Tag Archives: Humor

Nine Months. A Total Lie.

You’ve all heard the phrase, “If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all”, right?

Then you can understand, internet, why I haven’t been a regular, every day kind of blogger lately. But I am here today to make amends, (to some degree) so let me tell you right off the bat, internet, that your hair looks LOVELY today.

Ahem…

Today, I am 36 weeks pregnant. That, if you are doing the math, is NINE MONTHS. And if you believe what you have heard about pregnancy lasting nine months, then it would stand to reason that I would currently be IN LABOR. But…alas…I am not. (And that nine months of pregnancy thing? A total lie. They say that, but they are lying. 40 weeks does not equal nine months.) I am, however, dousing things in hot sauce to speed up the process. Heartburn or no heartburn. I can’t take anymore. I can’t remember who said to me, around week 25 or so in response to my inquiry about why pregnancy has to last so long, “At least you aren’t an elephant, they gestate for 22 months. That’s almost TWO YEARS!” but I would like to say to this person, a) SHUT THE FUCK UP and b) you have a point. My thoughts on this vary. BUT, the sentiment has stayed with me. And for the record, I am glad that I am not an elephant. And gestation really isn’t the only reason. Their skin looks painfully dry.

For lack of anything nice to say, here are a few notes on my 35th week:

1. My belly has seemingly doubled in size. Until now, strangers had been oblivious of “the bump” and had treated me just as rudely as they always had. This gave me a small amount of comfort because either they hadn’t noticed that I was knocked up (which essentially meant that I wasn’t nearly as gigantic as I thought) or that people were just as big of assholes to pregnant ladies (which made me feel less like I was handicapped in some way). MB and I went to a flea market last weekend as an attempt to get me out into the land of the living and while we were out and about, three people made conversation about my pregnancy. This was both unsettling (because I realized that I probably now AM as gigantic as I feel) and comforting (because people actually WERE nicer to me than before I was knocked up). I didn’t punch anyone. Not even the lady in the dairy section of the grocery store who yelled across the aisle at me to comment on how low the baby is sitting, judging from the shape of my belly.

2. I’m a bit snappy. Throughout the whole pregnancy, no matter how irritatign things were, I managed to refrain from snapping at MB. Like, almost, AT ALL (which, if you know me, is a total accomplishment). But now? All bets are off, internet. I will bite his head off. And if someone witnesses said head biting, I will bite their heads off as well. No one is safe. I am a loose cannon. (Which should make this baby shower I have to attend tomorrow interesting! HA!)

3. I hurt. Pretty much everywhere. I never understood how a tiny baby, kicking you in the ribs from the inside could be painful. And then it started happening to me. And then I started viewing it as some sort of karmic retribution for accidently dropping my sister when she was a baby. (It was totally an accident, I tried to lift her out of the bassinet because she was crying! Sheesh!) The back pain, I can handle. I am used to my back feeling like it is breaking in half. And the hip pain has mostly subsided (unless I am trying to sleep on my sides or walk through a parking lot).  But my muscles ache. And my head hurts. And the nausea HAS RETURNED. (Did you hear that, ladies?! NAUSEA. AGAIN!) And I am pretty sure that this child is already the size of a 12-year-old.

I am ready to do this thing.

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I haven’t even HAD my baby girl yet and this already stresses me out!

Forty Ounce's avatarmilk & honey ~ geeks & gangstas

If you haven’t figured it out already, your role as a parent includes keeping your daughter off the pole, which requires setting standards of how she should expect to be treated by others, as well as explaining her anatomy to her.  As much of a free spirit as I am about sexuality and femininity, I found the latter to be one of the more difficult lessons for me to relay to my 4-year-old.  It all started when she was 3, and stopped wearing diapers. I was so proud of myself.  Potty-training– DONE. The next thing I know, we’re watching cartoons and I see her chubby little toddler fingers exploring her nether regions. I mean, you can’t blame her– she’d never had access to that part of her body back in diaper-land.  Undies offer a freedom that I had to teach her to respect.

“What are you doing, pumpkin?” “I’m touching my privacy,” she says matter-of-factly in her…

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Resolutions and Battling Impropriety

Flavor of Love

Flavor of Love (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I don’t usually make New Year’s resolutions because I find that…well…they are a joke. I fool myself into thinking that because the calendar changes, so will I. Well, that’s just unrealistic. But now that I am growing up (at 32) and becoming a mom (pretty reluctantly, at first, I might add), I’ve decided to make up for all those missed resolutions and start changing for the better. Because this time, it isn’t for me, but for my new Baby L.  So, totally worth it.

1. Stop talking like a sailor. I say “fuck” a lot. I have to stop that because I most definitely do NOT want a toddler running around, dropping the “f-bomb” in grocery stores and churches and stuff. I am a civilized person, for fuck’s sake! I should talk like one!

2. Stop referring to my old roommate as “c*ck juggling thunder c*nt” (at least outloud). That is not her name. And even though I rarely speak of her, I have to remember that this phrase is most definitely worse than the f-bomb. Toddlers should not say either of these c-words. Ever. (And really, neither should I…they kind of gross me out, but so does my old roommate.)

3. I will no longer partake in “liquid dinner”. I will have to recognize that moms should eat actually food. Not wine. Wine is not a food and does not constitute as dinner. (Dammit.)

4. I will try and curb my trash TV addiction. This shouldn’t be as hard as one might think. I mean, let’s face it, internet, without “Rock of Love” and “Flavor of Love“, reality TV just isn’t the same anyway…(I miss you Flav and Bret…I do…)

5. I will clean the bathroom more. I hate scrubbing the bathtub. I HATE IT. It hurts my back and makes me cranky. But, because I love my daughter and don’t want her to develop some sort of fungus, I will do it. Weekly, even. (The things we do for love…)

There are a few more things that I need to work on, like continuing to be a non-smoker and shielding my kid from people who will make up stupid nicknames for her or teach her phrases like, “Talk to the hand…” (I swear to JEEBUS, that was never funny, not even when little kids did it! And it was like 20 years ago, people! Just let it GO…) But I think these listed were the big ones for the time being. And it is good to start small, I think. Right?

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Your Cake is My Cake

When I found out I was pregnant, I felt a little like I had to let go of my whole life. Like I would have to change anything. Like my friends wouldn’t want to have anything to do with me because no one wants to hang out with “the pregnant girl”. Because God knows, I never wanted to hang out with the pregnant girl! I would have to refrain from smoking and we couldn’t go to the dive bar down the street and listen to really bad live music or karaoke. And she would probably want to go home and go to bed at 7:30. All of these things suddenly became true of me. And I couldn’t bare to drag my free, without-parasite friends down. I did, however, find solace in the glorious dream of food. Before you are pregnant, you hear other preggos say things like, “I wouldn’t normally eat this, but the baby wants it.” or “I could never eat this much food if I weren’t pregnant.” I delighted in the idea of chili dogs and french fries and massive quantities of lasagna for dinner. And mid morning snacks of ice cream and potato chips. But there are things they don’t tell you, internet. Oh yes, there are things.

In the first trimester, I wanted to eat my weight in double cheeseburgers, as you know. The main draw of these McDoubles was that the grease factor was such that they coated my stomach and actually prevented my getting heartburn and/or vomiting my face off for several hours. Well played, McDonalds. But once that severe nausea was gone, McDoubles started to taste like the craptastic pseudofood that they actually are. This made my heart sink. For the emotional attachment I had developed for them and they comfort that they gave me could not easily be replaced.

There were also no chili dogs. Does this mean I didn’t dream of chili dogs all day long? NO. It means that chili dogs or anything containing tomato sauce (including lasagna) caused so much discomfort that I would have sooner gouged my eyes out with spoons than eaten them. I sat daily, eying my now fiance, MB, wishing that I could dip him in chili and cheese and eat him up without experiencing karmic and regular heartburn. (There is a moral here, never fantacize about eating the one you love.) But the hunger that I experienced without constant McDoubles only caused MORE heartburn and MORE nausea.

During the second trimester, I told myself that, because this would be the “honeymoon phase” of pregnancy, I would eat salads and things that were not cooked in a vat of oil. This is easier said than done. Because I don’t want a salad. I want cake. I want cake right now. And I don’t care what kind of cake it is. Or who this cake belongs to. I will eat this cake lightening fast and with little to no remorse. Your cake is my cake.20120213-115958.jpg

I don’t even eat sweets, internet. I am a potato chip girl. I love the delicious, salty crunch of Ruffles. I want to dip them in buffalo cheese dip that I reserve to make for special occasions and put them between the bread of ALL sandwiches alike. But now? I can’t eat potato chips. They are too salty and they are not cake.

A misconception about the glory of eating during pregnancy was that you will have a crazy, huge appetite and can eat constantly. I was looking forward to this. Not because I have been a restricter or anything in the fast, but mostly because I really just effing love food. My Norwegian grandparents taught us to eat like we would never eat again, but along with that Norwegian tendency, I also inherited the ability to gain weight by THINKING about food. So, I was excited to be pregnant and to have an excuse. They don’t tell you, though Internet, that you will salivate over food all day long, but when you begin to eat it, ravenously hungry and close to inhaling the person who is kind and brave enough to dine with you, you will not be nearly as hungry as you think. In fact, you will take exactly three bites of that beautiful me

 

al and then realize that the baby inside you has shifted to sit on the exact place that simultaneously makes you have to pee and vomit. You are full. After dreaming of this giant plate of pasta deliciousness all day. (And you don’t even like pasta.) You will have to-go boxes from every establishment you have passed by over the course of the last three months because, let’s face it, internet. You are full now, but this will not stop you from stopping at 13 more restaurants on the way home and trying again.

 

Pregnancy vs. A Tape Worm

So, when we were kids, my sister had this unending appetite. Like, she would eat all the food that was put in front of her and then slyly crawl into some unsuspecting victim’s lap and start to munch on their dinner, either while they weren’t paying attention or because she was so ridiculously adorable that they didn’t mind giving away all of their french fries. It could have gone either way. Everyone always joked that she MUST have a tape worm because no two-year-old could eat like that. Right? Well, internet, I am starting to truly identify with this insatiable desire for all things edible and I have been doing my research. As it turns out, pregnancy symptoms are a lot like having a tapeworm.

1. Nausea. Okay. This one is just too easy. Of course there is nausea.

2. Weakness. Ummm…yes. Sometimes, my poor legs can’t bear to carry my gigantic ass to the kitchen to stuff my face full of Cheez-its.  That has never happened before.

3. Diarrhea. This one I honestly haven’t had any trouble with personally, but I have heard that many preggos do.

4. Hunger or Loss of Appetite. Is that a sandwich you’re eating, internet? I am going to need to confiscate that. Thank you. Also, can you please fetch me a couple of blocks of sharp cheddar cheese, some french fries, and a strawberry banana smoothie? Wait. What was I talking about?

5. Fatigue. Zzzzzz…

Let’s face it, internet, a tape worm is a parasite that drains you of all your necessary nutrients, makes you weak, tired and constantly hungry and a fetus is a parasite that drains you of all your necessary nutrients, makes you weak, tired and constantly hungry.

(Also, this just in: Someone just found my blog by searching for “fetus is a parasite”. In my head, while reading this, I put it to the tune of “Your Body is a Wonderland”. While I hate this song, I really do enjoy the new lyrics.”)

My cat’s reaction to my pregnancy…

I finally had “the talk” with my 12-year-old cat today. He took it better than I thought.

“you’re having a WHAT?!”

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A Comparison of Symptoms…

In my first trimester, I kept reading about how the second one is soooo much better and that I would have energy and an appetite and would feel like a million bucks in comparison to the first few months of pregnancy. I believed this hype, thinking that there is no way that the second trimester could rival the first in terms of general discomfort. I was sort of wrong, you guys. With the second trimester came a bunch more fun symptoms, and I am not sure which ones are worse.

First Trimester:

1.Okay, so there was the “morning sickness”. All of us preggos know that the term “morning sickness” is a term used to describe the extreme nausea and vomiting that come along with the first trimester changes to your body. I believe that whomever decided it was a good idea to term it “morning sickness” was an asshole (and probably a man) who wanted to trick women into thinking that this discomfort would only last for a short period of the day. Like, from the hours of 8am to 11:59am.  This is a total lie. “Morning sickness” occurs all day long. And sometimes continuously for the entire day. And sometimes, if you are really, really lucky, it lasts beyond the first trimester.

2. Effing heartburn. Holy Jeebus. I used to get heartburn once or twice a year. When it happened, it was unbearably painful and, of course, because I got it so infrequently, I was always unprepared for it and it made me want to kill myself and/or eat an entire bottle of antacids. During my first trimester, the heartburn became daily. Several times, each day. And it was excrutiating and made me not only want to kill myself, but also those around me.

3. FATNESS accompanied by insatiable hunger for really disgusting food that you would never in your life ingest in these quantities. You get fat. Period.

4. Mood swings. Okay, okay. I know. I am insane. Leave it alone.

There are a whole host of other ridiculous and horrible things that happen to your body during this time but I think we all know what we are talking about here. These were the worst for me.

SECOND TRIMESTER:

1. Morning Sickness. You are told this will end, so you begin to feel hopeful and  less suicidal. You still carry saltines in your purse. You will pretend not to need them and will sometimes have to open your car door at traffic lights and vomit outside. But you will not be discouraged. This is the second trimester! This is supposed to be UTOPIA.

2. Heartburn. WILL IT EVER END?! You have been swallowing fire for months and are starting to believe that you could be an ACTUAL fire eater! After all, you should be paid for this sort of agony.

3. FATNESS.  You will get bigger and bigger until you feel you might explode. You will see other pregnant women who seem to enjoy their “baby bumps” but in studying your own, have noticed that, not only is it not as cute on you, but that appears to have doubled in size over the last two hours.

4. THE PAIN! This is a new one. You will never, EVER be comfortable again. You cannot sleep on your back because it restricts bloodflow to the baby, you cannot sleep on your stomach because it will feel like a) you are sleeping on a grapefruit and b) you are smashing your child, you cannot sleep on your right side because your right hip cannot support the weight of your GIGANTIC belly and you cannot sleep on your left side because…well…YOU CANNOT SLEEP ON YOUR LEFT SIDE! Your back will burn from the pain of carrying another PERSON around with you all day, every day for many months. Your head will pound from the lack of sleep you have had over the last several days (weeks?) and you cannot take drugs. Did you hear me?! YOU CANNOT TAKE DRUGS!

5. Mood swings. Check! (But don’t you dare bring it up. I will cry.)

Keep in mind, I was in a fairly severe car accident six years ago wherein I tore some disks in my back, so back pain is not new.

BUT YOU CANNOT TAKE DRUGS!

Please tell me it gets better! AHHHH!

On a sidenote: EAT THESE COOKIES! Holy crap!

On Being a Psychopath

I’ve always heard pregnant or previously pregnant women talk about the mood swings that they experienced during pregnancy and likened it to demon posession. This really didn’t seem so outlandish to me as I, having been raised by my mother (possibly the most hormonal and undermedicated person ON. THE. PLANET) have always been a bit of a high-strung broad, myself. I could totally understand overreacting about spilled milk. Or…whatever.

What I didn’t realize is that, HOLY SHIT, PEOPLE, pregnancy hormones are NOT A JOKE.

I have a gift of realizing, even in the midst of extreme overreaction, when I am being unreasonable. For this reason, as a pregnant woman, not only am I terrifying, but I am also, just…well…a mess.

1. I cry at commercials. Okay, to be honest, this isn’t completely new. Several years ago, there was a cell phone commercial starring a country singer going home to surprise her father on Christmas. This commercial made me lose my shit regularly. I blame this mostly on the fact that my dad lives halfway across the world and the only time I see him on/around Christmas is if someone dies. (NO joke.) But now, it isn’t just the sappy cell phone commercials starring country music icons and their fathers, (speaking of fathers, I just got a text from mine…weird) and it isn’t just the holiday Publix commercials with all the happy families celebrating together. Now, internet, I cry at pet food commercials. The sight of someone’s beloved dog or cat makes me a ball of emotions. And then I immediately have to find my cat and cuddle him until he bites my face off (roughly 3.75 seconds). Most of the time, the commercial crying happens when I am the only one home, so no one sees it and I can keep this under wraps for the time being (unless you read this. Then you know I am a super big nutcase.)

2. Things that have consistently made me a little irritated in the past, have become LIFE ALTERING, EMERGENT CRISES. The other day I had a full-on panic attack because My Beloved went to a friend’s house after work, smelled like he had had a beer (yes, I can tell it was one because my sense of smell is INSANE, along with the rest of me) and had been smoking and then wanting to go out and play pool later that night with said friend. Okay, I have an explanation for this, and it may not be logical if you have a penis or have never been pregnant, but, it is mine and I stand by it.

Ahem…

a) I miss cigarettes more than anything in the entire universe. I think that I crave cigarettes more than I crave McDoubles, which is just ridiculous, by the way. I have to, on a daily basis, convince myself that I cannot go to the gas station and buy a pack of cigarettes and smoke myself into a nicotine coma. So, when HE smokes, I could murder him. And I don’t mean like, poisoning murder, I mean the painful kind of murder. Involving knives or Chinese torture.

b) I can’t stand the smell of alcohol on My Beloved. It is disgusting. And I love to drink when I am not knocked up. I just can’t take the odor now. And he rarely drinks, but when he does, he smells like ASS. And it makes me want to make him sleep outside.

c) I feel that, since I am home all day, ALONE, with no contact with any other human beings (because my friends all work), he should stay here once he gets here. I mean, the least he could do while I am chained to our house and growing his spawn is stay home and entertain me. Fuuuuuuck.

d) I feel that, if I can’t drink, smoke, or hang out with friends, neither can he. He knocked me up, he should suffer right alongside me.

3. I desperately miss normalcy and being social. My dilemma? I don’t want to see my non-pregnant friends because they get to do whatever they want and have lives outside of laundry and heartburn and I am jealous. And also because I feel disgusting, fat and really uncomfortable (to the point almost of depression) in my new body, I can’t stand to see them NOT out of breath after taking 13 steps to cross a sidewalk or running to the bathroom every other minute.

4. MB has a problem with laundry. This issue has existed for our entire relationship thus far and it always annoyed me. The fact is, he doesn’t mind DOING his laundry, but he immediately upon removing it from the dryer, places it into a basket where it will stay for the rest of its life. This basket will live in the closet in our spare bedroom with the 3 or 4 other baskets full of clean laundry in said closet until MB is looking for one, specific item of clothing. At this time, he will remove baskets from the closet and dump them on any surface available, search through the massive pile and then, usually, leave for work. The massive pile of clothing will remain untouched until I either put it away or have a complete meltdown wherein I threaten to throw all of his clothing into the trash. Up until now, this promise of disposing of clothing has been an empty one. Today, while searching for a piece of my own laundry and realizing that it could be in one of the 76 baskets in our spare bedroom, I had the biggest meltdown of all. One basket had already been dumped

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onto the bed and three others peered at me from inside the closet. I dumped every, single one of them on the bed and fumed for 45 minutes until receiving a call from my other pregnant friend who assured me that I am not alone in my crazy and that it only gets worse. But reminded me, also, that this crazy is not my fault and that if I kill MB, there is a good possibility that I will deliver my baby in prison. And I am way too cute for prison.

A warning to My Beloved: If you would not like to move onto the porch, I suggest that your clothes find a home. Not a basket. Stat!

Moving Along…A Rant About Becoming a Parent

I am a little over 18 weeks pregnant now and, in just a few short months, My Beloved and I will be welcoming our child into the world. This ilicits a lot of responses from me. It varies from minute to minute from panic, to pure joy and pride, to total depression and despair for the state of humanity.

I think the panic part of this is normal and obvious. You know, because, having always acted LIKE a kid, actually HAVING one to take care of and having to be RESPONSIBLE for, is…well…it is a huge deal. And what if we do it wrong? Like, what if having a kid is not at all like having a cat? I am so good at having a cat, you guys. I have been doing it for 12 years. And I am stellar. I mean, aside from the fact that my cat is giant and overweight and still has not figured out that, not only is the litterbox for poop, it is for PEE. He prefers rugs.  Which is better than the actual carpet, but is still not ideal.  What if my kid won’t ever pee in a toilet? What if he/she prefers closets? Or the screened-in porch? Or, like, the kitchen sink? And what if, like in training (or not training, evidently) my cat, I am unable to persuade said child to pee inside the toilet?  What if I am a total failure?! Peeing in appropriate places is supremely important for most people in most situations.

(Sidenote:  Now that I am talking about this I am thinking about things I have not yet tried to show my cat how to pee INSIDE the litterbox and I am wondering why I have never tried to “lead by example” and realizing that, now that I am peeing 7 million times a day and am home with him most of the time, I may actually be able to train him correctly. Hmmm…Ponderous, no?

Side Sidenote: I want to stress here that I did say that peeing in appropriate places is supremely important for MOST people in MOST situations. Unless, MB and I decide to bring the baby up in some colony of naked rednecks or in some tribe somewhere in a desert, peeing in appropriate places will most likely be a really valuable skill. But I do understand that tribal people, naked, toothless rednecks and drunk frat boys do not live by our rules.)

I guess the joy and pride part is really very common too. I mean, who doesn’t take pride in making something special? When I make a perfectly round pancake, I sometimes feel the need to take pictures of it and post it on seven social networking sites so, you can imagine how proud I am feeling right now that a human being is currently hanging out in my womb just waiting to bust out and show everyone what REAL awesome looks like. I am sure this feeling of pride will last significantly longer than my perfectly round, Facebook pancake. I mean, I get to be proud of many things about this kid. When he/she rolls over for the first time. Or takes his/her first steps. Or starts kindergarten. Or learns the rules of appropriate peeing. Or granduates from high school. Take that, pancake!

But then the despair sets in. I wonder often, while breaking my one-woman eating contest and watching Jerry Springer (the joys of unemployment), how I can sleep at night knowing that I am bringing a child into a world where the topic of television shows is often “I Slept with My Sister’s Brother’s Cousin, Who Also May or May Not be My Real Father…Or Possibly Great-Aunt. Oh, yeah. And I’m Also A Stripper.” And where people say “irregardless” like it is a totally acceptable word. Like it isn’t at all redundant. How can I rest knowing that I will have to shelter my child from these evils? HOW?!

I am fully aware that I am not the only woman having the same dilemma and I am sure that once I hold the wee one, I will forget about all of this crazy and just be happy that I have created something so beautiful.

I am sure the kid will be fine. Irregardless.

 

Woohoo! (Continued…)

I know you all have been waiting with bated breath for me to post the seven little tidbits about myself and never fear, I have emerged from the pee-a-thon that has been this entire weekend thus far, and will do so now! Hooray! I had a little trouble finding things to say about myself, as I am not really sure what is noteworthy, so if this sucks, well…it is five minutes of your life you will never get back. Sorry.

1. I never wanted kids. I think you probably know, if you have been reading this blog for any length of time, that I never wanted kids. It could be a little obvious by the title and tagline of this blog. It is no joke, dear readers. I am not a huge fan of kids. I have, however, happened to find one of the best, most beautiful, kind, amazing men on the planet and he, as I am sure you can imagine, has always wanted to procreate. And I have to say, despite the fact that it has never been an ambition of mine, I am quite flattered that he thinks highly enough of me to want to make little miniatures together. As much of a blow as this pregnancy has been to me, I am comforted every day at the idea of creating someone who will be half him. I can’t think of anyone better to make a person with. So day by day, I am coming around to the idea of raising a child. And not without the help of someone who means everything to me. (I am having a really sappy day. Pardon.)

2. I have another blog. And I am cheating on it. I have had my other blog since (I think) 2004 and, really, I had a lot of fun with it for the first few years and then realizing that (gasp!) I was growing up and no longer spent most of my time playing beer pong and watching people fall down (or stealing giant, stuffed tigers and running down busy streets in the middle of the night), it became sort of just a place to go to re-read all of my past adventures. I tried to continue it, but I think we have gone our seperate ways.

3. I was once in a car accident wherein I was hit by a dead guy. True story. I didn’t know he was dead at the time, and wasn’t, I guess, at the start of the whole thing, but in the end, as it turned out, he had shot himself in the head before hitting me with his (stolen) car. I wrote about it here. And yes, it is insane. And no, I couldn’t make it up if I tried. Turns out he was a murderer who had just gotten out of jail in New York, shot someone else, stolen a vehicle, driven to Florida and hit me on my way back from Starbucks. (This may or may not be a sign that Starbucks is the devil.)

4. I am sort of a real-life Scrooge. I don’t like Christmas. Like, at all. It is also my birthday and the anniversary of my Grandmother’s death. She was my favorite person in the world. Ever. That is all.

5. I hate Phil Collins. My SERIOUSLY quirky friend told me once, about 12 years ago, that I would think of Phil Collins every day for the rest of my life. I thought that there was no way that this could be true. But it is. Phil Collins is everywhere. Sometimes, if I forget to turn the TV off before I fall asleep, I will wake up in the middle of the night to see his giant head staring at me from the screen. Pure. Hatred.

6. I once had to actually “quit” gummy bears. I am really not sure what it is with me and gummy bears. I really just effing love them. I will eat them until I vomit. Which is disgusting. I once bought a giant bag at a grocery store before going to the movies to see “American Psycho” and ate the whole bag and then puked for ten minutes in the movie theater parking lot. (I am a classy broad.) That said, there is no reason for me to explain any further why “quitting” was necessary. I think that I have this under control.

7. I really want to become and extreme couponer. Yes, I am aware that these people might be a little…wel…insane. But I am also aware that if I could learn how to be this kind of insane, I may never have to work again. And this would leave me a lot more free time for hating Phil Collins and eating gummy bears. And, oh yeah, I guess raising this kid.

There you have it, you guys. That’s me! I have a 100 Things list over here, if you want to check it out. It is a little out of date but…you know…things change daily around here!