A Small, Hormonal Elephant.

Weeee'll, another week coming to a close.
Time is going so fast, it's remarkable to me every time I pass a mirror and see my round, protruding belly poking out. I forget just how darn pregnant I am sometimes.
The baby shower, or the baby 'party', is next weekend. I'm excited to be able to get everything all organized and buy everything else we need for lil' Austen after I see what awesome stuff my family/friends buy. I definitely need some diapers, so I hear. We thought about lining the floor with newspaper and seeing what happens, but then I remembered that my gag reflex isn't so good.

The nursery is basically done, and it's adorable if I don't say so myself. The theme started with monkeys and flowed into monkeys-bears-owls-trees.
I don't know. I didn't say it made sense, I said it was adorable. When I finish, I'll post pictures.
Just a couple more paintings to hang and it'll be ready to brag over, though the paintings are currently "blocking" spots throughout the room that turns out, are fabulous kitty-nap spots. I hesitate to move them.
I've tried and tried explaining that it isn't their room, but they just don't listen. Soft, plush nooks and crannies are just too much for the furballs to resist. And you know what they say. You own a dog, but a cat owns you.
I learned this too late.

On a personal level, it's also getting very, very tricky getting dressed every day. Not that covering my skin would be hard, but covering it in a fashion that is appropriate for the office, that takes a whole new kind of talent. If I could wear sweats and tank tops 24/7 I'd be golden. Unfortunately, not so lucky. While I think I'm forgiven for forgoing the heels for a while, Larry -the-cable-guy pj pants might be a little over the top.

This weeks big accomplishment? The zippers of my pre-pregnancy pants will 'officially' not stay up beneath that fabulous invention called the BeBand.(stretchy, elastic-like fabric band that fits around your waist and keeps -loose maternity pants/unbuttoned pre-pregnancy pants- up.) Nope, they slide right down under all my baby-boy-belly weight. I'm turning into a small, hormonal elephant.

Looks like in addition to buying diapers and hanging pictures, I should invest in some wider pants, for my new, wider body-for-two......
This being-a-parent thing...they really weren't kidding when they said it was complicated.

Don't Yell at the Manager

I have worked in customer service for many years, yes, I admit I may be young, but in the past eight years I've seen a great many things.

Even one better than just working in the atypical 'customer service' role, I have had the pleasure of spending the last six glorious years working in financial customer service, in opposition to 'normal' customer service at, say, a grocery store.

You don't understand the difference? Well, allow me to give a few examples to clear it up for you.........

1. A person unsatisfied with the treatment of their "millions" (or rather, hundreds) is considerably less likely to be cordial than a person unsatisfied with you ignoring their plea for paper rather than plastic.

2. When you walk up to a grocery line to purchase something, even a pack of gum, you are now a customer. If you simply walk up to a teller in a bank, it is yet to be determined if you are a customer or not, because simply wanting change for a twenty does not mean that I now am required to service your every need including refilling the cookie plate and making you a fresh pot of coffee. You are merely a consumer. Big difference, sir.

3. Some grocery stores feature a 'match-that-price" policy. Our bank, however, is unable to give you a special interest rate of 6.0% simply because you 'swear you saw that posted on another bank somewhere'. Nice try, though.

4. I do realize that when you are unsatisfied with your grocery shopping experience, that requesting the manager may be a smart way to go. However, simply because I will not reverse all 8 of your overdraft fees because your 'cat was sick and you forgot to make a deposit', yelling and screaming that you want to talk to the manager is not wise. For one, yelling gets you nowhere, and furthermore: I am the manager.

Pondering Daily Postcards

You know, if I had time, I'd totally start one of those cool Day-by-Day blogs. You know, where you feature something new every day?
I already have it all picked out too.

The DAILY POSTcard

Every day I draw a picture or write something on a blank postcard and mail it to someone. Then blog about what I drew, etc.

Yep. Do it for a year, see how it goes. It's pretty flexible. Somedays I might be grumpy. So I'd just scribble something black on the card, grimace, and drop it in the mail.

or, I might have an awesome fantastic too-good-to-be-true kind of day. And then I'd draw rainbows and fireworks and money and drop THAT in the mail.

Plus, I personally always think interactive blogs are kind of cool. That you can drop an email to the blogmaster, and perchance get your name drawn to receive something, even if it's just mention.


Now, if only I could commit to a whole year of postcards......I mean, I did do a whole year of self portraits.

How hard could it be to scribble a postcard a day???

Confession: I'm a Crappy Blogger.

I'm terrible at this.

I've come to understand that the true 'appeal' to blogging, is to see a complete stranger's daily life occur.
My random spatterings of a day here and a day there....complete shortcoming in that regard. I'm hardly ever here, and can't imagine why anyone would care to see just a few of my life's occurrences.

I mean, that is the purpose of this, right?

To come to *know* a person through their daily writings, quips, jokes; to learn their pains and sorrows and humors. To find a comraderie with them, an invisible friendship. I understand that, I can see it in others.

I mean, if I hop on and pour out my current obtrusive event of having Placenta Previa, can anyone say they really care? They don't know me. I'm just a pregnant stranger who has a haphazard placenta in their uterus!

But, if you saw me daily and knew that my favorite fruit is watermelon, and I drive a 97 Rav4, and that I secretly aspire to find a career in the arts and even more so now that I'm going to be birthing my first child in under three months....

THAT may make you feel a twinge of sympathy and curiosity, curl up your feet at your laptop, and query my complication with compassion. Wouldn't it?

I really should visit more often. The door is getting squeaky to this pathetic housing I call a blog. :)

If Whales Could Talk....

I have decided that being pregnant is the most fun thing I've ever done.

Seriously.
It's so cool...I can push on my tummy, and my little son pushes back. Last night the hubby ran a flashlight along my belly, and he kept kicking at it whenever it stopped.

I'm never alone anymore, and that's kind of comforting. And most of all, I'm loving the curves.
I don't have to worry about "does this top make me look fat" or "do these jeans make my butt look big" cos, frankly, yeah, I am fat and my butt is big....what of it?! How cool is THIS??!!!

Ah, but really, I can't disguise that the real reason I'm so happy is cos I'm just uber excited to have a kid. I've always wanted kids. They poop and throw up on you, they throw tantrums and are a real pain in the butt sometimes. But I've always wanted one of my very own.

Come this summer I may wanna give him back just for a good night's sleep....but meh, truthfully I'm looking forward to it. They grow so fast, and get all....grown up and cranky. I'm looking forward to the teeny tiny, drooly whiney newborn.

Which, may or may not be worth being fat in the dead of summer. I haven't decided yet. ;-)

So far, delightfully unproductive.

Well, the better half and I are on vacation this week. Spring break in our neck of the woods, which means he doesn't have school and it was a perfect time to spend an entire week getting so much of each other we'll be sick of each other and ready to go back to work.

Eh. Or maybe we'll find out we actually like each other way more than we originally thought. Who's to say.

I woke up dreadfully early this morning, dreadfully early considering it's now quarter-past 3 in the afternoon and I still have heaps to do and I'm still in my pajamas.

I have, however, successfully: Driven to Starbucks and had a half-decaf americano, made, ate, and cleaned up breakfast, cleaned up the kitchen, straightened up the living room, started bread dough for a late lunch, and now re-formatted my blog. Oh, oh, and I answered the door when the Fed-X lady showed up. She was kind of rude. But I wouldn't want her job, so I guess I don't blame her.

I think I'm gonna go shower and try to do something productive....like clean my fridge....or clean out a cupboard or two (under my sink in particular is quite a tornado zone). I won't push it though....seeing as now I can successfully add to my 'done list' the fact I have now, wether worthwhile or not, updated my not-so-daily blog.

ahem. And there you go. Toodaloo, my friends.

A Grain of Salt, or a Truckload.

I often have to wonder how the miracle of pushing a baby through your hoo-hoo can suddenly transform any normal woman into a registered expert on the subject of childhood.

Now, don't get me wrong, when I say this I'm not trying to imply that some women who have parented children and had remarkably fulfilling experiences don't deserve the right to spread a thinly applied layer of useful advice to other somewhat eager-to-learn mothers. No, in fact many of these women who have somehow miraculously flitter through mommyhood without a hitch, we're downright tempted to get down on our hands and knees and beg her for a mere tidbit of a clue to what she may have done so 'right'.

I am instead referring to the Hey-Let-Me-Interject-My-Personal-Views-and-Parenting-Ideas-on-You-Poor-Defenseless-Parent- kind of crazyass mother.

Yes, we've all met one. The people who, frankly, usually did a semi-unimpressive job of keeping their filthy brats in one piece and , and yet feel that they are worthy of instructing you on the proper way to get your bouncing baby to suckle more efficiently at the breast. It's ridiculous.
Infuriating. And sometimes downright tiring, forcing yourself to pleasantly accept the way they speak to you.

To speak in general terms, since the day I got two lines on my pregnancy test, I have been hearing oppressive (and admittedly sometimes helpful interjections) on how to get my kids to vegetables, to sleep through the night, and to keep their clothes on during the 'naked-stage'.

To speak specifically, I had the pleasure of meeting one such a gem of a veteran mother while at work the other day. She informed me, not only of what a few 'good names' were for my unborn child, (yes, she really gave me her daughter's name and what she wish she had named her son....???!)but also berated me on the importance of raising a child in religion and frequent habitual reading.

Well, why didn't she remind me to change their diapers intermittently and to feed them when they cry?

ugh. Some people. My favorite of all, was the intensity with which she finished her ramble....she (and I quote!) "No matter what, don't let anyone at this job ever tell you that you need to come back to work. There is no greater job than a mother can do in her life than raise her children. No matter what they pay you, no job can pay you enough to give up that life at home with your child. It isn't worth it. "

Heh. Now, this is right about the time I wanted to chuck my stapler at the witch's head.
You'll be pleased to know (or perhaps disappointed) that instead, I smiled, tilted my head and waited until she left the office before rolling my eyes and thanking God that my very own dear mother raised me to respect my elders and to live in patience.

And that, might I add, is a little well received advice.

Should I stay or should I go now.....

Ah, so I lost an hour of my day today, which I shouldn't be particularly bummed about considering all I really did was miss out on an extra hour of housework- but meh, just the same I had to whine a bit.

What I really want to whine about is my newest addiction. Starbucks.
How I can justify a 20oz, calorie packed, sugar bomb that only costs me $4 is beyond me....maybe it's the fact I'm pregnant and I get what I want, or it's the fact that I don't smoke, don't drink, and don't do nearly anything remotely resembling my past life - so why NOT curl up with a creamy decaf treat once in a while.

The real problem is that I am sitting here in my pajamas, pondering on whether it's worth it to run around the corner and get said javariffic decadence. I mean....I have to put on shoes....I have to pause the DVR....I have to put on a bra......But my breadmaker is being far too slow with my cranberry lemon bread, and I don't even have a coffeemaker since last fall....and I don't want juice...and I really need to shower but no one will see me go through the drive through, right?

*sigh* I hate time change.

Irrational mommy, though I named my loin-fruit.

While it could surely mean I'm a little on the irrational side, I have to admit that time seems to have literally slipped by, and at the same time, is this baby ready to come out yet???!!!?

I'm not sure what is more irrational, that time is going so slow, or that I want it to go faster. I just admitted I'd like my little easy-to-carry, quiet, and uncomplicated baby to come out and wail and cry and keep me up all night.

:)

heh. 19 weeks down, 21 to go.

In related news, my gender ultrasound isn't until March 18th because my doctor's office does not do them until 22 weeks (uuuugh).....and I can't freakin wait to find out if this babeh has boy parts or girl parts!!!!
I am making the assumption it will have one of the other. I have an inkling that may be so.

Furthermore, the bugger has a name, finally. After much deliberation we have bequeathed a name upon the soon-to-be fruit of my loins:

Austen Michael or Brooklynne Nicole, crying and being overly needy, yet adorable, coming soon to a bedroom near me.

Wishful Thinking

Ah we all know it's the ultimate fauz pas, yet I'm going to commit it anyway.

I don't want to work at my job anymore.

There, I've done it. The quintessential boo boo of admitting on the world wide web that you wish you had a different career.
But I can't help it. It's been six years and not only do I feel unchallenged and unexcited about every day - pair that with the lack of desire to advance any further. I literally do not want to get promoted again. What is that??????
Ugh.

I want to do something creative, something that utilizes my unique talents rather than just the common ones in a 26 year old.
I'm a long-time artist, photographer, and right-brainer..................and I work in finance.

Anyways, at the risk of bitchin' too long about something irrelevant (not as if I can quit, while the hubby is in school and working and the baby-to-be is growing in my belly), I guess I just wish the economy didn't suck so I could find something better.

In relative news, I've begun painting again. Well, I hate what I painted last night and I'm gonna trash it, but more importantly the desire to paint has returned.
I have so many ideas but I have to purchase more supplies.....and of course....I don't have money to do so for another week or so....ho hum.

Ahem. Happy Thursday. The weekend has almost arrived.

Feeding the Inner Child.........Literally.

I've never considered myself much of a 'mature' person, though while I view maturity as being highly overrated, don't allow that to misconstrue my true meaning.

No, I do not support people who refuse to ever grow and take responsibility for their own actions or lives.

I do still watch cartoons. But no, that's not what I mean either.

Rather, I support the belief in being a child at heart, carefree, and disallowing life to get the best of you. :)
So, while I always pay my rent on time, I also turn a cheek to the times when things are hard and I can't eat roast for dinner when I want to.

There are a lot of things that you simply MUST mature with as you get older. If you don't pay your bills, you'll ruin your credit and never get a house.
If you don't commit to one person you'll never find a true, monogamous love that will last longer than rowdy, awkward one night stands and heartache.
If you don't clean the toilet....well....let's just say you'll regret it shortly after one of those rowdy nights leaves you hungover and nauseated......

Speaking of nauseation, I read something earlier today that literally made me feel a bit queasy.(and for once, not because of morning sickness!).

It was a blog about cheating on your healthy diet during pregnancy. Here, me being me, thought they meant having a cup of coffee that wasn't decaf or getting a greasy lunch at McDonalds. Maybe not steaming your turkey cold cuts before eating your sandwhich.
Well. One woman confessed to drinking 5 shots of Tequila on New Years, and getting a hangover.
She's due precisely two weeks beforem e, which gauges in about 14 weeks pregnant.

5 shots of Tequila. What. The. Hell. I doubt if I'd be able to do that if I wasn't pregnant, let alone knowing I was 14 weeks pregnant.

Just goes to show, some people never grow up- in a very bad way.....tsk tsk, so sad.

I'll thank my lucky stars that my mommy was a 'grown up' when she had me. No tequila sunrises for me pre-birth, thank you very much.

Sickening. Some people, they make me sick. *grimace*

That's all I have to say. A slight vent on this January afternoon.

Now I'll waddle off in my pregnant bliss, give my belly an affectionate tap as I bypass the cold cuts and the caffeine and settle down with my current craving of Peanut Butter and Jelly.

Which, I hear, is perfectly appropriate for fetuses while at the same time, allows me to be just childish enough for my own taste. You know, minus giving my baby a hangover when he's negative six months old. :)

* Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Cheery Festivus or Bah Humbug to you all. *

Well, It's here.
The trees are trimmed, the presents are wrapped, the cookies are baked, and the stockings are stuffed.

Minus my one small fauz pas, however, where I put extra money on a credit card for my husband before realizing that our cards were expired. Hm. So I had to wait until today, Christmas Eve, to complete my shopping.
How quaint, right? ;-)

Ah well. In my house, the tree is trimmed, (some) presents are under the tree, the cookies are in my stomache, and the stockings are (basically) filled.

So, I wish you all in Blogger-land the best of the Holidays, from my home to yours.
Be it Christmas, Hanukkah, or Festivus for the restuvus. :)

xo
K

The Pros and Cons of Christmas.

It's officially winter here in my hickville-middle-of-nowhere county of the U.S.
It is 20 degrees outside. That is approximately 30 degrees below my comfort zone.

I've been bundling up like a child the past few days. And wouldn't you know I caught a cold too. ugh. The joys the holiday season brings. Which brings me to:

The Pros and Cons of Christmas. Allow me to elaborate.


Pro: Frank Sinatra singing carols
Con: Britney Spears singing something resembling carols.
Pro: Snow
Con: Ass-freezing cold
Pro: Christmas spirit
Con: Christmas spirits pregnant ladies can't drink
Pro: Sparkly, shimmery xmas trees
Con: The spacious, empty gap beneath the tree that my cat sleeps.
Pro: Christmas treats and cookies
Con: Christmas weight gain
Pro: Family get togethers
Con: Family get togethers. ;-)
Pro: Holiday shopping
Con: Getting hit in the hip by shopping carts
Pro: Christmas cards
Con: Recieving christmas cards from people you forgot to send one to.
Pro: It's Christmas! Everyone should be happy!
Con: There's always a grinch in every family.

You know what the really funny thing is though? Even though I have visions of baby onesies and I'm achy and tired and cold.....

I always look forward to christmas. It does, after all, only come once a year.
:)

Pregnant Woman Cry, It's Normal!

Well, it finally happened. The emotions of functioning for two finally brought me to tears.

I'm happy, don't get me wrong. I'm exhuberant! I'm pregnant! But holy hell- I feel like crap!

I feel like I could vomit from the moment I click off my alarm clock in the morning to the moment my head hits the pillow at night.
I feel bloated, and I have headaches, but really....it's the nausea that is killing me.

I am always eating, always tired, always nauseated, and I always have to pee. It's the perfect combination of pure joy and pure misery if I've ever experienced it........


Anyways. So to the point, I felt like crap all yesterday at work, which I might also add has been a less-that-fantastic environment even before my mommy-hormones were raging; got home and ate some ice cream (momentary fix) and watched some tv and drank my weight in water trying to offset the fact I felt like I was on a ship in a tsunami.

The husband, the sweet man he is, made dinner whilst bringing me fruits and vegetables as I laid sprawled on the couch in an unladylike fashion. We bickered some, which I will happily admit was mostly due to me and my current sensitivity.
I napped. I woke up.

Then he brought me dinner. Smothered pork chops with egg noodles and steamed green beans.
I couldn't eat it. I just broke into tears.

Here I am, walking about in a constant fog of "do I/don't I vomit", wanting to pull my hair out during work yet smiling like the chesire cat instead, come home for even more bouts of sickness, and then my husband makes me dinner and all I can't even eat it.
I felt terrible.

And yet, I'm still stuck. I'm so grateful for every wave of puk-ish desire because it means the little bugger is doing well, but at the same time:

I can not wait until this morning sickness crap passes. Holy crap, people.

My Books, My Belly, and My Gag Reflex.

I have to admit, I've never been very good at taking instruction verbally.
In fact, I rarely take instruction well at all unless it's self-instruction, but that's besides the point.

So, of course the moment that everyone finds out I'm pregnant I'm knocked on my ever-growing tushy by a barrage of "do this" and "don't do this" and a handful other less inviting phrases.

While I graciously appreciate everyone's concerns and intents to share their boundless knowledge and experience, why is it that even though motto of pregnancy is and always has been "No woman is alike", that the first people to forget this is women who have been pregnant?

I expect what I expect, and what I read, and more importantly; I will roll with the punches and get where I get when I get there. I don't need to know that I will be kicking my cat off my bed in the middle of the night because I no longer love him, and even more so, YES I am aware that you don't leave newborns alone in a room with two cats.

C'mon people, it's the first time a baby has been inside me with the full-on intention of coming out, but it isn't the first time this girl has been around a baby. They aren't foreign objects to me.
I have been around a few years, long enough to know that 1. babies are kind of hard to break, and 2. if in fact you do break them, it's ever-so-helpful that their daddy is a medical assistant.

Back to my original point.
I don't take well to people spouting off their opinions (or 'facts' depending on their assertion level) to me. I'm a reader and a doer.
At my appointment yesterday with my midwife, as she was flipping through literature and explaining the high points of the first trimester and what to/what not to worry about:(which btw, did not annoy me because it's her job) I already was aware of 90% of what she said.

Because I, the day after I got the 'you're knocked up' sign from my self-pregnancy test, went out and bought some books. And I read.
The most prevalent message I'm getting from all of it (other than the obvious do's and don'ts) is:

Every woman, and every pregnancy is different.

So as we go into it, it's a whole new ballgame, ladies and gentlemen.
While I appreciate the fact that your wife threw up at the sight of raw chicken, and that you ate peanut butter and jelly at midnight everyday for a month, and you have the "best" cure for constipation........

frankly, conversating about vomit and defacation isn't really what makes a pregnant lady feel fabulous, if you know what I mean. :)

Staycation and a Little Surprise.

I've been off work for a week.
It's crazy, because I thought I'd get WAY more done than I did.

I must add, I did get a lot done, but it sure feels like it's only been 2 days, not a week. But whatever.

We went through our storage, and now there is a huge "Goodwill" pile in the hall, as well as a garbage pile. The closet in the second bedroom is also much more empty.
I cleaned my fridge out. I reorganized my kitchen appliances and whatnots.
Odds and ends job completely all over the place.

I have come to one conclusion. Work sucks, I wanna stay home all the time.

*sigh*
Never gonna happen, but my, I love my staycations.
Granted, I would gladly trade one in for a trip to...face it...anywhere. But I got so much more done this way. And....it was cheap. I like cheap. I embrace cheap. It's one of my mottos.

Yesterday the hubby and I celebrated 4 years of marriage.
My, time does fly. We had pizza and watched Star Wars 4 - 6. I slept through most of The Empire Strikes Back, but hey. I was tired, in my defense.
It was a nice anniversary.

I digress. It's been a fast week, and I want it to start over. Also, I have a myriad of things to accomplish today and this weekend. So why am I blogging.
I need more tea and to get moving!

Ah yes. And one more thing.

I'm pregnant. :)

~The Unraveling One

Sincerely, The Starving Housewife.

Do you remember that feeling you used to get when your a kid, and you have your nice warm house, and big delicious dinners, and all the coolest toys you play with, and no bigger concerns than who you're going to sit next to at lunchtime tomorrow?

Yeah, all these little pouty kids that strut down the leaf-speckled sidewalks looking like the most pathetic creatures on the planet make me sick.

I mean, not that I want to go back to wearing hot pink sweaters and crooked ponytails and trying not to make eye contact with the creepy lunchlady in a hairnet....but I have to say I kinda miss that carelessness of childhood.
Adolescent minds simply do not comprehend the side effects of growing up.

~

After careful calculation between my disposable income and the stack of bills that clutter my mailbox daily, I have come to the conclusion that I can pay everything diligently and on time as long as I cease to eat for the next 6 months. Hm. Yes, that will work. Think of all the weight I will lose.

However, bearing in mind that if I die from starvation that nobody will get paid, some other process must be administered in balancing my finances. Either that, or I'm going to need to take up a second job licking stamps or making tacos for a pimply teenage boss.

Our dear friends at the Department of Revenue have sweetly requested payment for my previous year's balance due, and rightly so. I concede that I owe them the money. But I must admit, I'm a little miffed that in an analysis of my disposable income in order to determine my monthly payment that by excluding my credit card payments as offset, ANY 26 year old girl is going to plunge into starvation when they tell me I have to give them $112 a month.

This, of course, is actually the part that is only making things worse. The initial bombshell was a garnishment I recieved on October 1st because the lady at the collection agency is a biznitch and turned me in because my payment was...wait for it...


Not skipped.
Not avoided.
Not missed in over a year.

but late. Just a week late.

Soooo....now, rather than making my $25.00 a month payment, they are garnishing my paychecks for $560 a month. Seems fair. (cough cough)


Uhhhh.

Being the spreadsheet freak that I am, I created an simple filliable calculator in a program that allows me to input all my monthly bills, my monthly paychecks, and it will spit out an ending balance that I fondly refer to as my 'scrap fund'.

That, ladies and gentlemen, is what this girl, husband, and two cats will be surviving off of for the month.

$33.00.

Look like Mr. Capital One and Mr. Household Bank will be playing a role in my life again. :)

I think now I could really go for some of that cafeteria food and a crooked ponytail.

Lost in Translation, I Blah You Too.

Ever notice how you can say one thing, and someone will hear something completely and vastly different?

Annoying as hell, isn't it.

I can pull out of my personal verbal closet a thousand things I have said to my husband and I would have been better off slamming my fingers in a door it would be less painful. Not that he intends it wrong. He just doesn't hear it right.

It's okay though, I'm not too worried about it. I've heard it from a crapload of spouses so I'm pretty sure it's more often the rule than the exception.
Face it, ladies, men and women do NOT speak the same language.

I can say "It's on the top shelf somewhere"

And he will hear: "It's on the top shelf in plain view. If at first momentary glance you don't see it, be sure not to touch or move any item, and instead start hollering about how it isn't at all where I said it would be."

But don't be upset, men. We do it too.

You can say "I need that socket wrench right there, can you hand it to me? Yeah, right there next to the 1/8th inch and the phillips screwdriver. No, not that, that's a hammer. Yes, that's it. Ooooh, look at you bending over, look at that butt! mmmmhmmmm!"

And we hear: "blah, blah, blah, socket wrench, blah, blah, yes, blah, no, blah blah, you look kinda fat today."

Ahhhh. It's a complicated science.

Now, let's throw a scenario out there to complicate things even more. Let's take K and her fantastic husband and throw them into a alcohol-flowing, late at night situation with some friends. See, the thing about me is that once I get a little on the tipsy side, my mouth opens and starts pouring verbal atrocities.
I start talking all subjects taboo and making innappropriate jokes to go along with it.

The pros to such an affliction, is that once some friends go out drinking with us, you bet your bottom dollar that they like us if they ever attempt such a feat a consecutive time.

The cons to ordeal is that more often than not I get the evil eye in the morning when my husband informs me that me and my girlfriends were loudly comparing bra sizes, or sharing tips on 'married lady actions'.
Yeah....I usually feel a enormous wave of regret the next day, which might I add is always a fun addition to the hangover I'm suffering through.

What can I say. Men and women, we speak different languages. And sometimes, I get a little alcohol in my system and I speak a language all my own.
I can look on the bright side.

a. My husband must really love me, because he hasn't divorced me yet.

b. I have an inate ability to screen out friends that aren't true friends, i.e. Karen embarrasses them and they can handle it.

and c. We may speak different language and communication may at times be strained, but at least whether we're a slightly embarrassed, irritated husband or a half-drunk, crude-mouthed wife: 'I Love You' is still the universal language we understand. Kind of.

If you don't look behind you, you'll never see grandma giving you the bird.

Live your life by looking through the windshield, not the rearview mirror, they say.


What freaking idiot wrote that quote.

Live your life by looking at both.
That's why they're in the same damn place, obviously.


We are all looking up the road ahead, of course, we have to. Otherwise we would walk into other people, and you might get groped, or hit by a car. So we look ahead.
And we can't go approaching the hypothetical 'speedbumps' and hills and issues, without looking back on the ones that are already behind us.

I get the point of the quote. Yes, look forward, not behind. Be positive. Blah blah blah. But seriously, it's misleading, and kinda of downright wrong.

If you forget the past, and everything in it, you'd need to re-learn how to tie your shoes everyday. So then we would all be wearing velcro shoes. And that's....well....
That would incredibly ugly.
(and all the people with velcro shoes just slumped down in front of their laptops.....)

Anyways. Back to my point. You can't NOT look behind you for so many reasons.

I mean, you could. But it would be highly unintelligent of you, you moron.

Why walk through a dark alley without looking of your shoulder? Crazy psycho killer man will dub you an easy target and *boom* off with your head.
Or, emotionally speaking, do you not want to learn from your mistakes? For example, the time you substituted super glue for the evasive little white bottle that came with your fake eyelashes?
Not at all the same thing. Didn't you feel like a complete ninny going back to the office with eyes like Tammy Fae?
Well, you should have.

In Life, like in a car, we are equipped with receptors to look in all directions. To see what stupid things we've done, and enjoy and gloat about the fantastic brilliant things.

Biggest, of course, is the windshield. Most important. Avoid the little old lady crossing the street at a painfully slow pace. I know it's hard, but you have to wait.

To each side, a little bit of what is directly behind us shows. Also helpful in case you didn't wait long enough for the old lady's weiner dog. You might want to go back and apologize for that.

And, in front of us, conveniently so, up above is a little bit of the path we left disappearing into the distance in the rearview mirror.
We don't always want to see ALL of our past, but it's good to see certain things, so we're given a large span in which to do so, which we must pick and choose what is worth looking at.

The little old lady flipping you off? Bad. (but kinda awesome at the same time)
The fact that the little yapper dog is okay? I guess for her, Good.



So, I take this opportunity to write my own quote, which is indeed wiser and more accurate than the original.
A little "Unraveled Wisdom", if you will.

Live your life by looking through the windshield, but don't ever forget the rearview mirror. Learn from past mistakes, thrive on past accomplishments, and always laugh when elderly people perform obscene gestures in your direction.



p.s. I have to look in my rear view mirror. So much of who I am, is who I loved and where I have been.
If I lost that, I would not be the woman that I am.

A Farewell Letter to a Friend.

Saying goodbye is never easy. It never will be.
But remembering them in your life, is the one thing we can give them once they are gone.
I lost a friend on Friday.
So many things I wish I would have said, and could say now.
If I could write him a letter, it would go something like this:


Phil,

Oh, so many things that I will always remember.

Firstly, thank you for the memories, and for allowing me to be a small part of your life.
I know we went our separate ways, but I was always waiting and watching for that girl to walk into your life that was meant for you.
You were a charmer, I will give you that. :)

We could walk into a room full of strangers, and because of you, leave with a group of new friends. You had that magnetic personality, and were never afraid to strike up conversations with any random person who happened into your vicinity.

Often times, those encounters were quite humorous, and I have you to thank for many a crazy conversation with a character of doubtable mentality. :)

On a tamer note, I enjoyed our random and quiet outings, like listening to Dashboard and driving all the way to Grande Rhonde to go to the casino, then changing our minds and turning around just to drive all the way back. I was a cheap date, this I realize.

There are things I still laugh at to this day, like your talent for choosing the best driveways to park at so we could kiss without you driving off the road. Cos yes, I'm sure you knew that I love getting glared at by grumpy, suspicious farmers. It's my favorite. *sigh*

Remember the giggle fits at 3am while we're walking around the block in the dark because you "had to get some air"? Of course, while you were getting air, I was smoking a cigarette, but I'm sure I needed the exercise.

And no, I still don't know how to walk in the dark, I still trip over my own feet in the daylight. :)

I love the way you got kind of squeamish when you watched me get my belly-button pierced. You said the needles were too big, and you swore you heard a *crunch* even though in my defense, it was your idea, you know.

And lastly, I suppose for old times sake I will finally settle our constant argument. I always disagreed for the sake of disagreeing, so I will give it to you now. You are right, it is Colin Farrell.

We had a lot of adventures, and did a lot of things, and had a lot of laughs.
I will always remember them, and you, as being a very tender part of my past.
You will be greatly missed.

xoxo

John Philip Verd III ~ 1982-2009 ~