My best friend and fellow blogger, Nadine, had her first baby a few days ago. She ended up having a rather unexpected c-section, so she's been in the hospital since her adorable new daughter's birth. I've made an effort to go see her as often as I can, and on Wednesday night, that meant dragging my own kids along.
The juxtaposition of being a veteran mom crowded in a small space with my own two children and a tiny newborn baby and her newly minted mommy cued me in to a few things I hadn't realized before.
Let's call them mom superpowers. It sounds better than "shit I can do without really thinking about it now that I've been chasing around rugrats for 5 years straight". Here are some skills I didn't realize I had until that day, in that room, with that sweet new baby:
Split-Second Decision Making: I guess I should be more specific. I have in no way mastered the art of making MOST decisions in any sort of highly effective manner. It's really just ONE extremely specific decision that moms with multiple children learn to master. The decision of who to drop (spoiler alert: it's always the bigger one!).
You see, there comes a point when your toddler is in the "reachy, grabby, HOLD ME ALL THE TIME OMG NOW" phase, and it always coincides exactly with your older kid's "who does that bitch think she is, I WAS THE BABY FIRST- HOLD ME" phase. And sure, you try to be fair. You try to hold them both (because obviously this is not an issue of fairly split time. It's about wanting to be held at the exact second your sibling is being held). But there will come a point, dragging your two kids around the house, where one of them starts to slip and you gotta make that decision. Who do you let slide out of your grip and ever-so-gently ... you know, drop on the fucking ground? Anyway, that day with my kids, holding a much tinier baby than my own, Alex got the drop for probably one of the first times in her life. Sorry kid. Maybe you should talk to your sister about your obvious feelings of betrayal.
Mind Reading: There are certain instincts as a parent that you develop about your kids. You become really familiar with their temperments, their personalities, and what you can expect of them in almost any given situation. For example, I fully expected it when Caitlyn started loudly sobbing into the microphone in the KFC drive-thru because her mean, mean mommy was getting chicken for dinner instead of the McDonald's she so desperately wanted and definitely deserved. I might as well have fed her the tears of her baby sister, for the way she reacted to that great injustice.
Anyway, I realized how fine-tuned this skill had become while we visited baby Elizabeth. Everyone knows you have to be really careful when you introduce a toddler to literally anything and everything even slightly more fragile than they are. Toddlers are gods of destruction and they are not to be trusted. That said, to call Alex a bit precocious would be a huge understatement. Alex is well advanced for her age and she can and does understand and follow direction most of the time. So while I was certainly cautious about letting her touch a newborn baby, I also knew I could explain to her that she had to be gentle with her new cousin. And she was. But as it goes with toddlers and impulse control, that did not stop her from getting momentarily distracted and forgetting the rules. It was a split second decision she made, to try to rip the baby's face off, but I saw it coming. My mom Spidey sense perked up and her little hand and inexplicably constantly razor sharp nails hadn't even made it halfway to the baby's delicate face by the time I stopped her.
And I've saved the most important skill for last, of course...
Ability to Tune Out a Screaming Child: In my loud, frantic world, I didn't even realize this was a skill I possessed. I suppose it's one thing to tune out an individual loud noise without it so much as interrupting your conversation. It's a little harder when you're getting it in stereo from two kids, while simultaneously being asked to resolve whatever the fuck is making them screech at each other in the first place. The little one snatches the big one's toy. The big one starts whining and snatches it back. The little one starts crying while the big one gloats at her obvious size advantage in the toy snatching game. The little one starts pawing and grunting at you because she's upset. The big one starts justifying- "but she took it from me first!"... and eventually you tell everyone to shut up and threaten to take all the toys away if they don't both knock it off.
But that's not really my point. In the relative quiet of a hospital room, where the big one was quietly playing with my phone and letting me coo at the new baby and chat with my friend, it was easy to ignore the little one, who was clearly jealous that I was holding another baby and screeching and whining and grabbing at my legs because she wanted me to pick her up instead. I barely even noticed it, until the new baby also started crying and Nadine- who was clearly exhausted, stressed, and trying to get to know her own baby's cues and needs, not to mention recovering from a c-section- gave me her best "please make it stop or I'm kicking your entire family out of my room" look. I picked up Alex and did manage to calm her down. But I couldn't help but think it was a little funny how I barely noticed it, while Nadine had clearly been pushed to the brink of insanity by the two babies crying in stereo. It's an acquired skill, I guess. You spend so much of the first few months of your kids' lives trying to figure out why/stop them from crying that it doesn't even occur to you that sometimes you can just pretend like you don't hear it.
I suppose I'll end on that spectacular piece of parenting advise- "if your kid is screaming, just pretend like you don't hear them".
Showing posts with label nadine. Show all posts
Showing posts with label nadine. Show all posts
Friday, June 5, 2015
Monday, February 23, 2015
Baby Shower Family Feud
It's been a while.
On the one hand, a lot of the nonsense in my life is finally calming down. It seems like my court battles are finally over for now- they didn't go how I would have liked, but for better or worse, this is the first time in a year that I do not have a court date looming in the near future, and that's a relief. So the bad stuff is finally starting to feel manageable.
That doesn't mean that I'm not busy to a ridiculous degree, though. I'm really excited about the next few months. I'm going on a desperately needed vacation in 2 weeks. Then, in May my baby sister is getting married. But what I'm most excited about right now is that my best friend will be joining the ranks of motherhood in June.
Naturally, I'm planning a baby shower for her, which is actually one of the reasons I'm posting today. I need some help with a game I'm putting together for the shower. I'm doing a pregnancy/parenting related "Family Feud" game. For those who never watched Family Feud, the premise of the game is that they ask 100 random people a bunch of questions and then rank the answers based on how many people gave a particular answer, then the contestants have to guess which answers were given by those 100 people, and they get points based on the number of people whose answers match their guesses.
Anyway. I'd like the answers to be given by people who AREN'T going to the shower, because I think it'll be more fun that way, so I'm asking for your help. I'm posting the questions below and asking for your answers- either in comments or via email at hamburgercheeks57@gmail.com . Like I said, ideally I would like to get 100 people to answer these questions for me, so please pass them along to anyone else who wouldn't mind answering them for me. Thank you all in advance for your help (and I promise to post again soon, with more dirty details on my court debacle and updates on my girls!)!
On the one hand, a lot of the nonsense in my life is finally calming down. It seems like my court battles are finally over for now- they didn't go how I would have liked, but for better or worse, this is the first time in a year that I do not have a court date looming in the near future, and that's a relief. So the bad stuff is finally starting to feel manageable.
That doesn't mean that I'm not busy to a ridiculous degree, though. I'm really excited about the next few months. I'm going on a desperately needed vacation in 2 weeks. Then, in May my baby sister is getting married. But what I'm most excited about right now is that my best friend will be joining the ranks of motherhood in June.
Naturally, I'm planning a baby shower for her, which is actually one of the reasons I'm posting today. I need some help with a game I'm putting together for the shower. I'm doing a pregnancy/parenting related "Family Feud" game. For those who never watched Family Feud, the premise of the game is that they ask 100 random people a bunch of questions and then rank the answers based on how many people gave a particular answer, then the contestants have to guess which answers were given by those 100 people, and they get points based on the number of people whose answers match their guesses.
Anyway. I'd like the answers to be given by people who AREN'T going to the shower, because I think it'll be more fun that way, so I'm asking for your help. I'm posting the questions below and asking for your answers- either in comments or via email at hamburgercheeks57@gmail.com . Like I said, ideally I would like to get 100 people to answer these questions for me, so please pass them along to anyone else who wouldn't mind answering them for me. Thank you all in advance for your help (and I promise to post again soon, with more dirty details on my court debacle and updates on my girls!)!
1. Name
something moms are always covered in.
2. Name
a reason a baby might be crying.
3. Name
a reason a 4 year old might be crying.
4. When
you have a child, peace and quiet is ______.
5. Ever
since I had kids, I’m turning into _______.
6. Name
something a mom wouldn’t want to leave the house without.
7. Name
a common pregnancy symptom.
8. Name
something offensive a stranger might say to a pregnant woman.
9. Name
something moms can’t live without.
10. Name
something moms do when they are in labor.
11. Name
something men do when their wife is in labor.
12. Name
something a girl’s dad has to worry about that a boy’s dad doesn’t.
13. Name
a tv show that kids love to watch.
14. Name
a tv show that moms HATE to watch.
15. Name
something a pregnant woman shouldn’t do/eat.
16. Name
a common pregnancy myth.
17. Name
a word or phrase people only use when they’re talking about pregnancy.
18. How
much sleep does the average mom get?
19. Name
a parenting choice moms commonly disagree about.
20. Name
something you (wrongly) swore you would never do/let your kids do before you
had any actual kids.
21. Name
something your parents did when you were a child that would get them into a lot
of trouble today.
22. Name
your favorite children’s book
Wednesday, June 13, 2012
My Vagina Shriveled Up and Died Yesterday. You Know, Probably.
You know that saying about things "getting better with age"? You know, like wine and cheese and Angus fucking beef? In case you are in your early 20s and you actually believe that shit, let me assure you that it is a lie.
I turned 30 yesterday. Remember when birthdays were something you looked forward to? Your special day. Let's break down birthdays, shall we?
Ages 1-4: You had very little say in these birthdays, and you probably don't even remember them, but let me assure you that they were awesome. Your parents went overboard. There were maybe a dozen people you actually gave a shit about, and the novelty of your birthday had not yet worn off for them, so they always showed up. With awesome presents (because, really, what ISN'T awesome when you are 3? Nothing. There is nothing you wouldn't play with. Your guests could show up with 2 pens in a cardboard box and you would have thought that was the greatest gift ever and spent hours playing with your 2 pens). And there were balloons. And cake. Yeah. These birthdays were pretty fucking sweet.
Ages 5-9: At this point, you probably had a favorite something. TV show, cartoon character, whatever. And so your parents would buy paper plates and cups featuring your favorite thing and bags of shitty little plastic toys because it is easy as fuck to make a 7 year old happy. You would have a little party in your house or backyard and everyone would sing Happy Birthday. Then you would eat your body weight in cake and ice cream and drink a gallon of soda. Because you were the birthday girl and no one was going to tell you that you couldn't. And that was just the weekend celebration. A few days before or a few days after, your mom would bring cupcakes and Capri Sun to your school so EVERYONE would know it was your birthday. Cupcakes and Capri Sun are the shit.
Ages 10-13: You probably didn't get cupcakes and Capri Sun days at school anymore, but you still got a party of your choosing. Instead of cake and balloons with family and friends, you invited a few of your school friends over for a "cool" party. It was probably a slumber party. And even though you had that one friend with the overbearing mom who wouldn't let her sleep over your house even though you knew her for half her life, it was still fun. You would play games and dance and do each other's makeup. Slumber parties were awesome.
Ages 14-17: You officially thought you were "too cool/old" for birthday parties. You insisted that no one throw a party for you, even though you secretly hoped they would. And really, you knew they would never actually not throw a party for you. Even if it was just your immediate family with cake and presents, they still made a big enough deal to make you feel special. Even the "too cool" years were fun!
Age 18: You could now buy porn and cigarettes. Which is okay, I guess, but you probably waxed aloud at least once about the fact that your friends should have taken you on a road trip to Canada where you could now legally drink. Since no one was actually going to take you to Canada, you instead took your first trip to the "porn store", where they surprisingly never asked for your ID even after you and your friends spent way too much time giggling. This is also the day that you learned that fisting is actually a thing that people want to happen to them. Enough people that the porn store has a giant fist dildo that must have been in great enough demand that they actually carry such a thing. Fisting. Your 18th birthday is primarily about Canada and fisting.
Ages 19-20: You wish you were 21 already. Maybe you go to an 18-and-over club because you are not yet old enough to realize how utterly awful they are. 18-and-over clubs are like the fisting of your 19th and 20th birthdays. If you learned your lesson at 19, maybe you got your friend's boyfriend with the beard to make a run to the shady liquor store that everyone (except the cops, apparently) knew would sell to you even if you were underage for your 20th birthday. Ill-gotten booze makes your 20th birthday a triumph. A drunken, maybe-someone-will-puke-in-your-house TRIUMPH.
Age 21: YOU ARE OLD ENOUGH TO DRINK NOW. GO TO A BAR. Oh, by the way, bars are expensive. And more than likely, only about half your friends are actually old enough to go with you. The other half are too broke to go. Remember how your 20th birthday was a triumph? Try to recreate that with a house party. Except now YOU can make the liquor run. 21st birthday? SUCCESS. Maybe not what you expected, but a success none the less.
Age 22-24: Keep trying to plan that bar birthday you were hoping for when you turned 21. All your friends are old enough now, but they are all still too broke to pay $8 a pop for drinks. House party? HOUSE PARTY. Several drinks in, every year, without fail, you will realize you do not have any more fun birthdays on the horizon. You are slowly coasting towards 30, aka, the end of your youth. You will cry about this at least one of these years. The other 2 will be awesome.
Age 25: You realize you are now closer to 30 than 20. Fuck. Your friends could probably afford to go out drinking now, but you don't even want to. You remember the 18-and-over club from your 19th birthday and how shitty it was and how much younger everyone was then. You definitely will not be going to a club. Maybe a bar? I don't know... doesn't it seem like clubs are something young people do and bars are something old people do? I guess you are old now. You will probably end up at Applebees with your best friend, drinking watered down sugary drinks and eating half-priced appetizers. This is the absolute LAST year that this is acceptable.
Ages 26-29: You no longer want to celebrate your birthday at all. You still want presents though. You realize that your mom is the only person who has even thought to give you a present in the last 8 years or so, because everyone else was just pooling their money for alcohol. Now you would like some presents, thank you very much. But maybe give them to me some other day? For some other occasion? You know what? Just forget the presents. No need to mark how close I'm getting to 30.
Age 30: Plan something fun/awesome. You have money to do things now and everyone you know insists on commemorating the slaughter of your youth. Eagerly anticipate fun/awesome, right up until a week or so before your birthday. The thoughts of fun/awesome are then clouded over by the thoughts of what am I doing with my life/IS THAT A FUCKING WRINKLE???? Cry daily. Make major life changes/have third-life crisis (yes. Third. I refuse to call it a mid-life crisis. Fuck that. Mid NOTHING).
I can't say my actual birthday was terribly shitty. I mean, I had to work. Because that's another thing about those 18-25 birthdays (especially summer birthdays like mine): You and your friends will ditch work to do fun shit. But I'm fucking 30 now, and so are most of my friends. Bitch got bills to pay and a kid to diaper. No one was ditching work to dick around all afternoon. But after work, Rodolfo took me to dinner and got me a cake (yeah... it IS kinda weird to have a birthday dinner with my estranged husband. I know.). He also got me a really nice present (because only being nice to your wife after she decides to leave you is not weird at all, apparently). And I guess I only cried a little bit. Next weekend, Nadine is taking me out drinking. To a bar. Like proper adults/old people. Because sometimes you have to push your birthday weekend back a bit because of conflicting plans. That is just what grown-ups do.
Anyway. So here I am. 30. Ick. But I survived it.
I turned 30 yesterday. Remember when birthdays were something you looked forward to? Your special day. Let's break down birthdays, shall we?
Ages 1-4: You had very little say in these birthdays, and you probably don't even remember them, but let me assure you that they were awesome. Your parents went overboard. There were maybe a dozen people you actually gave a shit about, and the novelty of your birthday had not yet worn off for them, so they always showed up. With awesome presents (because, really, what ISN'T awesome when you are 3? Nothing. There is nothing you wouldn't play with. Your guests could show up with 2 pens in a cardboard box and you would have thought that was the greatest gift ever and spent hours playing with your 2 pens). And there were balloons. And cake. Yeah. These birthdays were pretty fucking sweet.
Ages 5-9: At this point, you probably had a favorite something. TV show, cartoon character, whatever. And so your parents would buy paper plates and cups featuring your favorite thing and bags of shitty little plastic toys because it is easy as fuck to make a 7 year old happy. You would have a little party in your house or backyard and everyone would sing Happy Birthday. Then you would eat your body weight in cake and ice cream and drink a gallon of soda. Because you were the birthday girl and no one was going to tell you that you couldn't. And that was just the weekend celebration. A few days before or a few days after, your mom would bring cupcakes and Capri Sun to your school so EVERYONE would know it was your birthday. Cupcakes and Capri Sun are the shit.
Ages 10-13: You probably didn't get cupcakes and Capri Sun days at school anymore, but you still got a party of your choosing. Instead of cake and balloons with family and friends, you invited a few of your school friends over for a "cool" party. It was probably a slumber party. And even though you had that one friend with the overbearing mom who wouldn't let her sleep over your house even though you knew her for half her life, it was still fun. You would play games and dance and do each other's makeup. Slumber parties were awesome.
Ages 14-17: You officially thought you were "too cool/old" for birthday parties. You insisted that no one throw a party for you, even though you secretly hoped they would. And really, you knew they would never actually not throw a party for you. Even if it was just your immediate family with cake and presents, they still made a big enough deal to make you feel special. Even the "too cool" years were fun!
Age 18: You could now buy porn and cigarettes. Which is okay, I guess, but you probably waxed aloud at least once about the fact that your friends should have taken you on a road trip to Canada where you could now legally drink. Since no one was actually going to take you to Canada, you instead took your first trip to the "porn store", where they surprisingly never asked for your ID even after you and your friends spent way too much time giggling. This is also the day that you learned that fisting is actually a thing that people want to happen to them. Enough people that the porn store has a giant fist dildo that must have been in great enough demand that they actually carry such a thing. Fisting. Your 18th birthday is primarily about Canada and fisting.
Ages 19-20: You wish you were 21 already. Maybe you go to an 18-and-over club because you are not yet old enough to realize how utterly awful they are. 18-and-over clubs are like the fisting of your 19th and 20th birthdays. If you learned your lesson at 19, maybe you got your friend's boyfriend with the beard to make a run to the shady liquor store that everyone (except the cops, apparently) knew would sell to you even if you were underage for your 20th birthday. Ill-gotten booze makes your 20th birthday a triumph. A drunken, maybe-someone-will-puke-in-your-house TRIUMPH.
Age 21: YOU ARE OLD ENOUGH TO DRINK NOW. GO TO A BAR. Oh, by the way, bars are expensive. And more than likely, only about half your friends are actually old enough to go with you. The other half are too broke to go. Remember how your 20th birthday was a triumph? Try to recreate that with a house party. Except now YOU can make the liquor run. 21st birthday? SUCCESS. Maybe not what you expected, but a success none the less.
Age 22-24: Keep trying to plan that bar birthday you were hoping for when you turned 21. All your friends are old enough now, but they are all still too broke to pay $8 a pop for drinks. House party? HOUSE PARTY. Several drinks in, every year, without fail, you will realize you do not have any more fun birthdays on the horizon. You are slowly coasting towards 30, aka, the end of your youth. You will cry about this at least one of these years. The other 2 will be awesome.
Age 25: You realize you are now closer to 30 than 20. Fuck. Your friends could probably afford to go out drinking now, but you don't even want to. You remember the 18-and-over club from your 19th birthday and how shitty it was and how much younger everyone was then. You definitely will not be going to a club. Maybe a bar? I don't know... doesn't it seem like clubs are something young people do and bars are something old people do? I guess you are old now. You will probably end up at Applebees with your best friend, drinking watered down sugary drinks and eating half-priced appetizers. This is the absolute LAST year that this is acceptable.
Ages 26-29: You no longer want to celebrate your birthday at all. You still want presents though. You realize that your mom is the only person who has even thought to give you a present in the last 8 years or so, because everyone else was just pooling their money for alcohol. Now you would like some presents, thank you very much. But maybe give them to me some other day? For some other occasion? You know what? Just forget the presents. No need to mark how close I'm getting to 30.
Age 30: Plan something fun/awesome. You have money to do things now and everyone you know insists on commemorating the slaughter of your youth. Eagerly anticipate fun/awesome, right up until a week or so before your birthday. The thoughts of fun/awesome are then clouded over by the thoughts of what am I doing with my life/IS THAT A FUCKING WRINKLE???? Cry daily. Make major life changes/have third-life crisis (yes. Third. I refuse to call it a mid-life crisis. Fuck that. Mid NOTHING).
I can't say my actual birthday was terribly shitty. I mean, I had to work. Because that's another thing about those 18-25 birthdays (especially summer birthdays like mine): You and your friends will ditch work to do fun shit. But I'm fucking 30 now, and so are most of my friends. Bitch got bills to pay and a kid to diaper. No one was ditching work to dick around all afternoon. But after work, Rodolfo took me to dinner and got me a cake (yeah... it IS kinda weird to have a birthday dinner with my estranged husband. I know.). He also got me a really nice present (because only being nice to your wife after she decides to leave you is not weird at all, apparently). And I guess I only cried a little bit. Next weekend, Nadine is taking me out drinking. To a bar. Like proper adults/old people. Because sometimes you have to push your birthday weekend back a bit because of conflicting plans. That is just what grown-ups do.
Anyway. So here I am. 30. Ick. But I survived it.
Labels:
birthday,
blame it on the a-a-a-a-a-alcohol,
nadine
Friday, June 1, 2012
Eleven Things and 100 Posts
I guess I should start by commenting on where I've been. Sleeping. Actually, no. NOT sleeping is much more accurate. Basically I've been buzzing through life like a fucking zombie because I feel like I haven't slept in 10 years.
Caitlyn may or may not be getting her last round of molars. She's been whiny and just EXTRA toddler for the last few weeks. Extra. All the toddler.
The main problem is her sleeping habits. They are fucking awful. I had finally gotten her out of the habit of sleeping in my bed and over the last week or two we just reverted right back. Because she screams and cries and begs until I pick her up. And it used to be that once she was asleep we could put her back in her crib, but not anymore. She wakes up at least 3 times every night crying, and I'm so run-down and exhausted that I just dump her into bed with me so I won't have to get up to comfort her the next time she wakes up.
Sleeping with a toddler is the worst. She's already a restless sleeper and whatever has been bothering her makes her toss and turn all night long. If regularly getting kicked in the face in the middle of the night wasn't bad enough, I've also found that sleeping next to her is a lot like what I imagine it would feel like to sleep pressed up against a space heater. I wake up just about every morning drenched in sweat.
Since I haven't been updating much, I should probably also point out that the sweating at night thing isn't only about Caitlyn. I've been on my MS meds for over a month now. I was really worried about the side effects, and that I would feel like shit all the time, but the sweating has been the only regular side effect I've had. I'm doing really well on them, in fact.
So. Next things... next. I got tagged over at The Last Oyster. I'm new to her blog, but she's cool and funny. You should check her out. Anyway, I have to tell you 11 things about myself, then answer the questions she asked of me. Then I have to tag some of you bitches and create 11 questions for you to answer. Should be way more interesting than the rest of this post:
Eleven things about me:
1. I have a bunch of weird little phrases and words I use that make absolutely no sense in the context in which I use them, or they are completely made up and are only funny to me. Examples? "Dumparoos", "The Brown Cow", "So is your face", "Aces 10 Bojangles", "Everyone hates you", "Facepunch/Mouthfart" and the newly crowned princess of awesomeness "Dirt Floor Whore".
2. Accessories are my own personal nemesis. I have an oddly shaped head (or a gigantic one? Probably a gigantic one) and so hats never fit me right and sunglasses always look weird and I just never wear jewelry. My accessoriless life is sad one.
3. I hate it so much when people combine two different names and give their baby some made-up bullshit name. There are literally THOUSANDS of options. Just pick a normal name. Also? You aren't unique and neither is Jessilynda (Dear Jessilynda, Please don't send me hate mail. My beef is not with you, it's with your mom. Snuggles, Jaclyn).
4. I have an irrational fear of people knowing how tone deaf I am. I have to be really, really (no seriously. REALLY REALLY) drunk to do karaoke.
5. Any time someone asks me what kind of music I like, I tell them I only like shitty music. It's mostly this weird thing of not being able to resist liking something after I've heard it a dozen or so times. Fucking pop music, man.
6. Yesterday, I was cooking dinner and Caitlyn walked up to me and handed me something. It was a piece of poop.
7. I'm a little bit of a science nerd. I find medical stuff and genetics really interesting (not interesting enough, though, to get any sort of degree and put that curiousity to work in a field where I could make a shit-ton of money. Nah. I'd rather just be a receptionist who blogs.).
8. I have a weird sort of... fear, I guess? Of chemicals. If I'm cleaning something with Windex or 409 or anything like that, I hold my breath. The smell of bleach makes me want to scrape out my nostril hairs because I'm convinced they are holding the stank in my nose (when I reread this to edit the post, I added the reason why bleach makes me want to scrape out my nostril hairs, because it occured to me that I maybe sounded like a schizophrenic who was convinced that they were in cahoots with the bleach to poison me). I yell at Rodolfo when he uses air freshener. I'm at work right now and they are doing some sort of "chemical cleaning" of the air conditioning system and I'm 83% sure that I'm developing a tumor as we speak. On the other side of this coin, I also think that hand sanitizer is ruining lives. I'm not evenly remotely weirded out by germs and other naturally occurring stuff that my body has had generations of evolution to learn to fight off. I think people who use hand santizer are underevolved bitch babies. But Pine Sol? It might as well be a bottle of Polio (and I know Nadine is going to say blah blah blah "Method" so I'd like her to know that I recently invested in some Method cleaning supplies and I love them and also they are pretty).
9. Coming up with eleven things is getting kinda tedious.
10. Number 9? Total cop-out.
11. Do you remember that song from that fake band that MTV made up during the boy band craze of the late 90s? U+ME=US. I KNOW MY CALCULUS. Seriously though? That was kinda awesome.
1. Why do you blog? Did you read my "about" page? God, you are such a lazy whore. Ok. But mostly I blog because I have the coolest kid on the planet and as an adult I've always been curious about my own mom's inner monologue from when I was a kid. So I figure this is my monologue for Caitlyn to read when she's old enough to realize I'm not the most uncool person on the entire planet. Or for when she realizes she wants to embrace my uncoolness. Or for when her own toddler is kicking her in the face every fucking night.
2. Dream job: This, I guess? If I could get someone to pay me to write and shit. Obviously I want Caitlyn to see this blog one day, but I could write down all the dumb shit I think in a journal for her or something if I didn't truly enjoy the fact that people like what I have to say and think I'm funny and shit. So, I guess what I'm saying is that I'd like to get super-Bloggess famous and write a book or something. But like, the kind of famous that only writers can be, where lots of people know your name but you still maintain enough anonymity that you can eat in the mall food court without needing a security detail. Actually, you know what? Fuck it. I want the security detail too. I want to be so famous and so beloved that Born Again Christians think I'm the Antichrist (as they do with everyone cooler then them ::coughbarackobamacough::).
3. Favorite Canadian (this is just a test-the answer is not Celine Dion): Ninja, obviously. But can we talk about Canadians and non-Canadians for a minute here? I like to bust Ninja's balls about the extra U's she puts in words that do not need a U (for example, I had to delete a U from the word favorite when I pasted these questions, because apparently BNo is also Canadian. Stop thinking you are fancy, Canada. We don't want your U's). Anyway, I have this... let's call her an aquaintance on Facebook. We went to high school together. She is very much from the USA. She is also very much too old to be deliberately misspelling words so as to appear a certain way (smarter? I think she thinks it makes her look smarter. Fail, aquaintance. Fail). And so I want to punch her through the medium that is Facebook when she puts U's in words that do not require U's. Wouldn't it be great if instead of "like", you could "punch" someone? My life will be complete when Zuckerberg adds the ability to status punch the assholes I went to high school with.
4. Beer, wine or hard liquor? Hard liquor. And honestly, it's a good thing because beer and wine are disgusting. Seriously, why would I ever want to drink something that is fucking fermented? I do not put fermented anything in my mouth. I certainly would not put a fermented dick in my mouth, so why would I ever drink wine? Also? If we were having a debate about the pros and cons of drinking wine, I just won it. Fermented dick wins all arguments. Also, I feel like someone is going to tell me that all alcohol is fermented, but I don't give enough fucks to even Google it. I still win. I don't care about your "logical argument".
5. Favorite book: This answer is going to make me sound like a moron. Up until a few years ago, I was pretty convinced that I did not have the attention span to read books. I would read lots of magazines and online articles, but until recently, when I realized I do not have the time, money or childcare available to do cool shit outside of my house, I never really read books. I've read a few recently though, my favorite being, typically, The Hunger Games trilogy. If anyone has suggestions, I will happily take them (except for Nicholas Sparks. I will puke in your hair if you recommend Nicholas Sparks).
6. Reality TV as the death of well-written comedy and drama-discuss. Nadine keeps insisting that I watch "Jersey Shore", but I say no way. I don't need to see "The Syphulation" doing body shots out of some skank's belly button. I think it's to a point that you have to pay for good TV. Which is why I abuse Nadine's HBO Go to watch Girls (which is where "dirt floor whore" originates. If that isn't reason enough to watch, nothing is ever going to be good enough for you. I don't think you're cool and your mother is poor) and I pay for Showtime to watch Dexter. Dexter is a fucking amazing show, with the exception of the story arc they set up this past season where he starts fucking his sister (Dear Dexter writers: If you think this is a storyline the fans have been clamoring for, let me clear this up for you. No one wants to see him fuck his sister. No one. Never ever. Thanks! Love, A Devoted, Non-Incest-Loving Fan). While we are on the subject though, I'd like to blame reality TV for the destruction of one of my favorite shows, Lost. I'm pretty sure that during the last two seasons of Lost, the writers simply said "fuck it. You know, we've put a lot of effort into this shit and these idiots are watching The fucking Bachelor. Let's slap our balls together over a dictionary and whatever words the drops of our ballsweat fall on will be the plot line this season.". In case it's unclear, I was dissatisfied with the ending of Lost.
7. What do you talk to your spouse about once there's nothing left to talk about? Yesterday Rodolfo asked me if I was dating someone else. Because apparently the fact that I've left him couldn't possibly be about anything he's done wrong. It's obviously because I'm a whore who is fucking all the dudes (bitterness. You're welcome).
8. Favorite type of book: I haven't decided. I always think I would enjoy a good mystery, but then I'll decide against it because it will probably be all scary and suspenseful and I spend enough of my time worrying about serial killers and not getting enough sleep.
9. First thing you would do if you won the lottery: First thing? I'd buy houses for myself and my family and friends. But the coolest thing I'd like to do? Well, as you may remember, I was really poor as a kid. Projects poor. We lived in the projects for most of my childhood. A lot of people hear the word "projects" and assume that everyone who lives there has a drug problem or some other vice that landed them in the poor house. And that is the case a lot of times. But then there are people like my mom. People who didn't have the opportunity to get a really good job because they lacked a college degree. People with deadbeat baby daddies who don't do a single thing to make sure their kids are fed and clothed and housed. People who deserve for something good to finally happen to them. So if I won the lottery, I would go to the projects where I grew up and find someone like my mom and give them a million dollars.
My questions for you:
1. Who wronged you this week? Go ahead, vent. You know you want to.
2. Top 5 bangable celebrities
3. 5 completely unbangable celebrities (for the record, I don't get the whole Ryan Gosling thing. I guess he's not technically "unbangable", but I wouldn't hit it. At all. Please don't chase me with sticks. It had to be said).
4. Tell me the story of the drunkest you've ever been. If you don't remember all the details, feel free to make some shit up.
5. What did you want to be when you grew up? How is that working out for you? Please tell me why you failed to reach the goals you set for yourself when you were 8.
6. You have to be in a room with Newt Gingrich for an hour. Do you end it all?
7. Song you hate the most and why.
8. First and last name of the first boy you ever had a huge crush on, so when that narcissitic asshole Googles himself, he will know all your private shame.
9. Do you like me? Circle one ---- yes no I like you so much I know your social security number
10. Why did the chicken cross the road (I suspect hallucinogens but please tell me your theories)?
11. Hot air balloon or white water raft? (I'm not even going to give you context here. Tell me a good story)
Tagged: Nadine, Ninja, Noa, Jen, Misty, Gia, Gweenbrick, Johi, Kendall
Last business of the day: THIS IS MY 100th POST. You're welcome! But seriously, thanks to my faithful readers. I love you and all your comments, and even when I don't have the chance to respond to them, please know that I read them all and very much look forward to them.
Caitlyn may or may not be getting her last round of molars. She's been whiny and just EXTRA toddler for the last few weeks. Extra. All the toddler.
The main problem is her sleeping habits. They are fucking awful. I had finally gotten her out of the habit of sleeping in my bed and over the last week or two we just reverted right back. Because she screams and cries and begs until I pick her up. And it used to be that once she was asleep we could put her back in her crib, but not anymore. She wakes up at least 3 times every night crying, and I'm so run-down and exhausted that I just dump her into bed with me so I won't have to get up to comfort her the next time she wakes up.
Sleeping with a toddler is the worst. She's already a restless sleeper and whatever has been bothering her makes her toss and turn all night long. If regularly getting kicked in the face in the middle of the night wasn't bad enough, I've also found that sleeping next to her is a lot like what I imagine it would feel like to sleep pressed up against a space heater. I wake up just about every morning drenched in sweat.
Since I haven't been updating much, I should probably also point out that the sweating at night thing isn't only about Caitlyn. I've been on my MS meds for over a month now. I was really worried about the side effects, and that I would feel like shit all the time, but the sweating has been the only regular side effect I've had. I'm doing really well on them, in fact.
So. Next things... next. I got tagged over at The Last Oyster. I'm new to her blog, but she's cool and funny. You should check her out. Anyway, I have to tell you 11 things about myself, then answer the questions she asked of me. Then I have to tag some of you bitches and create 11 questions for you to answer. Should be way more interesting than the rest of this post:
Eleven things about me:
1. I have a bunch of weird little phrases and words I use that make absolutely no sense in the context in which I use them, or they are completely made up and are only funny to me. Examples? "Dumparoos", "The Brown Cow", "So is your face", "Aces 10 Bojangles", "Everyone hates you", "Facepunch/Mouthfart" and the newly crowned princess of awesomeness "Dirt Floor Whore".
2. Accessories are my own personal nemesis. I have an oddly shaped head (or a gigantic one? Probably a gigantic one) and so hats never fit me right and sunglasses always look weird and I just never wear jewelry. My accessoriless life is sad one.
3. I hate it so much when people combine two different names and give their baby some made-up bullshit name. There are literally THOUSANDS of options. Just pick a normal name. Also? You aren't unique and neither is Jessilynda (Dear Jessilynda, Please don't send me hate mail. My beef is not with you, it's with your mom. Snuggles, Jaclyn).
4. I have an irrational fear of people knowing how tone deaf I am. I have to be really, really (no seriously. REALLY REALLY) drunk to do karaoke.
5. Any time someone asks me what kind of music I like, I tell them I only like shitty music. It's mostly this weird thing of not being able to resist liking something after I've heard it a dozen or so times. Fucking pop music, man.
6. Yesterday, I was cooking dinner and Caitlyn walked up to me and handed me something. It was a piece of poop.
7. I'm a little bit of a science nerd. I find medical stuff and genetics really interesting (not interesting enough, though, to get any sort of degree and put that curiousity to work in a field where I could make a shit-ton of money. Nah. I'd rather just be a receptionist who blogs.).
8. I have a weird sort of... fear, I guess? Of chemicals. If I'm cleaning something with Windex or 409 or anything like that, I hold my breath. The smell of bleach makes me want to scrape out my nostril hairs because I'm convinced they are holding the stank in my nose (when I reread this to edit the post, I added the reason why bleach makes me want to scrape out my nostril hairs, because it occured to me that I maybe sounded like a schizophrenic who was convinced that they were in cahoots with the bleach to poison me). I yell at Rodolfo when he uses air freshener. I'm at work right now and they are doing some sort of "chemical cleaning" of the air conditioning system and I'm 83% sure that I'm developing a tumor as we speak. On the other side of this coin, I also think that hand sanitizer is ruining lives. I'm not evenly remotely weirded out by germs and other naturally occurring stuff that my body has had generations of evolution to learn to fight off. I think people who use hand santizer are underevolved bitch babies. But Pine Sol? It might as well be a bottle of Polio (and I know Nadine is going to say blah blah blah "Method" so I'd like her to know that I recently invested in some Method cleaning supplies and I love them and also they are pretty).
9. Coming up with eleven things is getting kinda tedious.
10. Number 9? Total cop-out.
11. Do you remember that song from that fake band that MTV made up during the boy band craze of the late 90s? U+ME=US. I KNOW MY CALCULUS. Seriously though? That was kinda awesome.
1. Why do you blog? Did you read my "about" page? God, you are such a lazy whore. Ok. But mostly I blog because I have the coolest kid on the planet and as an adult I've always been curious about my own mom's inner monologue from when I was a kid. So I figure this is my monologue for Caitlyn to read when she's old enough to realize I'm not the most uncool person on the entire planet. Or for when she realizes she wants to embrace my uncoolness. Or for when her own toddler is kicking her in the face every fucking night.
2. Dream job: This, I guess? If I could get someone to pay me to write and shit. Obviously I want Caitlyn to see this blog one day, but I could write down all the dumb shit I think in a journal for her or something if I didn't truly enjoy the fact that people like what I have to say and think I'm funny and shit. So, I guess what I'm saying is that I'd like to get super-Bloggess famous and write a book or something. But like, the kind of famous that only writers can be, where lots of people know your name but you still maintain enough anonymity that you can eat in the mall food court without needing a security detail. Actually, you know what? Fuck it. I want the security detail too. I want to be so famous and so beloved that Born Again Christians think I'm the Antichrist (as they do with everyone cooler then them ::coughbarackobamacough::).
3. Favorite Canadian (this is just a test-the answer is not Celine Dion): Ninja, obviously. But can we talk about Canadians and non-Canadians for a minute here? I like to bust Ninja's balls about the extra U's she puts in words that do not need a U (for example, I had to delete a U from the word favorite when I pasted these questions, because apparently BNo is also Canadian. Stop thinking you are fancy, Canada. We don't want your U's). Anyway, I have this... let's call her an aquaintance on Facebook. We went to high school together. She is very much from the USA. She is also very much too old to be deliberately misspelling words so as to appear a certain way (smarter? I think she thinks it makes her look smarter. Fail, aquaintance. Fail). And so I want to punch her through the medium that is Facebook when she puts U's in words that do not require U's. Wouldn't it be great if instead of "like", you could "punch" someone? My life will be complete when Zuckerberg adds the ability to status punch the assholes I went to high school with.
4. Beer, wine or hard liquor? Hard liquor. And honestly, it's a good thing because beer and wine are disgusting. Seriously, why would I ever want to drink something that is fucking fermented? I do not put fermented anything in my mouth. I certainly would not put a fermented dick in my mouth, so why would I ever drink wine? Also? If we were having a debate about the pros and cons of drinking wine, I just won it. Fermented dick wins all arguments. Also, I feel like someone is going to tell me that all alcohol is fermented, but I don't give enough fucks to even Google it. I still win. I don't care about your "logical argument".
5. Favorite book: This answer is going to make me sound like a moron. Up until a few years ago, I was pretty convinced that I did not have the attention span to read books. I would read lots of magazines and online articles, but until recently, when I realized I do not have the time, money or childcare available to do cool shit outside of my house, I never really read books. I've read a few recently though, my favorite being, typically, The Hunger Games trilogy. If anyone has suggestions, I will happily take them (except for Nicholas Sparks. I will puke in your hair if you recommend Nicholas Sparks).
6. Reality TV as the death of well-written comedy and drama-discuss. Nadine keeps insisting that I watch "Jersey Shore", but I say no way. I don't need to see "The Syphulation" doing body shots out of some skank's belly button. I think it's to a point that you have to pay for good TV. Which is why I abuse Nadine's HBO Go to watch Girls (which is where "dirt floor whore" originates. If that isn't reason enough to watch, nothing is ever going to be good enough for you. I don't think you're cool and your mother is poor) and I pay for Showtime to watch Dexter. Dexter is a fucking amazing show, with the exception of the story arc they set up this past season where he starts fucking his sister (Dear Dexter writers: If you think this is a storyline the fans have been clamoring for, let me clear this up for you. No one wants to see him fuck his sister. No one. Never ever. Thanks! Love, A Devoted, Non-Incest-Loving Fan). While we are on the subject though, I'd like to blame reality TV for the destruction of one of my favorite shows, Lost. I'm pretty sure that during the last two seasons of Lost, the writers simply said "fuck it. You know, we've put a lot of effort into this shit and these idiots are watching The fucking Bachelor. Let's slap our balls together over a dictionary and whatever words the drops of our ballsweat fall on will be the plot line this season.". In case it's unclear, I was dissatisfied with the ending of Lost.
7. What do you talk to your spouse about once there's nothing left to talk about? Yesterday Rodolfo asked me if I was dating someone else. Because apparently the fact that I've left him couldn't possibly be about anything he's done wrong. It's obviously because I'm a whore who is fucking all the dudes (bitterness. You're welcome).
8. Favorite type of book: I haven't decided. I always think I would enjoy a good mystery, but then I'll decide against it because it will probably be all scary and suspenseful and I spend enough of my time worrying about serial killers and not getting enough sleep.
9. First thing you would do if you won the lottery: First thing? I'd buy houses for myself and my family and friends. But the coolest thing I'd like to do? Well, as you may remember, I was really poor as a kid. Projects poor. We lived in the projects for most of my childhood. A lot of people hear the word "projects" and assume that everyone who lives there has a drug problem or some other vice that landed them in the poor house. And that is the case a lot of times. But then there are people like my mom. People who didn't have the opportunity to get a really good job because they lacked a college degree. People with deadbeat baby daddies who don't do a single thing to make sure their kids are fed and clothed and housed. People who deserve for something good to finally happen to them. So if I won the lottery, I would go to the projects where I grew up and find someone like my mom and give them a million dollars.
My questions for you:
1. Who wronged you this week? Go ahead, vent. You know you want to.
2. Top 5 bangable celebrities
3. 5 completely unbangable celebrities (for the record, I don't get the whole Ryan Gosling thing. I guess he's not technically "unbangable", but I wouldn't hit it. At all. Please don't chase me with sticks. It had to be said).
4. Tell me the story of the drunkest you've ever been. If you don't remember all the details, feel free to make some shit up.
5. What did you want to be when you grew up? How is that working out for you? Please tell me why you failed to reach the goals you set for yourself when you were 8.
6. You have to be in a room with Newt Gingrich for an hour. Do you end it all?
7. Song you hate the most and why.
8. First and last name of the first boy you ever had a huge crush on, so when that narcissitic asshole Googles himself, he will know all your private shame.
9. Do you like me? Circle one ---- yes no I like you so much I know your social security number
10. Why did the chicken cross the road (I suspect hallucinogens but please tell me your theories)?
11. Hot air balloon or white water raft? (I'm not even going to give you context here. Tell me a good story)
Tagged: Nadine, Ninja, Noa, Jen, Misty, Gia, Gweenbrick, Johi, Kendall
Last business of the day: THIS IS MY 100th POST. You're welcome! But seriously, thanks to my faithful readers. I love you and all your comments, and even when I don't have the chance to respond to them, please know that I read them all and very much look forward to them.
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
Because It Would Be Narcissistic to Make Two Separate Posts About How Everyone Loves Me
I'm not what you would call technically savvy. In fact, Nadine set up this entire blog for me. My skill set pretty much consists of signing in, reading other blogs and posting.
My point is that I have no idea how to get people to read my blog. Nadine got me a few sympathy followers to start off with and I think most of the rest of you found me through my comments on other blogs. And I appreciate every single one of you. The fact that any of you want to hear what I have to say, even if it's about diarrhea like 80% of the time, is amazing to me. Thank you all for your support.
Anyway. Somehow my small (extremely small) legion of fans is slowly increasing, and that is fucking awesome. And in the last week, I got two awards from two of my awesome readers:
The first, was the Versatile Blogger award from Selena over at Because Motherhood Sucks
I'm fairly new to Selena's blog, but I was in love with her the moment I saw the title. Because motherhood? Yeah, it kind of does suck sometimes. Selena does an awesome job of being inappropriate and pointing out when things look like orange vaginas. I'm currently reading all of her archives so I don't miss anything.
Next was the Liebster Award, from my Ninja, which is basically her way of saying "Wow, You are awesome as shit. Why are you so underrated?". Ninja is my internet stalker, in case that was unclear. You can easily buy her sassy, Canadian love with some stale cookies and lip balm. She's kind of a whore like that. But seriously? Check you out some Ninja. She's awesome and funny and super smart. Don't play Words with Friends with her though. She's a dirty fucking cheater (or smarter than me, one of those two).
Now, with the first award, you are supposed to give 7 random facts about yourself. Let me see if I can make that happen for you:
1. I'm borderline OCD with my eating habits. The lengths to which I will go to have things a particular way is slightly psychotic. A few examples, you say? Surely. Well, the most obvious example is the fact that I rearrange any kind of burger or sandwich I get. Every time. Even if I'm eating it in my car. The reason for this is to ensure the even distribution of condiments, obviously. Because, moving along to my NEXT example, I need to have a little of everything in each bite. With burgers, that means a little onion, a little pickle, a little bacon and a little ketchup (with anything else, I pretty much get a little of each thing on my fork for every individual bite. Yeah. I know it's psychotic. Didn't I already say that?). If you are wondering what I do about the fries, they are actually eaten in alternate bites with the burger. Last bite has to be burger though, because, moving on to my next example, I have to save what I deem the best bite of something for last. With burgers and sandwiches, this is usually the bite in the middle, which is why I eat around the edges first and work my way in. With steak, obviously the best bite will be the one that looks rarest. And the best bite of pizza is the second bite up from the point. I'll usually bite off the tip (that's what she said), then turn it around and eat from the crust down. These things are the reason I'm fat. Too many food obsessions.
2. I walk weird. I blame my father, as he has the same stupid walk. Rodolfo once described as looking like I'm carrying a bag of groceries in each hand, so... maybe I don't move my arms a lot? I don't know. This is also probably the reason I'm a ridiculous klutz.
3. I'm currently house shopping. It's stressful, because our budget is really tight and we don't want to live in the hood, but it's going to be so fucking awesome when we find the right place. We have been living in a tiny 1 bedroom apartment for 3 years now, and Caitlyn's shit has taken over every nook and cranny, so when she has her own room and maybe a playroom and a fucking backyard to share with Joey, it is going to rock my shit so hard.
4. I married my husband after less than a year ::coughheneededagreencardcough::
5. My left boob is bigger.
6. I have one tattoo, a horribly disfigured little butterfly on my lower back, just above my ass. I got it when I was 19, when my horribly disfigured (okay, maybe he was just ugly) ex boyfriend's brother offered to do it for free on his living room floor because he was learning how to do them. Rodolfo likes to point out that it looks like I got it done in prison and he is 100% correct.
7. I'm not allowed to eat Jolly Ranchers. Yes, in fact I am 29 years old and have been forbidden to eat a particular kind of candy. You see, my mother nearly choked on a similar, squarish hard candy when she was a kid (her own mom dislodged it with the back end of a spoon, so you might understand why she's so traumatized) and told me long ago that I wasn't allowed to eat them. And really? For my mom, who let me drink and fuck in her house because she trusted me to make my own decisions and knew I was intelligent enough not to get pregnant or alcohol poisoning, how could I ignore this one request? I can not. So even today, as a grown adult, if someone offers me a Jolly Rancher, I politely decline and tell them that my mom doesn't let me have them.
Seven random facts. You're welcome. Oh, and thank you, obviously.
I'm also supposed to tag some bitches, but it seems pretty much everyone I would tag for these things has already been tagged by someone else. Except Nadine, who is also awesome and who you should also check out. She doesn't post very often, but her posts are kind of epic (see this post in particular. It's one of my favorites). So I guess I'm tagging Nadine then. Give us some blog love, sir.
My point is that I have no idea how to get people to read my blog. Nadine got me a few sympathy followers to start off with and I think most of the rest of you found me through my comments on other blogs. And I appreciate every single one of you. The fact that any of you want to hear what I have to say, even if it's about diarrhea like 80% of the time, is amazing to me. Thank you all for your support.
Anyway. Somehow my small (extremely small) legion of fans is slowly increasing, and that is fucking awesome. And in the last week, I got two awards from two of my awesome readers:
The first, was the Versatile Blogger award from Selena over at Because Motherhood Sucks
I'm fairly new to Selena's blog, but I was in love with her the moment I saw the title. Because motherhood? Yeah, it kind of does suck sometimes. Selena does an awesome job of being inappropriate and pointing out when things look like orange vaginas. I'm currently reading all of her archives so I don't miss anything.
Next was the Liebster Award, from my Ninja, which is basically her way of saying "Wow, You are awesome as shit. Why are you so underrated?". Ninja is my internet stalker, in case that was unclear. You can easily buy her sassy, Canadian love with some stale cookies and lip balm. She's kind of a whore like that. But seriously? Check you out some Ninja. She's awesome and funny and super smart. Don't play Words with Friends with her though. She's a dirty fucking cheater (or smarter than me, one of those two).
Now, with the first award, you are supposed to give 7 random facts about yourself. Let me see if I can make that happen for you:
1. I'm borderline OCD with my eating habits. The lengths to which I will go to have things a particular way is slightly psychotic. A few examples, you say? Surely. Well, the most obvious example is the fact that I rearrange any kind of burger or sandwich I get. Every time. Even if I'm eating it in my car. The reason for this is to ensure the even distribution of condiments, obviously. Because, moving along to my NEXT example, I need to have a little of everything in each bite. With burgers, that means a little onion, a little pickle, a little bacon and a little ketchup (with anything else, I pretty much get a little of each thing on my fork for every individual bite. Yeah. I know it's psychotic. Didn't I already say that?). If you are wondering what I do about the fries, they are actually eaten in alternate bites with the burger. Last bite has to be burger though, because, moving on to my next example, I have to save what I deem the best bite of something for last. With burgers and sandwiches, this is usually the bite in the middle, which is why I eat around the edges first and work my way in. With steak, obviously the best bite will be the one that looks rarest. And the best bite of pizza is the second bite up from the point. I'll usually bite off the tip (that's what she said), then turn it around and eat from the crust down. These things are the reason I'm fat. Too many food obsessions.
2. I walk weird. I blame my father, as he has the same stupid walk. Rodolfo once described as looking like I'm carrying a bag of groceries in each hand, so... maybe I don't move my arms a lot? I don't know. This is also probably the reason I'm a ridiculous klutz.
3. I'm currently house shopping. It's stressful, because our budget is really tight and we don't want to live in the hood, but it's going to be so fucking awesome when we find the right place. We have been living in a tiny 1 bedroom apartment for 3 years now, and Caitlyn's shit has taken over every nook and cranny, so when she has her own room and maybe a playroom and a fucking backyard to share with Joey, it is going to rock my shit so hard.
4. I married my husband after less than a year ::coughheneededagreencardcough::
5. My left boob is bigger.
6. I have one tattoo, a horribly disfigured little butterfly on my lower back, just above my ass. I got it when I was 19, when my horribly disfigured (okay, maybe he was just ugly) ex boyfriend's brother offered to do it for free on his living room floor because he was learning how to do them. Rodolfo likes to point out that it looks like I got it done in prison and he is 100% correct.
7. I'm not allowed to eat Jolly Ranchers. Yes, in fact I am 29 years old and have been forbidden to eat a particular kind of candy. You see, my mother nearly choked on a similar, squarish hard candy when she was a kid (her own mom dislodged it with the back end of a spoon, so you might understand why she's so traumatized) and told me long ago that I wasn't allowed to eat them. And really? For my mom, who let me drink and fuck in her house because she trusted me to make my own decisions and knew I was intelligent enough not to get pregnant or alcohol poisoning, how could I ignore this one request? I can not. So even today, as a grown adult, if someone offers me a Jolly Rancher, I politely decline and tell them that my mom doesn't let me have them.
Seven random facts. You're welcome. Oh, and thank you, obviously.
I'm also supposed to tag some bitches, but it seems pretty much everyone I would tag for these things has already been tagged by someone else. Except Nadine, who is also awesome and who you should also check out. She doesn't post very often, but her posts are kind of epic (see this post in particular. It's one of my favorites). So I guess I'm tagging Nadine then. Give us some blog love, sir.
Thursday, August 25, 2011
BFFs 4 EVA
As everyone probably already knows, Nadine and I are all kinds of gay for each other. So when I asked her what I should blog about, she responded "blog about me". Ok. You asked for it. For your enjoyment, I present: Stories Nadine Doesn't Want Me to Tell.
Let's start with the basics. Nadine and I have known each other since high school. In fact, she's one of the very few people from our school that I didn't hate. We bonded in senior year over the fact that I had not yet mastered the fine art of typing. She offered to type up my report for English that was due the next period (yeah, I was a real go-getter like that) and was amazed to find that I had more to say than "I love Derek Jeter" (I still do) and "I have a bunch of cats" (just down to the one now).
In fact, as she read through my report, her reaction was hilarious: "Don't take this the wrong way, but I thought you were a moron". The paper was on Beowulf so you might say our friendship is based on a solid foundation of intellect and fine literature. I think the following accounts of our craziest tales will solidify the notion that we are, in fact, worldly, intelligent ass bitches.
Quote of the Day
Quote of the day was a magical time for us. It started very early in our friendship. At the ripe age of 19, we realized we were comic geniuses and should turn our musings into a book. Here is a sampling of "the book".
"Nothing fixes a relationship like cookies and anal sex."
"I don't want to be the one to push him off the overpass onto (route) 46."
"When you're puking on Rob's bathroom floor; that's what friends are for."
"I told that bitch to put away his emotional baggage and do me."
Oh, were you looking for a story or plot of some sort? Sorry, that isn't what the book was about. The book was our Twitter in 2001; essentially every stupid phrase that crossed our lips was "the book". We were so WITTY!
Drinking Times
Drinking was 100% more fun when I was underage, and I think Nadine would agree. My mom visited her boyfriend, who lived a few hours away, every weekend, so every weekend became party time at my house. There are so many stories.
When drinking with Nadine, it's very important for YOU to know her limits. Because, ummm, she doesn't. Or at least she didn't back when we would drink every weekend. Nadine's stages of drunk go something like this:
Stage 1: WOO-HOO- LET'S DRINK!
Stage 2: THIS DRINK ISN'T STRONG ENOUGH, LET ME ADD MORE ALCOHOL!
Stage 3: NONE OF THE DRINKS ARE STRONG ENOUGH, I'M GOING TO DRINK STRAIGHT FROM THE BOTTLE!
Stage 4: I'm currently vomitting in my hair.
I will share one of our drinking stories with you today:
We were big fans of beer pong (except it was mixed drink pong when we played it). There was the time we were playing mixed drink pong and after 3 or so rounds, the rest of us got bored and stopped playing. Nadine didn't realize this and set up 4 more sets of cups (we were playing twosies, obviously). When we told her we didn't want to play anymore, she decided she couldn't let those drinks go to waste and pounded all four sets of cups. Did I mention that Nadine mixes a REALLY strong drink? At some point after that, she started walking around with a bottle of Captain Morgan and ate some Captain Crunch. The Captains had a brawl. I think it's obvious which Captain won. After Captain Crunch was tossed out of the bar that had become Nadine's stomach and passed out on the proverbial couch that was her hair, she made her way to our friend's shower. She then passed out with her head in the shower. Just her head. Which doesn't really explain why she got completely naked.
Gross Stuff
Then there are the stories that will live in infamy forever, for no other reason then that they are too horrifying to forget. They are as follows:
The time Nadine nearly amputated her thumb on broken glass. I was not there for this incident, but apparently she had left a trail from her door to a blood stained note that said something along the lines of "went to the hospital" for another friend who was on her way over. I'm very glad I didn't see that one, because I would have been pretty convinced she was dead.
The time I caught her and her boyfriend having sex in her pool. Another friend was with us, and he had left. And apparently she was under the impression I had left too. "Oh, you're still here?"... Yes, but not for long, I can promise you that.
And since I've told all of her embarrassing secrets, I suppose it's only fair if one of these stories is embarrassing for me:
The time we were driving down the parkway and I had the brown cow knocking at the back door. A few minutes after we stopped so I could use the bathroom, I came running out of the rest stop and just said "we have to go" because you know how sometimes when you are in view of a bathroom, it intensifies the need to shit by like 1000%? And as you are pulling your pants down, you ass decides you are no longer clenched enough to continue to hold it in? And you get shit on the walls? And you are 18 years old so you don't have the class to clean it up and you just hustle out of the bathroom and hope the other patrons don't start chasing you with torches? No? Just me then.
Let's start with the basics. Nadine and I have known each other since high school. In fact, she's one of the very few people from our school that I didn't hate. We bonded in senior year over the fact that I had not yet mastered the fine art of typing. She offered to type up my report for English that was due the next period (yeah, I was a real go-getter like that) and was amazed to find that I had more to say than "I love Derek Jeter" (I still do) and "I have a bunch of cats" (just down to the one now).
In fact, as she read through my report, her reaction was hilarious: "Don't take this the wrong way, but I thought you were a moron". The paper was on Beowulf so you might say our friendship is based on a solid foundation of intellect and fine literature. I think the following accounts of our craziest tales will solidify the notion that we are, in fact, worldly, intelligent ass bitches.
Quote of the Day
Quote of the day was a magical time for us. It started very early in our friendship. At the ripe age of 19, we realized we were comic geniuses and should turn our musings into a book. Here is a sampling of "the book".
"Nothing fixes a relationship like cookies and anal sex."
"I don't want to be the one to push him off the overpass onto (route) 46."
"When you're puking on Rob's bathroom floor; that's what friends are for."
"I told that bitch to put away his emotional baggage and do me."
Oh, were you looking for a story or plot of some sort? Sorry, that isn't what the book was about. The book was our Twitter in 2001; essentially every stupid phrase that crossed our lips was "the book". We were so WITTY!
Drinking Times
Drinking was 100% more fun when I was underage, and I think Nadine would agree. My mom visited her boyfriend, who lived a few hours away, every weekend, so every weekend became party time at my house. There are so many stories.
When drinking with Nadine, it's very important for YOU to know her limits. Because, ummm, she doesn't. Or at least she didn't back when we would drink every weekend. Nadine's stages of drunk go something like this:
Stage 1: WOO-HOO- LET'S DRINK!
Stage 2: THIS DRINK ISN'T STRONG ENOUGH, LET ME ADD MORE ALCOHOL!
Stage 3: NONE OF THE DRINKS ARE STRONG ENOUGH, I'M GOING TO DRINK STRAIGHT FROM THE BOTTLE!
Stage 4: I'm currently vomitting in my hair.
I will share one of our drinking stories with you today:
We were big fans of beer pong (except it was mixed drink pong when we played it). There was the time we were playing mixed drink pong and after 3 or so rounds, the rest of us got bored and stopped playing. Nadine didn't realize this and set up 4 more sets of cups (we were playing twosies, obviously). When we told her we didn't want to play anymore, she decided she couldn't let those drinks go to waste and pounded all four sets of cups. Did I mention that Nadine mixes a REALLY strong drink? At some point after that, she started walking around with a bottle of Captain Morgan and ate some Captain Crunch. The Captains had a brawl. I think it's obvious which Captain won. After Captain Crunch was tossed out of the bar that had become Nadine's stomach and passed out on the proverbial couch that was her hair, she made her way to our friend's shower. She then passed out with her head in the shower. Just her head. Which doesn't really explain why she got completely naked.
Gross Stuff
Then there are the stories that will live in infamy forever, for no other reason then that they are too horrifying to forget. They are as follows:
The time Nadine nearly amputated her thumb on broken glass. I was not there for this incident, but apparently she had left a trail from her door to a blood stained note that said something along the lines of "went to the hospital" for another friend who was on her way over. I'm very glad I didn't see that one, because I would have been pretty convinced she was dead.
The time I caught her and her boyfriend having sex in her pool. Another friend was with us, and he had left. And apparently she was under the impression I had left too. "Oh, you're still here?"... Yes, but not for long, I can promise you that.
And since I've told all of her embarrassing secrets, I suppose it's only fair if one of these stories is embarrassing for me:
The time we were driving down the parkway and I had the brown cow knocking at the back door. A few minutes after we stopped so I could use the bathroom, I came running out of the rest stop and just said "we have to go" because you know how sometimes when you are in view of a bathroom, it intensifies the need to shit by like 1000%? And as you are pulling your pants down, you ass decides you are no longer clenched enough to continue to hold it in? And you get shit on the walls? And you are 18 years old so you don't have the class to clean it up and you just hustle out of the bathroom and hope the other patrons don't start chasing you with torches? No? Just me then.
In conclusion, Nadine is goodtimes. We have fun and do stupid shit and have lots of stories. Perhaps I will share more of them with you one day.
Labels:
blame it on the a-a-a-a-a-alcohol,
nadine
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Facebook Lies about Donald Trump
Yesterday I got on my train home and, as I went to sit down, I noticed a very accusatory message scrolled across the seat in marker. It said "Jerry has feline AIDS". Yes, very accusatory indeed. Obviously I needed to share this important health information, so I posted it as my status on Facebook.
So you know how Facebook does that thing? That thing where you accidentally use the wrong word in your status and Facebook makes all kinds of assumptions about what you might "Like" and your sidebar is all crowded with ridiculousness?
What kinds of things would Facebook assume I like, you might wonder, after posting a status about feline AIDS? Perhaps they would suggest I like Petco... or... antiretrovirals? As it turns out, Facebook doesn't discriminate based on species. Facebook suggested, quite simply, that I might "Like" AIDS.
Ok. Am I the only one? Is it just me or is weird to "Like" AIDS? Not "AIDS research". Not "find a cure for AIDS". Nope. Just AIDS. Like. AIDS.
I followed up the first status about feline AIDS with another stating how odd it was that Facebook wanted me to "Like" AIDS. At that point, Facebook really started to understand who I am as a person. Did I "Like" Medicine? How about Africa? I mean, I did say AIDS twice, after all. Interestingly enough, 10 times as many people "Like" medicine as do AIDS. And, in case you are wondering, you can actually "Like" Xanax. That's way more specific than just "medicine". I mean, I can get behind a Xanax liker, but I don't want to be lumped in with 183,000 people who are liking diarrhea medicine or whatever.
So thank you Facebook. I've been waiting all my life for someone to make blind assumptions about my personality and preferences based on one or two words taken completely out of context.
And now, for your amusement, here is a conversation I had with Nadine on Facebook about Donald Trump.
Michael: It's not really that Donald Trump said the shit he said. That man will say anything to make people pay attention to him. It's that people hang on his every word and believe it, that's the problem.
Jaclyn: I wonder if that will work in reverse. Let's see how many things we can get people to believe about Donald Trump.
April 27 at 9:41pm · LikeUnlike
Jaclyn: Donald Trump was an original member of the Rat Pack.
April 27 at 9:41pm · LikeUnlike
Jaclyn: Donald Trump makes cologne out of $100 bills and calls it "Eau de Douche".
April 27 at 9:42pm · LikeUnlike
Jaclyn: Donald Trump wears a toupee not because of male pattern baldness, but because he was in a terrible accident as a child and and a piece of his brian is exposed.
April 27 at 9:43pm · LikeUnlike
Jaclyn: Donald Trump cured Magic Johnson's AIDS.
April 27 at 9:43pm · LikeUnlike
Jaclyn: I wonder if that will work in reverse. Let's see how many things we can get people to believe about Donald Trump.
April 27 at 9:41pm · LikeUnlike
Jaclyn: Donald Trump was an original member of the Rat Pack.
April 27 at 9:41pm · LikeUnlike
Jaclyn: Donald Trump makes cologne out of $100 bills and calls it "Eau de Douche".
April 27 at 9:42pm · LikeUnlike
Jaclyn: Donald Trump wears a toupee not because of male pattern baldness, but because he was in a terrible accident as a child and and a piece of his brian is exposed.
April 27 at 9:43pm · LikeUnlike
Jaclyn: Donald Trump cured Magic Johnson's AIDS.
April 27 at 9:43pm · LikeUnlike
Jaclyn: Donald Trump is Mel Gibson's real father.
April 27 at 9:44pm · LikeUnlike
Jaclyn: Donald Trump got "Trump Tower" tattooed on his dick.
April 27 at 9:44pm · LikeUnlike
Jaclyn: Donald Trump's first job was as a taxidermist's apprentice. It's where he got the idea for his show.
April 27 at 9:47pm · LikeUnlike
Jaclyn: Donald Trump is the inspiration behind the Dumbledore character in the Harry Potter books.
April 27 at 9:48pm · LikeUnlike
Jaclyn: Donald Trump was the first to coin the phrase "Adonis DNA" and he currently has a copyright infringement lawsuit pending against Charlie Sheen.
April 27 at 9:51pm · LikeUnlike
Jaclyn: Donald Trump discovered rapper Ludacris.
April 27 at 9:56pm · LikeUnlike
Jaclyn: Donald Trump uses a particle accelerator to mix his drinks.
April 27 at 10:00pm · LikeUnlike
Nadine: MORE! I'M LOVING ALL OF THESE.
April 27 at 10:07pm · LikeUnlike
Jaclyn: You are supposed to add your own! You know how this game works!
April 27 at 10:08pm · LikeUnlike
Jaclyn: Donald Trump is an advertising genius and was the brains behind "looks like a pump, feels like a sneaker" circa 1992.
April 27 at 10:09pm · LikeUnlike
Jaclyn: Donald Trump is flamboyantly gay.
April 27 at 10:10pm · LikeUnlike
Jaclyn: His first gay experience? George Steinbrenner.
April 27 at 10:10pm · LikeUnlike
Nadine: Donald Trump is going to be the next Spiderman in "Spiderman: Turn Off the Dark".
April 27 at 10:10pm · LikeUnlike
Jaclyn: Donald Trump was originally cast in the Richard Gere role in "Pretty Woman".
April 27 at 10:12pm · LikeUnlike
Jaclyn: Donald Trump is a novelist. His pen name? Stephenie Meyer.
April 27 at 10:13pm · LikeUnlike
Nadine: Donald Trump can run a 3-minute mile .... backwards.
April 27 at 10:14pm · UnlikeLike
Jaclyn: Donald Trump has gills on his neck that allow him to breathe under water.
April 27 at 10:14pm · LikeUnlike
Nadine: Donald Trump menstruates.
April 27 at 10:15pm · LikeUnlike
Jaclyn: That isn't coming out of his vagina. He has really bad hemorhoids is all.
April 27 at 10:16pm · LikeUnlike
Jaclyn: Sacajawea was just Donald Trump in drag.
April 27 at 10:17pm · LikeUnlike
Nadine: Donald Trump can eat at White Castle and not get diarhhea.
April 27 at 10:18pm · UnlikeLike
Jaclyn: Donald Trump has 99 problems but a bitch ain't one.
April 27 at 10:19pm · LikeUnlike
Nadine: Donald Trump's hair is made out of sea whip coral.
April 27 at 10:21pm · LikeUnlike
Jaclyn: Donald Trump discovered the lost city of Atlantis.
April 27 at 10:21pm · LikeUnlike
Nadine: Actually, Donald Trump was BORN in the lost city of Atlantis, disqualifying him from American presidency.
April 27 at 10:22pm · LikeUnlike
Jaclyn: Donald Trump can hit the highest note of Mariah Carey's "Emotions".
April 27 at 10:22pm · LikeUnlike
Jaclyn: Donald Trump started his fortune after slaughtering all the leprechauns and stealing their gold.
April 27 at 10:24pm · LikeUnlike
Nadine: ....NAZI gold.
April 27 at 10:26pm · LikeUnlike
Jaclyn: You out? Cause that means I win.
April 27 at 10:27pm · LikeUnlike
Nadine: You win. I'm going to bed. Donald Trump invented the tempurpedic mattress, btw.
April 27 at 10:28pm · LikeUnlike
Jaclyn: Duh. That's because he was working for NASA at the time.
April 27 at 10:31pm · LikeUnlike
Jaclyn: Last one: Donald Trump's sperm are shaped like seahorses.
April 27 at 10:35pm · Like
Labels:
bitch please,
crazy,
nadine
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Serial Killers and Family Values
I've always had this really weird, completely irrational fear that when I die, it will be at the hands of a sadistic serial killer. I know it doesn't make sense but for some reason, I always picture my life ending in the sickest way possible. I think on some level, everyone worries about how they are going to die. Will I be old and die in my sleep? That's best case scenario, of course. But I wonder if I'm the only one who worries about being tortured to death in a chamber of my own personal fears.
I always think of this shit when I'm out late and alone. The fear actually started right around the time I was 16 or so and I started having a life and I would get home late at night. We lived in an apartment building that was absolutely, without a doubt, haunted as all fuck. Or, more specifically, the hallway was haunted. By something that got it's kicks chasing me up the stairs.
I'm not crazy, and I never saw it. But when someone chases you up 3 fucking flights of stairs every single night, you know you aren't imagining it. I never said anything to anyone about it, so I was shocked to have my crazy fear confirmed (as much as it could be confirmed) several years after we moved out. My mom and I had been casually discussing our old home and she nonchalantly mentioned how she hadn't wanted to scare me so she never told me about the thing that used to chase her up the stairs (FYI though, ghost- that's a total bitch move).
Ok, but I'm getting off track here. I believe it ghosts. That isn't really my point. My point is that I would be scared shitless every night when I got home. Whatever it was that chased us was clearly not friendly and it made my mind wander to other not-friendly things. It would come to be that any time I was alone, outside of my house at night, I would be afraid of someone attacking me in the night and murdering the shit out of me. It got to the point that I was afraid to stop at red lights on my way home from work because I was sure some psychopath was waiting in the intersection for an easily abductable victim.
I'm not as scared as I used to be. I don't work nights anymore and I'm rarely alone, but it can still end up on my mind on those occasional dark-and-stormy type nights. So to make myself feel better, I try to think of all the reasons I don't fit the profile of someone a serial killer would abduct, torture and murder. Let's do a little research, shall we?
Charles Manson: Hippie. Preyed on the perpetually stoned to do his dirty work. It would seem to me that he wanted notariety more than he actually wanted to kill people, because he didn't do any of the actual murdering himself. So definitely a psycho, but this type of killer won't ever bother with me, because I'm not super rich and famous. Just super awesome, really.
Ted Bundy: This guy had a type. Young and thin. I'm almost 30 and not at all thin. I'm clearly adorable, but I'm pretty sure most serial killers go for the skinny, easy kill. Nobody wants to be fighting off a fat girl. Also, his victims were kinda dumb. "I have a cast on my arm, want to go over to this secluded area with me? I promise I won't kill you!". No, that would never happen to me.
Green River Killer/Jack the Ripper: Liked hookers. And this bitch ain't no ho.
John Wayne Gacy/Jeffrey Dahmer: Were all about the dudes. Why can't you just admit that you are gay and move on with your life?
Ok. So now that we have established that I'm old, fat, poor, morally sound and penisless, we can all agree that I'm not a target, right? Right! So I'm sure you are wondering "but why Jaclyn? Why would you post on your blog that is allegedly about parenting and talk about fucking serial killers? You are kind of a sick bitch, you know that?". Well, obviously I have a perfectly reasonable and not at all insane reason for thinking about murdering! My train was late today!
Let's backpeddle a little, shall we?
I have a pretty well established routine. My best bitch, Nadine and I work in the same office. She knows what time I get in every morning and she knows that if my train is running late, I'll send her a text so she can pass it along to our boss. Now, usually when a train is running late, you will receive some sort of alert about it. Whether it's on your phone or through email, or just announcements they are making at the station, I can usually have a pretty good idea if I'm going to be any significant amount of time late. So this morning, when I heard an announcement in the subway station where I wait for my train, I decided that the 5 minute delay they were informing commuters about didn't warrant a phone call. I'm usually early anyway and 5 minutes wasn't going to make any difference for me.
So my train comes 5 minutes late as promised. I get on and get a seat, which was pretty lucky because 5 minutes late really is the difference between the regular number of commuters and a metric butt-ton of extra people taking up all the seats. The train got going and all was normal for the first 2 stops. At the next stop, however, we were being held for some sort of signal problem and sat in that station for about 15 minutes.
I was starting to worry that I might be a few minutes late, but it's impossible to get cell phone signal in the subways so there wasn't much I could do to let my boss know. But we were off again after that 15 minute delay and I wasn't worried anymore. I would still only be about 5 minutes late, and we only had 2 more stops to go until mine. Next stop: Doors open, doors close. And nothing else happens. Another annoucement informed us that we were being held due to train congestion or some other bullshit. I should have expected congestion, I suppose. Allergy season and all. So we sat there at the stop before mine for another 30 minutes.
There wasn't anything I could do about it really, and I certainly wasn't stressing out or anything. In fact, I took a nice little nap while we waited. When we finally reached my stop and I made it out onto the street, my phone started beeping like crazy. I had a couple of missed texts and a voicemail.
The first message was from Nadine. I was now 40 minutes late for work and she was concerned because she hadn't heard from me. Then I see I have a text from Rodolfo. Nadine had panicked and called him because I didn't show up and never called her. I called him first, since my train stop is only half a block from my office and I knew I'd see Nadine very soon. He sounded very relieved and told me he had started making frantic phone calls to the transit company to see if there was some sort of problem. He had only found out about my train service issues right before I called him. Nadine was also very relieved to see me when I walked into work.
So now, let's wrap up this disjointed, clusterfuck of a post into a nice, neat little bow.
Serial killers. I realized today that a serial killer would not have enough time to kill me and dispose of my body before my loved ones came looking for me. And maybe he would kill me anyway, but that motherfucker would be brought to justice in like, a day. Because I've got people who come looking for me after only 40 minutes. So, I mean at least he definitely wouldn't have time to torture me and find out about all my secret fears and incorporate them into my horrifying death.
So thank you to the people in my life who care enough to make sure my theoretical untimely death is quick and painless.
I always think of this shit when I'm out late and alone. The fear actually started right around the time I was 16 or so and I started having a life and I would get home late at night. We lived in an apartment building that was absolutely, without a doubt, haunted as all fuck. Or, more specifically, the hallway was haunted. By something that got it's kicks chasing me up the stairs.
I'm not crazy, and I never saw it. But when someone chases you up 3 fucking flights of stairs every single night, you know you aren't imagining it. I never said anything to anyone about it, so I was shocked to have my crazy fear confirmed (as much as it could be confirmed) several years after we moved out. My mom and I had been casually discussing our old home and she nonchalantly mentioned how she hadn't wanted to scare me so she never told me about the thing that used to chase her up the stairs (FYI though, ghost- that's a total bitch move).
Ok, but I'm getting off track here. I believe it ghosts. That isn't really my point. My point is that I would be scared shitless every night when I got home. Whatever it was that chased us was clearly not friendly and it made my mind wander to other not-friendly things. It would come to be that any time I was alone, outside of my house at night, I would be afraid of someone attacking me in the night and murdering the shit out of me. It got to the point that I was afraid to stop at red lights on my way home from work because I was sure some psychopath was waiting in the intersection for an easily abductable victim.
I'm not as scared as I used to be. I don't work nights anymore and I'm rarely alone, but it can still end up on my mind on those occasional dark-and-stormy type nights. So to make myself feel better, I try to think of all the reasons I don't fit the profile of someone a serial killer would abduct, torture and murder. Let's do a little research, shall we?
Charles Manson: Hippie. Preyed on the perpetually stoned to do his dirty work. It would seem to me that he wanted notariety more than he actually wanted to kill people, because he didn't do any of the actual murdering himself. So definitely a psycho, but this type of killer won't ever bother with me, because I'm not super rich and famous. Just super awesome, really.
Ted Bundy: This guy had a type. Young and thin. I'm almost 30 and not at all thin. I'm clearly adorable, but I'm pretty sure most serial killers go for the skinny, easy kill. Nobody wants to be fighting off a fat girl. Also, his victims were kinda dumb. "I have a cast on my arm, want to go over to this secluded area with me? I promise I won't kill you!". No, that would never happen to me.
Green River Killer/Jack the Ripper: Liked hookers. And this bitch ain't no ho.
John Wayne Gacy/Jeffrey Dahmer: Were all about the dudes. Why can't you just admit that you are gay and move on with your life?
Ok. So now that we have established that I'm old, fat, poor, morally sound and penisless, we can all agree that I'm not a target, right? Right! So I'm sure you are wondering "but why Jaclyn? Why would you post on your blog that is allegedly about parenting and talk about fucking serial killers? You are kind of a sick bitch, you know that?". Well, obviously I have a perfectly reasonable and not at all insane reason for thinking about murdering! My train was late today!
Let's backpeddle a little, shall we?
I have a pretty well established routine. My best bitch, Nadine and I work in the same office. She knows what time I get in every morning and she knows that if my train is running late, I'll send her a text so she can pass it along to our boss. Now, usually when a train is running late, you will receive some sort of alert about it. Whether it's on your phone or through email, or just announcements they are making at the station, I can usually have a pretty good idea if I'm going to be any significant amount of time late. So this morning, when I heard an announcement in the subway station where I wait for my train, I decided that the 5 minute delay they were informing commuters about didn't warrant a phone call. I'm usually early anyway and 5 minutes wasn't going to make any difference for me.
So my train comes 5 minutes late as promised. I get on and get a seat, which was pretty lucky because 5 minutes late really is the difference between the regular number of commuters and a metric butt-ton of extra people taking up all the seats. The train got going and all was normal for the first 2 stops. At the next stop, however, we were being held for some sort of signal problem and sat in that station for about 15 minutes.
I was starting to worry that I might be a few minutes late, but it's impossible to get cell phone signal in the subways so there wasn't much I could do to let my boss know. But we were off again after that 15 minute delay and I wasn't worried anymore. I would still only be about 5 minutes late, and we only had 2 more stops to go until mine. Next stop: Doors open, doors close. And nothing else happens. Another annoucement informed us that we were being held due to train congestion or some other bullshit. I should have expected congestion, I suppose. Allergy season and all. So we sat there at the stop before mine for another 30 minutes.
There wasn't anything I could do about it really, and I certainly wasn't stressing out or anything. In fact, I took a nice little nap while we waited. When we finally reached my stop and I made it out onto the street, my phone started beeping like crazy. I had a couple of missed texts and a voicemail.
The first message was from Nadine. I was now 40 minutes late for work and she was concerned because she hadn't heard from me. Then I see I have a text from Rodolfo. Nadine had panicked and called him because I didn't show up and never called her. I called him first, since my train stop is only half a block from my office and I knew I'd see Nadine very soon. He sounded very relieved and told me he had started making frantic phone calls to the transit company to see if there was some sort of problem. He had only found out about my train service issues right before I called him. Nadine was also very relieved to see me when I walked into work.
So now, let's wrap up this disjointed, clusterfuck of a post into a nice, neat little bow.
Serial killers. I realized today that a serial killer would not have enough time to kill me and dispose of my body before my loved ones came looking for me. And maybe he would kill me anyway, but that motherfucker would be brought to justice in like, a day. Because I've got people who come looking for me after only 40 minutes. So, I mean at least he definitely wouldn't have time to torture me and find out about all my secret fears and incorporate them into my horrifying death.
So thank you to the people in my life who care enough to make sure my theoretical untimely death is quick and painless.
Labels:
crazy,
family ties,
nadine
Saturday, September 25, 2010
Apples, Pumpkins and Pears
You may have
noticed from my tendency to bitch a lot that I've been having sort of a rough time. Not a rough time in the serious "wow, I hope she doesn't take a butter knife to her veins" kind of way. More in the just the generally stressed and agitated way. It's been a bunch of little things, everyday annoyances and such for which I have had no outlet.
I knew I needed to get out of my house for something besides work, and Nadine is just about my favorite person in the world, so we made plans to go to a farm on my day off and do some apple picking. Thursday was a beautiful day for it too, it was warm but not hot, the kind of day where I could throw a t-shirt and a pair of leggings on Caitlyn and she would be perfect for the whole day. So that's where our adventure began.
The farm was awesome. We started out with a hay ride to the apple picking spot. Caitlyn LOVED it. She was fascinated by hay. She kept trying to pick it out of the bales. When she wasn't picking at the hay she was looking around at absolutely everything. She lo
ved the fresh air, the scenery and the animals. Oh man, did she love those animals. After apple picking we went over to where there were some goats and she started squealing with delight. We have a dog and a cat at home, so there was a bit of recognition in her face when she saw the goats and I found that to be pretty adorable. She even pet one. She also really liked the bunnies. After the animals, we balanced her up against some pumpkins and threw her in a pot of flowers for some super cute fall photo ops, grabbed some donuts and cider and were on our way.
The plan after the farm was to go to Target to get a food processor and some supplies that I needed to make Caitlyn baby food with some of the apples. And we did. Nothing too exciting at Target, except when I accidentally stole a dog brush. It was after we left Target that things got interesting again.
Nadine got
a call from her boyfriend while we were on the way to her house. His boss gave him some Yankee tickets and he wanted to know if we were up for going. It took us roughly 8 seconds to decide it was the best idea ever, so I called Rodolfo and dropped off Caitlyn, drained my boobs and made it to the stadium in record time. The traffic gods smiled on us that day. On any given trip into the city (for the non-tri-staters, that's New York City) you just never know what kind of traffic you might hit on the bridges. We didn't hit any. We actually met Mike (Nadine's boy toy) there because he works in Manhattan. He took the subway from his job and we beat him there by about 10 minutes, driving from NJ.The game itself
could have been better. The Yankees got killed, 10-3, but the experience was everything I've been needing. It was enjoyable, exciting, stress-free. Nadine and I tend to get extremely goofy around each other and we were extra spastic, I think mostly because we both needed to wind down so badly. We cheered (for the home team, obviously), heckled (Tampa Bay's shortstop, Bartlett- there was talk about his mom, his sister and pears), hated on the people sitting near us (Bowling Ball Tony, Frankie Foreskin and the girl with the bad haircut who spent half the game enthralled and the other half playing traffic games on her iphone), talked about nailing Derek Jeter.
It was the most fun I've had in a long time. That's not to say I don't enjoy my life now, I do. But there is no spontaneity when you have a baby. Everything about everything is planned down to the expectations for food and shit. I'm not complaining exactly, I know what I signed up for when I had a kid, but it was nice to just make fun plans on the fly and be able to actually follow through with them. It reminded me of when we were 20, with no responsibilities, blowing all our money on weekend boozefests. And really, don't we all need a fun throwback night every once in a while?
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