I have this theory.
In the nursery, they teach classes about unscrewing things...
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 same...to 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 etc...to 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.
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: http://www.babychangingstations.com/index.html
They look like this:
and this:
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:
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.
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 same...to 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 etc...to 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 shit...no 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: http://www.babychangingstations.com/index.html
They look like this:
and this:
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:
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 is...is 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!
WHAT?
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
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 is...is 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!
WHAT?
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 steroid...in 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!)
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 steroid...in 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!)
Monday, January 3, 2011
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