Food: Friend or foe?

I'm on lunch and bored because I can't eat. I've downed a few pretzels, but the turkey sandwich I thought I might be able to eat has turned enemy. So, to pass the time, here's a running list of foods I can eat and foods that make me want to die:

Whole wheat waffles, soy butter & syrup = if it wasn't for this combo, i'd have died of starvation by now
Toast = okay, as long as it's LIGHTLY spread with soy butter or peanut butter
Turkey = death to you, you vile creature
Pizza = your cheesy exterior makes my stomach turn
Necterines = i still heart you, keep being good to mamma
Apples = you're on thin ice, watch your step
Fruit snacks = i no longer find solice in your chewy, Scooby-shaped morsels
Saltines = you taste different to me, therefore, i must label you as traitor
Granola bars = we're still friends, but only if you're peanut butter
Taco Bell = i want to vomit just thinking about you
Breyer's vanilla ice cream with splash of milk and two oreo cookies = please don't ever leave me
Water = you are my lifeblood
Baked Lays = i miss you so much, but i just can't
Cheese = disgusting
Chocolate = i was hoping it wouldn't come to this, but i'm afraid it has--denied


Well. That was fun. Not to mention depressing. Especially since I can't exactly bring ice cream to work for lunch.

Who are you? Jimmy F'ing Carter?

I think I’m seriously going to kill that needy bastard that sits in the cube across from me. He keeps on farting and it smells so incredibly disgusting I think I may lose my mind. It smells like rotten peanuts. That in and of it’s self is bad, but imagine you’re pregnant and that every smell is magnified a million times. Now add on another 100x and you’re there. Jesus Christ. Go to the bathroom. Literally. Go take a shit and get it over with. Or take some Gas-X, but please stop polluting my air.

Icky Pop: A review.

So there are these lollipops called Preggie Pops that are supposed to help ease nausea. And they do, as long as you’re sucking on one. The minute you’re done, they’re useless. Whatever herbal voodoo magic they’ve got going on in them, they need to bump it up, like 1,000 percent. Otherwise they’re just expensive suckers.

Beside the fact that they’re mainly a placebo, they’ve got some pretty funky flavors. Some are enjoyable, like the fruity ones, but others are just wrong.

Raspberry = delightful
Spearmint = 100 year old watermelon with a touch of spearmint
Peppermint = tolerable, but not preferred
Ginger = extremely vile, half a lick and it was in the trash
Tangerine = my favorite
Lavender = slightly potpourri-ish, barely tolerable
Lemon = refreshing

Suck it.

I had a super sarcastic post aimed at my husband all set and ready to go yesterday. It’s still saved as a draft, but I didn't post it because he’d probably get pissed. He likes to pretend we have the perfect relationship.

So whatever. I’m not posting it, but decided to post about all the things that really suck right now. Starting with me feeling like shit 24hrs a day. There are some times I feel normal, but those times are measured in fleeting one-hour increments. Oh, and when I’m asleep. It’s a GD rollercoaster ride of nausea and it really fucking sucks. And it really sucks when people say they understand, but clearly do not.

Another thing that sucks is having someone go all fucking nuts on you, blowing shit way out of proportion and turning it on you when all you wanted was a little common courtesy. I believe it’s a tactic called “maybe if I’m hysterical and blame it all on the other person they’ll believe it, apologize and then I won’t have to admit I did anything wrong.” I’m sick of people acting like I should know everything or just assume shit when I wasn’t given anything to go on in the first place. And then, AND THEN, being made to feel like I’m stupid because I didn’t assume correctly. To those people, and you know who you are, I say eat shit.

To all the people who blow people off: you suck, too. People who lecture you, who constantly flake, who don’t email or call back and who make up lame excuses. You all suck. Computers suck. Being told you’re being irrational because you’re pregnant sucks. Thinking you might never be able to eat again without vomiting sucks. Cats who pee in basements suck. Having someone resent you sucks. You know, maybe I am hormonal, but you try crying yourself to sleep because you feel like no one understands. It's the worst kind of suck there is.

That will teach you.

Mr. D usually gets up relatively early on the weekends. I’d say 7 or 8-ish (wtf?). He goes and gets a cup of coffee and fucks around on the computer until I get up, which is like 10 or 11-ish. This Sunday, however, he ended up sleeping in and it was I who was up early. I go downstairs at about nine, walk into the kitchen and immediately notice something is not right. More specifically, something does not smell right. Something smells an awful lot like shit as a matter of fact. Let me interject here that we have cats. Finicky cats who, apparently, do not appreciate a two-hour delay in their morning feeding.

Yes. One of the little bastards shit in the corner of the kitchen. A pile of shit so fresh I could practically see the steam rising off of it. I was actually surprised there wasn’t a note attached written in all caps: NEXT TIME YOU WON’T BE SO LUCKY. Thoroughly nauseated, I slammed the kitchen door and bolted upstairs to give my husband the unfortunate news that in the next few minutes, and due to my “situation”, he would be cleaning up cat shit.

Seriously. Is that how this is going to go down, bitches? Because I have news for you. In about nine months, you little fuckers are going from a boil right down to a simmer. I love your furry little asses, but don’t test me. And don’t try and show me who’s boss because this lion gets nasty when she’s sick. So here’s a hint: not a good time to be laying bricks in the kitchen in protest. Why? Because if you don’t watch your step, mamma’s gonna have herself a cute new tabby colored purse and a calico hat to match.

Dear diary.

Well, obviously, I haven't felt like posting in a while. I really don't have much to say except that I'm sick and tired. Not so much sick today as tired, but tomorrow will probably be another story.

Other than finding out I'm pregnant, nothing much has happened. It's just been an endless (and vicious) cyle of sleeping, forcing food down my throat so I don't vomit and trying not to vomit because I've forced food down my throat.

I wish I could say that I promise not to post about pregnancy and babies, specifically, as it pertains to me, but that would be a promise I don't know if I could keep. Right now it is consuming my every thought. Gender, names, IVs, epidurals, cribs, paint colors and what the hell are we going to do with the kid when we want to go see a rock band on a Saturday night? I'm sure I'll figure it all out, but right now, these questions are constantly tumbling around in my head on medium high.

So please bear with me. I'll try not to turn this into a pregnancy diary, BUT SINCE I AM PREGNANT, I can't guarantee it won't.

For serious.

I feel like the walking dead. Who are going to toss their cookies at any moment. Oh, and also, If I'm not dead, can somebody please kill me?

Oh, lover, how I have missed you.

I don't feel like puking my guts out today. Therefore, I will be celebrating by eating something other than oyster crackers. I will be thinking outside the bun today and finding the nearest Taco Hell. It may be a colossal mistake, but, frankly, I'm willing to take that chance.

Something must be done.

Every minute of every day at work is spent thinking about the minute I can leave.

Someone needs to explain this to me because I don't get it.

I was just looking at my bank statement online. It reminded me that I paid for lunch for a friend and I last week, which is fine except 1.) he's a guy 2.) he makes more than I do and 3.) he still smoked a ciggy after I told him I might be prego.

WOW. WHAT A GREAT FRIEND.

Ummm...and just so you know....

Morning sickness really fucking sucks.