(Not So) Old and Married

Amelia Kaos

2009-05-22T18:49:00.000-07:00

is sad that we won't be seeing "Terminator: Salvation" in the theater. Today is a good day to see some shit blow up.

Zel said...

2009-05-22T18:44:00.001-07:00

...I keep wondering when I'm gonna be that dude. The downside is they're all dressed.

Amelia Kaos

2009-05-21T08:19:00.000-07:00

just took the biggest shit ever. My a-hole ripped open. Not cool. And, BabyK(2) was screaming, so I picked him up and nursed him while I was sitting on the toilet taking the biggest shit ever.

Facebook

2009-03-31T21:10:00.001-07:00

I've not been posting because I've been Facebooking. It's addictive, but not like crack, yo.

So, in Facebook (FB) they have this question, "What's on your mind?" and a box for you to fill in whatever you want. The other day I talked about my brilliance (I've been craving chocolate chip cookies, so I made a batch, baked ~12 and individually froze the remaining batter. Then, when I want a cookie, I can bake it up fresh. Hence, I'm brilliant!) Yesterday I mentioned that I was tuckered out from watching Toddler Kaos play with two of his friends (yes, simply WATCHING two toddlers and a pre-schooler play is exhausting!).

I'm using my real name on FB, and yes, I know all of my friends. I only have 50. I know people have hundreds, and I call them FB sluts.

I'm starting a new segment here on (NS)O&M called "Not on Facebook" and I will post things such as the following:

Amelia Kaos has not had the opportunity to brush her teeth today and her mouth feels like a bag of assholes.

So, there you have it. The new "Not of Facebook" segment of (NS)O&M. Enjoy!

Another time suck

2009-03-02T21:22:00.001-08:00

I started reading "Marley and Me." It's the story about a neurotic dog and his owner.

I read 100 pages.

All I could think was, "Dude, you're way too passive with this dog. Take his ass to boot camp."

I couldn't take it anymore. I had to walk away.

Major waste of time. Don't waste your money.

Sore throat cure

2009-02-17T20:24:00.001-08:00

Hmm...I know she was picked for a reason. But close your eyes and just listen. I'm not kidding.

Major waste of time

2009-02-08T21:25:00.000-08:00

I'm in a new book club. My old book club fizzled out because people didn't want to read anything heavier than “Mr. Snuffleupagus Goes to the Zoo”. I have no idea if this is a real book, but I think you see my point.

So, my new book club is reading “Under the Tuscan Sun: At Home in Italy” by Frances Maynes. This book is a major waste of time. Major.

This broad and her husband, who both happen to be faculty at two San Francisco area universities when the writing occurs (I later discover that she's at SFSU. Not sure where he teaches, because I don't give that much of a crap.). Anyway, they purchase this home in Tuscany, Italy and it hasn't been inhabited for 30 years, so it's a major fixer-upper. They need to get rid of scorpions and spiders that have invaded the house. Yeah.

This book pissed me off for several reasons:

Having so much money to burn that I purchase a second home, 7,000 miles away from my current home, where I can only spend a few months out of the year at.
Purchasing a home, regardless of location, that you have to sink a ton of money into in order to have basic things like heat, hot water and a functioning kitchen.
Two highly-educated people purchasing a home that requires above mentioned (and lots and lots of other) work and having the work done WHILE THEY ARE IN SAN FRANCISCO. And corresponding with the contractors by FAX. My parents and I never talked about building your own home or major construction projects, but common fucking sense tells me that I need to be present when that shit is going on.

At one point in the book, she mentions that she's the department chair—I later read on line that she was in charge of the Creative Writing department, so, really, the entire goddamn book could be a major embellishment, because let's face it, Creative Writers are people who creatively write and they are trained to MAKE SHIT UP. They go to school for years, spend thousands of dollars and they end up taking jobs where they MAKE SHIT UP.

The version I have of this book that I BORROWED (lemme tell you how glad I am that I didn't waste my hard earned money on this piece of shit book) is 310 pages long. I read the first 100 pages, skimmed the second hundred pages, and I'm not sure I'm going to waste my incredibly valuable time reading the last 100 pages. Zel suggested that I read the first and last paragraphs of each of the remaining chapters, and that I should still get the gist of what's going on. While that's a great idea, I'm not sure I want to waste anymore time on this huge piece of crap.

Oh, and Ms. Maynes, I mean no disrespect, but you're really not the brightest bulb. And, how in the fuck did you get a contract to develop your own line of furniture? Honestly.

And, no, I'm not gonna see the movie.

Big Day

2009-02-01T14:08:00.000-08:00

I hope the Arizona Cardinals win.

Maybe they're like the Little Engine That Could and are currently chanting "I think I can! I think I can!"

*********************************************************

Update 2/8/09

As you all know, Arizona lost in the last couple of minutes of the game. They did a decent job. My hat is off to them for making it as far as they did and playing a tough team.

Really, Bruce?

2009-01-30T19:52:00.000-08:00

OK--so, maybe he's getting old and his brain is a little...fuzzy. But, Bruce, really? I know it's only another greatest hits album. But didn't he just sign a deal with the Empire?

I mean, this is akin to Anakin hanging out with Chancellor Palpatine.

Twins?

2009-01-20T20:14:00.000-08:00

I'm not looking at Obama and Bush.

I'm looking at Cheney.

Doesn't he look like the dude in “Raiders of the Lost Ark”? The dude who's face melted off?

Seriously.

The Arizona Cardinals are going to the Super Bowl

2009-01-19T20:30:00.000-08:00

Wow.

They did it. The Arizona Cardinals are going to the Super Bowl.

Lemme say that again.

The Arizona Cardinals are going to the Super Bowl.

I've not posted till now because I've been flat on my back trying to absorb the fact that THE ARIZONA CARDINALS ARE GOING TO THE SUPER BOWL!

It's not that they don't deserve it. (They do.) It's not that they didn't work hard. (They did.) It's not that they don't have my respect. (They do now.)

It's that in the 61 year history of the team, they've always sucked. When they moved to Arizona in 1988, they couldn't beat themselves off in the shower. I lived in Tucson when they moved from St. Louis; everyone was excited we were getting a professional football team. My Dad said, “We're on the map!” Because that large hole in the ground didn't put the State of Arizona on the map prior to the Cardinals' arrival.

They did nearly hand the game to the Eagles. I mean, how do you blow a a 24 – 6 lead? But, I'm not a professional analyst, so I'm not gonna go there.

The question now is, can they stop the Steelers? I hope they do. I'm pulling for them. It's not because they're the underdog. It's because I lived in Arizona 21 years, and I'd like to see the Cardinals win.

The World is Coming to an End

2009-01-10T20:14:00.000-08:00

Not in 2012 the way the Mayans predicted.

I'm not kidding.

Did you see the score of the Cardinals/Panthers game?

I mean the CARDINALS are going to the NFC CHAMPIONSHIP GAME.

If they beat either the Eagles or the Giants next week, let's all look for large comets, or pay closer attention to the earthquakes happening in Yellowstone.

Of course, Jesus could be coming, too. But I'll leave that one for The Big Clown to ponder.

*********************************************************
Update 1/11/09
Philly is going to the Desert--Go Cards!

No, I'm not pulling for the end of the world, I'm just pulling for a team who hasn't made it this far before. And, I grew up in Arizona.

And, be proud of me, I didn't say something stupid like, "It's gonna be a bird fight in the Desert!" I'll leave that shit to the professional talking heads!

Not thinking

2009-01-03T21:27:00.001-08:00

I bought my 2-year-old a cherry Chapstick. And gave it to him.

I was clearly not thinking.

No, he didn't eat it. But, he does take the lid off with his mouth.

He no longer has a cherry Chapstick. He will not get another one soon.

Not sure how she's gonna take this one

2008-12-28T21:47:00.000-08:00

Well, my friend, Lee, who is a techie girl and loves all things Apple, I hate to break this to you. But the Empire is selling the iPhone.

But, bigger picture, why do my last two posts link to the Empire?

Wanda and the lettuce spinner

2008-12-28T21:39:00.000-08:00

Today, Toddler Kaos wanted to play with the lettuce spinner. Fine. He's sick. I'm the mom who believes that when the child is sick, pretty much all rules (except hitting, kicking and moving the dining room furniture) are thrown out the window.

Besides, the lettuce spinner has been around for nearly 10 years. Time to get a new one is coming. Sooner if the spinner conveniently breaks under the watch of Toddler Kaos.

So, we put all sorts of things in the spinner, including his new Spud Buds (no, I didn't pay that much for it. I patronize the Empire.) We also put in the new flashlight that he received for Christmas and then spun the spinner--it was like having a disco in the living room. For a two-year-old. We also put Wanda the Witch in there. Don't worry, she's stuffed.

Toddler Kaos had enough of the salad spinner about 5 hours after we took it out. Daddy put it in the sink, because it was the best hiding place at the time. That was about 12 noon.

I just found Wanda in the spinner...after nearly 10 hours. Sorry Wanda.

DUH!

2008-12-27T20:56:00.000-08:00

For years, I've been saying Celine can't sing. I'm glad someone finally agrees with me. And, don't forget to add Mariah Carey to the list. She and Celine are the only ones who understand each other because they talk dolphin-speak.

It's kinda like Bob Dylan, Tom Petty and Bruce Springsteen. They are the only three dudes on the planet that can understand what the other one is saying.

No really, stop fucking

2008-12-21T21:00:00.000-08:00

I've never seen an episode. I originally learned about the reality show "17 Kids and Counting" from my favorite show, "The Soup" on E!

Mind you, we don't watch a lot of television and are baffled by our friends who have 2-year-olds that can sit through an entire 90 minute movie; but I digress...that's a post for another time.

Anyway, on the one hand, congratulations to the family for

giving birth to a healthy baby
having a healthy mom
picking out name #18 that starts with the letter J. And, no, they didn't repeat any names.

On the other hand, no really, stop fucking. Please. Or, get fixed. Please.

And, the dad's name is Jim Bob, so do I even need to say anything else?

Christmas Letters

2008-12-10T21:10:00.001-08:00

Tis the season! We just received our first Christmas Letter from a friend of ours. It was a 2-page, size 2 font. Not kidding. We needed a magnifying lens just to read it.

There are three people in her family. Two pages. Two point font. Sweet Jesus. And, keep in mind, my friend is a hippie and wants to reduce the carbon footprint. Never mind that she probably used a half a ream of paper to mail her letter, photo booklet (I'm not kidding) and envelopes.

My son isn't much of a napper, so a lot of things have been cut out of life:

Quilting: which I still manage to find time to do. But only in like 5 minute spurts.
Cleaning: I vacuum when I get around to it. Zel empties the dishwasher, I load it. I wipe down the bathrooms with Clorox wipes when I can. I love those Clorox wipes!
Blogging: C'mon! My last entry was nearly 6 months ago. Honestly. I don't get to pee too much during the day, let alone blog!

I thought about doing a Christmas Letter. But it would be a Holiday Letter, so that way I'd be covering both the Jews and the Christian denominations in our families and our Atheist friends.

But, I don't have time for that shit. And, let's face it, letters aren't personal. I'd much rather take a few minutes to hand write out a card to our friends and family and then I can personalize, to a certain extent, each card. Not that I have much time for that either.

Anyway, just my 2 cents on Christmas Letters.

And, just to save everyone some time: Happy Effing Holidays!!

How to find me

2008-06-30T12:46:00.000-07:00

Someone just found me by googling "nursing bra fuck".

Serious. You guys.

From Germany.

Remember that post? If you don't, or even if you do, check it out.

Love it!!!

Seems a little wrong

2008-06-08T15:41:00.000-07:00

Seems a little wrong

We recently purchased new cell phones. We now have the capability to text message. Yes, my last cell phone was produced in the last millennium.

Anyway, with our new cell phones, we received two $50 rebates, and we were quite excited to be getting $100 in the mail. We had big plans to put it in the bank because we don't like to hemorrhage money.

The rebates arrived last week in the form of a credit card.

You heard me.

A credit card.

Not a debit card.

Not a check.

A credit card.

In fact, it was two credit cards. Purchase two phones, get two rebates, in the form of CREDIT CARDS.

The credit card expires in September 2008. So, while I have my $100, my cell phone company is controlling the purse strings. In other words, the cell phone company is saying, “Here's you're money, but we're not giving you the ability to totally control your money because you're totally irresponsible. And, if you go over the $50 per card limit, we'll add that balance on to your next phone bill.”

What a bunch of bitches.

We considered purchasing a new wagon for Toddler Kaos. But we're not going to be able to split the cost between the two credit cards.

We're going to spend it on gas for our vehicles.

mmm...no

2008-04-17T14:49:00.001-07:00

I just received this magazine offer in the mail for a magazine called Cookie. Their tag line is "The new magazine for the woman within the mother." Honestly. Who in the goddamn comes up with that shit?

Movie Review--How She Move

2008-01-30T07:42:00.000-08:00

I'm not seeing this movie, but I'm reviewing it.

How She Move WARNING: Longest trailer E-V-E-R!!!

I no see this. They no speak English good.

Movie Review

2008-01-27T13:52:00.000-08:00

I'm not seeing this movie, but I'm reviewing it.

Love in the Time of Cholera

Cholera is a bacterial disease that causes diarrhea. Massive diarrhea. And vomiting. And leg cramps.

If I'm feeling that way, I'm not up to loving you or anyone.

In 100 years, is Hollywood going to make “Love in the Time of HIV”? I'm just saying.

Brilliant, Bitches

2008-01-19T15:36:00.000-08:00

Go ahead. Call me “Brilliant”, Bitches.

I just used LYSOL wipes to mop my floor. I took four wipes, two under each foot, and slid around my entryway, kitchen, and dining room floors.

I wore my really old Birks, the ones Toddler Kaos puked on a couple of weeks ago, so getting some LYSOL on them wasn't a biggie. In fact, it probably helped to clean my shoes, you guys.

I changed the LYSOL wipes every so often, like when they got dirty. And my floor was pretty goddamned dirty, because I'm not a mopper.

It's not that I don't own a mop. I do. But I smurfing hate to mop. I'd rather walk through a parking garage in Las Vegas in August wearing pantyhose.

I also got a decent work-out when I skated on the LYSOL wipes. I remembered to engage my abs, so that I wouldn't strain my back. And, I raised my pulse a bit. I'm not sure if that says I was working too hard or that I'm really out of shape.

But, regardless, I now have a clean floor.

Go ahead. Call me “Brilliant”, Bitches.

Comment of the Day, January 9, 2008

2008-01-10T20:25:00.000-08:00

So, we're at the doctor's office yesterday. In the waiting room. (I'll spare you the details of why we were there.)

And Toddler Kaos walks over to this lady and starts making eyes at her.

She starts talking to him. And he doesn't reply.

She was a smoker. He's a smart kid and not only does he not talk to strangers, he doesn't talk to women who look 80 but are actually only 50 because they smoke.

And then she said, "Are you a mama's boy?"

And he looked over at us like, "WTF?"

What I think she really meant by her question was, "Are you a pussy?"

Because really, all 16 month old boys are mama's boys. Honestly.

Do Over

2007-11-18T15:33:00.000-08:00

If I were to do it over, I’d major in English.

I’d work my way through college by being a stripper.

My stripper name would be Polly Sillybic.

Action Heros

2007-10-24T12:48:00.000-07:00

E! recently announced the 25 Awesome Action Heroes.

All hail Ripley.

E!, I have to disagree with you naming her #2. She's a bigger, better bad-ass than John McClane. She wiped out ALIENS for Christ's sake. Honestly.

I mean, McClane's good--I give him credit for walking over glass with bare feet. But ALIENS, you guys. Come on!

Book Club

2007-10-05T05:24:00.000-07:00

The group of mom's I hang out with started a Book Club. We just finished "The Handmaid's Tale" by Margaret Atwood.

Second time I've read the book--thought it was brilliant.

One of the women in Book Club told me at a previous gathering that she was trying to potty train her 3-year-old daughter. She wasn't having much success. She was making the daughter wear her wet pull-ups on her head as punishment for not going potty in the toilet. I'm not kidding. I can't make this up.

This same woman said she didn't like Handmaid because it didn't have a final conclusion and that when she got to the Historical Notes at the end, she didn't get it.

Happy Birthday, Baby Kaos!

2007-09-12T22:28:00.000-07:00

Baby Kaos turned one on Monday.

We celebrated by trying halibut, which he didn’t care for. But, it could’ve been because I splashed it with some lime juice, and added a bit of salt and pepper and then threw it on the grill. Since he made quite the face, and refused to eat any more halibut, he had black beans and avocado, with a side of Cheerios.

As Lee would say, he’s circumnavigated the sun one time.

New Trick

2007-09-05T17:16:00.000-07:00

Baby Kaos has a new trick.

He tried mac and cheese today for the first time. No, I didn't use the boxed kind.

I used small shell pasta, and a little butter, and a smidge of 1% milk, and some Kraft American cheese slices...melted it all together...mmm, tasty!

So, Baby Kaos' new trick:

Suck the cheese sauce off the pasta and spit the pasta out!

He's quite the talented one. It's most impressive!

Just Call Her "Bill"

2007-08-28T14:10:00.000-07:00

100-year-old celebrates her birthday by smoking 170,000th cigarette
"Despite the numerous health warnings, Mrs Langley insists she's never suffered because of the habit as she "has never inhaled"."

New Project

2007-08-26T22:51:00.000-07:00

We’re currently working really hard on a new project. Actually, we figure it’s an on-going project, and that it’ll take a while.

Zel and I are working really hard to not curse.

For those of you who know us, you know this is a major fucking challenge. We have mouths like a sailor and a trucker.

The reason we don’t want to curse any more is because of Baby Kaos. We’d really hate for him to be chatting with one of his Grandmothers on the phone and say, “Goddamnit, Grandma!” or “This toy is a piece of shit!” or “My room is a fucking disaster!”

One idea to help us not curse involves money. Usually, when Zel has to pay for something, he sits up and pays attention (no pun intended, but it’s funny all the same). The idea is that for each time we curse, we have to put a quarter in a jar and then whenever we have enough quarters, we’ll put the money into college saving account for Baby Kaos. We’ll probably have a decent amount of money in a couple of days. Honestly.

We tried to substitute other words for curse words. Like, fart or frick = fuck; shoot = shit; darn = damn. But that’s not working because it’s not us. We’re cursers.

Of course, we’re trying to approach the entire project with humor. There are some substitution words that are a bit funny that we’ve started using:

Malarkey. That’s a good word. As in, “That’s a bunch of malarkey, Grandma!”

Baloney. That’s an ok word. “This toy is a piece of baloney!”

But, Pimento Loaf is better, but only because pimento loaf is a nasty nasty thing. “My room is a pimento loafing disaster!”

So far, so good.

But, I think we’re going to go with “smurf”. I’m not smurfing kidding here.

Wish us luck, because we need all the smurfing luck we can get our hands on with this project.

Disposable Thermometers?

2007-08-11T22:45:00.000-07:00

We grew up with mercury thermometers, and we're fine, just fine.

The latest and greatest invention is the digital thermometer. We have four; yes, F-O-U-R digital thermometers.

We have two that can go into a person's ear, which we received for baby shower gifts. We have two that you can use in the mouth, under the arm, or up the A. I purchased these: one for home and one for the diaper bag.

The trouble started Thursday night, when Baby Kaos felt like he was going to spontaneously combust. I grabbed the non-ear thermometer...dead battery. I found non-ear thermometer #2 in the diaper bag...dead battery.

WTF??? I've had these non-ear thermometers less than a year. My son has been sick a total of TWICE in his 11 months of life.

My Mommy-OCD kicked in, and I kept pushing the “On” button on one of the non-ear thermometers. FINALLY, it decided to give me one attempt. I stuck the thermometer under his arm: 103.something. Sweet Jesus. His entire body was hot to the touch, and it was a bit scary.

Although Baby Kaos has never been too fond of the ear thermometer I tried and got a similar reading. And I had to wrastle him down to get it. And, I'm never sure about this thermometer...did I stick it in far enough...did I stick it in too far...I hope I don't hurt him....

We were up for about 2 hours in the middle of the night. Went to the doc's the next day. Ear infection. No wonder he hollered when the ear thermometer went in. Sorry, Baby Kaos.

On Friday afternoon, I went on a mission to find a new battery for the non-ear thermometer. I start calling around. I call the pharmacies: no battery. I call Radio Shack: Special order for $4.99 + Shipping (Huh? I may as well get a new goddamned thermometer!). I call the jewelers: $14.02 with tax, lifetime warranty. If, at any point in my life, the battery dies, they'll replace it for free. That's nice.

Hang on just a second: On the thermometer instructions that I kept, it says, “Battery Life: more than 300 measurements or approximately 2 years if used every other day.” My Mommy-OCD isn't that bad, I don't take Baby Kaos' temp every other day. The company is getting a phone call on Monday.

But, since I can't track down a reasonably priced thermometer battery in my community, are thermometers now disposable?

Comment of the Day, August 7, 2007

2007-08-07T21:00:00.000-07:00

So, I'm calling around to local stores, trying to find a specific baby-proofing lock. I'm looking for a Safety 1st, Lazy Susan Cabinet Lock.

Yes, I used the Inter-Web and tried to find one. And find one I did...for $2.97. And a mere $10.00 s/h. No, I'm not making this up. TEN DOLLARS to ship and handle a piece of plastic that cost $0.50 to make. Dry eff in the A, no reach-around.

I've looked at the Empire, but they don't have the specific lock I'm looking for. So, I call around.

Store 1
A major corporation; not the best customer service when you're in the store generally means not the best customer service when you're on the phone. I tell the guy at the Special Order Service Desk that I'm looking for a specific childproofing lock, I know they carry the brand, but they don't carry the lock. He asks me what kind of lock; I tell him it's a Safety 1st, Lazy Susan Cabinet Lock, and ask if they would be willing to order it for me. I didn't tell him that I want to see if they can special order it for me and not charge me $13.00 for it.

“And what's this for again?” he asks.

“Childproofing,” I say. I'm patient. He's a bit on the slow side...probably not getting enough fresh air.

He tells me that he's looking in the computer for Safety 1st, but that it's not coming up. Nothing called Safety 1st is coming up. He tells me that he's never heard of Safety 1st, but that he's also not surprised he's never heard of it because they "carry a lot of different stuff here at The Major Corporation."

He tells me that he needs to do a bit more searching and he's going to set the phone down. He set the phone down. He did not put me on hold. He SET THE PHONE DOWN ON THE COUNTER. I hung up; I don't have time for this shit.

Store 2
I call the mom-and-pop store, which is sometimes referred to as “Store, Our Store” because one or both of The Girls claimed she saw Huey Lewis and his dad there.

I tell the gal on the phone at the mom-and-pop that I'm looking for a specific childproofing item: the Safety 1st, Lazy Susan Cabinet Lock and ask her if they carry such a thing.

“Jus a sec,” she says. (yes, she said, “Jus” not “Just”; God bless 'er!)

She continues, but not quite in my ear, “Hey, Craig! Do we carry baby proofin' stuff?”

In my head: “Oh, Sweet Jesus.”

Craig: “Uh, yeah! On aisle 10, on the left.”

She comes back to me, “It's on aisle 10, on the left.”

"Mkay."

Out loud, I said, “Ok, so you carry it then?”

“Well,” she said, “the childproofing stuff is on aisle 10, on the left. So you'd need to take a left at aisle 10.”

No, I didn't go ask her to check. Instead, I said, “Thank you very much. I appreciate your time.”

“You're welcome,” she said.

Wow. What the goddamn do you say to something like that? Because it was kinda funny; kinda not.

At least I know exactly where to go in the Store, Our Store: aisle ten, on the left.

Daily Special

2007-08-03T15:53:00.000-07:00

Yesterday at my favorite coffee shop, the daily special was a Daisy Chain.

I can’t make this up.

I did my civic duty, and told the owner that she may want to change the name of the daily special.

“Why?” she asked.

“Well, I’m concerned that your baristas may be projecting the wrong image with the name Daisy Chain,” I said.

“Well, what’s a Daisy Chain?” she asked.

“It’s not a hazelnut and vanilla latte. Nor is it a chain of daisies,” I said.

She was very concerned. It’s not that she’s young and naïve; she has four grown kids, one of which plays professional women’s basketball. But she truly had no idea.

So, I explained that it’s a little like this:

Although the baristas are hot, I did not offer to demonstrate a daisy chain.

She was a bit surprised at the definition of Daisy Chain. She said that when the baristas came up with the name for the daily special, they had no idea that it meant that.

I said, “As far as you know, they don’t know, but they’re savvy college girls, and they may know.” I did not say, “They may have even participated in one.”

A Little Bit of Heaven

2007-07-27T08:29:00.000-07:00

We just did a slight remodel on our kitchen. For the past 5 years we've not had an automatic dishwasher. The man who owned our home before we bought it also built the house, sans dishwasher.

When we walked through the house for the first time, we asked him about not having a dishwasher and in a raised voice, he said something along the lines of:

“I'm a retired submarine sailor and you only need one fork, one knife, one spoon, one dish, and one glass and you'll be fine! You have two good hands so you wash the dishes with your hands! Dishwashers are for lazy people!”

Mkay, then.

Zel and I think Chuck planned on living out his days in this house, and wasn't too concerned about resale.

Since having Baby Kaos, we've begun to hate, and I do mean H-A-T-E doing dishes by hand. This is the 21 st Century, for Christ's sake. I want to spend time with my family, not doing dishes.

So, we talked to our neighbor, who Chuck hired to build our kitchen, about installing a dishwasher. He knows what can be moved easily and what can't. Based upon his advice, and knowing that anything can be done if you're willing to pay for it and that we were investing in the value of our home, we decided to go for it.

Here's what the kitchen looked like before:

We had to run electricity and plumbing to the site:

And, here is our brand-spanking-new automatic dishwasher:

We now get to spend more quality time with Baby Kaos and with each other. We're saving our hands; we're using less water; we're saving the earth (sorry, by default, living in Flagstaff and then the Pacific Northwest makes you a granola!).

It's a little bit of heaven.

Talking on the Telephone to Jesus

2007-07-24T23:10:00.000-07:00

Church May Erect Cross-Shaped Cell Phone Tower.

I have so much to say about this that I can't say any of it.

Last Week

2007-07-09T21:31:00.000-07:00

My last day was this past Friday, July 6. I worked the four days of the week, taking full advantage of being a government employee and getting paid for the Fourth of July.

They threw me a great party on Tuesday, July 3. Zel and I even got our very own 7-pound chocolate cake from Costco. (If you get the chance, I highly recommend picking one up—but make sure you have lots and lots of room in your tummy!) They gave me two lovely parting gifts—a gift certificate to a fancy restaurant and a denim shirt that has a small hand painted bunch of flowers on the front left side.

On Friday morning, I spent 2.5 hours with my arch-nemesis. Two and one-half hours. That's 150 minutes. That's a long effing time. It's about 2.5 hours too long. I ran the meeting, and took minutes (go ahead, call me a Rock Star). She knitted. The good news: we both still have our eyeballs.

Finally, 2.5 hours into the bullshit, I said, “Well, since were done and today is my last day, I intend to type up these minutes and I also have a lot of other things to do, so I'll see you all at a later date.” And I was off. But, I came out on top, because I knew it was the last time I had to deal with the bullshit.

Then I left my meeting and went down to the basement (don't get me started on the fact that the HEALTH DEPARTMENT is in the BASEMENT). I typed up the minutes and emailed them out to the people at the meeting, just like a good little solider.

When I was finished with that bullshit from the bullshit meeting, I packed and cleaned and filed and dusted. When it was all said and done, my office looked less like a tornado went through and more like an office. I impressed myself. My boss even made a comment about the cleanliness.

I only cried a couple of times: once when I took my boxes out to my truck, but only a little bit. And a second time when my boss gave me a big hug and said she is confident that I'm going to be a great Early Childhood Development Specialist.

Rock-Star Job

2007-06-26T15:30:00.000-07:00

The Tobacco Prevention Queen gig is kinda like being a rock star: It's very high-profile and you get paid to travel.

I've gotten paid a lot of money to fly across the country to visit my good friend Melanie; twice. We went to great restaurants; I ate West African food for the first time. Melanie spoke French to the waiter. She said that she wasn't completely sure what she told the dude, because her French was a bit rusty—it had been a while since she was in Benin. She said that she either told the waiter that we were sisters or that we were lesbians. Either way, I'm ok with that.

Mel and I also went to several of the Smithsonian museums, including the Museum of Natural History to see the Hope Diamond. I told Mel that we should try and steal it because it would bring out her eyes. But we decided against it because we didn't want to be cursed. We also went to the Air & Space Museum, but Mel said that space stuff was dumb. I recall trying to figure out how to get Zel in an airplane to DC so he could check out the exhibits, sans Mel.

And, I went to this national conference while I was there; twice. But the conference wasn't nearly as exciting as Mel and I sitting on a fancy hotel bed, eating pizza and watching pairs ice skating during the Winter Olympics and yelling “Launch the Bitch!”

I've also gotten paid a lot of money to fly to Chicago—the city I've wanted to visit since the Bears won the Super Bowl in 1985. I was young and influential and they became my team—even in the 90's when they sucked. A good friend of mine and I were traveling to a national conference and we each had to present about the rock star work we'd done in our communities. We decided to ditch the conference one day and we went to the Art Institute. I saw the painting by Seurat that was in Ferris Bueller's Day Off--A Sunday on La Grande Jatte, which was painted in 1884. I bought myself a mug with the painting on it. The thing that I really remember about the painting is that it is massive—it's over 6 feet tall and over 10 feet wide. And, Seurat did everything in what would become pointillism style—lots and lots and lots of little dots. Enough to make your head spin. And, my friend took my picture taken in front of Soilder Field. It was great. And we ate this fabulous dinner at Vermilion. Our goal was to come in under the day's allowance for per diem for that one meal; and we did, but just barely. And we went shopping on Michigan Avenue, which sounds fancy pants, but it's really just walking around downtown Chicago and shopping. And, we went to the top of the Hancock building. It was cheaper than the Sears Tower, and we did have to pay for our own entertainment. And, we went on a sightseeing Chicago River and Lake Michigan architecture boat tour. This is something I wouldn't normally do, because my mother used to make me do things like this and I always hated it. But I'm so glad I did it; the Chicago skyline at dusk is truly stunning.

I've been to Seattle lots of times—I usually have dinner with the Biostatitician and his lovely wife when I'm there. But, we don't do the touristy thing, we do the “hang at the pub and look for fist-shakin-fine women” thing. Well, the Biostatitician and I do; his wife doesn't know about our antics.

But, I'm done with being a Rock Star. I'm off to be an Early Childhood Development Specialist with a Sample Size of One.

No thanks. I'm finished.

2007-06-16T06:36:00.000-07:00

I quit my job yesterday.

Actually, I resigned. I'm a grown-up. Grown-ups resign. When you're a teenager working at Carl's Jr., you quit.

Anyway, I'm done being the Tobacco Prevention Queen. No thanks. I'm finished.

I'm done enforcing the laws around smoking related issues. I've written a law where I made it illegal to smoke on county-owned properties, including the fairgrounds. I'm not what you'd call popular out at the fairgrounds. I'm responsible for making sure you don't sell tobacco to minors because it's illegal for minors to smoke. But, I'm not responsible for making sure the kids who smoke get in trouble—that'd be the police. Finally, I'm responsible for making sure that there is no smoking in public places, including within 25 feet of any door, window, or air intake system.

No thanks. I'm finished. The only downside is that people won't respect my authority any more.

I'm done with meetings. Especially the meetings where I want to poke my eyes out with my latte straws. The other day I was in a meeting and my arch-nemesis was knitting. It wasn't the knitting that bothered me—I often times will work on a quilt binding while I'm in a meeting. But, my arch-nemesis was knitting, and she wouldn't shut the goddamn up, and I wanted to poke her eyes out with her knitting needles.

No thanks. I'm finished. The only downside is I won't have too many more opportunities to poke out the eyes of my arch-nemesis.

I'm done with not being on a regular schedule. This is of the up most importance to me because Baby Kaos is on a schedule. Sometimes the poke-you-eyes-out meetings are in the middle of afternoon nap.

No thanks. I'm finished. The upside is I'll be able to take an afternoon nap with Baby Kaos if I wanna.

I'm done with the travel. Before Baby Kaos was born, I was traveling far and wide and often, but that's a blog for another day. And now, I have this overwhelming urge to not leave my baby.

No thanks. I'm finished. I'm done with the rock-star job.

I like to think of it as having a career change: I'm going to be a full-time Early Childhood Developmental Specialist, with a sample size of one.

Comment of the Day, May 30, 2007

2007-05-30T16:07:00.000-07:00

I was in a meeting yesterday with a colleague.

We'd met before, but it wasn't in a professional manner, and we were both trying to figure out where we knew each other from.

In a town of 25,000 people, you tend to see folks around.

The topic of yoga came up; we both practice yoga.

She said, “Did you practice when you were pregnant?”

“Yep,” I said. “I practiced before I got pregnant and then I practiced throughout my pregnancy, and now I try to get to class once a week.”

She said, “That's where I've seen you! I remember practicing next to you when you were pregnant. You were hard core.”

“Wow! Thanks!” I said. I was a bit taken aback, but in a good way. I mean, what do you say when someone says you're Hard Core and they're not referring to porn?

“Yeah,” she said. “I mean, you were huge—and I don't mean that to be mean—and you were keeping up with us. It was pretty impressive.”

“Thanks,” I said.

Hard core. Impressive. That's me.

Comment of the Day, May 18, 2007

2007-05-18T21:53:00.000-07:00

Baby Kaos and I went to a new bookstore today. A new used bookstore. I'm not down with paying new prices for books.

We don't get over to the other side of town much, and that's where the bookstore is. We were on our way back from shopping at the secondhand baby clothes store. It's my new favorite store, but that's a different blog.

So, we go in to the used bookstore, and we're the only customers. No biggie.

The owner, who is an older woman, greeted us and asked if she could help us. I told her we were looking for children's books.

“Well,” she said, “I have some here, but he's a little young for those.”

She was pointing to “The Cat In The Hat”.

“And we have some over here, too,” she said.

“Baby Kaos,” I said, “Look! It's 'The Cat In The Hat'! You know this book!”

In other words, beeyatch, don't tell me my kid's too young for “The Cat In The Hat” because my son is a genius because we read to him everyday.

So we start looking at the books. And the owner starts talking. She asked if she could hold Baby Kaos, “After all,” she said, “I'm a grandma. You know grandmas when you see them, don't you Baby?”

I said, “Well, he's not had much lunch and he's pretty tired, so I don't think he's the best company right now.”

And she kinda disregarded what I said and did that thing that people do with their hands when they're getting ready to hold a baby—the “clap, clap, come 'ere” maneuver. You're done it. You know it.

Fortunately, Baby Kaos leaned his head into my shoulder. He's a great performer. But, she still didn't get the clue that he wasn't interested in her.

She kept talking. I learned all about that she's the mom of twins and that she has two granddaughters that live in California and that the granddaughters want her to move down to California but that she can't afford to live there and that they don't live in a great neighborhood and houses are sill $600,000.

“Do you mind if we look around?” I asked. I'm trying to make us scarce and be polite.

We start to walk away. Just walking around looking at books is really the entire reason I wanted to go in there anyway.

We're about 2/3 of the way through the store and I hear her say, “Are you a Christian?”

Sweet Jesus. You coulda knocked me over with a feather.

“No,” I said.

She said, “Well, if you were, I was going to tell you that we have a lot of Christian books for children.”

I said, “Thanks. We have lots of Christian friends, so we'll be sure to tell them.”

And we left shortly thereafter. I was a bit concerned that she was going to baptize Baby Kaos.

When Baby Kaos and I got out to the truck, I said to him, “If that dumb beeyatch would've looked at our noses, she would've known that we're a bunch of Jews!”

What's the Difference

2007-04-27T06:56:00.000-07:00

What's the difference between a poodle and a sheep?

Apparently none for some people.

I have this thing lately, where ignorance is really pissing me off. I can tell you that I don't feel badly for the people who bought the sheep. They're ignorant.

Comment of the Day, April 20, 2007

2007-04-20T14:25:00.000-07:00

I'm not sure why the comment of the day has been happening at the grocery store. Baby Kaos and I weren't at the usual grocery store. We were at the big-chain grocery store, where they have things like the best cheese in the world. The other grocery store is locally owned and while we can get locally grown fruits and veggies, and the cheese is good, it doesn't compare.

Anyway, so we're in the checkout line and the checker said to Baby Kaos, “Oh, Mom took you out of the cart. That's ok! I'll just flirt with you over here instead.”

And I said to Baby Kaos, “Are you going to flirt with her?”

And he did, because flirting is his new trick. But, he's not a circus seal, so I'm trying to limit performances, yo.

And the checker, who seems to be a nice lady—I usually try and go through her line—tells me that she has a 3-month-old at home, and she asked how old Baby Kaos is. Then we started talking about names and she told me her son's name and I told her my son's name and we agreed that we named our babies with good names.

And I said, “We have one of the top 10 most common last names, so we wanted to go with something uncommon for a first name.”

And the bagger, who is probably about 55 felt this was his opportunity to pipe up. He said, “What's your last name?”

And I told him. Common last name—didn't think too much of it except I did kick myself a little for opening that can of worms. But, it's not like they don't have my vital information in their goddamned club card database. So, again, didn't think too much of it.

So then I turned to the checker to continue my conversation with her. And we started talking a bit about common last names.

And then the bagger said, “Well, what's your maiden name?”

And I said, “Smith.” Which it isn't. But, the bagger thought it was funny that I was a Smith and I married an Anderson. Fucking hilarious.

Inside my head I said, “None of your fucking business.”

Then he said, “Your hands are pretty full. Do you need help out today?”

And I minded my p's and q's and politely said, “Nope. We can manage. Thanks anyway, though.”

Strange. Why the fuck do you need to know my last name and my maiden name? So you're trying to make conversation, which is a learned art. But, it's really none of your business.

And, I know you're trying to do your job, but do you want to know what type of vehicle I drive and get my license plate number so that you can track me down and ax murder me? Or, perhaps you know the guy at the locally-0wned grocery store and you're working the child molester scene together. Ok, the last two parts were a little paranoid-Jew, but you know what I'm sayin.

Comment of the Day, April 7, 2007

2007-04-07T10:08:00.000-07:00

At the grocery store this morning, the checker said, “Do you have any plans for Easter?”

I said, “No, we don't really do much. How about you?”

And she proceeded to tell me what she was going to do, and that I must be excited because this is Baby Kaos' first Easter. But, that's not what this blog is about.

This blog is about this:

When we got out to the car, I turned to Zel and said, “First Easter. Honestly.”

We drove in silence for a few minutes. And then I said, “I should have told her that we were going to paint pentagrams on the living room floor and dance around naked.”

And Zel said, “With chicken blood.”

Nursing Bras

2007-03-31T10:54:00.000-07:00

Nursing bras are not hot. They're functional. And, it's a learned art to be able to use one, especially in public.

I shopped around a bit before heading out on this new endeavor. I found a nursing bra on-line which is hot, but I'm not ready to pony up $110 + tax and shipping for an f-ing bra. Honestly.

And, while I respect that Agent Provocateur is helping the lactating woman to feel sexy, in reality, I feel anything but.

So, I headed over to the Evil Empire, because I'm one of those girls who needs to try bras on before I purchase one, and I've become a bit more practical since Baby Kaos was born (you can stop laughing anytime now). And, I HATE shopping for bras. I used to go to Victoria's Secret, but they're not in the habit of producing nursing bras; at least I didn't find any.

I purchased two styles of nursing bras.

This image is from the cover of one of my bras.
This image says, "I feel like such a sex kitten when I'm lactating!" Honestly, bitch, I don't think you're in touch with reality. At least my reality and the reality of many breastfeeding women I know. Also, I think this bra is for the A-cuppers out there. It's not ok for the 38-DD women because there is no coverage and no support.

This image is from the cover of one the other style of bra that I purchased.

This image says, "I'm about to feed the baby for the fourth time in 8 hours. What the fuck do you want?"

I purchased two more of these bras. Mostly because this is the bra that fits and covers my boobs the best and doesn't make my boobs sit on my stomach (trust me--not a fun thing). Partly because I like the model's 'tude. Anyone who says, "I'm lactating, your penis isn't really important to me right now" is a-ok in my book.

Ladybugs Picnic

2007-03-24T19:02:00.001-07:00

I hope they still have this on Sesame Street when it's time for Baby Kaos to start watching television in a few years.

'I'm allergic to modern living'

2007-03-22T19:40:00.000-07:00

"The 39-year-old is so sensitive to the electromagnetic field (emf) or 'smog' created by computers, mobile phones, microwave ovens and even some cars, that she develops a painful skin rash and her eyelids swell to three times their size if she goes near them."

Oh, Sweet Jesus.

Sucks to be her for the following:
1. Cost--it cost her family a ton of money to outfit their home to protect her. But, when it comes to a person's health, money shouldn't matter (but we all know it does).

2. What would happen if she needed to get a CT scan or some other type of medical diagnostic?

3. I presume this means no vibrator for her. Oh well...I guess she cums the old fashioned way, she earns it!

Rants & Raves

2007-03-14T13:54:00.000-07:00

There’s a section in my local Sunday paper called “Rants & Raves”.

In the 2/25/07 paper, somebody ranted about a diabetic injecting themselves in the stomach with insulin, whilst in a restaurant. They felt it wasn’t appropriate for the diabetic to behave in such a manner.

In the 3/4/07 paper, there were five rants that were in response to that rant. There was this one rant that stood out above all the others:

“What is wrong with a diabetic giving themselves an insulin injection at an eatery? It is not like they are being an exhibitionist by breastfeeding or showing a lack of manners like talking with their mouth full of food or picking their nose or any other distasteful action.”

I didn’t realize that feeding my infant with my breast in a public place is the same thing as “1: a perversion in which sexual gratification is obtained from the indecent exposure of one's genitals (as to a stranger) b: an act of such exposure; 2: the act or practice of behaving so as to attract attention to oneself.”

Huh. Glad to know that I’m getting some type of sexual gratification out of feeding my infant in public. I feel so sexy when my baby’s hungry and I need to feed him. It’s such a turn on to have a hungry baby trying to latch while I’m getting dirty looks from some people. In fact, it’s such a turn that I’ve left the restaurant and fed him in the truck.

I was also unaware that me breastfeeding my son is me behaving in a manner that I’m trying to attract attention to myself. Wow. I thought it was better for me to stick my tit in his mouth and feed him than for him to go hungry and wail about it the entire time. I guess next time I’ll know better. Just don’t bitch at me when he’s crying and tell me that I’m a horrible mother for letting him starve rather than exposing my breast. And, no, I’m not giving him a bottle. Bottles aren’t an option for Baby Kaos. He took them from Zel when I first went back to work, but he’s a straight from the tap kind of a guy. Furthermore, we avoid similac and other artificial mommy juice at all costs. Breast is best.

I also didn’t know that the act of my son drinking milk from my breast is in the same category of one “talking with their mouth full or picking their nose or any other distasteful action.” I don’t even know what to say to this. But, feel free to picture me with my eyes closed, slowly shaking my head no and taking deep breaths.

In the 3/11/07 paper, there were two rants in response to the anti-breast-feeding rant. Both rants basically said that breast feeding in our state is protected under state law, we’re not exhibitionists, and that we’re using our breasts for what they were intended for, not what our society thinks they were for. Solidarity, sister.

New Book

2007-02-28T15:26:00.000-08:00

There’s a new book out where author Steve Ettlinger analyzes the 39 chemicals that are in a Twinkie. The book is called: “Twinkie, Deconstructed: My Journey to Discover How the Ingredients Found in Processed Foods Are Grown, Mined (Yes, Mined), and Manipulated Into What America Eats”.

I’m not a big fan of Twinkies. Never have been, and hopefully, Baby Kaos won’t be either.

However, I have two comments:

1. This book is 304 pages. Let me say that again: Three-hundred and four pages. Apparently there’s some serious shit in a Twinkie. So much shit that a simple 10-page pamphlet wouldn’t do. And books sell--good for you, Ettlinger...I hope you make some money.

2. According to MSNBC and Newsweek, “Ettlinger received no help from Hostess and its parent company, Interstate Brands Corp., despite appealing directly to the Vice President of Cake.” What I’d like to know is, where do I apply for the VP of Cake position?

Live in the Now

2007-02-22T15:45:00.000-08:00

I’m so glad the folks at Wimbledon decided to live in the now.

The All England Club bowed to pressure and announced that it would offer equal prize money to women and men at the grasscourt grand slam for the first time at this year's championships.

One Digit Off

2007-02-15T14:46:00.000-08:00

Most people have phone numbers that are a digit or so off from some type of business.

When I was a kid, our phone number ended in 0962. The sporting goods store down the street—their phone number ended 0926. One time, mom mother actually got in a fight with someone on the phone about our phone number and the sporting goods’ phone number. The fight involved her getting out the phone book, ordering the other person to get out their phone book, and they each looked up the phone numbers.

There was yelling. And, at the end, my mother was quite pleased with herself.

I’m not kidding. I wish I were. But I’m not kidding. I couldn’t make this up if I wanted to.

Currently, the phone number Zel and I have is one digit off from an automobile wrecker. The second number in our phone number is a 5, while theirs is a 1.

Sometimes, we go weeks without a wrong number call.

Sometimes they ask, “Is this the wrecking company?”

Usually, we’re very polite, and say, “No, you have the wrong number.”

Sometimes, we get called several times in one day. Today was one of those days.

The first call came as I was changing Baby Kaos’ diaper, and I was in the bedroom, and the cordless, which has caller id, gets fuzzy back there, so I didn’t know who was calling and I picked up the phone.

The man on the other end was nice. I can tell this about a person because the nice people apologize after I tell them they have the wrong phone number.

Baby Kaos and I then laid down for a nap.

Then, about an hour later the phone rang. The phone in the bedroom was off, and I was expecting Zel to call, so I picked up.

I said, “No, you have the wrong number” in a bit of a terse manner, didn’t get a response, and so hung up the phone. Not a nice person.

I came out to the living room, and saw that the dude had called twice. Apparently it was the second call that woke me up, because I didn’t hear it ring the first time.

Not only was he not nice, but he was not bright.

Honestly, now, if you misdial, do you look up the number again and make sure you dial very carefully so that you don’t misdial a second time? Or do you just hit the redial button?

Comment of the Day, February 12, 2007

2007-02-13T06:25:00.000-08:00

I’m speaking with a colleague of mine on the phone. We’re at the beginning of our conversation; that ice-breaker stuff. The conversation goes like this…

Her: “How’s Baby Kaos doing?”

Me: “He’s great, thanks for asking.”

Her: “How old is he now?”

Me: “Five months.”

Her: “Wow! Time has really flown by. He must be getting bigger all the time.”

Me: “Yep. I just weighed him last week and he’s up to 20 pounds and he’s 26.5 inches long! I get a workout just hauling him around!”

Her: “Wow! He’s huge! Is it normal for a baby his age to be that big?”

Me: “Well, it’s normal for him. But, technically, he’s off the chart for weight, and he’s in the 96th percentile for height, which means he’s just a really big kid.”

Her: “Maybe you should take him to the doctor, you know, because he’s so big.”

Me: “Well, when we were at the doc’s a few weeks ago for Baby Kaos’s four-month check-up, the doc said everything was fine. And the nurses I work with, who have worked with babies as their profession for years, say that he’s a great example of a very well-breastfed baby. So, I’m not really worried about it. But, thanks for the suggestion.”

I’m Sorry

2007-02-09T15:46:00.000-08:00

I’m sorry people are fixated with another mysterious death of a celebrity. Why are people obsessed with Anna Nicole Smith? I don’t get it.

Did you hit Drudge Report today? There are 12, count them, TWELVE, links about Anna Nicole. Honestly, Matt; find something good to do with your time.

And, can we please stop comparing her death with Marilyn’s? There are no similarities: Marilyn was murdered by the Kennedys because she knew too much, where Anna Nicole didn’t know much of anything at all.

I’m also sorry that Anna Nicole’s son died back in September. I cannot begin to imagine loosing a child. I hope I never know that feeling.

But, most of all, I’m sorry that there is another baby in the world who will grow up with out her mother.

Yes, Anna Nicole was a bit of a trashy whore. But, kids need their moms. So, I’m sorry little girl, that you won’t know your mom.

I’m sorry that you’ll probably grow up in our celeb-obsessed culture and that your claim to fame is going to be that you’re Anna Nicole’s daughter.

Just don’t pull a Lisa Marie Presley and marry the Michael Jackson of your generation, mkay?

You’da Thunk

2007-02-06T15:36:00.000-08:00

You’da thunk they would’ve picked up on the issue that she could flip her lid on the Astronaut Psychological Profile.

Perhaps they need to ask something like, “If you train with another astronaut, and he never ever licks your pussy, would you still turn into a psycho and try and kill another woman he becomes involved with?”

I wonder, during the 900-mile, 14-hour trip, did she once think of how her actions would affect her family? What her kids would think?

Did she think about any of the repercussions when she was purchasing the wig? Or the diapers?

Luis is the only human alive that can vouch that I’ve made it from Flagstaff to Tucson without stopping the car to pee (280 miles; 4 hours). I must say, the idea of wearing diapers on a long road trip is a clever one. I’ll have to consider that for my next road trip, which will not involve attempted murder.

Torn Between Two Lovers, Yet Again

2007-02-03T10:53:00.000-08:00

I’m torn between two lovers, yet again.

Colts or Bears? Bears or Colts?

Last year, my decision was between the Seahawks and the Steelers. Because I live in the Pacific Northwest, I rooted for the Seahawks. But, I’ve been a Cowher fan for quite some time, so I wasn’t upset when the Steelers won (except for that bullshit TD by Roethlisberger; and the fact that Heins Ward was voted MVP because there wasn’t anyone else to pick, and he shouldn’t have been the MVP, but I digress).

I’ve been a Chicago Bears fan since they won the Super Bowl in 1985. I was young and easily influenced by Jim McMahon and his sunglasses, The Fridge, Walter Payton…and the Super Bowl Shuffle. Sweet Jesus.

But, I really like the Colts. I like Peyton Manning, even though he’s an ad-slut and promotes about 9 different products. And I like Tony Dungy, I think he’s a good coach. I'd hate to see Peyton go into the Hall of Fame Marino-Style.

I haven’t watched any of the crap leading up to the game, and I’m not even sure who the favorite is.

All I know is I’m torn between two lovers, yet again.

Monica Lewinsky has a Fucking Publicist

2007-01-26T06:19:00.000-08:00

Excuse me?

Why in the goddamn does Monica Lewinsky have a fucking publicist?

I give blow jobs. And I’m pretty good. I’m cute, too (if the term cute can still apply to someone in her mid-thirties).

But, I have no publicist.

Monica’s publicist said Monica is job hunting in London and that she’s “not doing any press.”

Hmm…so does that mean Monica is seeking to give blow jobs in London, but won’t give blow jobs to the press?

Comment of the Day, January 20, 2007

2007-01-20T09:28:00.000-08:00

At the grocery store this morning, we had a brief conversation with the guy who works there, who’s kinda nice, but I wouldn’t let him baby sit Baby Kaos because I get a weird vibe from him. I don’t think he’s a child molester, but he’s a bit odd.

Here’s the jest of the conversation:

Him: “Wow! He’s really big! What does he weigh?”

Me: “Yeah! We went to the doc last week for the four-month check-up and Baby Kaos weighed over 18 pounds and was 26.5 inches long.”

Him: “Wow! He’s a big kid! Just wait until he’s a teenager!”

Zel: “Yeah, I’m sure we’ll be here twice a week for turkey.”

Him: “Who’s his doctor?”

Now, what the goddamn kind of question is that?

The grocery store guy has teenagers, so it’s not like I’m having a conversation with another mom in my yoga class about who Baby Kaos’ doc is and we’re comparing notes.

Yes, I revealed too much information about going to the doc last week, so I’m taking that one on the chin.

But, what the goddamn kind of question is that?

Working at the Circus

2007-01-10T16:18:00.000-08:00

Sometimes, talking with my Mother is like working at the circus.

My brother recently visited, and on the day he returned to the Desert Southwest, my Mother and I had the following conversation.

Mom: “Did you and the baby make it home ok?”

Me: “Yes.”

Mom: “How was the drive?”

Me: “Long, and I’m kinda tired. What’s up?”

Mom: “Well, I’m worried about your brother. He just called and he’s in Boise. Did you know he had a layover in Boise?”

Me: “No. I thought it was in Vegas.”

Mom: “Well, he’s in Boise, and then he has an hour in Vegas.”

Me: “Hmm…doesn’t sound like enough time to win any big money, but maybe he’ll hit a decent slot machine.”

Mom: “Well, it says here that he’s scheduled to leave Boise at 2:14 p.m. Is that Mountain Time or Pacific Time?”

Me: “Mountain.”

Mom: “How do you know? Did you look it up on the Internet?”

Me: “No Ma, I just know that Idaho is in the Mountain Time Zone.”

Mom: “Ok. And then it says that he’ll arrive in Las Vegas at 2:35 p.m. How can he get there so fast? What time zone is Las Vegas in?”

Me: “Pacific, Ma.”

Mom: “How do you know? Did you look it up on the Internet?”

Me: “No, Ma, I know that Las Vegas is in the Pacific Time Zone.”

Mom: “How do you know?”

Me: “Because I used to live there and I know.”

Mom: “Ok, so is Boise on my time zone or on Pacific?”

Me: “On your time zone.” (Note: In Arizona, they don’t switch time like the rest of us have to twice each year)

Mom: “So, he’s going to leave here at 2:14 my time and arrive in Las Vegas at 2:35 your time and so that’s 3:35 my time. Right?”

Me: “Right.”

Mom: “Are you sure? Did you look it up? Maybe I should call the airlines for clarification.”

Jesus you guys. Sometimes, I feel like I’m working at the circus.

The Cost of Shit

2006-12-31T12:09:00.000-08:00

The cost of shit is growing.

I take Fiber Choice, which costs about $0.12 per tablet. I take four tablets per day, which works out to about $0.48 (not including tax).

Zel takes Metamucil, which costs about $0.07 per dose. He Metas twice a day, which works out to about $0.14 (not including tax or water).

Then there’s the toilet paper and the cost of flushing, but I won’t get into that.

Baby Kaos is currently only taking breast milk. But, he poops like 6 times per day. Not kidding. Sometimes more, sometimes less, but he averages about 6 poops a day.

We get his diapers at Costco, so it works out to about $0.16 per diaper, which works out to be about $1.00 per day (again, not including tax). This is way less expensive than buying diapers at the Evil Empire, which would cost about $2.00 per day.

This only includes poopie diapers. It doesn’t include pee-pee diapers. Our cost is increased to about $1.50 per day if we include pee-pee diapers.
We put Baby Kaos’ poopie diapers into the Diaper Genie which helps to control the smell of the poopie diapers (pee-pee diapers go in the main trash in the kitchen cause they don’t smell, you guys). This, too, costs money because we have to buy refills for the Diaper Genie. The refills cost about $6.00 per container, and the container lasts about two weeks.

However, the Diaper Genie is holding fewer diapers now because Baby Kaos is in a bigger diaper. He weighs over 17 pounds, which is big for a 3-1/2 month old baby. Bigger baby = bigger poopie diapers = less space in the Diaper Genie.
And let’s talk for a second about the taxes that we pay on all of the shit we buy in order to shit. The only thing I’ll say about it is: If you think about it, the government is even taxing you to shit.

Honestly. Don’t they have enough of my money? And, isn’t this why we left England in the first place?

Let There Be Light

2006-12-17T17:59:00.000-08:00

We have power again. It was off for 37.5 hours.

You read that correctly. Thirty-seven and one-half hours.

The power went out about 2:15 a.m. on Friday, 12/15. It came back on about 3:45 p.m. on Saturday, 12/16.

Melanie said, “That's a whole work week, and you guys didn't even get paid for that shit, you know what I’m sayin’????”

I know what she’s sayin’.

We had a wind storm that hit our area and wreaked havoc all over the place. There were about 25,000 people in my county alone without power. There were trees and power lines down all over the place. It was a fucking disaster.

My boss called me on Friday morning and basically said to not leave the house. But, I’d already left. She spoke with Zel and then he called me on the cell phone, but it was off and so he was upset (“Why the hell do we have a cell phone if you’re not going to turn it on?!?!”).

I couldn’t get into work even if I really wanted to because the road was blocked in both directions: a power pole to the north and a tree to the south. We were trapped. So I went home and Zel and I drank some hot chocolate. I had marshmallows in mine.

The upside is we still had heat because we have propane and have a gas heater for the primary heat source in our house. So, we didn’t freeze, which was good because Baby Kaos doesn’t need to freeze, you guys.

We were also still able to cook because we also have a gas stove. But, Zel didn’t make me cook. He took me out to dinner on Friday night (which is a normal thing for the past 10-1/2 years anyway) and then we went to breakfast on Saturday morning. We were going to go out on Saturday night, too, but the power came back on so we went to the grocery store and bought all the things we had to throw out that were in our fridge.

The checker at the grocery store said I should send the utility company my bill. Yeah. Perhaps Ma Nature will pick up the bill.

Oh well. At least we have light and can eat at home again.

Congratulations!

2006-12-14T08:18:00.000-08:00

Congratulations to Mary Cheney and Heather Poe, who are expecting their first baby in late spring!

What They Don’t Teach You About Childbirth

2006-12-03T10:41:00.000-08:00

I paid close attention in our Childbirth Education classes when I was pregnant with Baby Kaos.

But, I never knew a couple of things about pregnancy and childbirth. Nobody ever said these things to me; I had to go through it to know.

After the baby is born, and the baby either ripped the vagina or there was an episiotomy, and the doc has to sew mom’s vagina back up, and after everything’s healed, a woman’s vulva will look very different. Shockingly so. I was shocked. I can count the people and instances that have shocked me in my life on one hand and not use all of my fingers.

I spoke with my doc about the fact that my vulva looks different. He said that it’s pretty common, and no, they don’t usually tell women that beforehand. He said that he’s known a lot of women who are very upset about the appearance of their vulvas after childbirth, and said it would be an interesting thing to study, from a psycho-social perspective.

Bladder lift surgery is done when a woman becomes incontinent. Women become incontinent because we carry children.

I spoke with my doc about this one, too. He said they usually don’t tell women before they get pregnant about this one either. He said that if we had to sign up for pregnancy and they told women what they were signing up for we wouldn’t have survived as a species.

But, is being a mom worth the things I've gone through so far?

Absolutely.

Cars

2006-11-11T21:42:00.000-08:00

When I pull into my doc’s office, I usually go in through the alley, that way I know whether my doc is there and whether I’ll have to wait. I can tell if he’s there by the cars parked in the alley.

Cadillacs.

Camrys.

Ford Pinto.

My doc drives a Pinto. It’s brown.

He has a license plate frame that says “The Bean”.

I love him.

Comment of the Day, October 26, 2006

2006-10-26T18:57:00.000-07:00

I went to the doctor for my six week post-delivery check up.

He said he was impressed on how well and how quickly I’ve healed, considering everything I went through in the delivery of Baby Kaos.

I said, “Did it look like a bomb went off?”

My doctor, who appreciated the humor, said, “No, but you did deliver a pretty big baby, and had a pretty serious tear.”

We also talked about birth control. Not that I’m overly interested in sex, but eventually I expect Zel and I will start having sex again.

When we got home, Zel said, “Well, I don’t really want to pay for birth control if my dick’s not going in your hole.”

Nice.

The Force

2006-10-12T12:01:00.000-07:00

I’ve been trying to use The Force for the past several weeks.

Baby Kaos is four weeks old, and he’s a big eater. When he’s nursing, which is a lot of the time, I sit down and remember that I could use my drink of ice water, but I forgot it over on the table. So, I try to use The Force to levitate my drink of ice water over to me, but I haven’t been doing so well.

You’d think I’d just bring my drink of ice water over to the chair where I’m feeding Baby Kaos, but when you have a hungry and fussy infant in your arms, and every fiber of your being wants to sit down and give him some boob, you can’t help but forget your drink of ice water.

I’ve also been trying to use The Force to get us a blanket when Baby Kaos is eating. I thought perhaps the blanket and drink of ice water were too bulky. So, I tried to get smaller items, like cloth diapers, which I use to dry off my nipple and Baby Kaos’ mouth, over to me. No luck.

I’m not trying to lift an X-Wing Fighter out of the swamp. However, I know that size matters not, and I should be able to levitate the blanket, the cloth diaper, and the drink of ice water with the same amount of ease.

I’ll continue to practice using The Force. If anything exciting happens, I’ll let you know.

Pretentious

2006-09-29T11:14:00.000-07:00

According to Webster.com, Pretentious is an adjective that means, “expressive of affected, unwarranted, or exaggerated importance, worth….”

There are things that, as a new mom who has to make special arrangements to simply take a shower, are pretentious for me right now.

Here’s my pretentious list, which is in no particular order:

Jewelry.
I had to take my wedding and engagement rings off about 8 months into my pregnancy because I couldn’t get them off one day. Zel said to take them off and leave them off; after all, we didn’t want them to be cut off and then have to pay for them to be repaired. I also don’t wear my necklace, watch, or bracelet any more. I probably will some day, but today it’s not important. Besides, I’m a bit nervous that I’ll scratch Baby Kaos.

Shaving.
This includes my legs and my pussy. I finally did break down and shave before Baby Kaos was born. In spite of the fact that it was a lot of work at the end of my pregnancy, I had to shave it up, yo. I just needed to feel human. I’m going to have to shave at some point, though. I’m starting to not be able to stand it. I’m starting to feel like a bit of a Goonie Goo-Goo.

Waxing my eyebrows.
In college, Mel trained me to pay close attention to my eyebrows. She’s meticulous about her eyebrows. Before I went to DC in February, I made sure my shit was cleaned up and presentable to the Eyebrow Queen. But right now, I just don’t really give a shit. I’ll eventually breakdown and wax them, but I think I’ve a couple more weeks on this one.

Lotion.
Not only do I not have time to moisturize, I don’t give much of a shit. But, I have to put my face lotion on my face. I also have to put lotion on my hands because I wash them frequently (lots of diaper changes = lots of hand washing). I also have to put lotion on my feet, otherwise, someone will get shot.

Curling my hair.
Do I really need to expand on this one?

Comment of the Day, September 26, 2006

2006-09-26T20:06:00.000-07:00

We went to get Zel’s hair cut today. The woman who does our hair is simply lovely. Although I didn’t get my hair cut, I decided to tag along, since she called me last week to see if we’d had Baby Kaos yet.

A woman at the hair salon said to Zel and I: “Is it a boy or a girl?”

I’d think the fact that Baby Kaos was dressed in a light blue onesie and dark blue pants would’ve been a clue. Apparently, I was incorrect.

so glad I don't have to do that

2006-09-23T11:05:00.000-07:00

I'm sitting at my computer, and a robin out my window caught my eye. She's picking up worms, and will take them back to her baby robins to feed them.

I'm so glad I don't have to do that to feed Baby Kaos. Forage for worms, partially digest them, and then spit them back up into my baby's mouth.

I know it's part of her species. That's how they survive, and that's fine.

But, really, boobs are a great thing.

He’s Finally Here!

2006-09-19T09:52:00.000-07:00

Baby Kaos has finally decided to make his entry into the world! Zel and I decided he takes after his mother and his Auntie Melanie, since he was late to his own party. Baby Kaos was born 14 days late, on September 10th at 2:11 p.m. His birth weight was 8 lbs even, and he measured up at 21.5 inches long.

The entire labor lasted about 13 hours. I did everything naturally, and only said, “This fucking hurts, you guys,” one time. I didn’t request drugs and I only said I couldn’t do it once, about 90 minutes into the two hours of pushing I did. I was pretty quiet throughout the entire labor and delivery. Our doula described me as being stoic, which is a nice compliment in this situation.

I have to give credit to the birth team: Our doula; two nurses, one of which is the mother of our doula (and it was very cool!), our doctor, and of course, Zel, who didn’t leave my side during the entire ordeal.

I ended up having to be on oxygen for the last half of pushing, because Baby Kaos’ heart rate was dropping a bit. I also had an episiotomy, because let’s face it, fitting an 8 pound baby through my 5’2” frame was a bit tight. Besides, I’ve been telling Zel I have the tightest pussy around for years, and now I have scientific proof.

The doc ended up vacuuming Baby Kaos at the very end. The doc said I did 99% of the work and just needed a bit of help to get Baby K out.

I also lost about 20 ounces of blood due to hemorrhaging. It makes me thankful and incredibly upset for all the women who have experienced massive blood loss during labor and delivery. It also makes me thankful that I have a great doctor who was able to get the bleeding to stop. I recognize that if I would’ve been picking apples and delivered this kid in the middle of an orchard, I would’ve died. The doc is 2- 0 when it comes to saving lives in our family. If he moves, we're moving to where he moves.

Baby Kaos and I are both healthy. He's great at eating, pooping, and sleeping.

I’m a bit sore, but that’s to be expected. He’s worth every stitch.

No Guarantees

2006-09-09T16:45:00.000-07:00

There are no guarantees in life. We all know this. But for me it really hit home this past week.

On Wednesday, Zel, Baby Kaos and I went to The Good Doctor for our weekly prenatal visit. We talked a lot about inducing, and all agreed that I’d check into the hospital that night, and we’d start inducing.

There were several reasons for our decision:

1. There was room at the inn. In our little town, there is one hospital, which has four labor/delivery rooms and four recovery rooms. On Wednesday afternoon, there were two moms and babies recovery rooms, and no moms in labor/delivery rooms. May as well take advantage of that situation.

2. As much as we can, we’d like to avoid Baby Kaos having 9/11 as a birth date. We don’t want him to hear everything from, “You must be the most patriotic kid in the world!” to “What a horrible day to be born!” and everything in between.

3. I’m really tired of being pregnant, and I’d like to be done. Besides, I’m a spoiled brat and I’d like to have my body back to myself. I don’t feel like I’m going to be pregnant forever, I’d just like to be done.

4. I’d been dilated to 1 cm for 2 weeks. I have to get to 10. Let’s get the show on the road, already!

Once in the hospital on Wednesday night, The Good Doctor examined me and basically said, “Well, you’re still at 1 cm, so I’m going to insert this small tea bag full of medication into your vagina. It needs to stay in for 12 hours.” It was a prostaglandin, which is a suppository that causes labor. I had to remain lying down for the first two hours, hooked up to a monitor: one belt measured Baby Kaos’ heart rate; the other belt measured my contractions.

In the morning, about 12 hours later, The Good Doctor removed the tea bag and I was still at 1 cm. What the fuck? The good news was that my cervix was thinner (a thin cervix is required for delivery).

So, they started me on an IV drip of Pitocin, which is a synthetic form of oxytocin. Oxytocin is a hormone that starts contractions. It is also responsible for releasing orgasm in both men and women, and helps with emotional bonding.

I’ve heard horror stories of Pitocin, and it wasn’t something I wanted to experience. But, it wasn’t as bad as I’d heard. They started me at a pretty low dose, and gradually raised the level throughout the day. I was having contractions, but they weren’t major. By Thursday afternoon, I was at the maximum level, and I was sleeping through my contractions. Not a good sign, so they stopped the Pitocin.

The Good Doctor came in and said I was at 2 cm. Woohoo! Progress! And, then I felt some pretty intense pain. Without warning, he stripped my membranes. I’m glad he didn’t warn me; it would’ve sucked more than it did. He basically stuck his fingers inside my cervix and ran his fingers around until the amniotic sac separated from the cervix.

Then came the blood. Lots of blood. A frightening amount, really. But, The Good Doctor, as well as whoever the Wonderful Nurse was at the time, said that it was normal and to not worry. The blood was caused by ruptured blood vessels.

Thursday evening, they started the Pitocin again. The contractions were more intense, but I was still able to doze through them. Of course, it helped that they gave me a sleeping pill. Based on my contraction monitor, they stopped the Pitocin in the middle of the night because I wasn’t contracting frequently and intensely enough.

Friday morning, because I wasn’t going into labor, and the bleeding had largely subsided, I was sent home. No baby. My consolation prize included lots of super-mega pads and a couple pairs of disposable underwear.

Zel and I were under the impression that if a woman goes into be induced, that she goes home with a baby. Apparently that’s not always the case. Being induced into labor isn’t a guarantee that you’ll get a baby. But, they don’t mention that in childbirth education classes. And I’ve never heard of such a thing.

I’m disappointed because I spent 42 stressful hours in the hospital and have no baby to show for it.

I’m frustrated because in the 42 hours I was in the hospital, there were 6 babies born.

I’m worried because I’m at 42 weeks today, and the longer Baby Kaos is in his current home, the more likely it is that placenta will stop nourishing him.

The plan is that if nothing happens between now and Tuesday, we’ll try inducing again.

But, I’m home, and my contractions have increased, which is good.

Hopefully this kid will come into the world naturally and not on 9/11. But there are no guarantees in life.

My Great Aunt Tildie*

2006-09-03T10:50:00.000-07:00

My Great Aunt Tildie, who is my Mother’s Dad’s Sister, called on Sunday, August 27, the day Baby Kaos was due.

The last time I spoke with my Great Aunt Tildie, I was 16, and my Parents, My Little Brother, and I took a trip to New York. At the time, she lived on Long Island. Several years ago, she moved to Massachusetts, to be closer to her grandchildren. She’s in her 80’s, and she’s pretty sharp.

Everyone should have a Jewish Aunt named Aunt Tildie who lived on Long Island. She always sends me a birthday card; she sent cards when I graduated high school and college. She sent Zel and me a nice set of metal bowls for our wedding, saying she’s had similar metal bowls for 50 years and doesn’t cook a meal without them. She sent a card as soon as she heard the news about Baby Kaos.

When she called last week, she said, “Is this my favorite Grand Niece who lives in the Pacific Northwest?” I don't know if she has any other Grand Nieces who live in the Pacific Northwest, so I selfishly answered yes.

She wanted to know if “her baby” had come yet. She said she was so excited that she couldn’t stand it and wanted to know as soon as her little Great-Great Nephew was born.

We spoke for 1 minute and 28 seconds, according to my phone.

My Great Aunt Tildie called again this morning. “Just checking in on my baby,” she said.

I told her he still wasn’t here and we were being as patient as we could be, although it was getting harder to wait. We spoke for 1 minute and 8 seconds.

“I’m sure I’ll hear from you as soon as he arrives,” she said.

“Aunt Tildie, you're at the top of the call list” I said.

“You’ll call? No, you’ll be busy. I’ll probably hear from your mother,” she said.

It’s pretty funny, really: I don’t talk with the woman for 17 years and she calls two consecutive Sundays, and we speak for a total of 2 minutes and 36 seconds.

And, yes, she's at the top of the call list.

*Tildie is a nickname our family calls her. I’m not sure what her real name is.

Comment of the Day, August 31, 2006

2006-08-31T17:04:00.000-07:00

I just got off the phone with Zel’s Mom.

She wanted the latest report. She’s excited. She’s also worried, since Baby Kaos is late. Both Zel and his brother were early. I guess having a baby go past term is a new thing for her.

I told her there’s been no change; nothing to report. We’re selective with what we tell the parents because both sets go into panic mode at the slightest change in the weather.

She and Dad and Zel’s Grandmother are coming up on September 14th.

Mom said to me, “Does the doctor think the baby will be here by the 14th?”

I can’t make this shit up.

Mind you, that would be 2 and 1/2 weeks late. We’ve already discussed with the doc that if nothing is happening by the end of next week, he’s going to induce me, which is fine, just fine.

I said, “Oh yeah. The doctor isn’t going to let me go that long.”

Even though she can put it together about being induced, I stayed mute about it. I didn’t want to hear about how Zel’s brother was induced. “They had to bring him,” she’s told me. I don’t need to really hear about this for the 12th time, you know what I’m sayin’?

I didn’t get into the fact that if a baby is in the uterus too long that the amniotic fluid starts to decrease and that can be harmful to the baby.

I know she means well and is excited about the baby. I told her we’d call her when something happens.

She also said, "Do they know how big the baby is?"

Honestly. I can't make this shit up.

Comment of the Day, August 29, 2006

2006-08-29T20:14:00.000-07:00

Baby Kaos was due on August 27. We’re down to the last couple of minutes. Or, it could be we’re down to the last week or so. Depends on when the Star of the Show decides to arrive.

My Bulging Baby Belly isn’t huge. But, in my opinion, I’m big enough. It’s not like Zel and I are huge people.

On three separate occasions within the past week, three different women asked me when I was due, and I politely told them.

Then, they each said, “You’re not very big for being due in less than a week/past due.”

I’m not sure if they meant it as a compliment, or as an insult.

I’ve gained about 25 pounds, which is within the norm. Throughout my pregnancy, I’ve walked and practiced yoga several times each week (that’s why I can still put on my socks and shave, thank you very much).

Research shows that if pregnant women exercise, labor and delivery will be easier. I’ve taken pretty good care of myself. I’ve eaten pretty well.

Except between weeks 7 and 17 when I was puking and eating whatever sounded good, including fruity chewy candy and fried zucchini (not at the same time).

So, I’m just not sure how to take what they said.

I think they each picked up on the fact that I was a bit baffled by their comment. So, they quickly said, “You look great!”

Sometimes, you have to punt.

Liar! Liar! Pants on Fire!

2006-08-28T20:52:00.000-07:00

Is this a shock to anyone?
Prosecutors Drop Case in Ramsey Slaying

Such a nice distraction from other events in the world.

Let’s Get the Show on the Road

2006-08-28T10:02:00.000-07:00

Baby Kaos is late. He was due yesterday.

While I’ve not had the feeling that some of my girlfriends have had, where they felt like they were going to be pregnant forever, it is getting harder to be pregnant.

For example it is becoming a lot of work to drag my ass out of bed three or four times in the night to go pee. Lifting up the extra 25 pounds is hard work. And, if I wait too long in between pees, then it physically hurts to walk to the bathroom.

My friend the Epidemiologist is pregnant with twins. She’s convinced she’ll be on bed rest for the last trimester and she said that she’s going to have a scheduled c-section.

I’m not keen on having a c-section because that means they have to stick a needle in your spine to numb you from the chest down.

Melanie once told me, “Don’t ever let anyone stick anything in your fucking spine.” I’m planning on heeding that advice.

More than anything, I’d like Baby Kaos to get the show on the road because I’m tired of the raging hormones. Let me just say that crying at the drop of a hat sucks. I’m very fortunate that Zel is a very patient man.

Yes, I recognize that there's the possibility of post-partum depression. I've spoken with my doc about it and he said he'll keep an eye on me.

God Bless the Mothers

2006-08-26T17:55:00.000-07:00

God Bless the Mothers, for they are about to drive us fucking crazy.

Ever since I’ve told my Mother about my pregnancy, which was back in January, we’ve spoken about once a week. Not a major thing, but she can’t be on the phone for less than thirty minutes. This is probably why she’ll never get on line…she likes to talk too much. She’s a hairdresser, so it’s part of her job to talk.

Because we speak once a week and we’re on the phone for 30 – 60 minutes at a time, she knows a lot about what’s happening with my pregnancy, Baby Kaos, our childbirth ed classes, and the fact that we’ve hired a doula.

The other day, my Mother told me that she was going to get her haircut before she and my Dad come up. But, she said that the baby talked to her and the baby said not to. Not sure what she’s smoking, so I let that one go. But, she’s not coming until the third week of September, so I bet she breaks down and gets a trim beforehand.

We were getting questions from both of our Mothers about what we’re naming the baby. We told them both early on that we would tell them the gender of the baby, but that we were not telling anyone the name of the baby.

We don’t want to hear about Uncle so-and-so who was a total a-hole alcoholic and that he’s better off dead. We don’t want to hear about ex-boyfriend what’s-his-name that left her best girlfriend in high school as soon as he went away to college. We wouldn’t get this from just family. Oh no, we’d get this shit from everyone.

Besides, what if he’s a she? We met a woman who was expecting a little boy, which was confirmed by two ultrasounds, and everything they had was blue. And when baby was born, the doctor announced that he was indeed a she.

I mentioned this to my Mother. She said, “Well, how can the test be wrong?”

Really. She said this. I can’t make this shit up.

Zel’s Mother calls about every other week. Except for the last month, she now calls weekly. Zel spoke with his Mom today. Today, her request was that the child be born before September 1. Because if he’s born after September 1, then he’ll miss the cut-off date for starting kindergarten and have to start a year later. I’m not exactly sure how she knows what the cut-off date is for the school district in Our Little Town, but nonetheless, this is her request.

Never mind the fact that we don’t know if we’re even going to put the kid in public school. Home schooling is an interesting option. Furthermore, since Baby Kaos is going to be so goddamned smart he’ll be doing calculus by the age of 5, he may be able to test out of kindergarten.

Zel told her we don’t want the baby born on Labor Day. We can hear the comments from lots of different people now: “Oh…you went into labor on Labor Day! That’s so funny!” or “You labored on Labor Day weekend! That’s so appropriate!”

We also would prefer Baby Kaos is not born on September 11, for obvious reasons. We did chat with our doc about this one. He said not to worry, because at that point, we’re looking at being 2 weeks over-due and he’ll induce labor by then.

We’re very selective with what we tell either set of parents. We don’t want to have a slew of questions.

Both sets of parents said they want to be called when we’re on the way to the hospital.

Like good children, we said we’d call.

But, because it takes 10 minutes to get to the hospital, we’re not going to call.

We don’t want to deal with questions such as:

“How long have you been in labor?”

“How far apart are the contractions?”

“Did your water break?”

“Why didn’t you call when you started labor/when your water broke?”

“Are you in pain?”

“How much further is it till you get to the hospital?”

“Who’s driving?”

Since neither Mother can be on the phone for less than five minutes, we’re making one phone call. That’ll be to some good friends, who will come over to take care of Flof.

Comment of the Day, August 22, 2006

2006-08-22T18:50:00.000-07:00

Zel was on the phone with his Mom. Since we’ve told them we’re pregnant, we speak with his folks about every other week.

She asked, “Is everything still on schedule?”

God love her. We’re gonna deliver a baby, not a pizza.

Babies show up when they feel like it. If I call up and order a pizza, that thing better be here in 30 minutes or so.

Picture

2006-08-19T13:31:00.000-07:00

We just picked up our pictures. Here's me in all my glory.

God Bless This Lube

2006-08-18T10:01:00.000-07:00

Glad the Christians are playing with their toys. "It stands to reason that some Christians already know all about adult products while others secretly long to know more but don't know who to ask. Those are the customers that Book22 seeks to attract. Book22, named for the twenty-second book in the Bible, "Song of Solomon," is a new adult novelty store positioning itself as a Christian source of intimacy products for married couples."

I'm not gonna comment on the "married couples" thing. I'm just glad some of them are admitting that they like to fuck.

Maternity Photos

2006-08-12T20:07:00.000-07:00

Zel and I just had our photos professionally taken. The last time we had our photos professionally taken was at our wedding, over seven years ago.

The photographer shot both of us, which took about an hour.

Then Zel left and she shot me for about 2 hours.

I was naked. Or, as the in-laws from the south say, nekked.

The photographer did strategically place some gauze across my breasts and my hairy pussy.

Baby Kaos is due in less than 30 days. So, I have quite the Bulging Baby Belly.

The photographer did tell us that when we’re in our 50’s, we would be really glad that we had these images taken.

Demi Moore had maternity photos taken in 1991. She was so unashamed of being pregnant she appeared on the cover of Vanity Fair.

Good for her. She was beautiful. She still is. I mean, she’s Demi Fucking Moore, yo.

I’m actually surprised that maternity photos didn’t take off 15 years ago, when Demi was nekked on VF.

Maybe it’s because having your pictures taken is a lot of work. I’m F-ing exhausted, you guys.

When I got home, I told Zel it is goddamned hard being Cindy Crawford for an afternoon. No wonder that woman demands millions of dollars to have her picture taken.

The Doulo

2006-08-09T20:31:00.000-07:00

A doula is a trained woman who provides support to a woman in labor. She also supports and encourages her partner to support a woman in labor. She acts as an advocate for the laboring woman and her partner to the medical staff.

Doulas have been employed in different cultures for millennia, and they’re starting to be popular in the States.

Zel and I are interviewing a couple of doulas this week. My friend the epidemiologist, who just found out she’s pregnant with twins, said she doesn’t want a doula sitting around knitting during the birth of her babies. Funny how a highly educated woman doesn’t bother to educate herself on some issues. But, I digress.

In our childbirth education class, there’s a man there who is an EMT, and he’s acting as this one woman’s doula. Or doulo, if you will.(I didn’t do well in Spanish. I was one of those students who thought is was ok to just add an O. Sorry Luis!)

The doulo’s not gay; he just likes being around birth.

That’s cool.

He doesn’t charge. And that’s cool, too. Free is a very good price.

When he introduced himself, he said that the doulas don’t talk to him. As class progressed, we found out why.

He was goddamned annoying. And it wasn’t just me and my pregnant hormones. Zel thought the dude was goddamned annoying, too.

The childbirth educator would be teaching, and he would jump in and give his perception, experience, etc. Sometimes the teacher asked him for his experience, but mostly she didn’t…mostly.

He came off as an authority. I’m not saying he doesn’t have knowledge, but tone it down a notch, dude. Either that, or go learn to be a childbirth educator. This class isn’t about you. This class is about all the preggies who are about to squeeze a baby out of their pussy.

Comment of the Day, August 8, 2006

2006-08-08T17:03:00.001-07:00

My assistant’s sister-in-law stopped by today.

My assistant is lovely.

Her sister-in-law, who I’d never met before, and I were chatting…she asked when the baby’s due, then she said that she really wants to have a baby…she has endometriosis…if she doesn’t have a baby by the end of the year the doctor wants to do a complete hysterectomy and she’s just about to turn 25.

I truly felt bad for her.

Then she said, “You know, when you sit down, you don’t look pregnant.”

Second Florida Woman Sues Bacardi Over Alleged 'Flaming Rum Shot' Injuries

2006-08-06T20:15:00.000-07:00

“A bartender, who was not identified in either lawsuit, was pouring shots of Bacardi 151 when a customer lit a menu on fire and placed it in the stream of alcohol. The bottle that was being used to pour the shots turned into a flame thrower and sent flaming rum all over [the women], the lawsuit said.”

I’m sorry for the women, because the lawsuit states they suffered second and third degree burns. I’m empathetic, because I suffered a second degree burn, and I know what’s involved in treatment. It is horrific.

I’m also sorry because they feel it is better to sue Bacardi than the idiot who lit the menu on fire. Bacardi has deeper pockets than the idiot, so I suppose that’s the logic.

But, what I’m really sorry for is they are alleging “that Bacardi 151 proof rum ‘emits a high volume of combustible and explosive vapor’ which makes it ‘unreasonably dangerous’ and a ‘defective product.’”

Um…hello? Alcohol is flammable. It's been quite some years since I've had a drink, but don't people know to NOT LIGHT FLAMMABLE MATERIALS ON FIRE?!?! Maybe I'm naive.

Banning Cleavage

2006-08-05T10:26:00.000-07:00

There's a school district in Texas (of course) that's banning cleavage.

“It's gotten bad enough that, unfortunately, our young males are looking at more than their English book, their speech book, their science book,” says school board president Sherri Wade. “And it's kind of nice to have something left to the imagination.”

I'm thinking it 's not to protect the young males, or even the young lesbians, from looking at cleavage, but to prevent the male teachers from having gigantic erections while they're teaching, which would lead to multi-million dollar lawsuits.

But, spin it that "we gotta protect the children" and you can do just about anything.

Hairy

2006-08-02T22:35:00.000-07:00

I’m sick of shaving. It’s getting harder and harder for me to shave my legs and my pussy.

My Bulging Baby Belly is getting in the way.

I can’t reach my pussy to shave it. I’m not shaving my legs as much, either. I’ve reached the “I don’t give a crap how I look” stage of pregnancy that my girlfriends said would hit towards the end.

But, I still am a cute pregnant woman. I hear it from the people I work with. These comments are always welcome. Telling me your birth horror story isn’t welcome.

It’s become a challenge to put lotion on my legs.

But, I can still polish my toes. I don’t have to balance on one leg, while I’m wet, running a razor up my legs when I polish my toes.

It’s hard on me to have a hairy pussy. I feel like I’m living in the 70’s. I’m used to having my pussy look similar to the pussy of a 5-year-old—nekked pussy.

I used to do a moustache, but it became a little to Hitleresque, and as a Jew, I couldn’t promote that. So a few years ago, I shaved it all off.

Zel said that right now, my hair pussy looks like the Great Pit of Carkoon, where the Sarlacc lives. You know: that thing that Boba Fett fell into in Jedi and is spending a thousand years being digested in.

Nice.

Comment of the Day, July 31, 2006

2006-07-31T20:44:00.000-07:00

Zel and I are at his work, and I’m heading down the hall to go use the ladies’ room and I see someone I know. We don’t know each other well, but we say hi to each other when we see each other. She’s one of the secretaries.

Be nice to the secretaries and janitors; they have hard jobs. And, they hear EVERYTHING, so they can fill you in on information when you need it.

I had the main door to the ladies’ room open.

She said, “You still haven’t had that baby yet?”

“Nope; about another month or so,” I said.

My friends who have been pregnant said they’d get comments like this towards the end of their pregnancies, too.

This was the first time anyone had said anything like this to me.

She started to say something else, but I said, “I don’t mean to be rude, but I really need to use the ladies’ room.”

I’m learning to be assertive about my bladder.

Besides, I didn’t want to hear about how she knew someone who delivered their uterus.

New Favorite Radio Station

2006-07-30T17:31:00.000-07:00

KFYE-FM, out of Fresno, is my new favorite radio station.

California radio station changes format from God to sex

"Now it calls itself "Porn Radio" — "all sex radio, all the time," with a suggestion that people under 21 not listen."

I'm glad they have the warning. But, the kids are listening to much worse than "Sexual Healing".

Comment of the Day, July 24, 2006

2006-07-24T19:51:00.000-07:00

I went into the ladies’ room today. Not that the act of using the ladies’ room is different from any other day.

But today, there was a different conversation. I don’t want to engage in conversation with everyone I meet along the way to the bathroom or with all the ladies in the ladies’ room. I’m trying to work at work; my boss gave me the deadline of being done with all of my shit by August 1. During the last month, she wants me to be able to go home and take a nap in the middle of the day if I feel like going home and taking a nap.

But for some reason, everyone wants to talk to me.

Sometimes I get lucky and don’t bump into anyone in the hall or in the ladies’ room. Today, I didn’t get lucky.

Picture this: I’m heading into the stall, turning around to shut the door so that I can pee my brains out. I hear, “How are you feeling?” Apparently she and I are on the same schedule today.

It’s the woman who saw me earlier, when I was pale and needed to get something to eat, which I had planned to do as soon as I made a used water deposit. But, because I was pale, she insisted that I go down to where all the nurses work and have them check on me…take my blood pressure, which was fine, just fine.

“Oh, hi,” I say in a polite manner. “I’m fine, thanks, just fine.”

“Well, you were so pale earlier. I remember how it was when I was pregnant with my daughter. I needed to eat every couple of hours,” she said.

“Yeah, I’m finding I need to do that, too.”

“Well, how far along are you?”

“Baby’s due at the end of August”, I said.

“Oh. Well, I was your size when I was 5 months pregnant. My labor and delivery were really bad, too.”

This was where I should’ve said, “I don’t mean to be rude, but I really need to go,” and simply shut the door. I had the opportunity, but I let it pass me right by.

Fortunately, I was able to tune out most of what she said. Zel is the Master of Tuning Out. He does it to me all the time, and that’s ok. Our relationship works.

She went on, and this is what I heard: “Blah blah blah…ended up going into the Big City by helicopter…blah blah blah…and I delivered my uterus.”

I thought she meant her placenta. Nope. She said uterus. She said it more than once, so that’s when I decided that she knew the difference between a placenta and a uterus. She said it was so rare that they wrote about her in medical journals.

“But don’t worry, the chances of that happening are only like 1 in 200,000. But, because you know me, it’ll probably happen to you,” she jokingly said.

Nice. Don’t joke about that shit, ‘cause it’s not funny. It’s mean.

My Parents and Computers

2006-07-20T19:04:00.000-07:00

The thing that frightens me about My Parents and computers and the Internet is that they don’t know how to use either one.

It frightens me because my entire life, they pushed education, and, they’re unwilling to educate themselves how to use the computers and the Web.

They’re Baby Boomers.

Isn’t this the generation that took the world by storm?

Isn’t this the generation that protested Vietnam?

Isn’t this the generation that had the great musicians?

The Beatles. The Stones. The Who. Zeppelin. Springsteen.

Some of whom inspired people to get up off their lazy asses and do something?

Dylan. Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young.

Isn’t this the generation where the sexual revolution started? Aren’t they the last generation to fuck anything it wanted to without fear of contracting HIV?

The other thing that frightens me about My Parents and computers is that by not being willing to learn, I think they’re making themselves functionally illiterate. There are senior citizens in my community (and throughout the world) that have not only learned to use computers and the Web, but embraced the technology.

Zel and I can’t function without our computer or access to the Web.

All of our music is on the computer, and the music is on from the time we get out of bed until we go to bed late in the night.

We get our news from the Web.

We stay in touch with our friends, who live all over the place, via email.

And, don’t get me started with the shopping I can do on-line. The closest mall is a 90 minute car ride away. I love the fact that I can shop without having to travel...or be presentable to the rest of humanity. I’m able to maintain the Baby Kaos registries on-line. Because we didn’t purchase the stock when it was a brand new company, I kick myself every time we purchase something from Amazon.com.

When our ISP is down, Zel and I get crabby. We start to shake. We’re mean to each other. We’re Web Addicts. We consider going to a Web Anonymous meeting, but we’re not down with the 12 steps. We can’t get past the first one: “We admitted we were powerless over our addiction - that our lives had become unmanageable,” because we can still manage our lives. We can function.

Then there’s the business end of it. I cannot comprehend how offices were run before computers and email. I submit my monthly reports to the State on the Web. I’m able to email colleagues and not have to waste money playing phone tag.

Zel is teaching summer school right now, and the courses are on-line. He’ll teach most of his classes on-line after Baby Kaos is born (nice for lots of reasons!).

I do want my parents to be on-line, but when they were, if I didn’t email my Mom back within 5 minutes, she’d freak out and call me.

It happened when they were on-line before. "Amelia!" she would scream into the answering machine, because I would be at work. "Why haven't you emailed me back yet? I emailed you a few minutes ago and I haven't heard back from you! Are you ok? What if you slipped in the shower and you hit your head? Should I call the LVPD?!"

I guess you pick your poison.

My Mom and the Internet

2006-07-18T21:53:00.000-07:00

My Mom called, letting me know they were looking at specific dates to come up and see Baby Kaos after he’s born. He’s due at the end of August. They’re looking at coming up the third week of September.

In booking flights for her and my Dad, she did it the old fashioned way: she spent her day calling the airlines.

It isn’t very easy to get to Our Little Town; not like when we lived in Vegas. In order to get here, you need to fly into the Big City, then switch airports (there’s a free shuttle) and fly about 30 minutes to Our Little Town on a little single-engine plane; or you rent a car and drive for 2-1/2 to 3 hours. It takes some work to get here, and that’s something we were conscience of when we moved; we didn’t want to have to run the hotel for a house we had when we lived in Vegas (no disrespect to the friends who came to visit!). So, she needed to contact several different airlines for the flight to the Big City; then she needed to contact the one airline that flies from the Big City to Our Little Town.

But I digress.

After she called the airlines, she called me, because she’s always looking for an excuse to call me.

She told me her flight plans, but that she hadn’t booked anything yet because she wanted to double-check that the dates would work for us. The airline was holding tickets for her and My Dad for 24 hours. The dates were fine, just fine.

We hung up so she could book the tickets. Then she called me right back, letting me know the cost of the flights, and that they were going to drive from the Big City to Our Little Town (she doesn’t want to get on a single-engine plane, which is understandable). She wanted to know if I thought she could’ve booked cheaper flights if she had booked it on the Internet.

“Probably,” I said.

“Well,” she said, “we don’t have the Internet, so I guess we’ll just have to live with what we paid for.” My Mother is very gifted at being passive-aggressive. I’ve learned to ignore most of it.

In May, the night before they left for their trip to Hawaii, she called and said, “I tried calling the airline because they said you could check in for your flight before arriving at the airport, but then when I called, they said you can only do that over the Internet. But, we don’t have the Internet, so I guess we’ll just have to live with checking in at the airport.”

I didn’t volunteer to check her in. Partly because of the passive-aggressive thing. Partly because I wasn't comfortable doing such a thing. And, fortunately, she didn’t ask.

“You may want to think about getting on-line, Mom. Zel is planning on doing a web page for the baby and we may even get a camera and you could watch video of him,” I said.

“Well, I don’t know. Your Dad didn’t really like having the Internet before.”

When My Parents had the Internet before, my brother was in middle and high school. He’ll be a college senior this fall.

Every time they would get on the web, they would get pissed off. Then my Mom would say, “Let’s call Amelia! She’ll know what to do!” as if I were a superhero. But, she’s always looking for an excuse to call me.

And I would tell her every time, “Mom, you have a slow connection and you need to upgrade your computer.” Really I was telling her in a nice way: “Mom, you own a piece of shit.”

But, she didn’t think she needed a new computer. Why spend the money on a new computer when this one works fine, just fine?

So, she put it off, figuring if you ignore the problem, it’ll just go away. Kind of like if your brakes squeak and you turn the radio up (which is not something I do, but I know some people who do).

“As for pictures of the baby,” she said, “you can just print them off and mail them to us. Or, can you email them to your Little Brother and then he can print them off? Is that even possible? I don’t know.”

“We’ll figure something out, Ma,” I said out loud. “Breathe,” I said inside my head.

My Dad and the Internet

2006-07-16T11:07:00.000-07:00

My Parents are not on-line. They were for a while. But they were using a Mac they purchased when My Little Brother was in Kindergarten. He’ll be a senior in college this fall. Fortunately for him on many levels, our parents decided when he graduated from high school that he needed a new computer.

In addition to an antiquated computer, they were on a 56K. Not sure why when they have cable television. So, Dad would get really pissed off because the pages would take forever to load. And then Mom would say, “Well, I don’t know why it’s so slow. Let’s call Amelia!” because she’s always looking for an excuse to call me.

Then My Little Brother moved out to attend college, taking his new computer with him. That’s when they disconnected their ISP.

My Little Brother is on-line, and I send him pics of my Bulging Baby Belly and he thinks it’s cool that we can communicate for free. Being Jews, that’s important, yo.

The other day, I had an Internet Lessons from my Dad.

My Dad was telling me about a girl that my Little Brother went to elementary, middle, and part of high school with. She was hiking in the Andes and she and her brother fell into a crevasse and were killed. They were both experienced hikers; they had hiked to the top of McKinley. She was majoring in something to do with the outdoors or environmental issues from my alma matter.

“Not sure if you saw it. It made national news,” Dad said. Zel and I don’t watch much television; we get our news from the web. And, no abc.com and cnn.com aren’t on the list of news sources (and just for the record, neither is fox.com).

“What a horrible thing. I didn’t read about it. Maybe I’ll go to your local newspaper’s web site and check it out,” I said.

“Well, it’s on the Internet. You can go look up Peru and it’ll come up,” he said. “Don’t you guys get a lot of your news on the Web? Well, you go look up Peru and you can read all about it.”

Just what an expecting mom wants to read about: someone’s children who were hiking in the Andes and died.

My Dad continued: “That’s what this guy at work did. He got on the Internet and then he said to me, ‘Well, what do I look up?’ and I said, ‘I don’t know. Try Peru.’ And he typed in Peru and we read all about it,” said my Dad.

Bless his heart. He truly has no concept of how to use the Web. Just for kicks, and because I’m a good kid, I Googled Peru. There were 446,000,000 hits, and the first one was from cia.gov.

And, then I remember that I have the luxury of talking to My Dad. And I remember that I have no idea what she feels. And I remind myself to be patient with him.

I Have No Idea

2006-07-13T15:30:00.000-07:00

I have no idea what you’re dealing with.

Or what you’ve dealt with everyday for the last 6 weeks.

Or what you had to handle when you went home to visit. And you went to see your new niece, who is simply lovely.

And you had to leave her earlier than you wanted because you received word that he was sick.

So, you go to the hospital for 16 hours a day. Making sure the nurses are doing their jobs, even though you’re not a nurse, but you could be after the 16-hour shifts you pulled.

I can relate to being at the hospital for 16 hours a day. And being a pseudo-nurse. And how time seemed to stand still.

And the being afraid part; I can relate to that, too. Afraid that the person you love more than anyone else in the world, the person you’ve depended on for forever, is sick and you’re afraid he’s going to die.

And you’re pissed off because you feel helpless. And you question why this is happening; he’s a good person. Why is he so goddamned sick?

I had that experience with my husband. He recovered.

But your Dad died.

And I’m sorry.

I have no idea what it feels like to loose a parent. And the child in me hopes to never know. But the adult in me knows I will eventually.

And I think about how we are at two completely different places in our lives: one of us dealing with death and the other dealing with creating a life.

And I know we’re both afraid of the future.

I send you positive energy all the time. Sometimes, I dedicate my yoga practices to you. I did when your Dad was sick, too.

Sometimes, when I speak to my Dad on the phone, and he goes off on a tangent, and then a tangent, and he keeps tangenting on and on, and it takes him about 10 minutes to get back to the original point, I get frustrated and roll my eyes. I think, How in the goddamn does Princess Diana relate to Hemingway? Where is he going with this one?

And, then I remember that I have the luxury of talking to my Dad. And I remember that I truly have no idea what you’re feeling. And I tell myself to be patient with my Dad. I remind myself that I need to be thankful for the time I have with him; because it may be the last time I talk to him.

I didn’t know your Dad that well; I only met him a couple of times. But he was hott. He was tall, and had grey hair, and a handle-bar moustache, and a beard, and he wore glasses. And he walked with a cane, but it was this cane that was distinguished. It wasn’t one of those canes that you buy at Walgreen’s. It was cool.

I know he would’ve taken me in if I needed a place to sleep. Unless I was on crack. He may have taken me in, but then he would’ve said, “Amelia, you really need to put down the crack.” And I would’ve done it, because I respected him.

And I so appreciate your Dad. Because he created you. And you are truly amazing.

I love you, Mel.

Childbirth Education Class

2006-07-10T19:57:00.000-07:00

We started our Child Birth Education Class. It’s actually a series of classes. There are 8 of them. The first four discuss what to expect during labor and delivery, and provides us with some helpful tips.

Yes, there’s that whole “breathing thing”. But, Stephanie the Childbirth Educator said the important thing is to breathe because if you don’t breathe then it takes oxygen rich blood away from the baby and sends oxygen rich blood to your extremities, which is part of the fight or flight response to stress. If blood goes to your extremities and away from you uterus, you have a more difficult labor.

There are 14 couples in the class (Mel, that’s 28 people). That’s a goddamned lot of babies on the way.

A few babies are due in a couple of weeks. There are several babies that aren’t due until the end of August or beginning of September. There’s one baby that’s not due until October. Take it down a notch, Mom. You could’ve started a bit later. Really. Don’t be so goddamned over zealous about squeezing that baby out’cha pussy.

Zel and I are one of two “older” couples in the class. The other “older” couple is…well, she’s probably close to 40, and he looks like he’s about 30. Not sure, but whatever works for them is fine, just fine.

All of the other couples are in their mid-twenties. There don’t seem to be any expecting moms that are in their teens, which is a good thing! (Does that mean our prevention programs are working? Because we know abstinence only programs aren't working. The kids are a-fuckin'!).

There was one dude who had on a General Lee shirt. You heard me. General. Lee.

He clearly didn’t want to be there. I’m not making this statement because he was wearing a General Lee shirt. I’m making this statement because he sat there with his arms a crossed his chest with a scowl on his face for most of the class. His wife seemed kind of into class. But he was forced to be there. Bless her heart. I hope she’s up for the challenge.

"Leaky"

2006-07-09T19:27:00.000-07:00

The latest nickname Zel has come up with for me is Leaky.

Because my boobs are starting to leak.

Love and feathers,
Leaky

Deli Counter Girl

2006-07-05T21:08:00.000-07:00

“Hiiii!” I heard a female voice say.

It was one of those hi’s that was sung. And made into at least two syllables, maybe three.

“Hi. How are you?” I heard Zel say.

“I’m gooood,” she sang again. Two syllables.

I turned around, because I was curious to see who Zel was chatting with. We already had our freshly cut smoked turkey breast from the deli (which I can’t eat), and I knew we were in a bit of a rush because the England/Portugal game had started about minutes ago. I thought perhaps it was a student. It was Deli Counter Girl.

She was leaning on the counter, and when she saw me, she didn’t lean quite so hard. Her energy changed a bit. We said hello to each other, and smiled at each other. Then I took the cart and walked away.

It was apparent to me that she wanted to try and be a student of Zel’s. Perhaps get an A for anal sex. B for blow job at the very least.

We didn’t say hello to each other like dogs pissing a circle around their territory. We were cordial to each other. But, it was pretty obvious to me that I didn’t need to be in the conversation, so I left.

Zel caught up with me a few minutes later, and I was smiling at him.

“What?” he said. He was a bit concerned as to why I walked away.

I laughed. “Dude, she wants to fuck you so bad it’s sad. You should just bend her over that deli counter and F her in the A,” I said.

“You think so?”

“Yeah,” I said. “But, I don’t think she could handle you. She’s a child.”

We left the store and continued our conversation in the truck on the way home.

Zel said, “A child? She’s gotta be at least 21, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, she’s probably 21. But, just because she’s 21 doesn’t mean she knows how to give a good B for blow job.”

“I could teach her,” he said.

“Yup, you could teach her.”

We drove a long for a few minutes in a comfortable silence.

Then Zel said, “Think she licks pussy?”

“Nope. I think she is a pussy and has never been with another woman. She’s not comfortable sexually around other women. Did you pick up on her energy change when she saw me? She wasn’t quite so gushy once she knew I was there, listening to her sing to you” I said.

“You’re imagining things,” Zel said. “It’s gotta be your raging pregnancy hormones.”

“No, dude. I’m intuitive. Deli Counter Girl totally wants to be your girlfriend.”

"She's cute," he said.

"She's cute," I agreed.

Maybe...

2006-07-03T16:15:00.000-07:00

...Just maybe, he was flipping off his mom and dad for making him enter the stupid contest in the first place.

Little Mr. Apricot Flips Off Crowd, Loses Title

Freak accident?

2006-07-01T20:53:00.000-07:00

How in the hell does something like this happen??

David Hasselhoff was shaving at a gym in the Sanderson Hotel on Thursday when he hit his head on a chandelier, showering his arm with broken glass.

Was he jumping on a goddamned trampoline?

Turkey Sandwich

2006-06-30T11:33:00.000-07:00

I can't eat turkey sandwiches anymore. I haven't had one since I found out I was pregnant.

The problem is that deli meat and unprocessed cheeses sometimes carry a bacterium called listeria. Listeria can cause fetal death, which is something I'd like to avoid.

Last night, I had a dream about a turkey sandwich on wheat bread with mayo and mustard and provolone cheese and lettuce and tomato.

One of the first things I'm gonna do after the baby is born is eat a turkey sandwich.

Stupid Bitch

2006-06-26T13:59:00.000-07:00

Does it say “Stupid Bitch” on my forehead?

No.

Funny, because I was treated like a Stupid Bitch today when I went to have another key made for my truck. I have one of those fancy-pants keys that has the plastic above the teeth, but the plastic part broke and I can only super glue that shit so many times before I decide to break down and spend the money.

I went to the dealership where I purchased my truck, and went up to the counter. Nobody was there, so I rang the bell. Waited. Nobody came. Rang the bell again. Finally, Schmoe showed up. I’d never seen him before. Where’s the cute guy who sold me my tires? The one who could sell me a used lollipop stick?

“What can I do for you?” he asked.

“I need to have another key made for my truck, please,” I said.

“We can probably do that,” said Schmoe.

Probably. Nice.

“How much does it cost?” I asked.

“Well, if you get the same type of key you have now, only it’s all metal and it has the plastic around it, it’s $7.00,” he said.

“That’s fine,” I’m not loosing sleep. After all, it’s not like I’m drinking lattes right now. But, for seven goddamned dollars, I better get more than "Probably."

I gave him my key and he starts to go to the back, but he stopped, held up my key and said, “Don’t get rid of this key, now.”

“Don’t worry, I don’t intend to.”

I’m standing there waiting for Schmoe to come back up with my both keys, and I’m starting to think, “Does this clown think I’m a Stupid Bitch? Honestly.”

He comes back up and says, “Now, is your car here?”

“Yes.”

“Because we should really check this before you leave. Why don’t you tell me which car is yours and I’ll go check it for you,” he said.

I said, “No thanks, I can do that.” I take both keys and head out to my truck thinking, “What the fuck? Does he treat all women this way? Or just the pregnant ones? And, since you work with the public, you may want to get that fungus on your fingernails taken care of, A-hole.”

The key worked. On my way back in I was thinking, “I should’ve let him do it because the alarm was set and he would’ve looked like an A-hole.”

I go back in and he gives me my receipt, I thank him. I then take my receipt to the lovely woman behind the cashier’s counter. I tend to give her lots and lots of money and she’s always pleasant. Imagine that.

I wanted to ask her, “Does he treat all women like they’re Stupid Bitches? Or just the pregnant ones?”

But, I refrained.

Then, when I got home, I made sure to wash my hands. I'll probably take another goddamned shower. Don’t want a goddamned fungus.