. Like, "oh, I don't have enough money to buy food to feed my family, BUT I can pay cash money for my liquor." Why is that allowed????
Second, it makes me angry because there are people out there that could legitimately use a program like that to help feed their children that do not use it, simply because of the stigma caused by assholes like this. I mean, they'd rather let their kids go hungry than whip out a Food Stamp card because of the stigma.
It's a sad world we live in kids, a sad, sad world.
As if.
What I have done though is be completely ignoring it.
There's a good reason - I promise. It's mostly because I've been totally uninspired to write anything snarky and I don't find myself funny AT ALL unless I'm making fun of someone - like my kid, or the boy, or random strangers.
However, all that changed with just one trip to Hannaford last night. The kid and I are breezing through the store, grabbing just four things: milk, peanut butter, wraps, and toothpaste. We get to the Express Lane, which by the way, I don't know why I bother, it's not like the damn Express Lane is ever fast. If anything, it's slower than any other lane in the whole effing store.
Anywho, the guy in front of me has 14 assorted bottles of liquor on the conveyer belt - let me make that even more clear - 14 assorted FIFTHS. So, needless to say, lots of liquor. The cash register guy gives him his total which is well over $100 and when the guy whips open his wallet, I peek.
That's because I'm nosy.
And what do I spy in the very front of his wallet, in that little clear place where his license should have been?
His Food Stamp Card.
How does he pay for his liquor? 2 crisp benjamins my friend.
This enrages me more than you could ever know. First of all, I want to know why people are allowed to do that. Like, "oh, I don't have enough money to buy food to feed my family, BUT I can pay cash money for my liquor." Why is that allowed????
Second, it makes me angry because there are people out there that could legitimately use a program like that to help feed their children that do not use it, simply because of the stigma caused by assholes like this. I mean, they'd rather let their kids go hungry than whip out a Food Stamp card because of the stigma.
It's a sad world we live in kids, a sad, sad world.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Our first ACTUAL touristy adventure.
Sent via BlackBerry from T-Mobile
Monday, May 18, 2009
And So The Trip Begins...
Yesterday, the kid turned the big 1-0. A major event. And it hasn't just been a birthDAY, but a birthWEEKEND.. There has been breakfast out, nail services, blue streaking of the hair, and now the trip to NYC.
The flight down was good - actually great - but the shuttle rides sucks. I've nearly shit my pants several different times already. My stomach is growling and I have to take a piss. And we're still 20 blocks from the hotel.
On.a positive note, we've already had 1 celebrity sighting.
Sent via BlackBerry from T-Mobile
Saturday, May 16, 2009
Kids and Condoms
Recently, the weather has been nice enough that the kid and her friend can actually walk home from school together. To walk home from her school, there are two routes: stay on the sidewalk or walk through the woods behind the baseball fields.
So, the only rule has been, "stay on the sidewalk."
Of course, the kid has questioned why.
So I explained that sometimes older kids hang out back there, drinking, smoking pot and having sex.
Naturally, the next question was, "how do you know they're having sex?" I answered by saying that I had seen used condoms back there at one point. The following is an actual transcript of our conversation - it is, of course, one of the funniest things that has happened in the last 6 weeks.
The Kid :: "What's a condom?"
I struggled a tiny bit with this. Not quite knowing how to answer, but also knowing that a) she knows enough about the birds and the bees to know what sex is, b) she's had family living class already, c) by the second day of Kindergarten, where babies come from - right down to the tadpoles, the eggs, and the rivers - thanks to a playground conversation with a boy named Drew (who also divulged that he set his bathroom trash can on fire), and d) if I acted like this was an awkward moment, she'd be less likely to talk about this stuff later on. So, I just went for it.
"A condom is used by the boy when he and a girl are having sex. It's kind of stretchy like the rubber gloves they have in doctor's offices and the boy puts it over his penis. It's meant to protect both the boy and girl from any sexually transmitted diseases and it also is a protection from pregnancy. You should NEVER, EVER have sex without a condom."
After initially wrinkling her nose in disgust at the word "sex," she got a sudden look of recognition on her face. "Oh! I've seen a condom before!! (Holy shit, internal freak out moment for mom) It's what Uncle Matthew wears when he plays baseball!!"
At nearly 10 years old, my daughter thinks that a condom is a cup. Awesome.
*********
Note: once again, I apologize for my absence. Life has definitely gotten in the way. However, I am headed to NYC next week to celebrate my girl's big 1-0. I'm sure there will be PLENTY of posting considering the fact that both my ex-husband AND my neurotic childhood friend will be in town. Neurotic as in, "I love her but she takes Germaphobia to a whole new level." Which I think should be fantastic in a city the size of NYC. This is why she's taking a car service from the airport instead of a shuttle or a taxi. Ha!
So, the only rule has been, "stay on the sidewalk."
Of course, the kid has questioned why.
So I explained that sometimes older kids hang out back there, drinking, smoking pot and having sex.
Naturally, the next question was, "how do you know they're having sex?" I answered by saying that I had seen used condoms back there at one point. The following is an actual transcript of our conversation - it is, of course, one of the funniest things that has happened in the last 6 weeks.
The Kid :: "What's a condom?"
I struggled a tiny bit with this. Not quite knowing how to answer, but also knowing that a) she knows enough about the birds and the bees to know what sex is, b) she's had family living class already, c) by the second day of Kindergarten, where babies come from - right down to the tadpoles, the eggs, and the rivers - thanks to a playground conversation with a boy named Drew (who also divulged that he set his bathroom trash can on fire), and d) if I acted like this was an awkward moment, she'd be less likely to talk about this stuff later on. So, I just went for it.
"A condom is used by the boy when he and a girl are having sex. It's kind of stretchy like the rubber gloves they have in doctor's offices and the boy puts it over his penis. It's meant to protect both the boy and girl from any sexually transmitted diseases and it also is a protection from pregnancy. You should NEVER, EVER have sex without a condom."
After initially wrinkling her nose in disgust at the word "sex," she got a sudden look of recognition on her face. "Oh! I've seen a condom before!! (Holy shit, internal freak out moment for mom) It's what Uncle Matthew wears when he plays baseball!!"
At nearly 10 years old, my daughter thinks that a condom is a cup. Awesome.
*********
Note: once again, I apologize for my absence. Life has definitely gotten in the way. However, I am headed to NYC next week to celebrate my girl's big 1-0. I'm sure there will be PLENTY of posting considering the fact that both my ex-husband AND my neurotic childhood friend will be in town. Neurotic as in, "I love her but she takes Germaphobia to a whole new level." Which I think should be fantastic in a city the size of NYC. This is why she's taking a car service from the airport instead of a shuttle or a taxi. Ha!
Tuesday, April 07, 2009
Funny Things on TV
Amazing things happen when you get up really early in the morning with a needy dog. And for whatever reason, these damn commercials seem to creep up on CNN of all places.
A few weeks ago, I was talking about SugarDaddie.com - the site where the wealthy find love. If you happen to be a wealthy woman, a man can find you by searching for a SugarMomma.
Now, maybe I was the only person under the mistaken impression that, if you employ online dating, it's for the purpose of finding someone you're compatible with. But this site is really like, "to hell with love, admit you're in it for the money." In some respects, I admire their bluntness, but has anyone using that site stopped to think that maybe - just maybe - most people on there are exaggerating their net worth just a bit?
Just a thought.
Then today I see a commercial for OnlineBootyCall.com - why promise marriage when you just want a date? Just click, "find booty" and they'll locate you a match. You can also "invite booty" and "rate booty." On the commercial, they inform hopeful men that, "nice guys finish last."
Ha!
I think this is fabulous for a number of reasons. But, primarily because this is like the lazy daters yellow pages. What ever happened to going to a bar and hooking up? Isn't that what the 20-somethings like to do? Or maybe I'm way out of touch. But really, there's also the online classifieds like Craigslist and the personals section in the local paper. Do you really need to pay a fee to find a piece of ass? And, isn't that kind of like one big prostitution ring?
The icing on the stupid commercials cake came on HLN this morning when they devoted an entire segment to whether or not the Chia Obama is offensive. Turns out the American people are split. Some are concerned about the potential offensive nature of the ceramic bust's afro, while others think that it's simply cute.
Really? Like, wtf? First of all, an entire news segment being devoted to this is ridiculous - especially considering there's wildfires going on, a ship captain being help captive, and a baseball player that was just killed by a suspected drunk driver.
But what made this segment the best was that HLN went to the streets to interview people and get their take on it. How many people do you think they spoke with? 10? 50? They chose two interviewees to put on the news: one white, one black. Can you guess who thought it was cute and who thought it was offensive? Why is this news people? Why???
Argh.
Naturally 7 :: Wall of Sound
I'm completely loving this. Why? Because they use no instruments. Totally worth watching.
I would have embedded it, but YouTube wouldn't let me.
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I would have embedded it, but YouTube wouldn't let me.
: (
Monday, April 06, 2009
Sight Seeing
Yesterday was a nice day here in Maine. Sunny, nearly 60, very little breeze.
Come to think of it, it's the kind of weather we should be having right now, but since winter won't seem to leave, it's like a this great big treat when we actually get there.
But in Maine, because our winter season seems to last forever, people get a little crazy when the weather gets warm. And not really in a good way.
There are the high school girls wearing minis and tube tops the first day it hits 40, and this weekend, that effing ice cream truck decided to come out of the garage and start cruising the neighborhood. I wonder why there are so many self-medicated moms in the neighborhood; one can only hear the tinny version of "Pop Goes the Weasel" so many times in a day before you want to run outside and jam a knife in the truck speaker.
Ah...but I got off track.
So the weather was nice yesterday and when I drove into the Old Port I got an eyeful. Male, straight, 6' - 6' 2", 180+ pounds, big beer gut, bald, chest hair and full back hair wearing a wife-beater screen printed with "Who's Your Daddy?" and walking a Chiuaua.
This, of course, is a HUGE issue for me.
If you're a gay man, having a small dog might be fitting - it's a little more feminine. But if you're a straight man, you should NOT be walking a Chiuaua. I don't care if it belongs to your wife/girlfriend/mother/kid. You just shouldn't be walking it. If you're a straight guy, you need a big dog. One that looks mean even if he is really friendly. A dog that looks like it could rip your face off at any moment, even if he's an 80lb lap dog. A dog kinda like my Dodger. And never, under any circumstance should you be wearing a wife beater that says, "Who's Your Daddy?"
Which is why I know that the guy was straight and not gay. Gay men are always the best dressed people in a crowd. A gay man wouldn't be caught dead in that shirt. He might have a small dog but he would never let anyone see him in that shirt - especially if he had that kind of back hair. Gay men wax.
Oh how I wish had I snapped a picture.
Come to think of it, it's the kind of weather we should be having right now, but since winter won't seem to leave, it's like a this great big treat when we actually get there.
But in Maine, because our winter season seems to last forever, people get a little crazy when the weather gets warm. And not really in a good way.
There are the high school girls wearing minis and tube tops the first day it hits 40, and this weekend, that effing ice cream truck decided to come out of the garage and start cruising the neighborhood. I wonder why there are so many self-medicated moms in the neighborhood; one can only hear the tinny version of "Pop Goes the Weasel" so many times in a day before you want to run outside and jam a knife in the truck speaker.
Ah...but I got off track.
So the weather was nice yesterday and when I drove into the Old Port I got an eyeful. Male, straight, 6' - 6' 2", 180+ pounds, big beer gut, bald, chest hair and full back hair wearing a wife-beater screen printed with "Who's Your Daddy?" and walking a Chiuaua.
This, of course, is a HUGE issue for me.
If you're a gay man, having a small dog might be fitting - it's a little more feminine. But if you're a straight man, you should NOT be walking a Chiuaua. I don't care if it belongs to your wife/girlfriend/mother/kid. You just shouldn't be walking it. If you're a straight guy, you need a big dog. One that looks mean even if he is really friendly. A dog that looks like it could rip your face off at any moment, even if he's an 80lb lap dog. A dog kinda like my Dodger. And never, under any circumstance should you be wearing a wife beater that says, "Who's Your Daddy?"
Which is why I know that the guy was straight and not gay. Gay men are always the best dressed people in a crowd. A gay man wouldn't be caught dead in that shirt. He might have a small dog but he would never let anyone see him in that shirt - especially if he had that kind of back hair. Gay men wax.
Oh how I wish had I snapped a picture.
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