My Eggo is Preggo

Yes, it's been a while. But now that I've publicly outed my pregnancy I figured I could start bitching and moaning about it, too. Fair is fair.

So, I'm about 5 months along. I keep getting colds. When you get a cold, you cough. When you're pregnant - coughing makes you pee yourself.
My new goal in life is not to pee myself. Pathetic...pathetic squared...pathetic infinity.
I will stop, mid-stride, to cross my legs and cough/sneeze. Then I just have to hope for the best.

Another pee thing - at the doctor I have to pee in a cup. I'm generally doing this once a month. I have completely underestimated the precision and accuracy of a penis...and for the first time in my life I find myself jealous of the snake that bit me.

Va-hoot-hoots have no accuracy. It's like one of those carnival games that's impossible to win. I try new things each time I go. I have tried to put the whole cup over the "area," creating some sort of vacuum seal...I don't know...the pee finds it's way onto my hand every time. Tips appreciated...

The boy.
Yes, it's a boy. With a penis. And balls.
Balls?
What do you even DO with those?
And then there's the circumcision...
Basically, I am to allow a doctor to cut a piece of my boy off, like, days after his birth.
"Here, doctor, see this flappy thing? Remove it promptly! I'm taking my boy's future sex life into consideration here!"
I mean, that's really what it's all about right? Looking the part? No turtle neck for my boy!
Fucking strange. But, I'm gonna do it anyway...so...moving on...

I'm a cranky pregnant person. I don't "glow." I don't become the epitome of happiness. I become enraged with jealousy when I see thin people. I'm "put-out" by having to eat more, pee more, and having doctors all up in my bid-niz all the damn time.

So, essentially, what I'm saying here...is this isn't the last you'll hear from me on the topic.

Tuesday's Anger

Don't ask me about that bitch Tracy. I do it sometimes but I hate her so much and I hate her little repetitive workout music more.

I was driving to work today and the amount of times I almost killed people were uncanny.

Humans...

We used to have the WALK/DON'T WALK signs in NYC. But now, since we have so many non-English speaking/illiterate people living here we have RED HAND (stop walking) or WHITE MAN (Walk) to tell these people what to do. I think they are confused because they all just walk no matter what. Red hand, white man, cars speeding by, they walk. They walk in MOBS, too - so you aren't just going to hit one, you will hit a bunch of them. They own the sidewalks and the streets...just walking, walking, all the time. Not just in the crosswalk either...they spontaneously pop out from between two parked cars and walk. Then they do one of two things - stare at you with a "I dare you" look on their faces or just plain don't look at all. They just cross, hoping I am not paying attention and hit them so they can sue me.

Cabs...

God, I should stretch before I get going on these mother fuckers. HATE is not a strong enough word. YOU CAN'T DRIVE! You obnoxious fucking assholes. YOU MERGE INTO MY FOCUS which forces me to bend over while you fucking cut me off like your yellow cab brothers have done ALL DAY LONG. I keep a cup holder full of spare change (not quarters, you are not even WORTH quarters) to throw at your windshield each and every time you do this to me. Know what else? When I am tailgating you so none of your little fucked up friends cut me off, you like to just STOP in the middle of the street, throw your hazards on and let people out. PULL OVER YOU FUCKING DOUCHE BAG.

Gypsy cabs...

The yellow cabs distant cousin. You are a last resort. No one likes you. The only time people get in your cars is when it's a shit storm outside and there isn't a yellow cab in sight. Why? Because you look like rapists who are waiting for unsuspecting women to get into your cars so you can drive away and sell them into human trafficking. Also, you can't drive worth a shit either. I sometimes wonder if you cover your eyes while driving just for fun.

People on bikes...

...look, I get that you are doing the right thing here. You are trying to exercise, save money on gas, be a liberal, whatever it is...that's great for you. But do yourself a favor and stay the fuck away from me when I'm driving. No, you know what? Always. Just always stay the fuck away from me always. I hate you. I hate your bike. I hate your stupid helmet. I hate the little water bottle holder that flaunts your ability to wake up in the morning and not only workout but drink WATER instead of coffee. I hate how you sneak up behind me and then when I try to make a right turn you're all yelling at me because I nearly run you over. I hate how you can ride in the street but red lights don't apply to you. I hate how I have to slow down to 2 miles an hour when I'm behind you on a narrow street because I can't pass. I hate your little horn, too. Know what? I even hate you when I'm a pedestrian. I hate you always. Fuck off.

PolkaDot Cupcake Shop

Just givin a HOLLA to my friend's cupcake shop. Only because I actually LIKE the cupcakes.

I ate one today, Tracy will be so disappointed. Oh the shame.

But it was worth it.

She delivers to the Tri-State area so check it out...

http://www.polkadotcupcakeshop.com/

CCCUUUPPPPCCCAAAAAKKKKEEESSSS!

I will never be thin. Ever. Fuck.

Love,

FattyMcButterPants

Tracy Anderabs Day 5

So, (not engaged) Friday was my anniversary (not engaged) and no, I am not engaged. So, can people stop asking me? THANKS. It's like getting fucking pecked to death by a chicken.

Saturday I planted an apple tree in my man's yard. That brought me happiness.

Sunday, mother's day. Nothing big. Breakfast out, park, walk by the beach, picnic, all that. Nice day.

Monday, I came home to find these pictures that I blew up of my girl like 2 years ago, framed and on my wall! Surprise! My man surprised me with a surprise I actually like! Yay!

Threw in the Tracy DVD...I definitely see progress in the amount I can do without taking a break. For instance, this blog is being typed a day AFTER the workout - meaning I did not stop long enough to log on and complain about it. This is good!

I can't tell if I am losing weight, or looking better, or whatever...but I still like the workout.

The thing I don't like:

In the beginning of the DVD it's all Tracy doing moves, or smiling, or showing off her AnderAbs. Everything from her white teeth to her smooth skin is starting to piss me off. There is no skipping this intro...so now I walk away until I hear the work out music because I just can't stand to look at her perfection.

I don't really like her face much...I think she has a big nose...I have a normal nose...so I beat her there.

Final score:
Tracy - 3,438,960,789,623,578
Me - 1

Tracy Anderbitch Day 4

Ok, so I didn't work out last night. I was borderline dead. I feel badly about skipping but, dude, when your whole body is broken it's really difficult to visualize working out and making it happen. I didn't overeat for the day - I just didn't work out with Tracy.

Put the workout DVD in just now. Arms, abs...check. Leg lifts? Che... ok you caught me, I'm on break. PS it's 40 leg lifts times 4 different ways of lifting equals 160 leg lifts on just one leg! She doesn't even alternate! She's all, bust out a quick 160 leg lifts on the right annnnddd switch to the left.

I think she is a robot. Or maybe her skeleton is titanium like Wolverine. I can't be sure but something is just not right about her.

I swear she is looking at me different today. I heard her whisper lazy fat slug or maybe that was just in my head.

I was 138 this morning. That's -2 lbs for those mathematically challenged. Going back...

Oh, the girl needs to be tucked in...I guess I'll have to take another break. Darn.

Workout mostly done. Can I stand to do cardio? I'd rather watch Vampire Diaries. I heard it was super awesome this week.

3 minutes and 50 seconds into cardio...break. I'm not making much progress with this am I?

I'm waiting for the day when I watch more than I do. Night folks.

TA...that skinny bitch...day 3

Home, sore as a mofo. Like every time I sneeze, laugh, cough...move...I hurt. Everything hurts.

Do I keep going? Do I workout tonight? I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO!!!

Last night I pushed myself so hard I thought I might vomit. I'm not saying that for emphasis...I literally felt the need to throw up my dinner. That was when I gave up for the night.

Tracy Day 2

I don't feel sore (yet?).

I have been fearing coming home all day because I knew Tracy was here waiting for me. But something happened during the car ride home...I felt like I wanted to come home and do the work out. As a matter of fact I couldn't wait. Weird.

Ate dinner, watched Gossip Girl...here goes...

140.6 lbs this morning. (I'm using this as a starting weight)
7:45 pm - starting with the work out first tonight...then cardio.
8:04 pm - made it through weights and abs without a break...then start the dreaded leg lifts. I wonder how many she does? 100 per leg? Tomorrow I'll count.
8:23 pm...Finished that...I think I did better today than yesterday, knew what to expect.
38 minutes for a 30 minute workout...ok...
Cardio is next...don't want to...meh...
barely half a cardio...must lay down...tomorrow's another day.

-FattyMcButterPants

Tracy Anderson Day 1

While away on a beautiful vacation in Florida...I gained some weight...more weight? I gained fat. Additional fat that is in addition to the fat I had already accumulated.

Moving on...

I read all about Tracy Anderson (google her if you dare) and how she was fitness trainer to the stars! I was all, "Hey! I want to look like those movie stars!"

You know I am gullible.

My man says he will order me a test DVD. I say okay. I order her full line of DVDs in addition to this tester because I already know I will love her. I also order the sneakers she is wearing. I have issues...keep your opinion to yourself.

I tried out the "tester" DVD. It was dance cardio. I had to learn the steps. I learned 3 of the routines, I did one with the music up to speed. I nearly passed out. That was 3 days ago.

Today I am trying out the "Metamorphosis" DVD.

I wanted to chronicle this live, on the off chance I stick with this shit.

So, Day 1 of the 90 day program to shape my "accessory muscles" and make me "tiny." Tiny has never been used to describe me, even as an infant.

She gives a nice speech at the beginning. She talks about how I have to do an hour a day, 6 days a week. Ok...I'll bite...what else?

A food plan. Skip. I can't work out AND diet. That's a recipe for self-destruction.

Measurements...daily...ugh...fine.

Weight: 140 (142 at night...I'll weigh in tomorrow morning)
Waist at belly button: 35 inches...I'm not sucking it in.
Hips: 37 inches (there is only a 2 inch difference between waist and hips? Double fuck)
Arm: 11 inches
(this feels incredibly degrading)
Thigh: 21 inches
Calf: 14
Boobs: 36
Ribs: 31

I think I'll only do that once a week. That was annoying.

Starting cardio...
5 minutes, I need a break because I feel like I'm running a marathon.
15.01 minutes, She says I am more than halfway there and I assume this is some kind of mind trick. I'm sweaty and breathing hard. I find her perky non-bouncing boobs threatening.
Okay...going back...
Here again, I bet that was only 60 seconds, and I stood still for 30...
Energizing bunny bitch...
Faked my way to the end of cardio...on to the second DVD
Why am I 1.5 hours into a 1 hour workout?
She hurts me.
I'm out of shape and gross.
Does this ever end?
I made it...I hate her...see you tomorrow.

Night at the "Museum"

Went to sleep over at a "Science Museum" with the girl, a Brownie trip.

I used the quotes there because this place is just as much a science museum as my apartment is a space station.

Let's start off with the fact that this place is a house...a 100 year old house that had a musty, old, dead smell. Before the bitterness took over, I was able to appreciate some of the history and detail of the house. But, I was quickly led to the room where we'd be sleeping. Hardwood floors friends. Not even a crappy, dust-ridden carpet. Just a hardwood dirty floor. Joy!

Let's just get to the meat of this, shall we?

1. Eleven girl scouts, four adults, one bathroom.

2. Lack of heat.

3. The freakshow of a tour guide that slept over with us. She appeared to have an aversion to soap. And toothpaste. And intelligence.

4. The only other mom there was the one that gives me the stink eye at every girl scout meeting. Let's cuddle!

5. I was assigned three girls. My kid, let's call the other two Grace and Dana.

6. Dana:
6a. "Giwls can get dwessed togethew because we all have da same pwivates!" (As she stripped down naked.)
6b. "My mom packed me a midnight snack! Toast with spway buttew!"
6c. Dana does not require a tissue to blow her nose. Doing so in her glove seemed to be perfectly acceptable.

7. My TexAss friend joked that there would be spiders. Trying to tease me. Not only were there spiders, they had a PET tarantula... WHAT THE FUCK?!

8. They made us hike...two hours at night to see nothing but snow and then an hour the next morning on the beach to see, you guessed it...snow! Surprise! Snow! Wow! How special! Wait...something about this mysterious white substance seems familiar to me...I can't quite put my finger on it... OH WAIT! I know! I HAVE HAD A FUCKING SHIT LOAD OF THIS BITCH COLD BULLSHIT IN MY NEIGHBORHOOD FOR THE PAST TWO MONTHS.

9. They had two rooms of animals. One room of reptiles (home of that dick tarantula) and one room of mammals that was the epicenter of the rancid stench that poisoned the entire house.

10. The kids fell asleep well after midnight and started waking up around 5:30. I got approximately 45 minutes of sleep...spaced out in 5 minute intervals. Some of those intervals may have been hallucinations of sleep. I can't be sure.

End result? I hate myself for agreeing to that trip. I couldn't hate myself more. It felt like Navy Seal boot camp - that I not only enrolled in willingly but PAID for.

My girl, though? She will tell you she had a GREAT time. She will tell you it was fun and she slept great and that she just cannot WAIT to go to camp in June. So... it made it all worthwhile. I have to say that, right?

'

Mistakes

I have pretty poor judgement.

I have yet to kill these parakeets, Big Bird and Blue (aka Doug) but now I hate them and wish they would die.

Isn't that always the way? You want something to live...it dies. You want something to die, it lives.

Lesson learned.

Idea: Say you really hated someone and had to give that person's child a gift. Immediately we think of drums. I'll do you one better...get em a couple of parakeets.

Reasons:

1. They NEVER shut the FUCK up.

2. They tell you to throw a blanket over them, tell them it's night time and they should sleep. Mine are like FUCK RIGHT OFF I know you are still awake! TWEET TWEET TWEET

3. Parakeets wish they were roosters. Crack of dawn. TWEETfuckTWEETyouTWEEThaTWEEThaTWEEThaTWEETha

4. They eat thier seeds and throw the seed shells OUT of the cage. Everyday.

5. They can also launch their shit out of the cage.

5a. Onto walls.

5b. And onto each other.

6. I mean what else is there? Oh, I know, the reason why people get pets. To come home and say, "Aw, my pet! Hi there, pet! I love you! You love me, too? This makes it all worth while! The shit, the mess, the noise - it matters not!"

Except every time I merely approach the cage they puff up their feathers, lift one leg uncomfortably and LITERALLY shit themselves.

I don't know, maybe they think I will fry them up for dinner. Who knows? I'd rather starve than eat them - that is how much I hate them now.

'

Cracker Slut

Being a NYC resident I have come across many types of people.

Some of these people...use the N word, a lot.

That N***** said what? Yeah, I know him, that's mah n*****!

I feel left out. I want a word to substitute for this word. I have found one and it is cracker.

I don't feel like I can say, "What up mah cracka?" Because it just doesn't have the same ring to it. It has to be more, "What is going on my cracker?" "How are the little crackers?" "Oh! Your youngest cracker starts school next year?"

I'm going to throw it out there and see if it catches on.

Yesterday my friend was telling me about her whorish excursions. She was all, "Don't judge me! I know you think I'm a slut!"

And I'm all, "I didn't say you were a slut. I know slut. I'm a retired slut."

You see, I have done more slutting in a lifetime than this girl could ever do, even if she worked at it she couldn't outslut me. But now I am retired.

My man is like my slut 401k. I am too old to work at it anymore so I just use him.
He's all I have to show for my lifetime's work.

Just goes to show, you really need to plan, early on, for retirement. If you wait too long, there won't be much left to live off of.

Edit: After reading a friend said... "I"m in the slutness protection program. Relocate and start over."

Thanksgiving Express

The girl keeps saying everyone is trying to fast forward through Thanksgiving, straight to Christmas. She's right.

We went to the North Pole Express (kinda like the Polar Express, but without Tom Hanks) and it was really cute.

We got there way too early. When googlemaps estimated a 2.5 hour drive we expected 3+, but it really was 2 hours and 15 minutes.

We get out and look at the train. It's adorable. Then we look for a person, anyone. We find a girl. She was dirty. Like really dirty. Like actual dirt on her. Like dirt from 3 weeks ago. She scared us. She told us her grandpa knew about the town and could tell us where to go. We found grandpa. His shirt was stained and he had a dirty sweater on. He also had on two different shoes. My man is now staring at me with the, "WHERE THE FUCK DID YOU TAKE US THIS TIME?" look.

Anyway, we went exploring.

We stopped at a gas station. The people were scary and the name of the truck stop was "Porky's Pork and Stuff." One of the natives approached the man while he pumped gas. I locked the doors. We all lived though.

We found a farm that had actual sheep on it. (This is cool for us) then we saw a sign that said the town was established in like, 1697 or something and we thought to ourselves much hasn't happened since.

Anyway, we board the train. It's cute. It has living room chairs that swivel. The girl likes this. We find out they serve alcohol on the train. We are feeling better. There is our own personal elf who narrates the ride for us - and she sings. AND she plays the Ukelele. Ukelele is probably better when you are drunk...so now I know why they provide the booze.

Well, Santa and Mrs. Claus came and all the kids were happy. Santa gave my girl a small red bell. They had hot cocoa and sugar cookies. All in all, good experience. Would I do it again? No. It's one of those, only need to see it once, type of deals. So, I'm good.

HAPPY THANKSGIVING!

'

Guilty Halloweenie

For the first time in my mothering career I sent STORE BOUGHT brownies into class for the girl's Halloween party. I'm ashamed of myself. Guilty even...

Last night I received a $200.00 gift card that I shouldn't have received. It was from a company that tried to dick me over and not reimburse me money I deserved. But, I was already reimbursed - and now, in addition, I have this gift card. More guilt...

It's Italian Catholic Guilt. ICG...I have it. Most of us guineas born to recent OTB (off the boat) Italians have this guilt. While you are being raised they put the fear of "burning eternally in hell" into you. You know what? I'm not much of a believer in burning eternally in hell, or living happily ever after in heaven. But, I've been so conditioned to do the right thing that it's impossible for me not to feel guilt.

I'm like the mouse that gets electrocuted every time it goes for the cheese. I know damn well that cheese doesn't cause electrocution, but every time I see cheese I fear it anyway.

Completely illogical.

Because of the ICG it's also nearly impossible for me to lie. My face gets red, I laugh and I can't even look you in the eye when I try. Not to mention my lies are...let's say...less than intelligently thought out.

Lie: "I didn't eat the last cookie!"

Failure: (cookie crumbs are visible on mouth, chocolate left on teeth and I had previously announced that I was eating a delicious cookie.)

'

Fat again

I'm fat again because I gained some fat back.

I won't claim that I have "no idea how this fat happened." I won't sue Entenmann's either...as much as I feel those bastards deserve it. Why is that coffee cake so good? And have you had the coffee cake donut!? Dunkin Donuts had a hand in it as well. That damn coffee coolata has crack in it FOR SURE.

Fuck it all...

I'm a fat girl on the inside. If I had my way I'd be that obese woman who has to be lifted off the bed with a crane. I really would. So, yes, I gained some weight. But, truthfully, it could be a hell of a lot worse.

I am trying to stick with the diet until Thanksgiving.

If my posts are grumpy and numerous until then, you will know I have stuck with it.

If I am M.I.A. or in a really good mood, then that means I have failed and am eating like the chubby bitch that my heart tells me I am.

Question: How come sometimes I don't care if I'm fat?

Sometimes, I'm like WHO CARES I'd rather eat Doritos dipped in sour cream (seriously, try it...the nacho cheese ones) than be thin.

Other times, I'm like, YOU ARE FUCKING DISGUSTING YOU COW HOW COULD YOU LET THIS HAPPEN!? Then I get all miserable and don't even want to bang my boyfriend because I get all self conscious about my fatness.

Right now, I am the later.

Cancel

I won't lie. Sometimes I cancel plans. Sometimes I don't feel like it.

But, I have the courtesy to cancel and say, "Sorry, I'm just not feeling up to it today." "Not feeling well." "Let's reschedule..."

I do not say, "Hey, I found something else I'd rather do so I'm cancelling." "And after this text I will shut my phone off because I don't want to hear your rebuttal."

You know what? Be more creative.

Tell me you sliced your hand open and have to go to the ER.

Tell me you contracted ebola.

Tell me your house was obliterated in a tornado.

Tell me your cat died.

LIE TO ME. I deserve a lie at least.


Also, I am dieting again. That may or may not have to do with my grumpiness.


Man and I argued.
Then I shopped.
Man and I made up.
Shoppers remorse.

What else is new?

I'm THAT Mom.

Why does homework time have to be such a bitch?

Everyday, never fails, the girl has homework. Why is she all surprised and whiney about having to do it?

She doesn't want to show up without it. She's too scared to do such a thing. So it's going to get done one way or another. But why does it have to get done like this?

Her: Can I take a shower?

Me: Homework first.

Her: Fiiiiiiiinnnnnnnneeeeee.

Me: cooking dinner, cleaning, whatever

5 minutes later...

Her: "I throw mah hands up in the air sometimes - singin AAAAYYY ooooo baby LET'sss go. I wanna celebrate and live my life...."

Me: That's not homework. That's singing. Stop singing.

7 minutes later...

Her: *tap* *tap* *tap* *tap* *tap* *tap* *tap* *tap* *tap* *tap*

Me: Stop that! Stop flicking my vase with the pencil! DO YOUR HOMEWORK!

4 minutes later...

Her: *silence*

Me: WHERE ARE YOU?!

Her: I had to go to the bathroom!

Me: You went when we got home!!!!!!! I DONT WANT TO WATCH YOU DO HOMEWORK UNTIL 10:00 AT NIGHT!!!!!! DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME GIRL!?

...

Then this morning, I find a worksheet not done in her folder. So while she shoves cheerios into her mouth she has to circle nouns and underline verbs.

Then I drop her off and say, "Do you have a spelling test today?? We didn't study!!!"

She says she knows the words.

I am now hanging out of the car window screaming:

"SPELL FOURTH!!! SPELL BREAKFAST!!! SPELL SYRUP!!!!!!!!"

I'm THAT mom.

RIP Tooth Fairy

So, yesterday the girl comes home with grumpy all over her face. I ignore...

I surprise her with costume shopping. She doesn't find the costume she wants so the grumpiness amplifies.

I tell her I have to get my hair cut because I look like Morticia Addams...while sitting and waiting for my turn, she asks me:

"Mom, are you the tooth fairy?"

...(enter mine field)

Me: Why do you ask?

Her: Jeffrey (asian kid in her class) told me there's no toothfairy. That it's the parents.

I carefully navigate my way through the mine field. I decide to take the path of truth because she outright asked if it was me.

Me: My parents did it for me and I thought it was fun so I did it for you, too.

KABOOM!

Her: (look of disbelief + horror + betrayal)

Me: I can still give you money! (guilt) Or presents! How about presents? (major guilt)

At this point in time I have completely lost any rational parenting skills I may have possessed.

Her: It's not fair. Now I have nothing to look forward to when I lose my teeth.

Me: ...presents? ANYTHING YOU WANT?! How can I make this better for you?

Her: (Grumpy squared + Sadness and possible tears)

Me: What if I punch this kid Jeffrey in the throat?


I texted all my friends about the situation. The feedback was diverse...

"Aww, CALL HIS MOTHER!"
Taken into consideration.

"Ok. So?"
Slap my man across the face for being a heartless bastard.

"She was going to find out sooner or later...kids will start to make fun of her if she still believes. Start prepping for the Santa talk."
I hate realists.

"Tell her the tooth fairy is only for white kids. That's why his mom has to do it for him. She'll learn racism eventually."
Considered...but, denied.

'

Me + Pets = DEATH

Once upon a time there was a girl who won a goldfish at a fair. Her mother bought her a bowl, gravel, food and all the lovely things a little 25 cent goldfish could want. Mere days after the fish's arrival, he jumped out of the bowl and plummeted to his death.

A year or so later the girl asked her mother for a hamster. The mother obliged believing the whole fish incident was a fluke. The hamster gets dropped by the girl. The hamster has issues. The stupid mother spends hundreds of dollars on vet visits hoping to save the hamster - fail. The mother has spent much money on hamster accessories and agrees to give the whole hamster deal a second chance. A new hamster is purchased and brought home - and the girl is told not to man-handle the hamster under any circumstances.

The following morning Hamster the Second is found hard as a rock...death had consumed him. The mother throws the hamster and cage away, vowing never to allow the girl to have a pet again.

Fast forward to Saturday. The man finds a domesticated finch on the sidewalk, unable to fly.

The man offers to give the finch to the girl, buy it a cage, food, toys, nest...etc. The stupid mother agrees to this. They buy the accessories, come home, mother brings the bird to the cage and the bird dies in the mother's hands.

The man suggests buying a living bird for the girl. The man and the mother are convinced to buy two parakeets. Meet Doug and Carrie...
That blue bird...that's Doug.That plastic bag...that's Carrie. Why? Because I didn't get a chance to take a picture of her before we found her DEAD at the bottom of the cage. FUCK. I wanted BADLY to return the whole cage, the bird that managed to make it through the night and all the toys...but the man and girl wanted me to try once more...meet Big Bird, purchased him yesterday...so far, he lives.


To be continued...

Cool

Friday I went to a birthday party for my kid's friend's friend. My kid isn't tight with the kid, but I am cool with the mom so I was totally down. Did I lose you already?

So, anyway, we get there and it's set up like a spa - floor pillows, plushy carpets and hanging drapes. The ultimate coolness - the mom had 3 women come to her house and each kid got a facial, massage, nails done and make up! WTF!? How did I not know this existed?! To top it off she had these little kits where each kid made their own lotion, lip gloss, perfume and body glitter... I am jacking this idea. Try and stop me.

Other news - the verdict is still out on my child's intelligence. She is completely unaware of people not liking her. She could spend an entire day with kids who think she's a child-sized version of Napoleon Dynamite, but if you ask her, she will tell you everyone likes her. Good or bad? Unknown.

Also, I was trying to convince her that going back to school is fun. New supplies, new friends, new clothes, new teacher - specifically, that this teacher does not know she's a talkaholic and pretty much doesn't pay attention, ever.

Me: "You can start off with a clean slate. Maybe not talk and actually pay attention this year. Then the teacher will like you."

Her: "Yeah...that's probably not going to happen."

Me: ...

FOR SHIT'S SAKE...she won't even give it a TRY.

Persuasion

You know how there are movies you can't pass up on TV? Like, the one that you've seen a billion times but if it's on, you have to watch it.  Even if there's only ten minutes left. Even if it's on TBS and all the good curse words are bleeped out...and the sex scenes are cut short and/or missing... Even if you own the DVD.

I have way too many movies that fall into that category. My man knows this and if he sees a movie he deems to be "gay" (gay = anything I would like) he will quickly change the channel hoping I won't notice. But I ALWAYS notice because all I need is a brief glimpse and I immediately know that the woman having her baby in the Walmart is Natalie Portman in "Where the Heart is" or that the chick beating the crap out of her kids on the front lawn is Ashley Judd in "The Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood." What about when Richard Gere catches Julia Roberts flossing the strawberry seeds out of her teeth but thinks she's doing drugs? If you don't know that's from "Pretty Woman" then...well, I'd like to see you how explain yourself when you meet your maker, you shameful heathen.

He will also change the channel at the speed of light if he thinks the advertisement is for something I might buy (But baby, it chops ALL the things!), or if the TV show might remind me of how we aren't engaged/married yet (insert involuntary eye twitch here)....or if it's a beach scene - he worries I'll start planning a vacation. You know...maybe this is why he makes me watch Fox News. Other than wanting tickets to the Bold/Fresh tour (not) there isn't much on that channel that would appeal to me. Crafty bastard.

I created an excel sheet with all of my expenses and my income. I'm in one of those, "be a damn grown-up for shit's sake" type of moods. There's supposed to be a surplus after I pay my bills. There's not. I run out of money and one of two things happens:

1. Visa puts the moves on me and I am not strong enough to resist his relentless flirtation.
2. I put the moves on my man and then cry poverty.

Ok...it doesn't go down like that exactly. I don't have to put the moves on him...he gives me money all the time anyway. But if I say that then it's really not funny...and also it allows you to see his wonderful side - thus undoing years of blogging during which I've persuaded you that there is nothing in this universe that can compare to the level of annoyance my man can achieve on any given day.