You're kidding me, right?

You tell me.

2009-09-08T14:32:00.002-04:00

Are the installers supposed to be so rough with the hardwood before it's installed? They keep dumping entire boxes in a piles on the floor all willy nilly... and not with a lot of care or concern. Um. Yeah. I'm about two seconds from opening my big mouth. And they're already icy at me for opening my jaw hole up earlier.

Ripping up the carpet (so long, carpet, nice knowing ya), they discovered a ten inch gap of concrete at one of the thresholds. They basically dropped their tools and were all like "Hey, man, we just install floors. You gotta get that fixed before we can start." I said the hell we do. You rip that carpet up, misters, while I figure out wtf we're going to do.

So they're installing the floors and just leaving a raw edge at that particular threshold. Probably not the ideal scenario for all parties involved, but we've got family coming in this weekend. This weekend. As in this weekend. Things were supposed to run smoothly. This was not in the plan. And, unfortunately, we don't have time to deviate much from that plan, which was to have the floors done by tomorrow. See? Concrete. Not in the plan. Plus we have a two year old running around who would LOVE to play around on a sub floor full of staples and nails. No thanks.

What we're going to do about the gap, I have no clue. Life is so awesome.

Not sure I care any more.

2009-08-10T14:59:00.002-04:00

Is plain English really that hard to understand? Is logic just too illogical for some people? Please, somebody let me know. That way, I won't have to keep wasting my breath.

(un)Free Bird

2009-08-06T07:22:00.005-04:00

I ran into the pet store to get cat food yesterday. After grabbing a small bag of the Science Diet mature adult hairball formula, I was heading up the main aisle toward the registers when I heard a songbird singing. It seemed so out of place. Surely there couldn't be a songbird in here, this building with four walls and a concrete floor. Don't songbirds, or any other birds for that matter, belong in trees?

I followed the sound, as if being led by the pied piper, to a row of bird cages. And there they were. I couldn't tell which one had been singing, but it didn't matter, really, because they had succeeded in getting me where they wanted me--to be their witness. They had stopped singing once I stepped in front of the cages. It was time now to plead their case. They all stared at me anxiously, waiting to see what I'd do. Surely I could understand their plight. Oh, the injustice of being trapped in a cage! Can't I see the absurdity? Of putting a price on the ultimate symbol of freedom? Freedom doesn't cost $16.99. It's priceless, you see.

I just stood there. Eyes cast to the floor. Heart full of sadness. Visions of myself opening the cages and letting them all out running through my head that would never happen in reality. I knew it. And they knew it. Silence. Then, as if to say, "It's okay... it's not your fault" a small Waxbill sang. I whispered, "sorry" and left. My lunch hour was quickly coming to an end. I had to get back to the office.

As I was leaving the aisle I saw a woman with her child and dog in tow. I don't think she had intended to go down the aisle with the birds, but once she heard them singing in unison, she, like I, could not resist. I wondered then, as she turned down the aisle and I headed to the front, would she be the savior they are singing for?

Tap, tap. Is this thing still on?

2009-07-17T11:12:00.003-04:00

Here. Let me wipe off some of the dust for you. *pat, pat* Sit down. I know it’s been a while. I’m sorry. Not really, but sort of.

I don’t even know what to say. I know what I want to say, what I always say: A seemingly endless stream of obscenities and complaints. It’s who I am, I guess. Do I like being this way? Sometimes, but mostly not. And I’ll tell you what, keeping up a good front that I’m not this way is exhausting.

Do you ever feel like there are so many things you want or have to do that it’s just completely overwhelming? Like you can’t even think about it because you’re brain will start smoking, implode, catch on fire and then explode? But really, you don’t have any more or less responsibility than any other working wife/mother/human being out there? Please tell me I’m not the only one. I’m begging you. Am I the only one?

It’s sad that I could not post for, oh, about five months and then when I suddenly get a wild hair and do, I have absolutely nothing new to post about. It’s just the same old shit, different day. Or at least that’s how it feels. It’s depressing. Especially when I have some much in my life that should be making me happy.

That last statement made this question pop into mind: How long after you give birth can post partum depression hit? You know what, though? I don’t think that’s it. My son is about the only thing that makes me happy these days. Of course, he tries my patience on a daily basis, but if I were to be stranded on a desert island, he’d be the number one thing I’d take with me. Cake being second and… and… See, I don’t even have a third. Unless you count my husband. Pathetic.

Back to this “not having enough time” thing. Is this really legitimate? Or do I do this to my self? Do I set too many goals so that it’s just not possible to achieve even one of them? Here’s my current To-Do list:

TO DO LIST

Clean out garage
Clean out basement
Start putting together studio
Order Bruno table lamps
Put up photos around house
Paint for spare room
Do a budget
Ask about basement contractor
Schedule M's well visit (24 mo.)
Take down bedroom border
Send donation to Paws for Life
Go to Secretary of State
Stop automatic debits from insurance co.

House stuff:
Hand towels
Storage cabinet (IKEA)
Trivets
Pillow

Not too bad, right? Then wtf is the problem? Sometimes I think it’s this pain-in-the-ass job, and if I could have all day to accomplish what I want to accomplish, I’d accomplish it. Honestly, though, I don’t even know if having those extra eight or so hours would make a difference right now. For one, they’d be spent catering to and caring for my kid. For secondly, you kind of need motivation to get things done. And I’m fresh out. I am basically using as little mental power as I can to get by these days. So I guess thank Jebus I’m not at home taking care of my son all day. He’d be screwed.

Yes. As little as possible. So don’t even get me started on the business of keeping a clean house. There are two things I think about obsessively. Cleaning my house and losing weight. Note, however, that I don’t have the motivation or will power to do either. Well, I do make myself clean the house, but losing weight, forget about it. That would involve exercise! And feeling good about myself! And eating right! And God knows I don’t have the mental capacity to plan and coordinate all that. My brain power is strictly devoted to whipping myself into a frenzy about cleaning the house. Because it can’t just be clean. It must be CLEAN. Like scrubbing from morning until night madwoman screaming and on the verge of tears clean. And millions more tears on the inside because there was only exactly 3.2 seconds where the house was clean before Bulldozer and Bulldozer Jr. plow through and mess it all up. And it really wasn’t even clean by my standards anyway. No, that would take a good three to five days, maybe even a week, to be my standard of clean. Mostly I just settle for good enough because there’s no way I’ll ever get a solid chunk of interrupted time to clean it the way I’d like. And then what would be the point? Because it would get dirty again. You know, because we live there. And living is messy. How’s that for profound thought, bitches?

So. Yeah. Any one got some motivation lying around I could borrow? Anti-depressants would work, too.

Ho humming along.

2009-02-27T13:22:00.004-05:00

First let me say that I real-l-l-l-y don’t want to be here today. Here being work. That old I Could Totally Be Doing Something Better Than This Crap feeling is starting to creep in again. Could have something to do with not really having much work, fulfilling or busy, to do right now. Could have something to do with the fact that our clients’ ad budgets are drying up faster than we can blink. I guess I should be worried, but compared to the other agencies in D-town, I’m under the impression that somehow ours is doing relatively well amidst this shitty economy. An impression that is probably totally false, but one I continue to hold on to because I can’t quite bring myself to face the truth. In fact, I’ve had my head in the sand over this economy business for a good six months now. I just can’t go there. I have too much other stuff taking up space in my brain.

Things like, for instance, how I have become a soccer mom. Although little d doesn’t play soccer (yet), all I need is the fucking mini-van to make my little Stepford life complete. I can’t remember the last time I came home buzzed and giddy from a night out. I think the last time was this past October. But I’m not sure that really counts because we went to see a band with my brother and sister-in-law and I really didn’t get to cut loose (that much). My SIL did, but sadly, I was too busy being worried that my MIL was feeding little d to many marshmallows and cookies all night. Instead of going home, I actually spent the night at my parent-in-laws’ house so I could be there when little d woke up. So, yeah, there you go. I’m that mom.

I guess I can’t really say it’s a Stepford life. God knows my house isn’t always (ever) white glove clean. I don’t stay home with 2.5 kids. And I definitely don’t have a meat-and potatoes-dinner on the table every night. I guess maybe I’m referring to the predictability of my life at this point. Maybe I just need a tropical vacation. Okay, maybe not tropical. The world is going to hell in a hand basket. Can’t go on a cruise without mysteriously going missing. Can’t fly without worrying you’ll drop out of the sky. So I guess that pretty much means going on vacation somewhere in the good old U.S. of A. Somewhere we could drive. And that means blowing up to six days in a car just to have four days of relaxation. Four days? Not enough time, my friends. Not enough time at all.

Anyway. I just got some busy work to do. So my deep thoughts will have to be put on the back burner. At least for this afternoon.

IFB!

2009-02-20T14:00:00.000-05:00

Because It's Friday, Bitches! and I needed a change.

Excuse me a moment while I feel sorry for myself.

2009-02-09T09:36:00.001-05:00

Okay, Life. You win. You beat me. My spirit is officially broken. Game over. That bounce in my step? Gone. The bright side of things? Light’s out. I won’t be giving you any more trouble. I’ll just go ahead and keep my mouth shout from now on. Because, you don’t really want to hear it, do you? What you really want is for me to just follow along without question.

You got it.

2009-02-02T20:41:00.003-05:00

Well, hello there my pretties. Save for a few sporadic posts, I've been away. My apologies. Don't worry... you haven't missed much. Trust me. Still working. Still complaining. Still trying to figure this whole parenting thing. Wouldn't you know, just when I got the infant thing down, little d has to go and become a toddler. Complete with a mind of his own. A mind in which, may I point out, it makes perfect sense to poop in the bathtub.

So let's see. In a nutshell...We swore off Project Runway (Seriously? greasy Leanne? Who looks like she cuts her hair with dull scissors? Whose designs all look the same? Really? You're sure?), we moved and are still unpacking three months later, hosted my first holiday dinner ever, ushered in the new year with my boys, helped elect a new president and, as always, tried to go to be early but fell asleep on the couch almost every single instead.

There you have it. Woo hoo! Exciting stuff, huh?

I think I got... Wait... Yup. I got it.

2009-01-29T14:04:00.003-05:00

Why is it that baby books, ones on sleep training and potty training in particular, repeat things over and over and over again? Almost as if you are the baby or toddler and you need the repetition in order to learn.

Here’s a news flash: I got it. I read it… and I got it. You don’t need to repeat the same thing fifty times in one chapter.

Something's fishy.

2009-01-28T14:12:00.004-05:00

Is it just me or are there waaaaaaaaaay too fucking many Salmonella outbreaks in the the past few years? WTF is going on?

Thoroughly unhappy.

2008-12-09T14:14:00.002-05:00

I'm boycotting Marshalls discount stores. They can suck it. I found a money pair of shoes in my size, but noticed that a size bigger was marked for half what my size was marked. Figuring a.) my size just hadn't been marked to reflect the correct price and b.) it would be no problem to get the lower price, I took my find, along with the pair that were much cheaper, to the checkout where I was positive I would be able to procure the source of my wondrous footly delight without trouble.

Bitch said no.

That's right. The lady at the checkout wouldn't honor the lower price. When I asked why the hell not, she said because the shoes were two different prices to begin with. When I was all like, ummm, what? They are the same exact shoe. Why would they be different prices? She forged ahead with the they were two different prices to begin with routine and so, again, I stated that I didn't see how that mattered. If you have two pairs of the same shoes and one is marked lower than the other, don't you think it's kind of logical that your customers would want the shoe for the lower price regardless of size? To this she responded by staring at me blankly, clearly indicating she had mentally vacated the premises and I would have to deal with the manager.

So I did. And I kind of lost my mind on her.

I was doing okay until the manager did a one-two punch and busted out "That's the way it is" and "Like our commercials say, we buy surplus from the designers, so we don't work like department stores. If we get another shipment in of the same thing and the price is lower, than whatever price the first shipment came in at stands... even if it's higher."

This is where I took the opportunity to tell her that was the most retarded logic I had ever heard of. Because, as a consumer, I don't give a rat's ass how many shipments you get in or that your buyers did buy enough the first fucking time around. What I am concerned about, LIKE YOUR COMMMERCIAL SAYS, is that you are going to pass the savings on to me. That's what I care about. So what I want to know is how in the fuck are the savings being passed down to me if you're charging me double for the SAME EXACT SHOE just because it came in a different shipment? Do you explain that in your commercial? But never mind, don't tell me because I don't have time. I have to go back to work now since the lunch hour I used to come out here has now been completely wasted. I guess I'll know better next time and go directly to TJ MAXX.

Then I walked out. And I'm totally pissed because I wanted those fucking shoes. But fkn A if I'm going to pay double the price for a different size. Not a chance in hell.

I am totally ashamed to admit this, but...

2008-11-13T13:13:00.003-05:00

I am completely smitten with the Twilight series. Confused boys? Yes, you probably are. But you girls know exactly what I'm talking about.

Definitely Team Edward.

Another rant about my family.

2008-10-21T16:25:00.003-04:00

My family. One minute I feel like they are the only people on earth who get me. The next minute I feel like they’re strangers. Like I couldn’t possibly be related to people with such a limited view on the world and its inhabitants.

At times I feel overwhelmed by their capacity to accept my shortcomings simply because I have the same blood running through my veins. Then there are times, like now, where I feel so frustrated at their thoughtless actions that I feel like I could never speak to them again and I would be okay with it.

Case in point: why would my sister have my niece’s first birthday party at four in the afternoon on a Sunday? It takes two hours for us to get there. So basically, we drive there, have pizza and cake and leave? We pretty much have to if we want to get little d and ourselves home at a decent enough time for Monday morning. It just makes me want to scream. Did she even think about that? I sure did. I could have had little d’s party on his actual birthday, but I didn’t because I didn’t want my family to have to drive home on a holiday. And what do I get for being considerate? My mother basically telling my husband he’s going to get arrested for child abuse because he was washing all the cake and frosting off him with a garden hose and my siblings not bothering to extend themselves to anyone but each other. Yes. Never speaking to them again is sometimes quite appealing.

Of course never speaking to them again is not an option I would really consider. But damn it, sometimes I think that would be so much easier.

So what’s with this love/hate relationship? Is it because I live so far away from them? Do I feel left out? Abandoned? Do I resent the fact that they’ve continued their lives without me? Kept right on going when I needed them to stop and carry me through the most horrible point in my life? Do I need their love and acceptance more than I want to admit? Is it me who is the close-minded one? Expecting too much from them both individually and collectively as a family?

I don’t know. What I do know is I feel completely disconnected from them. I feel disconnected from their way of thinking. Visiting them is barely ever a joy. It’s always a chore. It’s been that way for years. If I am excited to see them, it seems like once I get there someone does or says something stupid, like referring to California as “Fagafornia” in front of one of my dearest friends who is gay, and all the air comes rushing out of the balloon until the mood is limp and deflated. Then I’m just plain pissed, and sometimes reduced to tears, that I traveled all that way and they couldn’t keep their fucking opinions to themselves for a just few hours.

Not one of them called to see how our move went. I didn’t expect them to come help, but someone could have at least called. In fact, it was the other way around. I actually called my parents and both sisters. Neither sister called me back, and my dad bitched at me for planning on having my brother foster one of my cats.

The point of this post? Because it’s cathartic. Because if I bring up how I feel to any of them, they would get defensive and things would explode in my face. So this is how I will deal with it for now—by writing it down and getting it out of my head.

I’m not looking for woe is me comments, so don’t feel compelled to leave one telling me what dicks my family members are. Conversely, don’t leave comments telling me I’m the dick. I already know.

Bitter, without the sweet.

2008-10-15T22:28:00.006-04:00

McCain sure is a smug bastard, now isn't he? Oh, sorry. Did I say that out loud? Yes. I did. And I'll say it again. SMUG. BASTARD. What is this? Grade school? You can't even wait your fucking turn?

And Jesus Christ... WHAT HAPPENED TO TOM BROKAW? Did he have one snifter too many or what?!

Now that's out of the way, Ms. Marbles is with her new family. I worked my ass off to find her a home, so I hope she behaves herself. I found a home for Lord Shropshire a couple of weeks ago, so all's well there. Just need to find a place for the yard boss.

I gotta tell ya, these last couple of weeks have been rough. Selling our house. Finding a new one. Frantically searching for homes for three senior cats. I am stressed the fuck out, people. Emotionally drained. I'm so ready to be in the new house, unpacked and settled in.

Pardon me, but Mitt Romney can take his "American ideals and values" and shove them up his ass. Not everyone is a bible-thumping, gun-toting Joe the plumber.

Did I say that out loud?

Where was I? Yes, two of my kitties now have new homes. And I think I have a foster home for the last one, which will buy me some more time to find her a permanent home. I know some of you asked why I had to give all of them up when only one was causing problems. There is no short answer to that. Only a long one. One I don't care to go into because it's complicated. A double edged sword. A stale mate. Like so many other things in mine and my husband's relationship. Did I want to get rid of any of them? No. But I had to pick my battle wisely. I decided to focus on giving them a fighting chance instead talking until I was blue in the face. News flash: no one was listening.

Do I feel it's unfair. Absolutely. To the cats and to me. I could go on and on about how unfair it is. But I won't. You know why? Because karma is a bitch. What comes around goes around. And when mine comes around, ain't no one gonna to be able to say shit about it. Praise Jesus!

Okay, I am officially starting to panic.

2008-10-04T10:29:00.005-04:00

I should be excited about the move to our new house, but I'm more anxious about finding homes for the cats. I found a home for one, a friend of mine who I know and trust, but I still can't help but feeling sad and uneasy. Sad because, well, you know, and uneasy because what if it doesn't work out? Is he going to jump all over stuff? Is he going to like my friend? The new place? What if he accidentally gets outside and gets lost? And on and on.

I can't think about that, though, because I HAVE to find homes for the other two. I've been asking, emailing, bugging everyone I know every day for the last two weeks and nothing has panned out. I've even resorted to craigslist. Craigslist is good for finding freebies and unloading your junk, but finding a home for a couple of cats? I don't know about that. I've read and heard about the pet scams that go on there. About how people pretend to be trustworthy and then turn around and sell your pet to laboratories and shit. But, I'm desperate. So if it means checking references, asking grilling questions and going to check out their place, then I'll do it. I'm just running out of time. Something needs to happen now.

The ominous ones?

2008-09-28T17:46:00.004-04:00

So, apparently, the trade off for not being constantly sick after their first birthday is constantly whining. And crying. Am I missing something here? And I haven't even hit the terrible twos yet? WTF?

It's called talent.

2008-09-25T15:50:00.001-04:00

Oh hi. I just inhaled an entire Hershey's chocolate bar in less than a second.

At a loss.

2008-09-22T17:31:00.003-04:00

We bought a new house and will be moving shortly. We’re super excited, but there is one thing that has been really bothering me.

I’ve posted about my cats and what little shits they are on here once or twice before. What I didn’t post is how attached I am to them. This is evident every time Mr. D reminds me that one of them, possibly all three, is not moving with us. I almost immediately tear up. Bawl even.

Our calico has behavior issues. Wait, let me rephrase that… she’s behaves beautifully around humans, she just acts up around other cats--specifically the other female. Long story short, she pisses all over the place. Even on kitty Prozac (this was the last resort… pheromones, new litter, new litter locations, separation, a zillion litter boxes covered and uncovered, cages, you name it, we’d tried it all people), she pees. She pees less, but she still pees. She’s been doing for about eight years now. It began when we introduced the other female.

I totally understand his point. We can’t have her ruining our new home, which at the moment has carpeting. For the past few years, she’s been relegated to the basement (concrete) and kitchen (linoleum) only, which is heartbreaking, but at least the floors in these two rooms are easy to clean. Basically, we’ve had to rip up the carpeting downstairs because she pretty much ruined it. We’ve been very vigilant (by “we” I mean my husband) about cleaning up after her, but he’s so done. I don’t blame him, but that still doesn’t make her departure any easier.

For many months now, we’ve been trying to figure out what to do. We’ve been trying to find her a new home, but the friends that have said they’ll take her have flaked, people have emailed us and never emailed back, everyone at work wants a kitten. I even took her to an adoption event hosted by a local rescue group. I bawled the entire time. I think they thought I was nuts. Why is this lady crying her eyes out over a cat she’s fostering? I don’t think they realized I was her owner. What an idiot I was to think that I wouldn’t be an emotional wreck.

Putting her down is not an option for me. I accidently caused the death of a kitten in my childhood and I still want to die every time I think about it. It was awful. It tried to run in the house as I was shutting a sliding glass door and the force of the impact broke its back. The memory is seared into my brain.

All painful memories aside, it doesn’t change the fact that no one wants a 12-year old cat that pees. The shelters won’t take her because they’re too full already. I was secretly relieved because they’d probably just end up putting her down after a week.

So that brings us to here: Still stuck at the beginning. I don’t know what to do. Mr. D’s suggestion is setting her free in some woods. All I can picture is Miss Polly Prissy Pants Who’s Never Spent A Day Outside frozen solid when the snow hits. Or rabid coyote dining on Calico ala Mode. So this option doesn’t set well with me either.

The recap? No one wants her, I won’t put her down or leave her to fend for herself in the wild, but my husband absolutely refuses to take her with us.

internet, what am I going to do?

Paging Dr. Ima Bitter.

2008-09-22T14:50:00.002-04:00

Know what I wish? That pediatricians and their nurses weren’t so rude when you tell them you’re delaying a certain vaccination. Just fkn get over it, okay? Yeah, yeah, I know there are some parents out there who make themselves completely hysterical over certain vaccines (yes, MMR, I mean you), but the majority of us are respectable, CALM adults just trying to get a little unbiased information so we can make the best decisions for our kids.

I get it. It’s important to vaccinate. I’m on board with that. But y’all gotta admit, that’s a whole lot of viruses to be injecting into a 12 month old little being. I mean, come on. Why do you get so bitchy when parents want to space that shit out? I had a nurse pretty much hang up on me this morning when she found out we’re delaying the MMR vaccine a bit. Prior to finding out, she was as sweet as pie. I understand keeping track of who’s delaying what and who needs what this time and who’s got to get this next time makes your job more difficult, but IT’S YOUR JOB, so deal with it. I think the days of mothers and fathers not keeping track of their child’s immunizations are over, so I’m sure we’ll remind you.

Is that it? Have I had an epiphany here? Have pediatricians grown weary of the informed parent? Do they mentally roll their eyes every time a parent asks for more information or advice? Have they tuned out because we’ve tuned in? That’s funny because weren’t we taught to ask questions? Don’t tell me you didn’t ask one single question the entire ten years of medical school.

With the Internet, we know more now than ever before. Last time I checked, the Internet’s not going away any time soon. So why don’t you just work with us? Tell us the facts before we Google it. Set us straight when we’re misinformed. Answer our questions without making us feel stupid for questioning you. Sounds to me like maybe the majority of you need to lose the ego and find a communications class.

Little d is only getting two of the 5-6 recommended vaccines for one year olds tomorrow. That’s my recommendation, bitches. Two. And I WILL be asking what shots you have in your hand, so don’t think you’re coming into the room and shoving needles into my son without telling me what your injecting into him like you normally do. I’m not so new at this anymore, so step off.

Crazy, crazy fun.

2008-09-17T12:03:00.001-04:00

It’s been a while, I know. I’m sure you don’t want hear the excuses, so I’ll just act like I haven’t not written in weeks. You know I still love you, right?

So. We sold our house. We’re supposed to close on the 30th of this month. We’ve got until October 24th and then we’re out on our ass. We’ve been looking at houses on the weekends for three or four weeks now. There have only been a handful of houses we’ve even thought about buying.

There’s a lotta crap out there, people. And it ceases to amaze me how people think. If you want to sell your house, vacant or not, stage that shit right. I don’t care if your closets are messy, but for God’s sake, put away the hotdogs. Yeah, someone left hotdogs out on the counter at this one house we looked at. Hotdogs and pistachios. I was concentrating on figuring out why in the hell someone wouldn’t just stick them in the fridge before they left instead of actually looking at the house. So distracting. Well, that and all the religious iconography plastered all over the walls. The little boy’s room had this HUGE painting of Jesus, beseeching us to pray daily, right above his bed. Like a giant headboard. Nothing like good old JC breathing down your neck all night. Frightening.

Did I mention this particular house had a full kitchen in the basement? WITH SOMEONE COOKING IN IT? Yeah. I was like let’s get the eff out of here right now. Yup. Standing there cooking like, you know, whatever. How awkward is that?

Speaking of awkward, there must have been three or four, maybe even five, houses where the people either stayed or where there when we got there. Just leave. We promise we won’t steal anything, okay? This one lady even locked her valuables away in a closet. Which is fine, but you don’t have to put a note on the door basically indicating ALL MY VALUABLES ARE IN HERE. Look, if I can afford to buy your house, I can certainly afford my own diamond jewelry. Unless you’ve got some rare Spanish galleons hanging around, don’t flatter yourself.

Long story short, our house sold and that’s all that matters.

****EDIT****

I was just informed by my husband that, perhaps what I meant to say was dubloons, not galleons...

Perhaps I did. But galleons in a closet are way more interesting than some dumb old rare gold coins, aren't they. So galleons is shall stay!

Are you serious?

2008-08-25T13:50:00.001-04:00

Two things that creep me out: used shoes and used toys. Used anything, really. Actually, some used toys are all right. Like excersaucers and activity tables and the like. That shit is expensive. Why pay a butt load of money for something you will use for only a few months? You can wipe that shit down. Anything else? No thanks. So, yeah, some toys are okay, but you know what isn’t? Shoes. Especially sandals or heels that are worn without socks the majority of the time. Would you not agree that’s kinda gross?

There is this girl at work who is always trying to get rid of shoes and clothes. In fact, I’m about ready to go hurl a pair of shoes she left at my desk at her face. What about “NO THANKS” do you not understand? I don’t want your nasty shoes. I don’t care if they’ve only been worn twice. That’s two times too many in my opinion.

I mean… do I look like your best friend? Do I look like I like swapping clothes and various accessories and having slumber parties and giggling about boys? Or are you just deaf? Or dumb? Or both? Do I look like the Salvation Army? Because I clearly don’t remember saying I was in need of donations.

Rehab? No, no, no.

2008-08-18T14:29:00.000-04:00

You know what? I’m sick of Amy Winehouse. Let the crack whore die in peace already. She’s talented, yes, but so beyond disgusting in both her appearance and her actions that I just don’t give a rat’s ass anymore. I had hope once, but no, not anymore.

Instead of reporting what she drinks for breakfast, what she inhales for lunch and every last snort she does for dinner, why don’t you tell me something I don’t know. Like where in the hell are her parents in all of this? I know she’s not a minor, but Jesus, someone could at least try to talk some sense into this bizzo.

And what about her husband? He can possible find her attractive at this point, can he? The ratty hair, the missing teeth, the skeleton of a body. Really? The diseased skin and lungs? REALLY? Must be love. You’d think out of anyone, she’d listen to him… that he’d take the opportunity to say, “Hey, Aim love, I’d really think it’d be brilliant if you were ALIVE when I got out the slammer.”

But no, she continues to do lines on stage, pretending like no one can see her. It’s sad. And pathetic. And beyond her control obviously. Just like Britney. Just like Anna Nicole Smith. It’s fucking sad that we get off on it. Yep. Just keep booking more shows. Keep ignoring that she’s a distorted and hideous representation of a strong, talented young woman. Keep fueling the fire that is surely going to burn her alive.

Hold on to your fucking hat.

2008-08-15T13:43:00.003-04:00

You know that skit on SNL for the fictitious birth control Annuale? No? Look it up. It’s hilarious. And so, so true. Because if I had an ax right now, there’d be trouble. There really are birth control pills that suppress your period. And I'm on one of them. Yeah, it’s nice The Lady In Red doesn’t pay you a visit for three months, but it’s almost not worth it because she gets you back. And when she comes a’knockin’ at your door of ladyhood, she ain’t messing around.

In other words: She. Is. Pissed.

Today is my birthday. It’s supposed to be a happy day of doing nothing but eating doughnuts. Instead, I want to lock myself in a dark basement. No doughnuts. Just darkness where I can cry hysterically one minute and laugh maniacally the next in peace. Where I don’t have to talk to anyone. Look at anyone. Wipe anyone’s butt. On second thought, though, I do want the doughnuts… and a punching bag.

I know it’s the hormones that have been building up for three months that are causing this atrocious mood, but somehow that doesn’t stop me from wanting to use my outdoor voice. DIRECTLY INTO YOUR EAR. The unfortunate thing about it is I’ve had a perfectly enjoyable day so far. I even got two very lovely and thoughtful birthday presents this morning, which I love. But it hasn’t been enough to stop this crazy train that will surely derail and end in disaster by the day’s end.

Who's crying now, biatches?

2008-08-05T22:01:00.004-04:00

I don't care what y'alls say, but having your baby on the strict schedule is the bomb-diggity. My sister and her 9 month old are visiting and she's having a hell of a time with Little Miss I Don't Want To Go To Sleep. Little d has been sleeping since eight. It's ten and she's still trying to get her kid down. I can tell my sister is beyond frustrated, but I don't dare offer suggestions. Tried that. It didn't go over too well.

All I know is that, when it comes to babies, routine is your best friend. Like, your best, best, BFF best friend. And even though those first few days/weeks of sleep training are horrible, a few bouts of crying upfront can save your sanity in the long run. We started sleep training little d at around three months. I can see now just how important it is teach your baby how to self sooth. No matter how hard it is, no matter how agonizing it is to hear them cry, it has to be done. Or you'll have a six year old who can't sleep through the night. As a matter of fact, a woman at work was telling every one how she has to lay next to her eight year old daughter for a half an hour every night so she can fall asleep. Ah. Wrong. Half an hour is the equivalent of two days to a parent. I'll be sleeping in my own bed, thank you very much.

So, yeah. I'm feeling pretty good about all those times I cut the fun short by insisting little d stay on schedule I set for him.

Whew.

2008-08-04T20:06:00.004-04:00

He made it. But I'm telling you. Never ever use one of those flight tracker thingys. EVER. My heart damn near exploded when I checked to see if his flight arrived safely and the line stopped halfway over the Atlantic.

Refresh. Everything is okay. Refresh. Just a glitch in the system. Refresh. This thing can't be right. Refresh. Okay, this is not funny. refresh. Getting pissed now. Refresh. Slightly panicked now. Holy shit. Refresh, refresh, refresh. Really getting panicked now. REFRESH, BITCH.

The fact STATUS UNKNOWN was were ARRIVED SAFELY should have been didn't help either. I finally just went to the Northwestern Airlines website for the flight info. It took me a minute, but I found it, and Christ in heaven, I nearly fell to the ground in relief when I saw that he'd landed safely. I mean, I'm not the best at telling him how much he means to me, but it doesn't change the fact that he is my world.

Anyway. So, I got a raise. Shit.

Shit?

Yeah, shit. Because that makes it harder to walk away. But I don't want to talk about work. I've already got the beginnings of a migraine. Although, I must admit, it's not from work, surprisingly. It's because my parents came to help out with little d while mr. d is gone. The stress me out. My mom doesn't listen to a word I say. My dad is as disgruntled as I am, probably even more so since he's got diabetes, which can make you pretty cranky. And I like things my way. Period. So, needless to say, it was a fun-filled couple of days. And guess who isn't here to rub my aching head?

I'm a wreck right now.

2008-08-02T22:00:00.002-04:00

Mr. D is currently on his way to Berlin, Germany. I'm not real fond of flying. Even less fond of my husband flying without me. OVER THE ATLANTIC.

Pink eye can't believe this crap.

2008-07-29T20:49:00.002-04:00

First it was Hand, Foot & Mouth disease... Oh, I didn't tell you that? Yeah. That was fun times. Now little d has pink eye. What's next? Seriously. Between the reflux, asthma, surgery, ear infections, colds, fevers, HFM and now pinkeye, this kid has been to the pediatrician, hospital, after hours clinic and specialists more times than I can count. No lie. I literally have lost count. I have no sick time left and only two vacation days.

I know the first year is the toughest in terms of illnesses. Especially if they're in daycare, but whoa mamma. I can barely keep up. Speaking of daycare, it seems like he's barely even been there the last few months, which is maddening because it's like flushing money down the toilet. A lot of money.

Anyway. Dude's got the pinkeye.

GD fucking son of a bitch.

2008-07-28T14:42:00.004-04:00

I got so pissed off in a meeting just now, I literally can't see straight. My left temple is pulsing, so my blood pressure must be through roof. We got horrible direction from the account team, tried to make something out of nothing and then basically got told by a creative director we suck. I was *this close* to reaching over the table and smacking the account person right in the face. Maybe then she would have opened her mouth and taken some of the responsibility. Dumb bitch.

Shit in, shit out, people. That's how it works. You can't spare the five minutes to come up with good direction, I'm not spending the time required to give you good creative.

OMG. I have to stop talking about this or I am going to freaking blow.

With love.

2008-07-11T14:01:00.005-04:00

The following is an open letter to all fathers in general, but to those in particular who find it necessary to turn their children into a smaller version of themselves:

Dear Sir(s),
Please just stop. On behalf of all mothers, I’m telling you we will stop at nothing to make sure our children get to grow up without bias influences. So please, unless you have a real excuse, not a lame one, for why they should wear slip-on shoes and socks with shorts instead of sandals, don’t waste your breath. Because “they look gay” just doesn’t cut it. I hate to tell you, but even gay men wouldn’t wear socks and shoes with shorts. Just because you think both those articles of clothing should not exist, does not mean they are off limits to your children.

Just admit it’s not your child’s best interest you have in mind, but yours. That you are desperately grabbing at straws because you’re concerned people will think you’re “gay” because your son is wearing *gasp* shorts and sandals. Let’s be frank--it’s not that you take such extreme joy in picking out your child’s clothes, which, you could have given two shits about up until now, but rather, that you’re extremely concerned of how you yourself will be perceived if he shows up to the company BBQ looking “gay.” It’s childish, it’s pathetic and calling your better halves names because you’re mad they won’t let you have your way is not going to get you anywhere.

Hug and kisses,
Management

P.S. You’re welcome for the black lo-top All Stars. I think they are hideous. But I got them for you because it's not about what I think, but because you like them. I guess if I wasn't such a control freak I would see that, right? I bought them for you to cheer you up, but now all I want to do is take them back.

Headed for a breakdown.

2008-07-08T17:18:00.001-04:00

Okay, this has been bugging me, so I need to start off with: I know I’ve been really bad about replying to comments. I’m sorry. I just never get to log on while I’m at work and by the time I get home…. Well, you know… forget it, right? There’s so much to do after wasting eight hours of wasting time. I really do appreciate you taking time to comment, whether it’s words of encouragement (Burn tha mutha down, Dis!), how you can relate or advice on how to cope with passive aggressive MILs… I read it all. I swear. I just have a slight problem commenting back. Probably the reason why I don’t have many friends. YA THINK?

Anyway. I’ll try harder to talk back at y’alls.

Now that’s out of the way. Stress levels in the disgruntled household are reaching maximum capacity. I know I said that a couple of posts ago, but I mean it this time. Things are way out of whack. The sun and moon are no longer aligned. Shit it falling apart, people, and the MFer is gonna blow.

I think things started to go awry when Mr. D and I started a family business. Between his job, his freelance work and his family, it’s yet another thing precariously heaped on top of his already full plate. It’s slowly but surely putting a huge strain on our relationship. Because I’m one way, Mr. D’s another and other members involved have a whole other set of personality traits that, when mixed together, I’m not so sure make for the best working environment. I’ve tried playing a smaller role in the biz, but I just can’t. It’s not me. My shit needs to be equal. Period.

Part of me wants to scream, “I told you so” and the other part wants to just give up. I want to say I told you so because, way back when, I called it. I said there was huge potential for disaster and, gee, look… we’re already having communication problems. I want to give up because I don’t want to end up the giant bitch who obsesses over every little thing and Jesus Christ why won’t she just leave well enough alone already?

Going back to my point, Mr. D is in the middle, trying to wrangle personalities left and right along with being a number one dad and Mr. Everything at work. I keep telling him he needs a new creative outlet, but I don’t think he knows what that is now since we basically turned the one he had into a business. I’m so frustrated because I saw this coming. But, story of my life, no one listens to me.

I’m trying to alter my personality for the good of the group, but it’s really, really, really fucking hard. Don’t laugh when I say this, but I’m a Leo, and Leos like to be the leader. I can’t help it. And I don’t mean to get hokey on your ass but Leos take pride in their home and work. Too much pride. If it’s not perfect, then forget it. If I’m going to help run a business, then shit needs to run tight, no exceptions. I’m hard on myself and even harder on those around me. I expect nothing less than all you’ve got. If you can’t handle that, then get the fuck out of the way. I’ll do it myself.

Bottom line is, I’m worried how this is all going to end up. I’m worried relationships are going to suffer or, worse, be forever damaged. I’m worried about my husband taking on so much. But what can I do when he refuses to…

Side bar: I just heard some idiot walking down the hall say, “What’s the haps?” I’m assuming it’s some hip, new way of saying, “What’s happening?” I seriously want to punch him right square in the solar plexus.

…not take on so much. He wants to do it all. Spread himself so thin the slightest annoyance sends him into a screaming fit. Until he can’t carry on a normal, adult conversation about what’s frustrating him, but has to fly into a rage to get his point across. At which point, I stop listening. At which time he repeats the same off-kilter point he’s trying to make over and over again, louder and louder.

He’s a pleaser. And usually very mild mannered. But all the shit he’s got going on has pushed him off balance. He’s got too many people to please and he’s feeling the pressure. He’s putting everyone before the one person he should be trying to make happy—himself. He needs a break, but I can’t make him take that deep breath he needs. Even a vacation didn’t help. Because he just thought about all the different things he needed to do back home to make all the circling sharks happy. He’s hell bent on running himself into the ground. And most of the people around him right now would be perfectly happy to let him do it. As long as they get something from him, then who cares, right? Except they don’t have to deal with the wreckage afterward. That would be my job.

Bottom line is we have the beginnings of a total and complete breakdown here. And seeing as how I like to take care of my shit, I need to figure out a way to get my husband to take me seriously. He needs to slow the fuck down. And real quick-like or those bumps in the road? They’re going to turn into mountains.

Sick again.

2008-07-07T08:41:00.007-04:00

This is going to be a stream of consciousness sort of thing because I don't have a lot of time...

I feel awful. Depressed. Frustrated. Little d is sick again. That's three or four days (I've lost count) so far this month that we've kept him out of daycare. Well over three hundred dollars down the drain. It seems like he's out more than he is in. It also seems like he's sick more than he is healthy. Is it daycare or is it a weak immune system? Makes me feel like I should have powered through the pain, guilt and depression and just kept breast feeding.

"Can't you work from home?" was the question I got from my MIL this morning, which makes me feel even more guilty when she drops everything to come over and watch little d while we're at work. I don't have an answer. And if I did, I doubt she'd understand that it just doesn't work that way in this business. Technically, I could work from home, but what about all the meetings I need to go to in order to get the direction I need to work from home? If I don't go to those meetings, I don't know what to write. I suppose I could be conferenced in, but don't you think people would grow tired of hearling a sick crying baby in the background real quick? What am I supposed to do with little d while I'm on an hour long conference call? So, no, I really can't work from home. So I'm stuck relying on her and it irritates me. Because I can do without the passive aggressive comments.

I'm tired. I'm tired. Time ired. And I'm almost out of time. Clock starts in seven minutes. And I haven't even begun to touch on what I'm want to say or what I'm feeling right now. We're talking about moving the deadline up tonight. Going through the finances. To see if I can quit a couple of months early. I know it's what needs to be done. Except I don't know if I'm ready. I haven't planned enough.

Three minutes.

I'm getting a migraine. I don't want to be here right now. Maybe I should quit and write a book. Right. That's a laugh. What makes me think I'd get published? I have nothing unique to say. I'm just always complaining. A whole book full of complaints? Boring. Stupid. Probably already been done.

Times up.

Two down, one to go.

2008-07-03T14:12:00.001-04:00

So. The opthamologist said that, other than some inflammation under my lids (most likely from being a contact wearer), my eyes are as healthy as can be. And that, basically, they are not the cause of my migraines. No tumors, no detached retinas, no weak optic nerves. Just regular old healthy eyeballs. So the next step is to pay a visit to the ENT doctor to check out my sinuses. Which, I can tell you right now, is the root of my problem. If not the root, a large contributor for sure.

If I had to guess, I’d say that I have sleep apnea as well. I can’t breathe awake, so I’m assuming I can’t breathe at night either. It takes a couple of hours after I wake up to be able to breathe out of the right side of my nose. Even then, it’s difficult to take in air from either of my nostrils. I’ve lived with it so long that I don’t even notice anymore. My body notices, though, and the migraines are its way of saying, “Yo, bitch, take care of me.”

How fucking rude.

2008-07-02T12:18:00.006-04:00

Hang on to your hats, people, because I'm pretty fucking pissed right now. About a few things, actually, but we'll start with this:

"...and the Client said the daycare newsletter and realtor copy was brilliant and was wondering where it came from."

Ummm. Me? Where in the fuck else did the client think the copy came from? I'm a writer. I WRITE. You ask me to write you a newsletter and by God, I'll write you a newsletter. So yes, you asked and I wrote you a newsletter. From scratch. Nothing to go on. Then you turn around and act surprised that the shit is "brilliant." I'm so offended right now. I may not write for a national account, BUT I COULD. I'm not a total hack, you assholes.

Then there is the matter of my husband acting like a fucking prima donna. Somebody shoot me, please. If he complains about one more appointment I've scheduled, it's going to be lights out real fast. Any of you watch Flipping Out on Bravo? If you do, you know who he's acting like. We had a scrap on the phone earlier and he later apologized, but man, it's getting harder and harder to not blow the fuck up at him. The stress of running a business on the side, of which is non-existent without his talent, is of great proportions right now. I feel like it's another reason why I need to quit working--so I can focus on making sure both my babies asses are wiped.

It's just an all around bad day. The whole week's been a bitch, actually. At this point, I don't even think the three-day holiday weekend is going to make up for it.

First, thank you... you know who you are.

2008-06-25T13:04:00.004-04:00

Second, in the weeks that have followed my grandmother's funeral, I have found it increasingly harder to concentrate. Specifically, on work. I don't think my grandmother ever worked a day in her life, not that I know of anyway. Instead, she stayed home and raised seven children. She may have not had a choice, but I do and every time I see little d learning a new thing from someone else my heart breaks a little bit more. I can't do it anymore. I like money, yes, but I love my child.

I set yet another date to embark on my journey as at SAHM. I've "set the date" many other times, but never took it seriously. Essentially, I've been mulling the idea for years now. Even before I had a kid to stay home with. I feel like it's shit or get off the pot now, though. In terms of trying it at least. I'd be a fool to tell you that I wasn't scared. I've been working since I was sixteen. Never at anything I really liked doing--it's always been for the money. I'm scared about not being able to make ends meet, sure, but I'm also scared I just might go insane staying home. I thought about getting a part time job and putting little d in daycare a couple of days a week, but even two days a week is expensive. Like over a hundred dollars a day expensive. For just two days! So, I think if I'm going to stay home, there will be no daycare in the equation.

The other thing is I'm a planner. I plan shit to death. Sometimes until it's starts to drive me mad. That's what I'm trying to do here and I think I just need to, for once, just dive in. Make sure we can actually do this money-wise and that we have decent insurance, yes, but other than that, I think I'm over thinking it. I'm just nervous, I guess, because once I quit writing, I don't want to go back. I quit writing once before and ended up going back to it six months later because I freaked I didn't have a job and it was the only thing I knew. I don't want a repeat of that situation. I am so done with writing.

Anyway. I'm just starting to babble now. I know in my heart it's what I want to do. It's funny, though, because instead of talking myself down from the ledge, I'm trying to talk myself onto it. So I can finally make the leap.

She's gone.

2008-06-21T22:14:00.002-04:00

My grandmother passed away last Thursday. Her last dialysis treatment was the Saturday before. It only took five days. After three days she stopped talking. By the time I got there she was pretty much unconscious. I held her hand and I'd like to think she knew I was there, but she probably didn't. The funeral was bittersweet. Sad because she was gone, but happy because she was no longer suffering.

No brainpower right now for a title.

2008-06-10T12:05:00.001-04:00

MRI came back clear. Oh, I didn’t tell you I had an MRI? Well, I did. My doctor ordered it because of my migraines. They let up when I was preggers, but now that I’m not they’ve come back full force.

The good news is that there are no tumors, but apparently, I’ve got some funkiness going on with my eyes, so I’ve got to go see an opthamologist (not to be confused with an optometrist). THEN it’s been suggested I see an ENT dude for my sinuses. So I’ve got a whole lot of fun coming up in the next few months.

Also, my paternal grandmother told my parents last night that she is refusing her next dialysis treatment. She doesn’t want to go on. She’s in too much pain. I can’t say that I blame her, but it doesn’t make the loss any easier. Once renal failure begins, it won’t take long for her to slip into a coma and then, eventually, pass on.

I have three grandparents left. I’ve been trying to prepare myself because I know all of them are living on borrowed time at this point, with my paternal grandmother being the worst off. Diabetes has destroyed her eyes, legs, heart and God knows what else. It’s an awful, awful disease. A disease that has also inflicted my father—hopefully this is not a preview of his later years.

I’m thankful I’m relatively healthy, but today is not the happiest of days for me. I doubt I’ll post much in the next few days and, more likely, the upcoming weeks.

Oh well, I tried.

2008-05-28T14:23:00.003-04:00

I'm back from vacation. I'll tell you all about it had how, um, disappointing it was in a minute. First, before I forget, remember that girl at work that wore men's cologne that I blogged about a while back? Yeah, well, saw her the other day before I left for vacation and, well, she's pregnant. I guess she isn't the captain of the women's softball team like I had suspected. My bad.

Next is Pampers. We had to get a pack while out on vacation because little d decided shitting the bed was next on his list of milestones. Twice we had to put in directly in the tub, pajamas and all, from his crib. Apparently, Huggies aren't man enough for little dude. Pampers, however, sealed that shit shut tight AND smelled good while doing it. I'm convinced they spray crack on them. They have to. How else could they smell like sweet, clean little baby even when soiled? All powdery and freshly scrubbed. With clean jammies on, ready for a bubbah. You men probably have no idea what I'm talking about, but you ladies, you know exactly what I'm talking about, don't you? There is a reason why Pampers are the number one selling diaper. Crack, I tell you!

Okay. So now for the vacation. Should I start with the visit with relatives that took place in the Twilight Zone or should I start with the hour long scream fest in the car on the way to the hotel? Oh, you want to start with the tourist attraction we planned on going to that turned out to be an overpriced tourist trap that amounted to one half block of shops next to a highway? I had been talking about this place for a good two weeks. Everyone nodding their head saying, "oh yeah, I've been there", but not one of them clueing me in to the fact that it really wasn't a place to plan an ENTIRE DAY AROUND? Guess not.

At least little d got to go swimming for the first time. And thank God he didn't shit in the pool. With the way our trip had gone up until then I was positive he was going to set one afloat. He didn't, though, and he had a ball splashing around. And I got to see Mr. D in a pair of swim trunks, which were really just shorts, but it didn't matter because he was in shorts! He never wears shorts. Ever. In fact, in the 8+ years that I've known him, I've never see him in a pair of shorts. But, so his son could go swimming (and because there was no way mommy was getting into a bathing suit), he took one for the team and put on a pair of camo print shorts. Shorts, people! I told him our little shit machine would grow on him. I guess he knows what I'm talking about now.

Question of the day.

2008-05-22T09:17:00.003-04:00

If you already know someone doesn't like doing something, and every single fucking time you ask them to do it, you get into a fight, plus you know they don't feel well because they JUST TOLD YOU they didn't feel well, why do you still insist on asking them to do it?

What the hell is going on?

2008-05-19T10:42:00.003-04:00

Last night, ten o’clock. Mr. D and I are watching TV, getting ready to go to bed when we hear the doorbell. We weren’t expecting anyone that late on a Sunday night, so we just kind of looked at each other like “What the hell?” I muted the TV and followed Mr. D to the door. He tried looking through the leaded glass of the front door, but it’s just as effective at blocking the view out as it is blocking the view in. He opens the door cautiously and I catch a glimpse of our neighbor. He’s a neighbor I don’t care for (I’ll explain in a sec) so I immediately turn around and go back into the TV room. Whatever it is he’s got to say, I don’t care to hear it. Especially that late at night. In fact, I’m pissed because what the fuck is he thinking? We barely know him. We’ve talked to him only a handful of times and each time he's given us unsolicited advice.

“Oh, I wouldn’t paint those cabinets… I like real wood.” Bitch, I don’t care what you like. Needless to say, we painted the cabinets.

Mr. D once commented to him that he thought the exterior color we chose for our house didn’t turn out quite like he had envisioned. The next day we found paint chips stuck in our door. AND, he actually wrote color suggestions on the back.

And then this one time, which was the time that did it for me, he invited us into his house to check out the home improvements he’d made. In other words, he wanted to show off. The whole time we were there he was fishing for compliments and then when we would compliment him (some of it really did look nice), he’d start downplaying it.

“Oh, yeah, well, I guess it’s okay.” Whatever, dude.

What put me over the edge was he had installed two huge-ass skylights in the roof and when I said, “Wow, that’s some serious know-how right there.” He was all like, “Naw, it’s easy. I just, you know, did some measuring and cutting…”

I seriously wanted to punch him right in the face. I’m sorry, but installing two gigantic skylights in your roof is not just a matter of a few cuts here and there. And for him to act like it was no big deal irritated me to no end. Apparently he’s just a fricking genius. A carpentry wizard. A master at life. God, imagine how hard it must be for him to live among us mentally challenged idiots who don’t even know how install a skylight in our roofs!

So anyway. Guess why this douche knocks on our door late last night? To announce to us that he just got engaged. Yep. He made it a point to come over, reeking of booze and cigarettes so bad I could smell it all the way in the back of the house while he stood OUTSIDE, to let us know that he’s engaged. What did I expect, though? This is the same guy who blasts his awful light rock so the whole damn neighborhood hears it. Same guy who dropped off a congratulatory bottle of wine six months after the baby was born. A little late, there buddy. Yeah, I guess he thought ten o’clock p.m. was an appropriate time to introduce his fiancé to us. Which, by the way, I've NEVER seen a girl over there once. So how this is possible, I have no idea.

Mr. D congratulated them, but there was a point where it got a little awkward because, even after being duly congratulated, they just stood there. Like they were expecting to be asked in for tea and crumpets. Mr. D explained we were a little surprised to hear the knock on our door and we were just headed to bed and…

And then this guy actually asked when was a good time to come back to talk then? Because we “seem like homebodies” and like “we don’t get out much.” Oh, and, “is that your new car?” because he didn’t know if it was “your mom or dad’s or something.”

No, you dickhead, it’s our car. We’re ten years older than you and way fucking past the bar scene. We’re married, have a kid and just generally don’t like smartasses.

After Mr. D shut the door and came back into the TV room, we just kind of sat there staring at each other like: WTF was that all about? Who does that? Is it just us or does this guy seem like a total and complete douche bag?

Note to self: You're a sucker.

2008-05-17T21:21:00.007-04:00

I've just been duped. By two twelve year old boys. Not more than three minutes ago. I actually still can't believe it. And, now that I think about it, the whole chain of events was kind of scary.

I'm totally pissed at myself for not putting two and two together sooner. The first clue that something was off was that they jiggled the door handle before knocking. Checking to see if the door was unlocked I presume. My obsessive compulsion to make sure all windows and doors are locked at all times finally paid off. Had they checked fifteen minutes earlier, they would have found the door unlocked.

I actually thought it was Mr. D home from a photo gig. I thought maybe his hands were full and he couldn't unlock the door so he just wiggled the handle, signaling for me to open it for him. Imagine my surprise when I open the door and it is not Mr. D, but two kids who have opened the storm door and are standing directly before me. This is clue number two. And once again, I fail to pick up on it. If you're a stranger approaching a strange house, you don't normally open the storm door, do you? I sure as hell don't. You simply knock or ring the bell, right?

Anyway, I'm immediately thrown off because it's not who I expect it to be. To top it off there are two of them. They still look boyish, possibly just on the verge of puberty, but they're tall and they both have shit eating grins on their faces.

"Yeah?"

"Um, my name is Adam Bagley and we're collecting donations for a new gym for the Keller Middle School, would you like to donate?"

Okay, before I go any farther, you need to know that when I go to Toronto, Mr. D yells at me because I want to stop and give change to every homeless person I see. Do you know how many homeless people there are in Toronto? Yeah, a lot. I'm okay if they don't actually ASK me for money, but if hear the words, "Do you have any..." I'm immediately digging in my pocket. I feel so bad and responsible that I have a really, really, really hard time saying no to people asking for money.

So here I am, alone, with no Mr. D to police me, and two kids asking me for money for a good cause. Keller is just down the road, so that's legit. He told me his name--that seemed legit. So I reach down into my pocket to fish out a five. I look back up, five in hand, stretched out in front of me, and catch the slightest glimpse of the one kid smacking the other kid in the arm as if to say, "She's falling for it!"

Before I could pull the five back, the kid who did all the talking snatches it out of my hand and darts off the porch. I look at the other kid, who's backing off the porch as well, but not before chuckling, "Thanks for your donation."

All I could do was stand there like a dumb ass. I fell for it big time. Like Stephen King's Carrie.

You. Little. Cocks.

I didn't go all crazy and start killing peeps with my mind, but if I could, those two little fuckers would have been toast. I just calmly shut the door and relocked it. Then went straight into my dark kitchen to look out the windows to see which way those little assholes were headed.

Turns out, they're my neighbors. And tomorrow I just might go knocking on their parents' door to ask for my receipt.

How can I have been so stupid? There were so many red flags. Like the fact that they were fundraising for school on a SATURDAY. AFTER DARK. And them opening the storm door to a stranger's house. That just isn't the norm around here.

You know, it's really not that big of a deal. Probably just some kids daring each other to do stupid things. Some kid trying to impress his friend who's sleeping over. I've certainly done shit like that when I was younger. What makes it a big deal is them checking to see if my door was unlocked. That ups a harmless prank to a very unsettling moment in my book.

It’s a PMS kind of day.

2008-05-13T10:06:00.004-04:00

A co-worker is back in the office after five days off. His wife just had a baby. He’s currently showing everyone pictures. Is it wrong that I’m not joining in on the oohs and ahhs? I have zero desire to walk over there and fawn over pictures of another women’s progeny. I think the feel-good hormones that make you want to kidnap every baby you see have definitely worn off.

If you haven’t already figured it out, I am seriously grumpy this morning. Each day I wake up more tired than the last day I woke up tired. Being a mom is great, but some of its more undesirable traits are catching up to me. Normally I dig routines, but the monotony of it all is wearing me thin lately.

The fact that I am growing increasingly tired of work doesn’t help either. I’m so over writing brochures about stupid products no one cares about. Our department got a new business manager and I’m really not into her at all. She’s condescending and fake. Two things I despise in a person most. She likes to whisper stuff under her breath in meetings, too. It’s annoying and any time she does it, I start talking louder on purpose. One of these days I’m just going to ask her to repeat herself loud enough so the rest of the group can hear what she has to say.

Yeah, so there’s that potential for disaster.

I am so looking forward to our vacation coming up. We’re not going anywhere extravagant—just visiting family and friends on the other side of the state—but at least I won’t be at work (for ten glorious days!). Or at home for that matter. I feel like we need to be away for a bit. We rented a hotel in a touristy little town on the coast of Lake Michigan next to lots of touristy type places and shopping. I can’t fucking wait.

All right. I’m going over to dooce.com now for my daily dose of sarcastic wit. Some people are bitching about how she’s fucking up her kid’s life by sharing the good, the bad and the ugly of raising her. Screw you guys. If it wasn’t for dooce, I’d still be crying in a corner rocking back and forth thinking this kind of shit was only happening to me.

Family portrait.

2008-05-07T19:09:00.001-04:00

Dear God.

2008-05-06T18:58:00.005-04:00

Between migraines, teething tantrums and planning a vacation, I haven't had the time or the inclination to post on this here blog. Saving the hardwood floors from sippy cup gouges is hard work, people. Even harder work, though? Making sure every God forsaken electrical cord does not go into my son's mouth. Dude LOVES cords, and will not hesitate to let you know his displeasure with you when you take one away from him.

In fact, he's not afraid to voice his opinion all day long. Let me tell you, folks, he is neither subtle or quite about it. Does wonders for migraines. Of which I've been having quiet a few lately. I actually have one right now. Know what else is happening right now? My son is screaming like a girl because I took a cord away from him.

If you'll please excuse me.

What's next? Elastic waistbands?

2008-04-20T10:17:00.005-04:00

Well, it happened. I never believed it would, but it has. Not intentionally, mind you, but there's nothing I can do about it now.

I got a mom haircut.

Apparently, when I said "more layers" to my stylist, she heard "what the hell, cut it all off." She got so flipping excited I was deviating from my normal trim, she got a little scissor crazy. There are more layers, all right, but the length went from the middle of my back up to my shoulders.

She did it in a sneaky ass way, too, so I never saw it coming. She just kept cutting in layer after layer, working her way up my back. If I hadn't said something, she probably would have kept right on going.

I think she knew she went overboard by the look of displeasure on my face. Normally, I'm all "I love it!" but this time I was like "Um. Yeah. It's really short."

Honestly, it doesn't look that bad. And hair grows. I just wanted to, you know, be able to say that I was never among the ranks of women who cut their hair short after they had kids. That I would keep my long locks no matter how much of it little d pulled out.

Yeah, well, kiss that goodbye. Now if you'll excuse me, I have some holiday-themed sweater vests to go buy.

Okay, so maybe he's not a bully.

2008-04-16T21:53:00.001-04:00

What's Up, Cuz? from Kiki on Vimeo.

No one told me my kid was a bully.

2008-04-11T10:26:00.002-04:00

I should have guessed, though, right? I mean, me being the bright sun-shiny person that I am.

Apparently, when Mr. D set little d down in the infant room at daycare the other day, he immediately crawled over to an older little boy and snatched a toy right out of his hand. Of course, the boy started crying, so Mr. D had to take the toy away from little d, give it back to the other kid and move little d to another part of the play room.

I’m not sure how I feel that my sweet little boy is already showing signs of having a very strong personality. Part of me is a worried because guess who’s going to have to teach him how to use that strong personality for good and not evil? Mmm-hmm. I’m sure that’s going to be real fun times right there, boy.

The other part of me is smirking because, in all likelihood, he won’t be the one coming home from grade school crying because he’s getting picked on. I know I shouldn’t feel smug about this, but a tiny part of me does. I don’t want my son to be a total dickhead, but, on the other hand, I do want him to be able to hold his own in a fight. Not that I’m saying I want him to get into fights… just saying that if it ever came down to it, I’d rather him have the cajones to back up the smart mouth I’m sure he’ll inherit from his mother.

Anyway. So I was thinking about how I’m going to teach little d to wield his forward personality through life this morning when I remembered I had this book that gives a description of personalities for every day of the year. When I looked up September first, I wasn’t surprised to read September first people are very competitive in nature. The book also said they rarely back down from fights. The good part about that, though, is they usually have solid reasons for why they’re fighting in the first place. Also, September first people need lots of stimulation and are very physical. Great, I’m guessing, “not now, honey, mommy is watching America’s Next Top Model” isn’t going to go over so well.

The book also said they tend to dream big, but, because they are so driven, often times turn those dreams into reality. They’re perfectionists, but take criticism well because they’re always striving to be better. They’re serious about their work and are not afraid to roll up their sleeves and get their hands dirty to ensure a project succeeds. Good, I guess, for when I’m old, gray, crapping my pants and should be in a nursing home, but potentially bad for any future partner… no one really likes a workaholic, do they?

Personalities are unique and complex. I’m sure this book isn’t meant to give an absolute and accurate rundown of one’s character. It’s probably more of a compilation of tendencies more than anything. It’s not like little d is going to grow up having exactly the set of personality traits the book describes. However, the idea that certain months, times of the year and days can influence a person’s personality is interesting to me. I read the description of my personality for the day I was born and, I have to tell you, although it made me sound a little like an egotistical butthole, it described everything else pretty much to a tee. So, I guess I won’t be surprised if little d is in a few fights or works 80 hours a week when he gets older. If the book does end up ringing true, so what, he’s my little man and, as his mamma, I’ll love him no matter who he becomes.

I think it's called bipolar disorder.

2008-04-08T09:52:00.005-04:00

I think I've posted about this before, but I'll state it again for the record: I just don’t understand how some days I feel so incredibly full of life I can barely sit still. And other days, I'm so overwhelmed I want to tear my head off. And then there are the days when I wake up so angry, I can't even say goodbye to my husband when he walks out the door with my son in the morning. My brain is screaming, "Say I love you!", but my mouth gets all prison guard and refuses to let the words out.

The days go in exactly that order, too. Happy, optimistic and full of motivation to ovewhemled, irritable and restlessness which eventually turns into anger, pessimism and total bitchfacery.

Does everyone go through this? Is it part of being human? Or should I be lying on a couch somewhere trying to bring some tragic childhood event I've blocked out back up to the surface so I can put it behind me once and for all?

I've thought about going to see a therapist more times than I can count. I actually did make the effort to see one, and then she referred me to another because she was going on maternity leave. The second therapist I saw was HORRIBLE. I barely opened my mouth to speak before she tried to shove Prozac down my throat. Um. No thanks. I'm not oppposed to medicinal intervention, but at least do your job a bit before you decide I need mood altering drugs.

So, anyway, I think I might be crazy.

What's holding me up? I'll tell you what's holding me up...

2008-04-01T15:39:00.003-04:00

ACCOUNT: This is really hot and we need it right away.

HOME GIRL (to me): So when do you think you can have copy done?

ME: Friday.

HG: I was thinking more like Thursday afternoon.

ME: I might be able to do Thursday end of day, but it might as well be Friday then.

HG: What's holding you up?

This is where I listed off a dozen other hot assignments I have going on before I stated: And this is for the client who tells us everything is hot and then after we jump through hoops to meet her RIDICULOUS deadlines, she sits on it for months.

Apparently, HG is deaf. Or needs to plug up that one ear so shit will stop going in one side and out the other. Copy is still due Thursday. The client is still an asshole. And I can't do a damn thing about it.

It's days like this I want to walk out of here, birds high in the air, and never come back.

Update on the devil sitch.

2008-04-01T11:52:00.003-04:00

I rolled with the punch by crossing off my real name and replacing it with:

Bea L. Zabub

Then I found out that my neighboring co-worker put the devil there to cheer me up (I know, right?). Apparently, he noticed I was having a bad day a while back and thought a figurine of evil incarnate would make me smile. I told him nice try, but next time he wants to cheer someone up, specifically me, he might try a funny joke or, better yet, cake.

Quickie.

2008-04-01T11:50:00.001-04:00

So much going on. Little d’s surgery was rescheduled because he rockin’ an ear infection. It’s snowed not once, but three times since the official first day of Spring. I can’t get in to get my hairs did for another month. My weight loss has come to a screeching halt. Little d’s teething, therefore not eating well, therefore losing weight, therefore worrying the shit out of his mother.

On the other hand, NMF is out for the week, I ordered a bunch of perennials I’m excited to plant. I got some cute new tops last week, one of which I am wearing right now. Little d has his first play day this weekend. My husband is a top-notch father and we’re going to take a vacation in May.

The devil in me.

2008-03-24T15:20:00.001-04:00

You know, for as disgruntled as I am, I’d like to think I’m at least mature. Someone attached a devil figurine beside my cubicle nameplate. For reasons and human can understand, I’m quite bothered by this. Maybe because, even though I don’t really want to be here, I still put forth an effort to contribute my fair share. I may not always agree with you, but I am by no means an asshole about it. So, to me, letting an inanimate object insinuate that I’m an evil person to work with instead of telling me to my face is not only not funny, it’s cowardly.

Question of the day:

2008-03-21T10:17:00.003-04:00

Can someone tell me what it means when a woman, who looks and acts nothing like a man, wears men's cologne?

Not loving Holy Thursday so far.

2008-03-20T12:43:00.005-04:00

I fucking hate writing style guides. Ninety-five percent of it is rules about design, layout, type treatment, spacing and logos. If I knew that shit, I'd be a fucking art director now wouldn't I?

And I love how they all rattle off what this should say and that should say so fast you can barely understand what they just said, but they expect you to translate their mumble jumble and write it so it makes sense. Oh hi, incase you didn't get the memo, I'M NOT A SECRETARY. I honestly think the art directors should write style guides, considering it barely talks about copy tone. I mean, if you felt like Thai, you'd go to a Thai place, right? Why should this be any different?

In my mind, the logical answer is write it themselves and then give me the rough draft. Oh, but that would make too much sense. So let's let the writer waste time writing shit you're just going to change anyway. Yeah, that makes more sense. Aaaaaaand, go!

I cracked.

2008-03-19T13:53:00.004-04:00

Uh-huh. I'm just going to come right out and admit it. I ate one of those Reese's peanut butter eggs. And it was so fresh, so delicious, the Easter Bunny must have layed it 1.3 seconds before it and the other 25 bags of candy found their way into my cart.

I went to Tar-jaaaay on lunch break to get delicious confections for little d's Easter basket. I had been putting it off exactly for this reason: I will end up eating all the candy I buy. Mr. D is vegan and little d has no teeth, so that leaves me. The non-vegan candy lover who just happens to have a full set of teeth.

Are you wearing green? Me neither.

2008-03-17T09:45:00.000-04:00

First, Happy St. Patty’s Day. Second, there’s a delicious minty brownie staring at me. Threatening to undo all I’ve worked semi-hard for (I cheated several times when I was sick). I only have six more pounds to go and I’ll be down to my pre-pregnancy weight. After I lose that, I’m going for the gold and hope to lose another ten. But this fudgy concoction in front of me is making it very difficult to focus. So I write.

In some weird way not giving in to the temptation is proof that I can do it. That I can take the tiniest bite, just to taste it, and then leave the rest. That I have will power and, in the end, I’ll lose the baby weight and beyond. Besides, it’d be rude to throw it away. And since she walked around with the pan (one of my pet peeves), she practically forced me to take one.

If it was cake, though, all bets would be off. Brownies I can handle. Donut holes are tough but do-able. But cake? Forget it.

Word to yo mother.

2008-03-11T01:40:00.004-04:00

Imma 'bout to bust a cap in this kid's ass. It's one thirty in the mother f'ing morning and this will be the third time I've gotten up. I don't know what the hizzle is going on (what? I'm feeling gangsta this morning), but my homey needs to GO THE HELL BACK TO SLEEP.

I actually didn't even go back upstairs this time. Last two times I did that, he started screaming as soon as I laid down. Man, I hope this is just the time change jacking up his internal clock for a night or two (Okay, just this one) and we'll be back to the regularly scheduled program in no time. Mamma needs her beauty rest, boy.

Shit. I hear him tossing and turning in there. I seriously may cry right along with him if he starts up again.

Later:
Okay, it's been fifteen minutes of silence. Do you think it's safe to go back to bed?

B-I-N-G-OH My God Somebody Shoot Me.

2008-03-09T15:19:00.003-04:00

We're three (or is it fourth?) days into the Xtreme Crab Baby Games. It's been constant whining, crying, make-me-feel-better-mommy and I'm quickly approaching the Meltdown phase of the XCB Games.

The only think calming little d down as of late is the song Bingo. Yeah, you know the one:

There was a farmer had a dog and Bingo was his name-o...

If he's screaming and I start to sing it, he'll stop dead in his tracks, smile and listen intently, which I think is hilarious because, kid, no matter how many times I sing the song, it's not going to change. There's a farmer, a dog and that dog's name is Bingo. That's it. End of story.

But, he likes it. So I keep singing it. And ever so slowly go insane.

M.I.A.

2008-03-08T20:10:00.001-05:00

Yeah, yeah. I know, but we've all been sick.

Obsessing again.

2008-02-25T10:02:00.003-05:00

Okay, it’s going on three weeks of not being able to let shit go. I caught myself retorting out loud in the car this morning what I would say to anyone who asked why I was so upset.

Why am I talking aloud to myself? I can’t get over my SIL copping attitude with me on the phone about my MIL watching three grandkids at one time. It’s going on three weeks and I still can’t seem to shake it off. We haven’t spoken since the phone call and I doubt either of us will make the first move to clear the air. Is that right? Probably not. Is it the way it is? Yes. At some point we’ll have to face each other. I can’t help but wonder how that will turn out. I’m sure she’ll pretend nothing is wrong. And if she’s going to pretend, so am I because I’m sure as hell not going to put myself out there anymore. I’m done with all that.

Anyway. So my dad is back home. I was feeling pretty relieved until my sister called me up and asked, “Who sings The Long and Winding Road?” Paul McCartney, I think, why? “Oh, because that’s the song dad said he wants played at his funeral.” WTF?

He’s fifty-fucking-six years old. And he’s already picking out his farewell song? And you’re going along with it? What the fuck is wrong with you people? You know what? I’m sick of the melodramatic bullshit. Take care of yourself then. Stop eating like shit. Hop in the treadmill sitting in the corner collecting dust. And stop feeling sorry for yourself. Don’t tell your kids what song you want played at your funeral. That’s fucking horrible. I love you, but I refuse to play along with your woe is me crap. You can change things… you just don’t want to do the work. So, yeah, go ahead and kill yourself off early, but I’m not going to feel sorry for you while you do it.

So, yes, I am feeling pretty bad for myself right now. I’m frustrated at a lot of people. And I’m sick of being the one who’s responsible for making everything right and keeping the peace. The alpha in me has been caged up for a long time, lying dormant in the corner. Watching. Waiting. Graciously relenting. But I can feel her stirring again. Restless. Tired of choking down all that guilt and self-doubt.

So I wouldn’t stick your fingers anywhere near the cage if I were you.

Another one for the list.

2008-02-24T09:36:00.001-05:00

My dad is back in the hospital.

Oh, how quickly things can change.

2008-02-22T15:44:00.002-05:00

So you all know that the last couple of weeks have been pretty crappy. Starting with my sister-in-law giving me attitude on the phone a few weeks ago and continuing right on through to finding out my son needs surgery. There were many other things along the way as well. Like my parents bringing up baptism again. Like the migraines I’ve gotten every time it gears up to snow, which, right now, is every other minute. Like my husband’s insanely self-absorbed client wanting to meet on a fucking Sunday and then inviting herself to take a tour of our house even though it was made perfectly clear she was NOT INVITED TO. Like the winter blahs and the baby blues and the I need a gd vacations.

Today is lucky it’s Friday. Had it been a Tuesday or Wednesday, it’d have been tossed out right onto its middle-of-the-week ass. I had a decent morning. And lunch was promising (I went out to do some errands and the sun was shining. Granted, it was only 33 degrees, but the sun was out so it didn’t seem so cold). But the afternoon? That’s when things started going downhill again. I come back to a reprimand in the form of a note telling me how a written comment I made to a proofreader on a job that was routing sounded rude. And then the note proceeded to tell me exactly what and how to answer the question, which, in my opinion was snottily worded to begin with and just plain stupid in the first place. A proofreader asked why my headline was a question. No, I'm not making that up. She asked me why my headline was a question. Except, she wrote in big red letters, "WHY IS THIS A QUESTION???" Ummm, because I want it to be a question. Is it spelled wrong or something? Because last time I checked I WAS THE WRITER. That means I write the shit. You just make sure it's spelled right. Oh, and P.S., if I want my headline to be a question, my headline will be a fucking question.

Keep it 2008. Keep it up.

@#%$^%$&#

2008-02-21T16:46:00.001-05:00

Project. PROJECT. PRO-JECTTTTT. There’s a “t” on the end, asswipe. It’s not silent. And it’s not a “k”. So stop pronouncing it projec, okay?

Just a theory.

2008-02-20T14:07:00.005-05:00

I seriously think NMF is a coke head. Why? Because he goes out "to get something from my car" a lot. Then comes back all hyper and talkative and can't sit the fuck still-ish.

A peek inside a disgruntled mind.

2008-02-14T16:06:00.007-05:00

Wow. Just wow. I was searching through one of them there popular to remain nameless social networks and I found someone I used to know and still hate. Someone I still blame for messing up my ability to make and keep friends.

Here’s the back story: I had a friend who turned out not to be a friend at all, but a psychotic lunatic who stalked me, threatened to kill me, rallied my whole circle of friends at the time against me and essentially made my life a living hell because she thought I willingly slept with the vile asshole she was seeing behind her boyfriend’s back. It was not willingly. I was forced. But she refused to believe me, her friend, because she was so caught up in his lies that she couldn’t see him for what he was: A rapist.

I don’t talk about this often. And will probably never mention it again. I posted something about it here once, but took it down immediately because after all these years, I still feel weird talking about it. I haven’t completely come to terms with it I suppose. There’s still a little part of me that feels like it’s my fault. Like maybe, if I hadn’t been so nice and given him a ride home, it would never have happened.

So to see her go on and on about not wasting one second of your life on being mad or unhappy in her blog makes me so angry. I want to vomit when I read how she hates mean people and thinks everyone should laugh as much as they possibly can.

You. Fucking. Bitch. For six months I did nothing but live in fear that I was going to end up in the hospital with broken bones or worse. Do you know what it does to a person to be deathly afraid to leave their own home because their entire support system has been dupped into believing that they're an evil slut that needs to be taught a lesson. To have people you don’t even know drive by your middle-of-nowhere apartment screaming “Whore!” at all hours of the night. To lie awake in the dark crying because you feel like there isn’t a strong enough lock on your door.

TO HAVE THE DISTRICT ATTORNEY TELL YOU THAT IF YOU PROSECUTED, YOU’D PROBABLY LOSE JUST BECAUSE YOU KNEW HIM.

Yeah, I suppose you don’t. You’re too busy laughing and living life to the fullest and hating mean people. While I deal with the lasting effects of YOUR mean-ness over ten years later. No, mean-ness doesn’t even come close. What you did to me was fucking horrible. And God forgive me, but I can’t help but hope that if you haven't already got yours, that you will. That some one will make you feel as worthless as you once made me feel.

Keep pushing, people.

2008-02-13T15:03:00.003-05:00

So far, this hasn’t been a very good week. There’s a lot of shit going on right now. I’m not sure if I ever mentioned this on the interwebs before, but little d needs to see a urologist and a pulmonologist. He had his second urology appointment today and it turns out that he’ll need surgery to repair a hernia and to retrieve an undescended testicle (Shhh. Don’t tell him I told you that, he’ll be pissed). I knew it might have come to this, but I was hoping it would just drop and we wouldn’t have to deal with it. Well, it didn’t, so from now until the end of March I have to worry my first-time mom head off. The stress is double until the beginning of March when he has his pulmonology appointment. Our new pediatrician wants us to see a specialist because he’s wheezing. Tiny lungs + labored breathing = no good. I can’t hear the wheezing, but the pediatrician says it’s definitely there. At least he’s not being an alarmist like our previous pediatrician and making us drop everything and come in every two days.

Side note: So far I like the new place/guy, but we liked the other one at first, too, so I’m not saying we’re 100% happy yet.

So yeah, all that is going on. Plus the fact that I’m not digging my job again. We’re trying to work it so I can go at least part time, but it’s not looking like that’s going to happen any time soon. And while I’m getting into the groove of motherhood, I’m feeling pretty disheveled again in terms of home life. Nothing ever gets done and the more disorganized my house is, the more disorganized my brain feels. In college, I couldn’t study if my room was a mess. Weird, I know.

On top of this my in-laws have decided that I need to man up and let my mother-in-law watch all three grandkids at one time. With no help. Sorry, but I’m not quite ready for that. Apparently, I’m not supposed to have reservations that a woman who’s about as mature as a fifteen year old will be watching a ten month old who just started walking, a four year old who has issues with authority and my six month old for the evening.

There’s way more to that story, but I’m just going to stop right there and end with: This has not been a good week so far. And I don’t expect the rest of it to be any better.

Oh, it's we now, huh?

2008-02-12T16:43:00.000-05:00

Today I overheard my supervisor say, "Oh, yeah, I forgot to bring that up when we were talking to the client."

Did you seriously just say "we"? Because I don't remember you saying a single word. I remembering you whispering shit to me while I was trying to talk to the client. But I don't recall any words of wisdom or insight coming from YOUR stinking pie hole. Odd.

Shit going down with the in-laws.

2008-02-12T11:49:00.000-05:00

If I had to write a book based on my life right here, right now, it would be a mystery novel titled:

The Case of the Misinformed Grapevine.

Two peas in a pod.

2008-02-11T13:23:00.000-05:00

All winter long, Mr. D and I fight about what temperature the thermostat is set at. He likes it set at Freezing My Ass Off while I prefer Able To Walk Around My Own Home Without A Coat On. I'll turn the heat up and he'll turn it back down. When I go turn it up again he gripes But I'm hot! To which I reply WELL I'M COLD. TOUCH IT AND DIE. My warnings of peril do nothing, however. He just waits until I leave the room and goes and turns it back down.

All winter long like this.

Well, it seems little d is his father's son, indeed, because on several occasions I've had to fight with him about what setting the heater is on the entire ride home from daycare. And I know it's the heat that's making him wail because the minute I turn it down and crack the window, he shuts up. My car's heat settings go from 0 to 4. The current setting for a peaceful ride home is 1, but only if the window is cracked. Otherwise, it's ZERO.

Baby 1, Mamma 0.

Know what I love?

2008-02-08T14:32:00.000-05:00

When you're not respected enough to be told your copy has been completely changed from how it was originally intended to be, but when it needs to be presented to the client, oh yeah, well now you're supposed to talk about something you didn't even write.

Can someone help me out from underneath this bus, please?

Here kitty, kitty.

2008-02-01T16:17:00.000-05:00

So, get this. Two people in my department called in today because their kids’ daycares are closed. You’re joking, right? Cause there’s only, like, four inches of snow on the ground. I probably won’t even shovel my driveway. Pussies.

Speaking of pussies. I’ve seriously had it with our male cat. He’s a little bastard. He’s always terrorizing one of our females. She’s teeny tiny and just the sweetest thing ever and every chance he gets he traps her in a corner and bullies the shit out of her. It’s a total battered wife situation. She loves him so much and all he does is beat her up. Last night he had her trapped underneath the couch. Pinned down with his claws. She was screaming for help so loud, I dropped what I was doing and flew down the stairs to break it up. Usually he’s satisfied with a hiss and a few growls from her, but this time, this time he must have lost a lot of money at the casino because he was out for blood. Even after I yelled at him, he kept right on going. I had to physically push him off her. And then he had the nerve to puff up at me. Fucker.

Soapie, the little one he picks on, lives her life in constant turmoil. She has anxiety that needs to be controlled with medication. I used to think it was because it was a dominance thing between her and the other female, but last night it hit me like a ton of bricks. She’s scared shitless of him. And she has nowhere to hide. I used to think we’d have to find a new home for her, but the more I think about it, the more I think we should find a new home for him.

Only a matter of time.

2008-01-31T16:40:00.000-05:00

I’m ready to go back. I’m not ready to give up my career. I need grown-up interaction. Blah, blah, fucking, blah. What the hell was I thinking? Huh? HUH? I’m so not having fun with the grown-up interaction right now. It’s been exactly forty-two days since I’ve been back to work and I pretty much want to claw my eyes out.

Not because I’m overworked, but because I really can’t stand what I’m doing. It’s in no way satisfying or fulfilling to me and I don’t even know how I managed to continue to do it for ten years. Ten years. Ten goddamn years of someone who’s no better at this than I am telling me to replace “car” with “vehicle” because it sounds more professional... and then turning around and telling me to make the copy sound more conversational. Ten years of someone telling me to “give it more personality”, to “own it” to “take ownership” to really make it “my own” when what they really mean is "read my mind and write exactly what I'm thinking so I don't have to do anything beyond give you crappy direction and vague feedback."

Bottom line is I just don’t like having a boss. There, I’ve said it. I don’t like being someone’s subordinate. I hate it. I hate people telling me what to do. And I hate people constantly judging what I write. I’m not the best writer out there, I know this and I accept it. I’m not looking to win any awards (although I have). I just want to do something that doesn’t make me feel like ripping every last strand of hair out of my head.

I’m sick of deciphering unclear direction. I’m sick of doing all the thinking. Mapping everything out. Making sense of it, putting a concept behind it, writing it, presenting it—all for nothing. I’m sick of spending all day writing shit only to have some a-hole who has half a brain cell change an ass load of my copy right before a client meeting… and not tell me they changed it. And then have my boss say as I’m going in to present, well, yeah, we changed it, but you should totally save that stuff for something else. Well, no, I shouldn’t save it because apparently if it was any good I WOULDN’T HAVE TO SAVE IT IN THE FIRST PLACE. Am I right? Yes, I am. Thank you and good night.

To make a long story short, I’m going to quit. I don’t know when, but I’m going to leave this all behind. I just have to make sure Mr. D has better insurance before I give the old fuck you. You know, I don’t who I thought I was fooling. I like this agency, but not enough to continue to torture myself. My priorities have changed. Fuck new shoes. I’ll wear my Chucks until they rot off my feet. At least I won’t have to go through this dog and pony show every day. Dancing in circles until it’s time to go back into the cage. If I’m going to dance, people, it’s going to be to the Smashing Pumpkins naked in my living room. EATING CAKE.

+10 points for being honest, -100 for being an asshole.

2008-01-21T14:33:00.000-05:00

NMF just informed me that he found the headphones that he thought I stole. Yeah, I know, right? I’m going on thirty something and I can’t afford my own pair of headphones so I stole them from my co-worker. Even if I did, which, obviously I didn't since I stopped stealing shit once I hit fourth grade, I wouldn't be able to use them at work anyway because I sit in the cube RIGHT ACROSS FROM HIM. What kind of moron does he think I am?

Funny thing is I knew he thought I stole them because he kept asking me over and over if I’d seen them. You only do shit like that when you think someone stole something from you or you’re pretty sure your husband threw something away and is too afraid to tell you.

I may or may not have responded in such a way that seemed as though I may have indeed stole them just to fuck with him. I don't recall.

Ignored: My Life As A Leper

2008-01-17T12:27:00.000-05:00

If yesterday was unceremoniously fired (more on that in a minute), then today is definitely on its way to being escorted out. The last 24 hrs have been a challenge to say the least, and the next 24 aren't looking much better.

I'll start with yesterday first. So, despite it being my husband's responsibility, I finally broke down and called the pediatrician yesterday morning. Little d's cough and congestion were getting way too much for me bear. I couldn't continue to be stubborn on principle. I know I said I thought he didn't need to go because all they were going to do was tell me he has a cold. Well, if I ever do that again, slap me. I knew I shouldn't have listened to a man who thinks a five month old baby doesn't need to wear a hat in the dead of winter. Sorry, honey, but he needs to where the hat.

I make an appointment for the end of the day thinking my husband can take him. Turns out he can't, so I have to pucker up and kiss some ass so I can juggle around meetings and internals in order to take little d to the appointment. At lunch, I run home to get the nebulizer they let us borrow because I'm sure they're going to ask for it since we've had it about two weeks longer than we were supposed to. I also need the diaper bag because God knows how long the pediatrician will take. Thank God I did eat up my entire lunch hour to go get those two items because they did indeed ask for the nebulizer and we did indeed end up being at the doctor's office for two hours. And then had to rush to the hospital to get chest x-rays before they closed.

Yes. Chest x-rays. Apparently, when they say they want to see him two days later, they mean it. Because his parents are idiots, little d got worse over the two weeks they spent cancelling and rescheduling appointments because the times didn't fit their schedules. Wow, what assholes, huh? Little d endured poking and prodding and testing for four hours last night because we thought the recheck could wait. They're mailing us our 2008 Parents of the Year Award as we speak.

The good news is that so far everything has come back negative for RSV and his chest x-rays are clear. We're just waiting to hear back from the hospital regarding the other viruses they tested for, which, honestly, I can't remember the names she rattled off. The not bad, but not really good news is that the pediatrician thinks little d has a mild case of asthma. He's to continue breathing treatments until further notice and he'll have to use the nebulizer (which we now own) every time he gets a cold. Any how. We have a recheck on Tuesday

Then today, TODAY I was ignored three times in a row. Once when I asked if anyone wanted to go downstairs to the cafe with me and no one answered. I mean, literally, no one answered. Then ten minutes later a group of bitches I'D JUST ASKED came walking in while I was in line paying. Next on the elevator back up a group of men who obviously belonged to the Boys Club walked in behind me. When I asked which floor they needed, they started talking like I wasn't even there. Whatever, dudes. Then as I was coming off the elevator, a woman who used to be in our department made eye contact, but didn't respond when I said hello. Nice, huh? I feel so loved.

So, yeah, one more slip-up and I'm calling security.

Having one of those days.

2008-01-15T09:24:00.001-05:00

I'm seriously considering going home at lunch and changing. Apparently, when getting dressed this morning, I thought it was a good idea to wear what I have on. Apparently I was also high.

How can a red long-sleeved shirt and jeans cause so much anxiety? Well, it's not so much the shirt and jeans combo as it is the PRACTICAL MOM BOOTS I'm forced to wear along with them because I forgot to grab my Chucky T's this morning. So I'm walking around with nylon waterproof boots that are too bulky for the leg of my jeans to look even remotely normal. Also adding to the freak out is my hair. I just threw it up in one of those messy bun things since I wanted to get out of the house before the drywall peeps showed up (not good with people in the morning. had I been there to greet them, someone surely would have lost an eyeball. perhaps two). I keep glancing in the tiny rearview mirror (used 98% of the time to see who's trying to sneak up behind me, 2% for lip gloss application) on my computer. The appearance situation is not good, people. And it doesn't help with a dozen little miss fashionistas running around. These hoes are seriously ruining the whole "I'm creative, so I can come in to work in sweat pants if I want" vibe that our department is supposed to have. We're creative! We can look like street people if we want! Why are you wearing dress pants?!

No makeup. Jeans. Shirt that shows off my fat rolls. Mom boots. Yup. I'm looking SWEET today.

Random.

2008-01-15T08:12:00.000-05:00

Okay, let's see. What's happened since the last time I was on the old blogger? Not much, really. Little d is still sick. Coughing. Runny nose. The ususal. He's still smiling, laughing and no fever, though,so we've postponed his recheck. Actually, my husband cancelled it (twice) and hasn't rescheduled it. It was his turn to bring little d in and I guess he couldn't do it for some reason. Twice in a row. And now it's a battle of the wills to see who will break down and reschedule the appointment. Hey, I did it last time. It's his turn. He can't get out of it using the flimsy excuse "I'm too busy." That's bullshit. I guess I'll just have to "remind" him every day until he can't stand it any more and fricking calls already. Not the only one in the world who's trying to juggle working with having a kid, buddy, so let's man up there, nnnK?

And, you, the one who's all like, "OMG. She is totally a rotten mother for not taking her son to the pediatrician when he's sick." Yeah, you can just bite me. He's been sick since one month old. He's got a cold. Like apparently every other kid on earth. He's breathing fine and he doesn't have a fever and honestly? I'm tired of taking him and paying money only for them to freak the shit out of me with their medical jargon which basically translates to: he's got a cold.

Speaking of being sick, for the first time in ages, I've got a cold as well. I presume my son gave it to me since I've been exposed to his snot, drool, pee and poop for the last five months. It could also be because I can't keep my lips off that chubba bubba. I'm constantly cuddling and kissing him. Now I see why a lot of men grow up to have committment issues. Because they've been smothered (literally) since birth. Oh well. I say GET OVER IT. We can't help it. Babies are crack to women.

Speaking of crack, I'm starting to fall into the nasty habit of drinking some form of caffeine every day. Not happy about that, but I've been so damn tired lately. Okay, lately means for the last five months... no, longer if you count all the sleepless nights while I was prego. I know it's a vicious cycle and I'm probably tired BECAUSE I'm drinking the caffeine, but I CAN'T STOP. A Coke here. A Red Bull there. It sneaks up on you. You're flitting about all fine and dandy with your Red Bull wings and then you start coming down. Even more tired than before. So you pay another two bucks for your liquid sunshine. Then you practically break your finger trying to get it open fast enough when you suddenly realize you're hooked. But, no, you're not hooked. You can stop any time you want. It's not a habit. You just need a little pick-me-up. I CAN STOP ANY TIME I WANT.

Soooo, what else. Oh, I don't know if you remember, but remember when that guy redid our bathroom and it looked all fabulous and stuff except he didn't seal the floor tile and caulk the bathtub properly? Well, after failing repeated attempts to get this guy back over to finish the job, we finally called someone else to come in and fix it. With over a year of being unsealed, the grout got pretty dirty and discolored. Now it looks like it was supposed to look. And the caulk around the tub is now done properly--all smooth and barely visable--not like a three year old did it.

Today we've got drywall people coming in to fix the gigantic whole in our wall downstairs that has been driving me nuts since the day we moved in. It looks like someone tried to make a doorway without knowing a single thing about home improvement. Just picked up the sledgehammer one day and made themselves a door. Asshats. I can barely believe I agreed to buy the house with such an obvious flaw. I must have thought we'd fix it up right away or something. Yeah, well, better late than never, I guess.

Okay. I'm done. NMF will be sashaying in any minute and I have to get busy surfing the net.

Peace out.

That's it.

2008-01-08T09:21:00.000-05:00

I'm getting a house keeper. I can't take it anymore.

Because I'm good like that.

2008-01-07T11:03:00.000-05:00

So, I’m having a phone conversation with my mother and out of nowhere, she says, “I didn’t make you mad with that comment I left, did I?”

My mind told me to PLAY DUMB. You don’t know if she’s talking about the Nazi comment or the one she just left where she gave you a full recitation on upper respiratory infections (she’s a respiratory therapist) and how it sounds like little d has asthma.

Before I could answer, she continued with, “Because I do that, you know--give my two cents.”

Really? Just two?

Before I could answer for a second time, she said, “I can be domineering sometimes.”

I know. Don't forget passive aggressive.

And then I don’t know why, but I said, “No, mom. You’re not domineering.” To which she replied, “Well, sometimes I feel like I bug you.”

I already lied once. I didn’t feel like lying again so I didn’t say anything. I wasn’t going there, so I just sort of let the moment hang there like an accidental fart--Ripe with awkward silence.

Naturally, she pretended she had to "let me go" because she had something else to attend to, like her cat was in the oven or something. Of course, I let her "let me go" because, duh, who wants to miss a good opportunity to end something so painful. And I mean the conversation. Not the cat in the oven.

So anyway, I’m not really sure what the point of this post is. It could be to once again illustrate how much my mother and I don’t relate to one another. Then again, it could be to highlight how I keep perpetuating the situation by lying.

I think it may be a toss up.

Oh, okay then.

2008-01-04T09:40:00.001-05:00

I just found out that "upper respiratory infection" is fancy name for a cold. Still, though, way to scare the crap out of me. Just fricking say he's got a cold next time, all right?

I'm hoping it's just the stomach flu.

2008-01-03T12:59:00.000-05:00

Over the past 3 or 4 days I've been nauseous. Today, however, I'm not so much nauseous as I am ravenous. I had a huge pasta bowl, yogurt and a chocolate pudding for lunch and I'm still about to gnaw off my left hand. And nevermind the fact that I almost fell asleep on the way into work this morning... I'm so tired I almost can't think.

I swear to the sweet Lord above, if I'm pregnant again, I'm jumping. It's times like these where the pill where you only have three periods a year is NOT HELPFUL. The saving grace in all of this is my rumbly tummy and intestinal "issues." I don't remember being on 'rrhea alert the first time around.

For the record, I just want all of you to know, the rampage that will ensue if this is not the flu won't be pretty.

Here we go again.

2008-01-03T10:17:00.000-05:00

Little d got his second round of vaccinations yesterday and guess what? He's sick again. Correction: He's sicker. Yeah, since he's been sick pretty much since the first round three and a half months ago. Last night he cried inconsolably for an hour. Then laid there limp and whimpering in my arms for another forty five minutes until he fell asleep for the night.

So now, on top of the congestion, which did get better when he was on Amoxicillan, but is back full force with this round of vaccines, and coughing, he's wheezing and needs breathing treatments. AND I also found out yesterday that in addition to the ear infection, he had an upper respiratory infection as well. Information which the doctor failed to tell me. How do you not tell a parent their 4 month old has an upper respiratory infection? Correct me if I'm wrong, but couldn't that lead to all sorts of other illness that can be life threatening for infants? I mean, seriously, if I'd have known he had both an ear infection and an upper respiratory infection, I'd have thought twice about bringing him to Chicago in the middle of winter. How can people smart enough to be doctors be such fucking idiots? I really thought I'd found the doctor that would level with me, but nope, you can scratch this bitch off the list, too.

To add to the frustration, they failed to tell me that you need a prescription for the Albuterol used in the nebulizer. Here I'm thinking I forgot to take the medicine home or something. Figuring I must need a prescription, I called this morning and GUESS WHAT? I surely did need a prescription, but no one had called it in. I know, what a shocker. Little d has missed a whole day's worth of treatments because they're total a-holes. Oh, and the kicker is that he has to go back tomorrow for a "re-check" to see how the treatments worked. I know, right? Of course he's not going to be better because HE HASN'T HAD ANY TREATMENTS YET. But the bitchy nurse "advised" me to keep the appointment because that's what the doctor wants. So, here's my prediction:

Little d will have approximately two treatments before his appointment tomorrow. He will go to the appointment, they will say he still doesn't sound better and to keep doing the treatments through the weekend and come back on Monday for another re-check. At which point we will pay them for yet another office visit that, in my opinion, was totally unecessary.

So, why not let the treatments do their magic and wait until Monday? My guess is that his upper respiratory infection is worse than it was two weeks ago when they didn't tell me (or do anything) about it, so now it's cause for concern. Why else would she want to see him so soon? I don't believe it's because she actually cares, so rule that out. It's because they have to cover their ass now. Because my kid's infection has progressed to the point that it needs a closer, more careful look.

God, I'm so done with these arrogant bitches. I've been telling them for months that shit ain't right with my kid. They haven't listened to a damn word I've said because I'm just the idiot first-time mother that doesn't know what I'm talking about. And you know what, I am an idiot. I'm an idiot for even giving these people a chance to prove themselves.

What I know about Chicago.

2007-12-29T22:45:00.000-05:00

Number one: Chicagoians, particularly the women, don't care for people with children. And by that I mean they hate us. Nope, no love for babies in Chi-town. In fact, if they had their choice of saving an infant from a runaway bus or throwing their body over a pair of UGG boots lying in a busy street, well, let's just say there'd be a lot thankful UGGs out there. Seriously, I've never seen a greater concentration of FUGGs (what I prefer to call them because, personally? I think they're hideous... and I thought that even before I had a baby and turned all mom jeans and shit) in a one block radius in my life. I thought that fad had gone out ages ago. Apparently, Chicago didn't get the memo.

Number two: The kids that where spared need to be taught some manners. I was in Niketown, just minding my business, pushing little d around while he napped, when out of no where this little girl rips back the hood of his stroller and screams "Aww! A baby!" Scared the shit out of me, and when she started reaching in to touch him I just about had a stroke. I was ready to bust out the kung fu when she flitted away as fast as she appeared. It took me a good couple of hours to calm down from that one.

So, yeah. The AUDACITY of people bringing their kids to Chicago. How DARE we take up space with our strollers and diaper bags and, oh, HEAVEN FORBID our babies cry. *rolls eyes* I mean, the NERVE of some people.

You know, I guess I understand if someone gets a little irritated because the baby on the bus won't stop crying. What I don't get is the no compassion part. You'd think that maybe, just for one day, one bus ride, one time you crossed the street, they'd let you by. Maybe they'd help you get a stroller and two bags on the bus instead of staring at you like you deserve it.

Anyway. Despite the bad impression the people of Chicago left on me as a parent, I have nothing against the city. I really enjoyed what I saw of the Shedd Aquarium. And even though I couldn't find the one thing I really wanted, Navy Chuck Taylors, and we waited twenty minutes for an elevator to take us ONE LEVEL DOWN, the seven story mall was a shop-a-holic's dream. But man, I can't remember feeling so unwelcome anywhere.

I miss him when he sleeps.

2007-12-21T21:21:00.002-05:00

Over the past month or so, little d changed from a blob of baby just lying there to a smiling, laughing, talkative little man who is nearly sitting up by himself. He's growing by leaps and bounds both physically and mentally. He can now grab his rings (and my hair) and hold on to them with a grip that would put The Hulk to shame. Of course, his rings go directly into his mouth, just like most things he gets his hands on these days.

It's hard to believe that I ever questioned my decision to have a baby. In those first three months it was so unbelievably hard. And it still is hard... I'm sure it always will be... but it's a different hard. It's no longer a "why are you ruining my life" hard. It's a "I want to take care of you every minute of the day" hard. When your baby starts to pay you back with giggles and smiles and coos and whole conversations about serious baby business, it's amazing. And you hate to see their little eyes droop. Because that means it's bedtime. And you have to wait another 8-10 hours to kiss that little patch of hair on the top of that beautiful little head.

Whatever, dudes.

2007-12-20T12:12:00.000-05:00

Speaking of things that annoy me, remember the post where I said I was a Nazi Mom? I posted a similar entry on the blog I keep mainly so my family can keep up with what's happening with us.

Yeah, well I got an anonymous comment about how I shouldn't compare myself to Nazism and murder and some other bullshit. I know it was either my mom or dad. Whichever one it was, they missed the point of the post completely. I feel like they posted a comment because I had embarrassed them for using the word "Nazi."

Ooooh. I don't go to church and I refer to myself as a Nazi. I'm going straight to hell!

Another rant about religion.

2007-12-20T11:53:00.000-05:00

Ya know, I wish my mom would spend more time getting to know the adult me instead of wasting all her energy on trying to introduce the perfect me she’s created in her mind to The Lord. Thanks, but the Holy Trinity and I know each other just fine. There have been a lot of really unpleasant things along my journey called life that have made me who I am today, and we’ve come to an understanding, Los Trece Amigos and I. It involves me not blindly taking every word of the bible literally. Because do I think one man really fit two of every kind of animal in an arc and then floated around on a flooded earth for months really happened? Sorry, but the jury is still out on that one.

I’ll tell you what else I find hard to believe. That dinosaur bones where put on this earth by God to “test our faith.” I think dinosaur bones are on this earth because they existed. The test of our faith is called life, people. Why do you think it’s so hard?

You know, if she’d just stop trying to save me for one minute, she’d realize that I haven’t shut the door in God’s face like she thinks I have. Just because I don’t go to church regularly does not mean I don’t believe. I do believe. But I also think science has proven a lot of things we can’t deny or make up silly stories to explain.

Instead of how Jesus turned water into wine, I guess I spend my time pondering why it seems every person over 50 suddenly starts practicing their faith like it’s their job. It’s like they suddenly realize their own mortality. Like it finally hits them, “Hey, I’m going to die. I should start making sure my spot in heaven is reserved.” Shouldn’t they have been doing that all their life? Seriously. If on my 50th birthday I automatically start driving a wedge between my son and I because I begin to constantly harass him to go to church every week, somebody slap me, okay?

I admit, over the years I have strayed away from organized religion. I suppose my mother has picked up on that and feels as if my soul is doomed. But the more she passive aggressively tries to rekindle what she believes has gone out, the more I kick sand over the coals. I hate being told what to do. Even more than I hate how pedophiles get away with unspeakable crimes because they have the power of a pope behind them to cover it up. The slap on the wrist these men get for molesting little boys is laughable. But if you ask most Catholics about it, they get defensive because “it’s not the church’s fault.” No, of course not. It’s not their fault these men are protected from going to prison. Not at all.

The truth is if she’d just leave me alone about it, I probably would go to church more. I actually don’t mind church. Yeah, as a kid I hated it, but as an adult, I don’t mind listening to the readings. Sometimes the homilies are nothing more than self-righteous rants, but most times I do get something out of them. I think church can be a wonderful and inspirational experience. If one is allowed to on their own tems.

So what prompted this whole rant? I thought my mom called to talk to me. To see how my family is doing. Turns out she just wanted to know if I was going to church on Christmas Day with her. I’ll give you one wild guess what the answer to that question is.

Eviction notice: Fat, you gots to go.

2007-12-14T14:21:00.000-05:00

Mr. D and I attended my company’s holiday party last night. The venue was fabulous. The food was delicious. The entertainment was great. It was a hell of a party to say the least.

I only had a couple glasses of wine, so, other than being tired, I was feeling pretty good this morning. That is until I opened the email with the link to the jpegs from the photographer the agency hired. I scrolled through the jpegs looking for the photo of Mr. D and I with hopeful anticipation that I had finally taken a decent picture. And there it was. Page 22. My husband was standing next to Shamu the fucking whale.

You guys, I almost started crying at work. Of course, since the jpegs were there for the entire agency to peruse, I played it off. I didn’t want anyone to know just how much seeing the post-baby me devastated the pre-baby me.

Seeing myself through the eye of the camera, an eye that captures only the truth, I’ve realized that I LOOK WORSE THAN I THOUGHT. Yeah, yeah, yeah. Don’t tell me, “You just had a baby! Give it time.” Bullshit. I had that kid four months ago. I’m haven’t been breastfeeding for three months so I’ve had plenty of time to drop at least SOME of the 20 lbs that have taken up residence on my body.

I’m struggling with being patient because I have never been this heavy before. Ever. Not even when I was fresh out of college eating Taco Bell and hot wings for lunch and dinner three nights a week. My “I want it now” personality doesn’t help the situation. Nor did the huge slice of black forest cake I had last night.

No more "I'll start tomorrow." This is it. I want my sexy back.

Just surrender already.

2007-12-13T13:53:00.001-05:00

Are you a Nazi Mom? Cause I am. I’m not proud of it, but I am. I want to have control over everything pertaining to that bald-headed bundle of boy. And I mean EVERYTHING. Yesterday, when Mr. D wrote little d’s stats (name, date, contents) on his bottles for daycare in china marker, I caught myself wanting to go behind him and re-write it because it was messy. Uh-huh. It was messy. And because neat penmanship is a direct correlation to how good of a mother I am, you can see my point, no?

It’s neuroses like these that are probably the biggest reason I’m such a hot mess in the morning. Because I obsess about the details so much that I can’t focus on getting the important things like getting dressed and out of the house on time accomplished. Mr. D is the opposite. Sure things may look like a tornado blew through, but by God, that man can get that baby fed, dressed and out the door. So what if there are still stalks on the green beans and the peapods are a little burnt, at least the stir fry tastes good. No, I wouldn’t say he’s big on details, but he is big on thought. Where as I might insist little d’s socks match his outfit, if he’s got mittens on his feet, Mr. D feels, hey, they’re covered, so it’s all good. Opposites do, indeed, attract.

However, after one too many loveless mornings from el fuhrer number one, Mr. D put the smack down. He got a little Napoleon himself and “suggested” that from now on he get the sugar booger ready in the morning AND take him to daycare so I could focus on rummaging through the piles of NOTHING FITS in peace. Of course, he was met with resistance. I mean, I am a dictator, people, and no good dictator can allow such insubordination. But, after mulling around the idea, discovering the potential and then declaring it as my own, I finally gave in. For two days in a row now, I’ve let Mr. D get little d to daycare without totally breathing down his neck.

Okay, I did go in there and ask, “What the hell are you doing to him?” after twenty straight minutes of crying, but you try listening to twenty straight minutes of crying and not flip just a little. See, little d likes to eat first and then get his diaper changed. Apparently, Mr. D still has not caught on to that fact, which is why, in my defense, it seems like I’m always telling him what to do. I notice these things and he doesn’t. It’s the attention to detail thing. If only humans came with an “Attention to Detail” knob. I could dial mine down, turn Mr. D’s up and then we’d be all set.

So, this morning? This morning, even though it’s only the second morning under the new regime, was rich with many silence-filled moments to myself. I even had time to pick up the house. And as I wiped the last toothpaste spot off the mirror, I asked the reflection smiling back at me why it took so long.

So I implore you, fellow Nazi Moms, let go. Let your minions help you. It will only make you a better tyrant. And because it will only be a matter of time before they revolt if you don't.

The word for today, boys and girls, is overwhelmed.

2007-12-12T11:48:00.000-05:00

My, how 24 hours can change things. That and your kid getting up at one in the morning because he decides he’s not so much hungry as wanting to play. I usually melt when he gives me his adorable toothless grin, but after two hours of trying to get him back down, it’s not so cute.

Needless to say, I’m exhausted. And that’s got me thinking about how much I’m looking forward to the holiday break. Which would be nice, except that, between Christmas, New Year’s and our trip to the Windy City in between, there’s only two or three days that we won’t be out of town.

Yup. It’s about this time of year where I turn into a scrooge. I actually like the holidays. It’s the hustle and bustle I can do without. I love giving gifts… I just hate having to go out and buy them. I like being somewhere different, I just don’t like traveling.

So there’s that. Plus, my husband and his brother are trying to start a business. So, to help them drum up clients, I’ve put the word out at work. Of course, everyone wants what they’re offering, so I have the added stress of lining up jobs for them. Then there’s the fact that, while we may all get along fine in the beginning, there’s a good chance that difference of opinion may cause a family feud later on. I guess with my all or nothing tendencies, I feel like I may have a very different vision of where this thing should go. My drive to succeed often tends to come out in a sharp pushing manner, which may not be well received by parties other than my husband. So I guess I’m scared I may be the Yoko Ono in all of this.

Oh, and then there’s little d. Someone’s got to take care of him, right? It’s amazing how much I miss him when I’m apart from him for 9 hours a day. I really only get to see him for a couple of hours a day now. So on the weekends, the housework, bills and every other goddamned thing goes undone. Then, when Monday morning rolls around, I’m irritated because I’m tripping over the one pile of clean laundry I managed to fold but not put away. Cursing at myself because I feel like a loser that we’re living in such disarray. Then I panic because the mental image of Mason at school being picked on because he smells like pee and sour milk because his mother is too busy twitching in the corner pops in my mind.

Am I being too hard on myself? Yes. I know this. Does that stop me from being too hard on myself. No. It doesn’t. And it doesn’t help that I feel like I’m going a million miles an hour right now. You’d think I’d let Mr. D help a little, you know, to help take off some of the pressure, but I don’t. Apparently, my brain is fooled into believing that if I don’t do it myself, it’s not good enough.

Lucky. Me.

Still adjusting to life in 2007 A. B. (after baby)

2007-12-11T14:33:00.000-05:00

Yeah. It’s been a while. I know. But between having to find a new daycare, a new pediatrician, Christmas shop and keep the snot out of the boys' noses, I haven’t had a spare moment to post. Well, that’s not true. I have had a few spare moments, but I chose to shower instead. Sorry.

So we can check “New Daycare” off the list. I won’t go into too much detail about why we had to switch other than: WALKED IN ON ONE OF THE CAREGIVERS PICKING HER BELLY BUTTON INSTEAD OF WATCHING MY KID. That was just the icing on the cake. There were numerous other reasons why this joint was not a good fit. Filthy was one. Oh, and incompetent.

Moving on. Next on the list is the pediatrician. I’m tired of the condescending doctors and nurses at our current one. Plus, today I heard a story from a co-worker who also goes there about how they were about to give a vaccination to the baby of another mother they know who goes there when she said, “No. My baby has an egg allergy and that particular vaccination that you’re about to give her has traces of egg in it.” I guess the nurse rolled her eyes and asked, “How do YOU know your baby is allergic to eggs? A lot of parents just read this stuff on the Internet and think their baby is allergic to everything…” I guess the mother pulled out a document from her baby’s allergist that did indeed state her baby was allergic and was all like BULL-YA… WHO LOOKS LIKE AN ASS NOW? How spectacular would that have been to witness?

Anyway. Yeah. Lots of little things going on but nothing really worth writing about. I guess I could bitch about how depressing it is to shop for a semi-formal dress four months after having a baby and how frustrating it is to not have access to the elliptical machine your husband found the time to put in storage but now can’t find the time to go get. Yeah, DON’T LOOK AT ME and GO GET MY MACHINE are said in the same breath around the Disgruntled household as of late. I’d go get it myself but the damned thing weighs fucking a bajillion pounds. Plus, I asked him not to put it in storage because I knew exactly this would happen. Even though I was pregnant and not using it then, I KNEW I’d want to use it a few months after delivery. But nooooooooo. SOMEONE had to put it in storage.

I'll take mine dirty, please.

2007-11-29T09:51:00.000-05:00

Remember those days in high school when, from the time you got up until the time you went to bed, things just didn't go quite right? Like, you couldn't get your bangs high enough no matter how much Bold Hold you used. Your acid-wash guess jeans weren't tight enough. You couldn't get your fucking locker open so you were late for home room. You didn't have your homework done for History, there was a pop quiz in Algebra and you only had a buck to spend for lunch and you were STARVING. Remember those days?

Well, today is turning out to be like that. Except on a more adult level. The furnace quit working last night so we had to keep a space heater running in the kid's room. Yeah, fire hazard, I know, but it was either that or a pee-flavored kidcicle. Uh, let's see, what else. I couldn't find a god damned thing that fit my fat ass. I rushed around making bottles while putting on makeup while brushing my teeth and still barely made it out the door on time. The fact that my house looks like a nuclear bomb hit it is driving me to distraction. I feel like I've got a million and one things I need to get done, but this thing called "work" is preventing me from accomplishing anything. Not that I would have been able to get things done if I was at home, anyway, but still. A million and one things is a lot to get done, people. On top of that, I have a low-grade cold that won't get the hint and LEAVE TOWN ALREADY.

*deep breath*

Anyway. Moving on. Can you believe I fell asleep at eight o'clock last night? Eight o'clock. I barely made it past Jeopardy! and I missed Project Runway completely. I obviously didn't get anything in order for the next morning, which is why I was running around like a mad hatter. I didn't even hear little d get up last night. Thank God Mr. d took over feeding duties or I'd have been jerked out of sweet, sweet slumber by the baby equivalent of "Hello, McFly!?"

Know what I'm thinking? I'm thinking a three-martini lunch would totally help get me through the rest of this day. What? I can't? Because I have to go interview another daycare at lunch today? Oh, yeah. That's right.

Funny how kids change things.

2007-11-27T09:45:00.000-05:00

Mr. D dropped Little D off at daycare this morning. By nine thirty we were IMing each other how much we missed him. He wasn't even out of our clutches but two hours and we were going through withdrawals.

Just so you all know, I might have to change the name of this blog again. I seem to be getting less disgruntled with life and more in love with my family (Don't worry, though, I'll still have plenty to piss and moan about... stupid people are not going away any time soon).

Big D back up in dis piece.

2007-11-26T12:38:00.000-05:00

After blowing three months worth of dust off my machine, I sat down, fired the old tin can up and started typing away. With NMF yipping at my heels, it's almost like I never left.

I can't believe it.

2007-11-23T19:15:00.000-05:00

I go back to work on Monday. I have mixed emotions. I want adult interaction and five minutes to myself, but I don't think I'm ready to leave little d at daycare for eight hours. My plan was to ease into it... get up both used to being away from each other before I had to go back to work. Yeah, well, that plan took a huge nosedive. He was at daycare for two days and got sick. So, all together, he's been sick for three weeks. And now this weekend? I'm getting sick.

I suppose I should get used to it, huh?

Last chance.

2007-11-20T10:28:00.000-05:00

Little d has another appointment with the pediatrician today. Same group, same bitchy nurse, different doctor. I made my husband call this time because my nerves are shot. I can't handle that horrible nurse making me feel like I'm an idiot for calling one more time. And apparently it's not just me overreacting because she did the same thing to my husband.

"Is he VOMITING?" No, but he CAN'T FUCKING BREATHE. Plus he's got diarrhea now--15 times in 24hrs--so just shut up and pencil us in, okay you old hag?

The poor kid has been shitting so much his butt is raw. I can't put on diaper cream without screaming. He's crabby, I'm crabby and HE'S BEEN CONGESTED FOR 2 1/2 WEEKS. I'm done. And so is this office if they don't get it together like now. Because you know what, people? I'm a first time mother. I don't know how this works. I'm trying like hell not to call every five seconds and bring him in every two, but you're not working with me here. If it's nothing to worry about, then tell me that. When I ask what I should do about daycare or if it's okay to take him around my 1 month old niece for Thanksgiving, don't say, "Oh, he should be fine for Thanksgiving and he can go back to daycare whenever you think he's better." Whenever I think he's better? I'm his mother for fuck's sake. He'll probably ALWAYS seem sick to me. You're the GD doctor. YOU tell me when he can go back, you stupid hooker. Don't just say he's got croup, throw an information sheet at me and say "good luck." I'm serious. She said that. Want to flip a new mom out? Just tell her her child has some weird sounding virus then say good luck as you leave the room.

And for your information it doesn't look like he's going to be better by Thanksgiving. But, you know, thanks for answering my question so directly. I'm sure my sister will appreciate a congested one month old.

**THE FOLLOWING RANT IS ABOUT FEMALE TROUBLES. IF YOU'RE A GUY AND PERIODS GROSS YOU OUT, STOP READING RIGHT NOW**

So on top of all this, I started my period. But it's not so much a period as a raging red sea. It's my first period after delivery, so I kind of expected it to be heavy, but Holy Christ, I seriously thought I was going to have to call my doctor. We're talking about some serious iron depletion here, ladies. I went through an entire pack of winged heavy-flow sanitary napkins in one day. I had to go out and buy two more packs just to be sure I'd have enough to get through the night. Thank God it started to slow down today. Maybe I was on the pill so long I didn't remember that periods could be like that or something, but it was really freaking me the eff out.

What's next?

2007-11-19T19:38:00.000-05:00

Okay, baby gods, what are you going to lay on us next? We've endured (stilling enduring) colic, struggled through baby blues, combated reflux, battled congestion (going on three weeks now) and you know what? I'm exhausted.

Our first official illness.

2007-11-14T12:53:00.000-05:00

I ended up keeping little d home from daycare so I could take him to the doctor. Apparently my motherly instincts were spot on... because he has croup. They said it's going around and, since it's a virus, there's really not much else we can do other than what we have been doing--humidifier and keeping him upright.

Poor little guy has been sleeping for most of the morning. His little body is tired from all that fighting his immune system is doing. He should start feeling better in a few days. They said he probably got it from daycare, but wtf?, he's only gone twice. Plus, his symptoms started a week ago. So I don't know if I entirely agree with the whole he got it from daycare. Especially since it was coming from the pediatrician who was confounded as to why we would put him in daycare in the first place and had we considered a nanny? Oh, of course! We totally considered it. Right around the time you considered paying for it, biatch.

Great, now I've got Salt-n-Pepa's "Croup, croup-pay-doop, croup-pay-doop croup-pay-doop-pay-doop-pay-doop" stuck in my head. Sweetness.

"Here I go, here I go, here I go again. Mom, what's my weakness? CROUP! Okay, then..."

Life is cruel.

2007-11-12T15:39:00.001-05:00

Throughout my maternity leave I've checked my work email. Mainly so I don't have a billion emails to sift through and delete when I get back. Today I found out that a co-worker's two-year-old daughter lost her battle with brain cancer yesterday.

Yes, I totally cried. She was only two. Little d is ten weeks old and if I lost him, I would die. Just imagine knowing your little girl for two years before finding out she had an inoperable brain tumor.

I can't wait to see little d again. I'll take all the crying in the world just as long as he stays healthy.

I miss my crybaby.

2007-11-12T10:14:00.001-05:00

I just got back from dropping little d off at daycare. Half of me is relieved someone else has to put up with his fussing other than me and the other half misses him terribly. He's been a terror the last three days. Still not quite over his cold yet with the added bonus of throwing a fit halfway through his bottle. We just got his Zantac dosage adjusted not even three weeks ago, but I swear it needs to be adjusted again. For the last couple of days he's gone ape shit about every other bottle. Unless maybe he just doesn't want it. Maybe he's able to go longer between feedings now? He is eating 4-5 ounces, sometimes six. Anyway, I keep telling myself that they can handle it, that that's why they get paid the big bucks.

Talk about being a Nervous Nelly (Controlling Cathy?) about this whole motherhood thing. I swore I wasn't going to be one of "those" moms. The kind that worry about every little thing. I was going to make this little man conform to our lifestyle, and dammit, we were going to go about our business as usual. Ummm. Yeah, no. That's definitely NOT how it works. Dude has us on a string fo' shizzle.

Like this morning. Despite waking up late, Team Disgruntled put forth a good effort. The results were pretty good, but there's definitely room for improvement. For starters, Team Disgruntled's star athlete can refrain from spitting up on his outfit before Co-Captain Mommy can even get it on. And, also, he needs to work on downing that bottle a little faster. Great timing with the poopy diaper, though. Got that out of the way before leaving the house. Way to be, kid.

All in all, I'd say Team Disgruntled pulled in a third-place trophy. Co-Captains Mommy and Daddy both got to shower despite waking up an hour late, so I'd say this morning's practice run dropping off went well. Let's hope the picking up goes just as good.

Aaaaand...

2007-11-05T10:31:00.001-05:00

We have our first cold. As expected, little d is not taking it well.

I'll tell you seven things about me, but that's it.

2007-11-04T00:11:00.000-04:00

The rules I'm breaking:

# Link to the person who tagged you.
# List 7 facts/habits about yourself.
# Tag 7 other people and link to their blog.
# Let them know they've been tagged.

Habit: I put exactly six strokes of deodorant on each pit for a total of twelve stank-blocking swipes. If I accidentally swipe on one or two more strokes on one side, I will go back and swipe the other side so both sides have the same number. Some call that super neurotic, I prefer to call it super hygienic.

Fact: I'm blind as a bat without my contacts/glasses.

Habit: I tickle my arm and neck in my sleep... or so I'm told.

Fact: I love green olives. Love them. The bigger and saltier, the better. Hate black olives, though. And, yeah, I know what you're thinking, but I said big, salty olives, not Schwetty Balls.

Habit: I pull on a chunk of hair near the back of my neck when I'm nervous or bored. I have curly hair, but I've literally pulled the curl right out of this particular section, resulting in a chunk of hair that's permanently straight. Luckily it's toward the back of my neck and underneath the rest of my hair.

Fact: I enjoy startling people (and also small house pets... like say, asshole cats who don't belong on the counter top).

Habit: I don't always follow (or read, for that matter) directions. Case in point: this meme. I don't mind being tagged, but I hate tagging other people. Mostly because I'm lazy. Hey, at least I'm honest.

Fact: I hate being poked or tickled, but I love to poke and tickle other people.

Deux.

2007-11-02T22:10:00.000-04:00

We had our two month checkup today. 11 lbs. 13 oz. 23 1/2 inches long. And still keeping his mamma on her toes.