Monday, January 31, 2011

NWS overtaken by Teen Queens

Let me start this off by saying that, I totally get the is dangerous for people too stupid to understand the concepts of heat stroke and hypothermia.  That being said, I have a hard time believing that those same people would heed warnings given to them about such things.

I'm a Chicagoan.  Not by birth, but by unfortunate circumstances that led to my family moving here...kidding (well sort of, them bears sure did let us down this year!).
As a Chicagoan, I have a true grasp of the term "Freeze your *insert body part here* off".
I also understand what that white fluffy frozen stuff is on the ground this time of year.  Snow happens.  Kinda like shit.  There's no way around it.

So today, my awesome friend Christie posts a link of the book of faces to an article being run by our home town news channel WGN in which the National Weather Service was quoted as saying that the blizzard coming our way...that's right I said BLIZZARD will be:
dangerous, multifaceted and potentially life-threatening
*GASP*  Totally back of the hand to the forehead dramatic!!

First off, ITS A BLIZZARD!  And I don't mean the DQ yumminess filled with cookie dough...
Of fucking course it's dangerous!  You're talking a shit ton of snow people!  3 inches PER HOUR, the plows won't even TRY at that rate!  They'll sit in the shop sippin on coffee and eating ho-hos and soaking up the overtime until it slows down.  Where I live, they're talking about aprox 20 inches...OF SNOW you sick bitches!
20 inches of snow...45mph're talking about drifting up to 8 foot in places like...oh hick towns like mine.  NO SHIT it's dangerous!  White out conditions people...back in the olden days they used to tie a rope around the door of the house and run it out to the barn so they wouldn't get lost in their own back yards and die in the snow during white out conditions.  That means...Don't drive.

Second...who writes this shit?  The National Weather Service has apparently been overtaken by uber dramatic 16 year old girls.  OMG!  SO EFFIN MUCH SNOW!  LIKE...DON'T GO OUT THERE! YOU COULD TOTALLY DIE!

Don't get me wrong.  I know storms are dangerous.  Aunty Em, the Lollipop Guild & all...but this seems a little much.  It's snow.  Use your head.  Don't drive like a moron, or better yet, don't drive at all until it's cleaned up.  Don't go lay down in your yard and take a nap while it's coming down at a rate of 3 inches per hour and I'm pretty sure you will survive.  If power goes out, have a plan in place, know where there are local shelters equipped to deal with power outages.  Isn't this common sense stuff???
Has our great country really gotten so stupid and so finger pointing that the NWS has to go over the top with their warnings so no one shouts "They didn't tell me how bad it would be!!!"

Dude.  20 inches of snow=bad.  Got it?

Call it lack of sleep from my wild weekend with the hubs, or call it me being a giant c u next tuesday...either way.  This is just stupid.

SO, MIDWESTERNINIANS...if you're in the path of this storm, get your ass to the grocery store tonight and stock up on shit you think you'll need (pssssssssst...try like...water, bread,'ll be good).  Hook up those genny's and stock up your fire wood.  It's only a storm.  This too shall pass!


Oh my shit!  I haven't posted in ages!  That whole "wordless wednesdays" thing is a farce to get out of being creative or taking time to write.  Sort of.  Probably not.  Whatever.

So.  Yeah.  Longest day ever.  After staying up all night with my husband on Saturday night...5am bedtime and 7am the baby's up is not cool.  And then another husband late night last night, I'm all but mainlining caffeine today!'s not fucking working!  I've been so busy with my photography stuff that I've lost my ability to find time to blog!  Frick!

Thursday, January 20, 2011

*dueling banjos*

I weighed the options.  I really did.
It's supposed to be 20 degrees below disgusting here tomorrow...that made the option of bath nearly impossible.  I couldn't have her tail freezing off.

I say "the options" like this is the first time this particular subject has come up.  And by nearly impossible, I mean not gonna happen for a bunch of not so good reasons.

So tonight I did the unthinkable...or is it.  I came up with a plan so lazy, so "Git R Done", so hillbilly that it could only be described as Duct Tape Brilliant.

I Febreezed the dog.

Funnier still is that I posted that on FB, and one of my buddies asked me how I got her to hold still for long enough to do it.  I hadn't even thought about that!  I just assumed that she would stand there with her tail between her legs and take it like big girl...and she did.


My friend's sister needs help and she needs it TODAY.  She doesn't have insurance and needs a mastectomy.  They have to have the money by the end of the day today.

Please help, even $5 can make the difference!
It's totally secure and here is the website link:

If they make their goal, I will dye my entire head pink.  MY ENTIRE HEAD!!!!

Please help!

Sunday, January 16, 2011


Back in March of last year...Holy hell almost a year ago...(f'ing f's and their f'ing delays) I posted a contest...I know, I never do that because I like people to follow me because they like to read my shit not cuz they want free's the link:

I wrote a book.  Yup!  I know!  How fucking exciting is that?!?  
Well guess what.  In honor of it being put on hold due to some drama llamas, and it now being released in less than 2 months...aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand in honor of signing for a book of a totally different type and starting the 2nd book in that will follow the one I'm giving away (wow I'm rambling today)...I'm re-hosting that contest.  

Here's the dealy-o:

This is a list of the names of the people who previously entered:
Suzanne (Saverne)
Kimberly (Ilumine)
and Nicci

If you're one of're automatically have a single re-entry and don't need to do anything.

If you're not one of them and because I'm an attention whore, here's how you earn entries:

If you go and follow one of these, drop me a comment on here that you are following it.  If you already are, just drop me a comment saying "I'm already a follower on such and such site(s)".

EARN 3 ENTRIES EACH FOR FOLLOWING MY WRITING FB PAGE (which is like newborn soft butt skin new and has NO followers cuz I'm lame...)

You can also earn points for anyone who follows because you refer them to any of the above pages...the same point values apply for both you and them but they have to leave a comment saying they were referred by you. 

I will be giving away 3 (possibly a few more, we'll see how generous I'm feeling) copies of the book signed by yours truly.  Yes.  I know. You're all dying to have a signed copy!

Watch this week for more info about the book and what it's about!  

Saturday, January 15, 2011

Come to bed with me...

It's not as sexy as it sounds.

At least not right now.

I'm full of snot.  The husband is fighting what I assume is the same cold that kicked my ass to Tibet.  And our little his infinite spoil-dum and this teething HELLLLLLLLL we're in...yeah.  Suffice it to say that you can come to bed with me if you can contort yourself like this:
Yeah, I totally chose that pic specifically for the awesomeness of how shiny she is.  That and those boots.  Seriously?  That's just a broken ankle wrapped in gothy goodness!

To get into my place in bed you must be able to squeeze  your fat ass into a space no larger than a airliner allows for your carry on.  I an somewhere between my 200 lb husband, my 22 lb son, and on the cold nights...which are all the night since we live in Chicago...I have one leg down straight, and the other pulled way up so the 90 lb German Dumbyhead can lay between my feet.

This, while entertaining and a good test of one's flexibility, looks something like this (if you're our ceiling fan).
Fear my visual aids!!!! FEAR THEM!!!!
So if you get Charlie Horses, cricks in your neck, and taking 3 minutes to stand up straight, then you're probably in bed with me...or you are me...which means you're uber vain and should stop reading your own blog, Freak!  We're in the market for a California King.  Oh Yeah, Buddy!!

If you accidentally kick your husband and say "Sorry, baby" and in his sleep he says, "Shut up"'re probably bed with me.  

If you wake up randomly during the night, usually not multiple times a night...if you're lucky, in a puddle of pee (not your own, the baby's ya freaks) then you might be in bed with me!  12 hour ass!

If you're really lucky you might get to be there to witness a night where my husband and son, but absolutely never me, gas the dog who sniffs butts, out of the room.  That's a special treat that I've been institutionalize into believing doesn't exist (thank God for sinus infections!).

It's a wild crazy place, my bedroom!  Full of hidden stack of dirty laundry, garbage cans full of pee diapers (ok just one), and a dresser that I'm FAIRLY certain has a counter top on it somewhere...

Somewhere behind the 258 ct box of Pampers and the pack n play...between the humidifier and space heater...under a pile of old t-shirts is a big sexy drawer full of lingerie!  Fuck that.  

For now I'll settle for a benadril, a night cap, and a half way decent night's sleep!  I couldn't pick a place in the world I'd rather be than in bed with me :)

Friday, January 14, 2011

The thing about poop is...

it happens.  But people treat it like OMG...POOP!!!  Maybe it's the mom in me but I think that what happened to me today was stupid and I feel the need to tell you all about it.

So I'm sick for like the ten billionth time since Thanksgiving.  The short version of this mess is that I maybe kinda sorta snuck behind a military blockade only hours after they got it up in Gulfport, MS right after Katrina hit...and I maybe kinda sorta am a dumb ass and didn't  think about why they would have to put up a military blockade...and I maybe kinda sorta didn't think to wear a mask or respirator...and I most definitely without question, contracted a bacterial infection that will haunt me for the rest of my life.  That's the short version.

Yes it's been 5 years + since Katrina hit, and like the Mississippi Gulf Coast, I have not recovered.

Fast forward to today.  I go to the doc so they can schedule me for blood work and a ct scan of my sinuses which is where my illnesses usually strike me.  Please note...I have a sinus infection.  That means I can't smell shit.  Literally.
So I have my Moose with me.  For those of you who are new followers...this is my Moose:
So I have my Moose with my, and it's a long drive in.  50 minutes to be exact.  And I get to the doc and notice he's extra talkative in the backseat.  That's cute!  Or is it?
I get him out of the car, load up with my diaper bag, and head into the office.  At the check in counter, I vaguely notice that the lady standing behind me has backed away from me.  Weird.  About that time I realize there is a TINY TINY spot under my hand that is feeling wetter and wetter.  I think to myself "long drive...full bottle of juice (no hippies, not JUICE JUICE, a mix of 1/4 infant juice and 3/4 water...keep your pants on) probably a little pee leak".

Boy was I wrong.

Now, the counter services 2 people checking in at once time, all cozy side by side like.  Slowly I come to realize that the few people behind the lady next to me are backing away.  Then the lady next to me slides as far to her left as possible...I was on her right.  Then the lady checking me in gets this really weird face.  I look around and say, "What?!?  Does he stink or something??  I have a sinus infection, I can't smell anything!"

The lady checking me in shakes her head yes but says NOTHING.  Maybe this should have been a sign.
As I turn to walk away from the counter, I switch which arm he is in and realize my arm and hip are COVERED IN POOP!  Not just a little poop, I mean elephant size too squishy to be considered a solid carrot chunk filled poop.

As I move my arm away from my body I realize that this is coming out of my mouth:  "Aw...AW!...AWWWW!"  In an increasingly more annoyed and disgusted tone.  I haven't actually walked away from the counter at this point, just turned to face my audience of approximately 40 people in the waiting room, all of whom are staring at me wide eyed saying nothing except ONE KID of about 12 years old who is sitting in the back corner laughing his ASS off!  On him, I place the curse of someday having twins.  That's right...2 shit diapers at once ya little prick!  Ok, it was probably funny.  Definitely funny.  Just not yet.

I turn back to the lady who just checked me in an say, "Seriously...I'm covered in shit and NO ONE thought it might be a good idea to, I don't fucking know, TELL ME!!!!???!"  She was still speechless and I had yet to inspect the Moose.  This must be bad!  I explain to her that I keep a Ziplock sandwich bag in my diaper bag at all times.  She says, "Do you want me to get it out for you?"


and then a little bit of this:

It's a fucking SANDWICH BAG!!!  Judging by the fact that people are backing away from me like I have a bomb strapped to me and am demanding a million bucks in unmarked bills...that's not gonna cut it!!!

It took me a minute to respond.  Dumbfounded I said, "Perhaps you could hook me up with something a bit one of those 3 gallon bio-hazard bags over there..."  I shit you not, she told me "That is medical property only, I can't give you one of those."  There's a stack a mile high of them sitting empty.  Fine.
I reply, "Ok, well aside from the fact that this IS a damn bio-hazard, or at least that's how y'all are acting...what would you like me to do with my shit covered son?  Because I fail to have a proper size Ziplock back with me to contain this either you McGiver up somethin' or this all goes in your garbage can!"

She leaves and get this...comes back with a 20 gallon garbage bag!!!  LMAO!!!
Ok.  She McGivered it, I'll give her that!  I walk away and people part like the Red Sea.  After a quick bath in the restroom sink and some fresh clothes...I tossed his pants, shirt, COAT, HAT, and one sock in the garbage bag along with the wipes and dirty diaper, wrapped it around my fingers and tied it as tight as I could to contain the smell.

I head back to the lobby and tell the lady that checked me in, who's name I really should know since I'm there every week sick, but don't...that I'm going to run to the car real fast.  Ya put the poop bag in my hand in my be polite.  She says "Oh no!  They're ready for you...if you do that, they'll call the next person in line back and you will have to wait."
My sinunses are about to fall the fuck out of the front of my face and she's going to make me wait if I do something NICE to ensure their entire office building doesn't smell like last night's pot roast???? ASSHATS!

So I said screw it, and carried my poop trash bag with me slung over my shoulder like a nap sack, aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaallllllllllllll through their office.  My doc thought it was funny. She has a baby only a few months older than Moose.  She calls an occurrence like that a "breach of security".  I <3 her!

I managed to make the rest of the day without any more shitsplosions.  I've been dosed with 28 days of a heavy duty antibiotic (crossing my fingers it won't cause crotch rot!  Sing it with me...Activiaaaaa), 14 days of an oral steroid, indefinite use of a nasal spray steroid, indefinite use of a prescription antihistamine and decongestant...will have a CT scan and blood work done next week and there's a good chance they will be going at my sinuses with one of these: least the medical equivalent of it.  Which I welcome ten fold if it's going to stop this insanity!  The much the uh...poop.  Pretty sure that Roto-Rooter would only cause more poop problems...

So that was my day in a nut shell.  I still can't believe that NO ONE told me that I was a walking stick of excrement.  *shakes head*  and to think...I still tell people if they have something between their teeth...

Thursday, January 13, 2011

A Welcome

First and foremost I wanted to say Welcome to all my new followers!  I have jumped almost 20 followers in the last 2 weeks and I have SUCKED ASS (not literally, mind you) at saying hi, welcoming you guys and gals, and following back.  I assure you, I appreciate you following me and God (& husband) willing, I will get caught up on checking out all your blogs and pages and following you all back this weekend.

Keep posted today!  If my little man will take a nap, I'm going to be posting a contest!

11 Step Program

This is circulating FB, it's an 11 step program for those thinking about having children.  It made me gigglesnort so I had to share it (with my own twist of seen in italics)

Lesson 1

1. Go to the grocery store.
2. Arrange to have your salary paid directly to their head office.
3. Go home.
4. Pick up the paper.
5. Read it for the last time.

Buy steak, sushi, anything expensive.  You will be eating ground chuck from now on.  Buy your favorite alcohol, flush it down the toilet.  Yup.  No drinking.

Lesson 2

Before you finally go ahead and have children, find a couple who already are parents and berate them about their...
1. Methods of discipline.
2. Lack of patience.
3. Appallingly low tolerance levels.
4. Allowing their children to run wild.
5. Suggest ways in which they might improve their child's breastfeeding, sleep habits, toilet training, table manners, and overall behavior.
Enjoy it because it will be the last time in your life you will have all the answers.

Find a drill sarge and let them yell at you about doing everything wrong because like you just berated your friends, expect everyone you know to do the same to you.  Pick an in law who is especially pushy and enjoys making snarky under their breath comments...ask them to follow you around for a week and interject their opinions openly and loudly.  Good.  Get used to it.

Lesson 3

A really good way to discover how the nights might feel...
1. Get home from work and immediately begin walking around the living room from 5PM to 10PM carrying a wet bag weighing approximately 8-12 pounds, with a radio turned to static (or some other obnoxious sound) playing loudly. (Eat cold food with one hand for dinner)   LMAO!!!
2. At 10PM, put the bag gently down, set the alarm for midnight, and go to sleep.  In my case, have the wet bag IMMEDIATELY start screaming and have to pick it up again.  Give up after the 3rd attempt and take wet bag to bed with you, where you will undoubtedly wake up in a puddle of piss at some point in the night.  Take a deep breath...
3. Get up at 12 and walk around the living room again, with the bag, until 1AM.
4. Set the alarm for 3AM.
5. As you can't get back to sleep, get up at 2AM and make a drink and watch an infomercial.  Please note, if you plan to breast feed, that drink must be caffeine and alcohol free.  Yeah, enjoy your fucking water, biatch!
6. Go to bed at 2:45AM.
7. Get up at 3AM when the alarm goes off.
8. Sing songs quietly in the dark until 4AM.  Cry
9. Get up. Make breakfast. Get ready for work and go to work (work hard and be productive)

Repeat steps 1-9 each night. Keep this up for 3-5 years. Look cheerful and together.

Lesson 4

Can you stand the mess children make? To find out...
1. Smear peanut butter onto the sofa and jam onto the curtains.  I totally disagree with this...I would shit a brick school house if my kids did's a simple concept called WASH THEIR FUCKING HANDS AFTER THEY EAT!!!
2. Hide a piece of raw chicken behind the stereo and leave it there all summer.
3. Stick your fingers in the flower bed.
4. Then rub them on the clean walls.
5. Take your favorite book, photo album, etc. Wreck it.
6. Spill milk on your new pillows. Cover the stains with crayons. How does that look?  Eat crayons, crap the rainbow but forget you've eaten crayons and have a heart attack trying to figure out why the hell your poop is purple.

Lesson 5

Dressing small children is not as easy as it seems.
1. Buy an octopus and a small bag made out of loose mesh.
2. Attempt to put the octopus into the bag so that none of the arms hang out.

Time allowed for this - all morning.

Lesson 6

Forget the BMW and buy a mini-van. And don't think that you can leave it out in the driveway spotless and shining. Family cars don't look like that. I won't drive a mini-van.  Instead, I suck the world's natural resources dry with my giant 9 person SUV
1. Buy a chocolate ice cream cone and put it in the glove compartment.
Leave it there.
2. Get a dime. Stick it in the CD player.
3. Take a family size package of chocolate cookies. Mash them into the back seat. Sprinkle cheerios all over the floor, then smash them with your foot.
4. Run a garden rake along both sides of the car.

Lesson 7

Go to the local grocery store. Take with you the closest thing you can find to a pre-school child. (A full-grown goat is an excellent choice) BAHAHAHAHAHAH!. If you intend to have more than one child, then definitely take more than one goat. Buy your week's groceries without letting the goats out of your sight. Pay for everything the goat eats or destroys. Until you can easily accomplish this, do not even contemplate having children.

Lesson 8

1. Hollow out a melon.
2. Make a small hole in the side.
3. Suspend it from the ceiling and swing it from side to side.
4. Now get a bowl of soggy Cheerios and attempt to spoon them into the swaying melon by pretending to be an airplane.
5. Continue until half the Cheerios are gone.
6. Tip half into your lap. The other half, just throw up in the air.

You are now ready to feed a nine- month-old baby.

Lesson 9

Learn the names of every character from Sesame Street , Barney, Disney, the Teletubbies, and Pokemon. Watch nothing else on TV but PBS, the Disney channel or Noggin for at least five years. (I know, you're thinking What's 'Noggin'?) Exactly the point.  Realize it is not OK to call Special Agent Oso "Special Agent Tardo" because even though he's the dumbest bear ever, this will upset children.  It is not appropriate to imply that Handy Manny is boinking Kelly (he totally is!), or to say that you think *insert disney channel female actress here* is skeezy.  

Lesson 10

Make a recording of Fran Drescher saying 'mommy' repeatedly. (Important: no more than a four second delay between each 'mommy'; occasional crescendo to the level of a supersonic jet is required). Play this tape in your car everywhere you go for the next four years. You are now ready to take a long trip with a toddler.  Fuck the car, play it all the time everywhere you are.  If you plan to have more than 3 kids; add Billy Mays, Rosie O'Donnell, and Willem Defoe to the recording so all 4 are yelling at eachother or saying Mommy at the same time.

Lesson 11

Start talking to an adult of your choice. Have someone else continually tug on your skirt hem, shirt- sleeve, or elbow while playing the 'mommy' tape made from Lesson 10 above. You are now ready to have a conversation with an adult while there is a child in the room.

This is all very tongue in cheek; anyone who is parent will say 'it's all worth it!' Share it with your friends, both those who do and don't have kids. I guarantee they'll get a chuckle out of it. Remember, a sense of humor is one of the most important things you'll need when you become a parent!

Wednesday, January 12, 2011

Blue Baby Syndrome

Ever just feel like you need a change?
It happened to me!
So I went red.  :)

My husband says it's the Heat Miser in me just wishing for the sun to come back out and bake us all to death. He could be right.  I'm dying for warm weather!

The Heat Miser in me really just needed some heat here in the house.  Sometimes the best thing to to raise your winter spirits is spend a day with your husband, having him keep you warm...if ya know what I mean.  My nice day with my husband yesterday was brought to you courtesy of something interesting called Acrocyanosis.  Yeah, my baby turned blue.  What the fuck!?  You wanna talk about heart attack time??  That's it!
The other evening Moose man's hands, feet, and lips went blue.  I don't mean a little blue, I mean fucking Avatar blue.  Out of NOWHERE!  One minute he's chowin on some pot roast and please note:  NOT CHOKING, the next minute he's turning blue and again please note:  STILL not choking...he's giggling and acting normal and I'm stroking out because I'm sure he's dying.

I call the pediatrician she says to get to the ER.  Great.  I was so hoping she would have some miracle explanation for seemingly normal behavior and a blue baby.  So with that in mind we head for the hospital closest to use.  Uhm, yeah.  I've bitched about them before.  I dash off to the ER with full diaper bag including my contact case, glasses, and make up; assuming that we would have to stay because of RSV or some other baby shit...rush in the door, the lady at the check in notes his blue hands and says someone will be with me in a minute.  A minute.  A m i n u t e.  That's a load of shit if I've ever heard one.  My baby is fucking blue, well, his hands and feet are...and he's NOT cold...and I sit.  And I sit.  And I sit.  And I sit.  Now...let me just state that the only reason I wasn't screaming and kicking was because he was obviously not in any type of respiratory distress...he was babbling, giggling, and playing with me.

After over an hour of sitting and playing, his color had gone back to normal.  This pleased the Mama.  Finally they triage us, his pulse ox is 100%.  YAY!  But now I'm confused.  My baby was blue...his pulse ox is fine.  OMG he must have a heart problem!   The triage nurse goes out to the little doc lobby and I can hear her saying she doesn't see any reason to make us a priority.  Fucking great.  This hospital doesn't know how to spell priority much less make someone one.  2 more hours pass with us sitting in the main waiting room, where our wonderful triage nurse banished us to, and finally the doc will see us.
The first words out of his mouth:
"Well, he's not blue now."  !@#$%^&* NO SHIT?!??  He was when we got here three fucking hours ago!!!
A quick check over and the doc sits down.  He explains to me that there's something called Acrocyanosis.  Uhm he says "acro" my brain hears "necro"...I'm picturing a very tiny pine box.  Alas, I'm clueless.  Acrocyanosis is the random bluing of skin because of blood being shunted to another area of the body.  It happens most often in babies ages 12-18 months (Moose is 13 months) and is most visible in babies of the Casper/Powder race...aka my German/Irish/English little man who's skin is so fair you can see veins through it like little roads on a map.
After over a half hour of me asking questions we determine that it was either Moose being cold or Moose's system shunting blood to his belly because he ate a huge meal and his body probably said "Hey, let's get this food digested quickly!"  What a load of horseshit that they don't tell parents stuff like this BEFORE they lose their minds, age 15 years, and have to dye their hair to cover the grays that somehow magically appeared instantly!  I could still nut bust the doc we saw for his statement "If he turns blue again tonight, just bring him back here."  Why?  So we can sit for 3 hours before you look at him and you can tell me there's nothing you can do about it since he's no longer blue.  Thanks.  I'll pass.

On another note:

I've been busting my balls working out and dieting since the 1st of the year and have dropped 7 lbs.  That's not bad considering today is the 12th!  One of my dear new friends is my reflex bag pictured here lovingly wrapped in my arms;
Yeah, 7 lbs off me makes a huge difference in how I look.  It always comes off my face first which is great since it's what everyone has to look at the most!  If you're looking for a great work out, callouses on your knuckles, or something to hit when you think about someone who pisses you off, GET ONE OF THESE!  Holy cow it's awesome.  I miss my old bag and this one is so much better.  It comes back at you (its on a spring) so you can simulate a fight scenario which I love.  It's also proved great therapy for my little ladies who have some pent up frustration from past bad experiences.  I'd hate to be the face they're imagining when punching the bag though!

In the mean time, since we've decided to look for a different type of property in a different area than what we were previously hoping to purchase (bigger and better so I guess I can deal with the shift), I have to make this little albeit beautiful place last a bit longer.  So I started today by going at my pantry.   yes I know I just posted about that a couple months ago but with 4 kids and a snack happy husband, it needed another good organize.  Which led to the question, how many cans of Easy Cheese does one man REALLY need?  Seriously...we could Easy Cheese the nation from here.

Hmmm.  Easy Cheese the Nation.  Great punk band name!

So I'm organizing and cleaning and working and writing and working out and gagging down healthy food and losing weight and having a great week.

Heat Miser is freezing but I have high hopes for snuggle time with my personal space heater tonight.  Baby hasn't been blue in over 24 hours.  We're officially off formula which makes me jump up and down (it's a good work out and the hubs loves the bouncing rack) and all is good with the world.

Saturday, January 8, 2011

Friday, January 7, 2011

Watch me!!!

Sorry I've been MIA.  It's been a crazy 1st week back to the grind, plus the holidays.  I have so much that I would have liked to have blogged about in the last few weeks but time just escaped me.  Annnnnnnnnnnnnnd I started a small project that MIGHT have been that 'one too many' that's officially sucking the life out of me.  Thankfully it's short term!

So after a long day of running around...and a total of 13 months of running around with a baby...I have decided that I am no longer going to frequent establishments that do not have the concern for their patrons to give us SOME sort of place to change our children's diapers.  I don't expect an Koala Bear Care table everywhere I go, but this day in age I think it's asinine for places to literally have NOWHERE to change a child.

My day started off with no changing table in the doc's office bathroom...and a "no changing in the rooms" policy.  This was met with a large sigh from me.  Next was the lawyer's office with no changing table in the bathroom and no room on the bathroom counter between sinks to change a baby.  To this realization I spouted, "Frick!".  The lawyers office was followed by another office with the which I responded, "Son of a ...!!!".  Last but not least and unfortunately for them, the icing on the cake...a restaurant with no changing table in the bathroom etc which I responded by stacking all of our dirty empty plates on the next table over, brushing crumbs onto the floor, laying my little man down in the middle of the dining room, and proceeding to change him right there (careful to protect his privacy with one of those super mom, nothing can be seen changes that I have mastered as I'm not ready to have the "boys have a penis, girls have a vagina" talk with my ladies of the house).  All this occurred while I mumbled and grumbled to myself Rainman style about how ridiculous it is to think that my kid won't pee all day or that he should just wear a dirty diaper or that I should have to change him in the trunk of the car which I totally don't mind doing in warm weather but its fifteen fucking degrees out and snowing...grumble grumble snark and mumble...

Forget the looks from the other customers.  The waitress was speechless and the hostess practically screeched "You can't do that here!"
Me:  With raised eyebrow (which is muy importante to the story...the eyebrow that is) "Really??  Watch me!"

I am ready to scream and fling poopie diapers at the next person who fails to provide me with a suitable changing place for my son's wet ass!

Look, I totally get the whole OSHA thing and the idea of not wanting left over half digested peas and carrots rotting your customers out the bathroom, but come the hell on!  I always always take a handful of ziplock bags with me and never leave a dirty diaper anywhere...they always accompany me home to mi casa and mi basura.  I don't speak Spanish so sorry if my Dora the Explorer is a little rusty.

That being said, I have a new policy.
If you do not have time, effort, or the desire to set aside some semblance of a flatish surface upon which I may lay my small child for a brief period, so that I can quickly remove, cleanse ass, and replace the necessary garments...I will; in return for your chosen level of hospitality,  respond with an equal level of respect for you and your establishment.  By this, I mean that I will; 
#1 Change my child where ever the hell I want, whenever the hell I want.  This includes on your waiting room couch, your counter (bathroom, front desk, or otherwise), your bar, your table, your chair, your window sill, or the top of your fucking head if I deem it large and flat enough to work.  
In addition, I will;
#2  Absolutely and in every way possible without fail every single time regardless of it's level of wetness, stink factor, amount of matter what color, what odor, what liquification level, or what size...ALWAYS leave my son's crap and urine soaked diapers in the garbage can of my choice at YOUR ESTABLISHMENT...ya know...just to make sure you know I was there and still appreciate you not having a place to change him. 

This will serve a number of purposes.  First and foremost I will have inconvenienced you in a way immeasurably smaller than the inconvenience you have caused me, but an inconvenience none the less.  I will have given myself the satisfaction of knowing that by screwing me, you provided me ample opportunity to rid myself of a little aggravation and frustration.  I will no longer have to carry those pesky Ziplock bags and worry about remembering to take dirty diapers out of my bag at home.  And last but not least, perhaps I will make a big enough stink (pardon the intended pun) to get you to change your stingy lazy ass ways and install a place for mothers and fathers to do their motherly and fatherly doodies, thus assisting your future patrons in a way which you obviously lack the parenting knowledge or experience to understand.

In other words people...put in a god damn place for changing babies.  For shit sake (literally!) they only cost $185 fricking dollars!  Up-charge your drinks for a month.  You'll have it covered!

You can buy them here:

They look like this:
"New" Koala Baby Bear Oval - On Sale! (Official Koala Bear Product Reg $360)
and this:
Koala Baby Changing Vertical Station (Official Koala Bear Product Reg $360)
and for being douchey enough to have to read a blog about it because you don't have one, get us one of these too:
Koala Child Protection Seat (On Sale Reg $100.00)
and for the love of God put it IN THE FUCKING STALL!!!  No one with half a brain is going to strap their baby into a chair and then close a stall door between them leaving the child unattended.

That is all.


Thursday, January 6, 2011

Ok, God. You have my attention.

I'm not superstitious.  I walk under ladders.  I own a black cat.
My husband is.  He was all paranoid about picking out a name for the baby before we were close to the end of the pregnancy...he throws salt over his shoulder...he says you will get warts on your butt if you sit on the kitchen counter...he thinks you can jinx things.

I was a weekly church goer as a kid.  I still go, but not every week.  I believe in things, although I think putting a stamp on God as being exactly what one group or another says he/she silly and naive.  That said, the basis of my beliefs is rooted in Christianity.

That means dead birds+dead fish+more dead birds+dead crabs+more dead fish+all in one week=my bible being dusted off and my ammo being restocked!
The entire world is looking to scientists right now for answers and guess what folks, THEY DON'T HAVE ANY!  "Possible pollutants" and "likely natural causes" is the best answer I have heard so far.

I'll admit, all these unexplained mass deaths have brought out a little bit of superstition or at least some book of Revelation awareness from the dark recesses of my mind.  So like any good Christian, what am I doing?  Finding someone to blame for the end of the world.

The world is going to Hell in a handbasket and there is really only one thing to blame for it...Disney Channel & Nickelodeon!

She's lost her marbles!  Nah!
It's the Prednisone!  Nah!

Seriously, those channels encompass everything that sucks about our society and all that which will inevitably send us all to the belly of a 4 headed hound.

Stay with me here.

These stars are supposed to be role models for our kids.  Their shows (in theory...and I question this) are supposed to be teaching some basic lessons to kids about life and how to be a good person.
Lindsay Lohan is a fucking train wreck.  There's no other way to describe her.  I love that she was the super cute star, not once but twice, of the newest Parent Trap movie.
Jamie Lynn Spears was once star of "Zoey 101" which was given an Emmy for Best Children's Show, and she got knocked up before she was legal to vote!
Demi Levato likes to knock the piss out of her dancers...then while in rehab for anger and emotional problems a sex tape surfaces.  So much for "That's So Random" and the "Camp Rock" movies which I thought were really awesome!
Hanny Montany has been bangin her boyfriend under her parents' roof for a few years now.  Did I mention he was old enough and her young enough for him to go to jail for statutory rape when he moved into her house?

The list goes on and on and on and on.  Honestly, if God decides to burn it all down, I can't blame him.

Ok it IS silly, Prednisone inspired and probably total bullshit.  But I will admit that all of this

Wednesday, January 5, 2011

Tuesday, January 4, 2011

In the center ring:

We have the Bitchasaurus Rex!
It should have been a hint when I read the label that said:

So my previous post in which I stated "Don't fucking cough on me!" has now turned to "Fuck you for coughing on me!" and my poor husband is now battening down the hatches for the arrival of the Bitch of the Year.  I'm already the Queen of blurting shit out that's beyond absurd and it gets twenty, yes...20 times worse when I'm on Prednisone.  Prednisone is a my case, intended to get rid of the massive swelling in the lining of my lungs caused by the C U Next Tuesday who hacked her spittle in my face a few weeks back. Thank you for the gift that keeps on giving, stinky cheese smelling woman wearing a moo-moo in the grocery line.

Apparently, the medicine's steroidy anti-inflammatory-y goodness reduces the swelling in my internal brain filter; and like a bottle of wine left in an arid room for too long...shit oozes past my cork and dribbles out of my mouth causing a plethora of ruckusi, which I deduce MUST be the plural of ruckus because it sounds soooooooo much cooler than ruckuses.  My ruckusi have been causing mass hysteria since, ooooooooooh, this morning.

I have at least 10 days until this miraculous drug that makes my lungs, joints and opinions feels oh so warm, fuzzy, and born free...wears off.  In the mean time prepare for the worst, or best, depending on what particular level and potency of shit you like to stir.

AAAAAAAAAND on that note, I'm off to visit the doctor of doom (or so my kiddo thinks) to have ear tubes checked out.  Stupid ear tubes.  I SHALL RETURN!  (Whether you like it or not!)