Friday, October 29, 2010

Who I Am

      Ok. This is going to be one of those girly posts. Just an FYI to my male readers.

      Part of why I write this blog is to discuss the issues that weigh on my mind. I talk about these things so that anyone who wants to can read about normal issues that plague a 29 year old woman. They may be your issues, or they may not. The actual issue sometimes isn't relevant. It's that I am willing to talk about it and openly heal for my own benefit and yours too. I believe that sometimes my own hang-ups are what make me sick.

      Like bagillions of other women out there, I struggle with my weight. I don't usually talk about it because I know there are women out there who have a much harder time than I do. Part of me knows that genetically, it could be way worse. However, that doesn't stop this never ending battle that I have with my own body image. It doesn't stop with my body either. I have severe issues with my skin too. I am telling you this because I am struggling a little more than I normally do with body image because I am pregnant. Things are growing as they naturally should, and it is wonderful and upsetting all at once.

      I've gotten caught up in the idea of sex appeal. For years I had jobs that revolved around being attractive and sexy. I look back at those years, and think about how great I looked. The thing is, that at the time, I hated myself. I hated the way I looked. I was constantly self conscious, and my skin was always a wreck.

      As I've gotten older some of the body issues have subsided because I am now married. I don't feel a constant need to be perfect. We got it like that. We want the other to be healthy AND happy. I have always had major insecurities that if my sexy was gone, so would the man I was with. Now, I battle the beginning of aging and pregnancy. I know it will only get worse. Or does it? We are all obsessed with the wrong things. I know a lot of this has been tiredly discussed, but it doesn't make it any less relevant.

      I am not saying we all need to go out and start volunteering, and go all crazy. What I am saying is that we need to start seeing ourselves for who we are. Loving others around us for what we admire about them. I have spent the last few years getting in touch with people from my past to let them know things that have stuck with me for the long haul of my life. That they touched me. They are special. I encourage  you all to do the same. Let those around you know the things you think are pretty awesome about them. I know it's a little uncomfortable to give gushing comments at first, but think about the impact that it can have on someone else.

      What plagues me with my skin, plagues me with my life. I go nose to nose with my mirror, and dissect every pore on my face. I focus on every minuet flaw, and don't focus on the bigger stuff. I hope that by helping myself I am helping others. I need to focus more on what it is that makes me so special, and less on the clogged pores of my life.

      So today, I say screw it. I am taking a new stance.

My baby belly is sexy. I have a life inside of me, and I feel like I am glowing as a result.

My skin isn't perfect. I grow hair on my legs too. So what?

I get depressed. I go on meds to help even things out. I'm glad I did it.

I love my sense of humor.

      Today, I change. Today I allow myself to be comfortable with the age I am and the belly I grow. I will never wear the jeans I did in college. Those jeans signify self loathing. I won't do that. I am going to embrace who I am with all I have. My imperfections are beautiful, and part of what makes me a whole person. Today I show everyone that I am who I am, and I will get older. I will be a different sexy. I will be a sexy filled with wisdom, generosity, kindness, and some over indulgence in candy and cake.

      We are all here together. Let's let each other know that we aren't alone.

Wednesday, October 27, 2010

The Great Outdoors

      I do not like the outdoors. I don't like the smells, and I don't like the allergies they give me. I am sick of people thinking it's weird or abnormal. It's not. I have justifications for why I hate being outside. One of which is I don't like the way I smell after I've been outside for a while. I smell like am mix of sweat and ozone. It's gross. If the outside could work on not smelling gross, I might think about joining it more often.

      Another reason I don't like the outdoors is, that's where bugs live. Things that bite and sting. Things that would try to murder me in my sleep if left to their own devices. I don't even like the idea that bugs could be NEAR me.

      Birds are outside. I don't know if you know this, but I hate birds. Birds are gross. I hate birds.

      If it's 60's-70's and windy so the bugs can't get at me, I will entertain the idea of outside. Otherwise. Quit judging me. I am not telling you that I kill puppies. I don't judge you for being an outdoors kind of person. I am telling you that inside is where it's at for me. Indoors and I get along much better. Instead of 3,000 biting things it's 1 because I left the door open too long because my dogs like to dilly dally outside at the fence line to piss the neighbor dogs off.

      You see what I like to do, is take things from outside to make the inside more outside-y. The inside has things like couches, love seats, fridges that make ice, bug killer, temperature control, toilets, and carpeting. We have evolved. We don't live in caves anymore. We have houses. They are awesome. I will never understand the concept of sleeping outside to "commune with nature." That to me sounds a whole lot like, "I forgot to pay my rent."

      In closing, my future child, I will begrudgingly take you places outside. Places like pumpkin patches, zoos, hiking trails, orchards, and play grounds. That way, you can come to your own conclusions. You can get stung in the face when you are 10 by a bee inside of a rose at a vineyard in California, and simultaneously have ants under your seat in the rental car you are riding in that are biting your butt. You can get bit on the face by mosquitos in Florida when you are 11 and on Christmas day have 6 huge red marks on your face.

      Ok, so I am not really wishing this on you, my child. I am just saying, I really love you to brave the outdoors. I dislike snow, ice, rain, and sometimes sunshine if it's too hot. I grew up inside of a house, so call me crazy, but I like the feeling of being INSIDE of a house. Screened in porches are ok too. If it's not too cold, and there's some sort of scented candle around.

      I'm allergic to bonfires too.

Tuesday, October 26, 2010

Wal-Mart Beef

I must start out the post with a preface. I in no way judge anyone who shops at Wal-Mart. With the economy the way it is, I understand the need to find deals wherever they are located. I myself have shopped at the Mart. In the following paragraphs I am simply stating my experience that has left me scarred.

      There is a 5-10 mile radius around my house that includes 2 Wal-Mart super centers, and a couple of Food Lions. If I go to Food Lion, I still have to go to Wal-Mart to get the stuff that Food Lion didn't have. So, to save a step Chad and I decided to just do all of our shopping at Wal-Mart.

      Big. Mistake.

    Here's my crazy suggestion of the day. Don't buy beef from Wal-Mart. I'm pretty sure it's made out of the same substance that they use to make their fake uggs. I cook a lot. I am pretty good at it and I am also fairly knowledgeable about meats and foods in general. I have been craving an eye roast for a while now, and so I made one yesterday. The whole house smelled amazing. I made Yorkshire pudding, wilted savoy cabbage with onions and bacon, and mashed potatoes to go with this. I cut into the roast and from the get-go I am a little concerned. Eye roast is a tough cut of meat. It is also super dense. When I started slicing it the meat actually had little holes in it like swiss cheese. That was weird enough. Then I tried to eat it.

      It tasted good. That wasn't the problem. The biggest issue I had with it was that it sort of had the same texture as dried out Jello. Eye roast should have the same texture as a really well done steak. It sort of reminded me of silly putty texture. What on earth happened to that cow? I felt bad that things had to end this way for that cow. I know that it ain't a pretty industry and that it's actually quite terrible. But, what exactly did that cow do wrong along the way to be disgraced by Wal-Mart like that? I honestly thought for a moment that it was a meat grown in a lab. I'm still not sure it wasn't.

      It's letter writing time. I won't actually send it because, let's face it, no one at Wal-Mart has a soul.

Dear Wal-Mart,
  I hate even typing your name because the dash throws me off every time. Congrats on your sketchy business tactics that screw your employees out of life necessities. Like health care. I have worked at a Wal-Mart establishment. I am allowed to trash talk you. It was the first job I ever had, and management sucked back in the 90's too. I am fairly certain that "Sam" is code for Satan. What the hell did you do to my beef? It was swiss beef!! If I had to guess you pumped it full of saline to make it appear larger. The holes were the syringe marks. When it comes to things like food, size doesn't matter. Eating something that doesn't feel like chewing gum does. I also bought some "Sam's Choice" chicken breasts that cooked down to the size of a chicken wing. What exactly is Sam choosing? The worst of any product he can find?

  I am back to hating your store. You are pretty much the most evil establishment I can think of.

Sincerely,
Liz and the Eye Roast Cow

Monday, October 25, 2010

Dry Shampoo

      I am one of those people that envies the jerks out there that don't have to wash their hair every day. If I don't wash my hair daily I look homeless. It's terrible. Somewhere in my genetic makeup is some sort of mutant with constantly shiny skin. I hate waking up looking like I just ran some sort of marathon, thru an olive oil factory.

       I have SUPER thick hair. Like normal pony tail holders are not enough for the amount of hair I have. It takes me 30 minutes to blow dry my hair. I take a break at 15 to give my blow dryer a rest. I was super excited when I saw that Treseme came out with dry shampoo. I immediately needed to try it. Here's what I found out.

1. It's just Treseme scented baby powder that is pressurized.
2. You still feel gross everywhere else because you didn't wash your hair.
3. Your hair just looks less greasy and more dull.
4. It might work if I was actually homeless.
5. What happens if I go out in the rain? Do I drip talcum powder?
6. Just take a damn shower Liz.

Sunday, October 24, 2010

Welcome to the World Baby!

      I think that I have avoided this long enough. I have been secretly thinking about it almost daily. Now that I am pregnant the day will come where I actually have to push the baby out. Na├»vely, that isn't what scares me. I know that's going to be insane. That's why I am getting pumped full of any drug they want to give me. Except sulfa drugs. Those will kill me.

      I have written a post or two about my problems with poo. You could go so far as to say that I have a legitimate disorder of some sort. I remember growing up and family members going into the bathroom after I was in there, and saying "Pewey!" Thanks a lot for starting the process young for me at like 4. Anyways, back to poo. When you give birth, word on the street is, you poop too. That is pretty much a culmination of all my fears. Put the doctor in a clown suit and have a party on my behalf in the waiting room (that no one shows up for) and I would probably just push the baby back in and hide. Seriously. I am going to POOP. ON MY BABY.

      I really hope that Chad is one of those dudes that when he gets in there for the actual process of holding my hand thru the worst, he gets all green when he takes a sneak peak at the live action. I don't want him from row and center for poop and scoop that the doctor will have to give me.

      I remember when I was in college, a roommate of mine and I went out with a group of my guy friends.  She and I ate at Burger King before we went out. Needless to say, we went out and she had a lot too much fun and we had to physically carry her out of the bar. We went by to my buddies house and proceeded to watch her puke up Burger King for a while. She then told me she needed to use the bathroom. Let me tell you about this house my buddy rented. It seriously was one of the scariest houses I've ever been in. Picture gun shots, and piles of trash by the curb. It was a two story with a finished basement. Logically the steps to each level would be in a different spot. Not in this house. Not only did it go straight from the 3rd floor to the basement, there were no hand rails. You would take your life in your own hands every time you went to go upstairs. I peed outside at their house. My roommate made it clear that was not an option. She then proceeded to pass out on the toilet...pants down after she had taken care of some lovely business. I wanted to go home. I did the only thing I could think to do. I wiped her butt...and pulled up her vomit pants. My friend carried her to our car. We drove home with the smell of vomity Burger King. I still hate Burger King.

      Is that what this will be like for me? Like a night of binge drinking at the Harry Buffalo?

      Instead of waking up with a hangover, I wake up with a baby and 12 stitches where there should never be stitches? People telling me how they wiped poop out of my butt?

      My sister-in-law said, they won't tell you about it. They will just wipe it away and you will never even know.

      Trust me. I will know.

      Where there is poop. I know. I may not feel it. But I sense it.

      You know how when you go to Hawaii when you get off the plane they put a beautiful flower lei over your head as a welcome?

      We welcome babies into the world by pooping on them.

      I'm so scared.

Friday, October 22, 2010

Designing This Woman

    Most people dreaded middle school. I, on the other hand, spent 1 year of my entire school career being popular. I recovered nicely from the pocket knife/witch ordeal in 6th grade, and ended up getting myself a boyfriend. He was adorable. My sister had moved to her college, and still came back every weekend to do laundry and whatnot. So I got to see what cool college kids did, dressed like, and listened to.  It really helped me advance socially. I still have the Doc Martens to prove it. (Because my feet have not grown since the 4th grade)

      Do you remember who your role model was when you were 12? I do. It was anything from your ordinary role model. While my friends were emulating rock stars, and the Full House cast, I was trying to hone my skills at being Julia Sugarbaker. That's right. Julia Sugarbaker. Don't know who that is? Consider yourself lucky.

      A loooooong time ago there was a show on tv about 4 single women living in the south. It was called Designing Women. The whole show revolved around Julia and her interior design firm based out of her southern home. She had the demure soft spoken nature of a southern women, wrapped up into this fireball that could explode at any given time. She would get up on her high horse and rip people's heads off. Mostly men's heads. Her co-workers would always smile and nod when she would rant. They would silently cheer her on. In real life if this lady was constantly telling people off, her co-workers and friends would be rolling their eyes and running at the first sign she was about to have another blowout.

      At 12 I was a feminist. I thought I had it all figured out. I thought women were physically as strong as men, and it turns out I was right..sometimes. Not all the time. Anyways, I had a history teacher that I could not stand. He had a daughter about my age that went to a school 2 towns away, and I think I reminded him of his own daughter. I remember doing a Julia Sugarbaker rant, on Mr. B. I remember seeing the entire class turn and look as their mouths dropped open and stared at me. He would argue with me for what seemed like hours on women being weaker. I didn't take kindly to this sexist pig. People in my class surely hated me, or they loved me for not talking about history. I was grateful we spent less time talking about history. Either way, why were we talking about women being weaker at all? This was the same year that a male classmate that was already experimenting with acid wore a dress to school. I was not so bad.

      If you know me, you know I like a good argument. Coming from a family with an attorney for a Mom, I had to learn quickly how to argue my case very well. As I have grown up I have liked to argue less and less. I suppose that Julia Sugarbaker had to leave me sometime. That show has been off the air for like 15 years now. I think it's time I found a new role model. One that doesn't feather her hair, or lose her cool on people.

      Taking suggestions.

    

Thursday, October 21, 2010

Baby Baskets

      It seems as though I woke up this morning with a much deeper understanding of what it is to be pregnant and cranky. It's like a switch flipped inside of me. I no longer have patience for adults. I see or hear kids crying when I am out and I now don't think "shut that kid up!" I think, awwww let me go save that kid!

      I am typically a pretty tolerant person, but it seems as of late that I have lost that function. I need a sign. One that says, "SHUT UP." Seriously, what happened to me? I don't like the music that's been coming out lately, I don't like the clothing styles, and I don't like Miley "gums" Cyrus. Am I pregnant and cranky? Or, is this part of being a real grown up? Will I soon be resorting to listening to Pearl Jam indefinitely? I remember growing up, listening to NOTHING but the Beach Boys because my Dad had apparently hit his "trying to stay cool quota." I guess that's where I am at now. I am no longer "trying to stay cool." It's a never ending battle, and my quota has been met. I have the tattoos and piercing marks to prove it.

      T-Money has decided that the right side of my stomach is pretty much the only place he wants to hang out. It's starting to ache, and sleeping is starting to be a task in itself. I am not showing that much, but I can definitely feel the changes. I feel T-Money shift, and that is totally cool. Could he shift to the left to give me a break?!?

      Ok, so I've been working on the registry. I decided that Target was the best place to register. Babies R Us is horrifically overpriced. Seriously. I try to avoid Wal-Mart and their sketchy business tactics at all costs as well. So, I was left with the lesser of the evils. Target. I also wanted somewhere that people wouldn't be like WTF is she nuts asking for this stuff???

      Dude, it's ridiculous. NO ONE will spend $150 on a baby gift. The things I really need are things like, a crib, stroller, bassinet, high chair, pack and play....All things that run OVER $150. Holy crap. No one loves me that much. I struggle to love me that much. I don't buy jeans that are more than $30. Maybe, I can make my own crib out of all the jeans that will never fit me again. I still have tops left from college that are probably more appropriately sized for an infant too...So, T-Money can wear my slut tops until it turns 2.

      They make baby baskets. BABY BASKETS. Incase, you want your child to look like you are going to drop it on someone's doorstep, buy this. Or, baby's not good enough for a crib, let's put it in a basket on the floor. You know, somewhere you could step on it. You know what I do with baskets? I put crap in them that I don't want to think about. You know, magazines, dog toys, and paperwork that needs to get filed. Why not a baby? Oh, did I mention they go for around $85? Yea, I am going to spend $85 to make it look like I am neglecting my child. While I'm at it, I will throw some baby netting on top of the basket to keep baby from getting away. Baby netting and baskets. What next? Razor blade binkies?

      I got thru all the tough stuff for T-Money. Then, I started to look at the clothes and bath towels. Awwwwwwwwww. It's hard not to be a big old pile of hormones when you see the little booties I found. I have an ultrasound scheduled for November 16th, we will find out the gender then. Until then, I will continue holding my "SHUT UP" sign, and being cranky.

Monday, October 18, 2010

Random Thoughts 2

Gigi is quite possibly the most high maintenance dog to ever live.

We tried getting her a new food, supposed to be better for her. She ate so much last night that she could barely walk and today, she has been making a whistling noise thru her nose. It also gave her quack attacks. I think she's allergic to it. 

My other dog sleeps with her eyes open and does this half chewing thing at the same time. It scares me. 

I love fall weather and I want apple cider, but with my recent bloople issues, cider would be a bad idea.

We have been having a problem with ants since we moved in. When I find them inside, I have a small panic attack. I don't like using poison around my high maintenance dog, so I vacuum for 30 minutes and then sprinkle cinnamon around where I think they are coming in from. I sort of want to punch the people that lived here before us in the face, because I found about a half pound of Chex Mix inside the air vent in the family room.

I hate the show "Cops." It feels good to say that.

I keep putting off my baby registry like a college assignment. It's terrible.

Did you know they make baby netting? That's where I stopped last time.

I don't like the peanuts on the drumsticks ice cream cones, but the ones that don't have peanuts don't taste right. What are they trying to prove at that company?

Chicken is my nemesis lately.

The people in this town are horrible. I can't wait for the holidays when people will be even more awesome.

We got stuck in a parking lot behind a car waiting on a car to pull out FOR 10 MINUTES.

The antidepressants have started to really help. The only complaint I have is that they leave me feeling a little "numb" in the emotion department. I am not comfortable with that. I like full access. It's weird when I am legitimately sad about something valid and find it impossible to cry.

I think T-Money is lactose intolerant, and therefor so am I now.

Why can I never find throw pillows I actually like?

Why does my afghan smell like doritos after 3 days?

When I wrote the comment about the "afghan" I didn't want to use that word for fear that people would think I was insensitive to the people or maybe it was similar to using the word "French" for freedom fries  a while back.

We do not own nearly enough furniture, but I don't like most furniture I see. The stuff I do like is as expensive as a new car.

I seriously feel my loins expanding.

I saw someone get botox on tv today. I will never be getting it.

We finally hung up things on our walls and got the downstairs looking like people live here.

Neighborhood animals keep using our front yard as a toilet. I want to make a little sign that says, "Pick up your dogs poop, or it will find its way to your front stoop."

Hope you enjoyed a little dip in my brain.





A-Holes

      Certain people attract certain types of people. You know, that friend you have that tells you on a regular basis about the guy in front of them in line that proceeded to tell all about his colonoscopy. I wish I was that person. Instead, I have the uncanny ability to locate and attract a-holes. Really, I have had more than my fair share of scarring experiences. In my life, I have only ever had 2 bosses that have not made me cry. Either I am a terrible employee, or they were pretty much horrible. This got me to thinking about the year I spent working at a wing joint near Cleveland. I worked for a female Skeletor. I am going to tell you all about her.

      Ok, so I started working. Everything there was awesome. The people were nice, the money was good, and the food was fried. What more could you ask for? People started to warn me about the GM. She had interviewed me in the first place, and she told me I was pretty so I was like hmmmmm. I think she's nice. Then, I started watching as Skeletor would "go off the clock" and sit at the bar and drink a bottle of Pinot Grigio. After she would finish, she would get up and start coming around to the servers telling us either extremely inappropriate things (and for me, there isn't much I deem inappropriate) about her personal life, or yelling at us for not cleaning something properly. I am not exaggerating when I say that I was actually at a table, taking and order, and she came over to tell me that I needed to clean ash trays. Really? That couldn't wait?

      Time marched on, and one of my best friends that I met there, and I would pass the time any way we could. If you have never served, you don't realize just how BORING a serving job can be at times. Typically, you go out to eat when everyone else does. You don't think about the times when those servers sit lonely, in a booth, waiting for nice people to come in.

      I was a server in a bar. For some reason, this joint thought it was a good idea to put kid friendly things in the store. There was a bouncy ball machine, and big claw machine, and tons of other kid stuff. Whatever. I hated when kids came in, except for when....they would leave things behind. Magical things. Things that could turn a $35 shift into a bit of magic. My friend and I would make a game of finding the most awesome things left behind and giving them to each other. She still has a domino with the remnants of a hippo on it that we passed back and forth. Awesome.

      A kid left behind Dora the Explorer memory cards. My friend and I had 3 tables between us, and decided to sit down on a Sunday afternoon for a rousing game. Skeletor woke from her drunken slumber, because she SLEPT AT THE STORE. She came walking out to the dining room. My friend had gotten up to check her table, mine was just sitting and had already cashed out. She saw me with the memory cards. She proceeded to rip me a new one like I have never thought possible. I had seen her do it to other people (including minors) and I guess it was my turn. I felt my face turn red. I felt like I was back in Mrs. W's 4th grade class. Then, I felt it. The tears....the choking feeling. Terrible.

      Skeletor, used to get drunk and hang out with us. She would wait for us to close up and then chorale us over to a local bar for more fun. Sometimes, she would get sick of waiting. In fact, there was once a girl sitting at the bar that asked what time it was, and Skeletor looked over with her uniform still on, and said "Time for you to leave!" Then, she started putting up stools and acting like we were closing. The problem with Skeletor, was that there would be a good 2-3 months where she was awesome. She would be soooo nice. It was an abusive boss relationship.

      I got my revenge. I forgot how big of a set of balls I really have. She was sleeping with the owner of the place, but it was a franchise. Did you know that they have a place you can go online as a customer, and write comments and suggestions? I wrote to corporate. Yea, it was awesome. About a week or two later, there was a mandatory staff meeting that somehow, I had the day off for. I didn't have to go. Crazy right? She knew it was me, and I didn't care. People would quit there on a regular basis because they couldn't handle her anymore. She had  3 faithful employees, 1 had special needs and would have liked Satan himself, the other 2 had drug addictions. I quit working there shortly thereafter. She was fired about a year later. I would like to think that I got that ball rolling.

      I was eating a cheeseburger in my mom's car when I was 10. We were sitting at a light when a guy drove up beside us. The windows were down, and the guy proceeded to say, "You are a fucking bitch you little shit head!" To me. Eating a cheeseburger. It was just a sign of things to come.

      I wish people would just tell me about their colonoscopies instead.

Sunday, October 17, 2010

Taco Bell and God

      Secretly, women love watching pregnant women expand. They love to watch as the woman gets huge and secretly think "HAHA! SHE'S HUGE!" To a pregnant woman's face they say how cute the belly is. But, in reality, they think you look like a dinosaur.

      Chad took me out for a date night last night. We even put on cologne and perfume for the occasion. I wore heels, and I put a belt on. That's special occasion material right there. We left early to get to a decent place to eat with time left to still make the movie on time. Where did we eat? Taco Bell. Yep, that's right. Taco Bell and Jackass. Pretty sure we had the date that I went on when I was 16. When I was 16 my body could digest Taco Bell. Now, well....it sort of reminisces about the good times of youth and college bingeing, and then it brings forth the wrath of a blooples so intense you actually think that if you look down you will see part of yourself left behind.

Taco Bell reminds me of high school. I told my parents they were going to hell because they didn't believe in God the way I did. Yea, I did that. Needless to say, looking back, I went to these teen religious meetings to meet boys. It was twice a week, and the boys were ummmm confused or there for the same reasons I was. We would meet at different people's houses and discuss bible versus, and then sing Joan Baez's "What If God Was One of Us." I used to go outside and smoke cigarettes, you know, to get in touch with my religious self. I remember trying to buy weed at one of these gatherings. I asked for it one week, and hoped it arrived the next. What did arrive was a bag of oregano, and being asked to leave. Apparently, I couldn't smoke pot, and love God. It didn't really matter anyways. I started going bizerk towards the end of my freshman year of high school. No amount of God was going to save me. There are some family pictures of me floating around from that time that are pretty classic. I looked like feral cat. I bought Fimo clay, (you can bake it in the oven) and I made a mushroom to wear around my neck. It looked more like a penis than a mushroom. I didn't even know what shrooms were back then, but I did know that people wore them around their neck.

     Anyways, after Bible discussions on Tuesdays, we would all go to the local Taco Bell. 20 to 30 high school kids would skitter in to the store. How they didn't kill us all I will never know. We would all order one 69 cent taco and a water, and sit inside the Taco Bell until right around 10 pm. When Chad and I sat down to feast on our Taco Bell, I bit into that crunchy taco, and remembered telling my Mom she was going to hell. This coming from the girl that puked on the side of her friend's parents mini-van because she ended up being allergic to "oregano."

      It turns out, crunchy tacos do not get you closer to God.

      I was a terrible kid.

      I'm not sure why my parents still love me.

      T-Money, please don't be like me.

      That was not a good youth group.

Wednesday, October 13, 2010

Judgements

      Do these pants make me look too judge-y? 

      The fact is, we all judge. It's fun. You don't need any one specific set of criteria to do it. Just a high and mighty feeling that you are somehow either above said action, or better than said action. I am an outspoken gal, and I live life the way I choose to. It's pretty awesome. I don't for one minute expect others to do things the way I do. I do however have an undying need for people to like me and accept me. It's part of my very core. I NEED to be liked. It's why I developed my awesome sense of humor. I have worked extra hard over the years to cultivate my cooking skills and my humor to allow for more likeability. The weird thing is, I want you to like me, but only for about 5-6 hours. Then, you go home. I'm off duty. 

      Creating this blog has helped me to grasp one major area that I will struggle with unless I tackle it at this very moment. People judging me. I must take a firm stand on not giving a crap. I think it's fairly clear that I have been doing pretty well with that idea so far. We are all in this huge place together. We are here to learn from each other. We are not here to tear each other down, yet somehow if I am different than someone else, I am judged. I am so used to being different. I don't think like other people, and I am proud of it. I don't act like other people, and at times it can be a bit much, most people think it's pretty awesome. When we start acting out of our own needs and wants and less out of a self righteous "selfless" place , we are more in touch with reality. Our own reality, and our own happiness. The less I try to please everyone else's perceptions of what I should be, the happier I become. 

      The closer I get to motherhood, I realize that one thing will only get worse. Judgement. The advice will pour out of people. It will always be the people that either don't have kids yet, or have kids that well, let's be honest, suck. People will judge me for the way I let my kids dress. They will judge me for yelling at them when they are bad. They will judge me for allowing my children to breast feed until they are 8. (that's totally a joke) Judgements will come from all angles. It is my responsibility to shut it down. 

      So, I say go ahead. Judge me. 

Judge me for having kids in the first place.
Judge me for not being as financially stable as we could be.
Judge me for not being a conventional mother.
Judge me for taking antidepressants.
Judge me for being so open.
Judge me for over sharing.
Judge me for staying at home. 
Judge me for being who I am.
Judge me for loving with my eyes closed.
Judge me for believing we should all help each other.
Judge me for not believing the way that you do.
Judge me for having tolerance.
Judge me for having a voice.

      In this life, you can choose to help people, by making them smile. Helping them to realize they aren't alone. That their struggles are similar, and you can find ways to make it thru. Or, you can choose to sit in an ivory tower and judge. 

Which are you?



Tuesday, October 12, 2010

Pretty Words

Liz: Shot thru the heart, and your to blame! Darlin' you give diarrhea, a bad name!

Chad: Ummm I'm pretty sure diarrhea, gives diarrhea a bad name. 

Liz: If you didn't know what diarrhea was, you might think it's a pretty word. 

      No one warned me about what would happen to my intestines during pregnancy. No one told me that I would go back and forth between constipated and HOLY CRAP I'M GOING TO EXPLODE! I've been sick before. I don't remember crying during an attack of diarrhea before. Doctor's diarrhea cure? Applesauce. Applesauce will not make this better lady. The only thing that might is some sort of plug, and I am not into that kind of thing. I have to eat, because I have a human inside of me. But, if this were any other time in my life, I would just stop for a few days. On the bright side, I am getting a lot of reading done. I know the ingredients to every shampoo I own...by heart. 

     People like to give their kids special names. Names with meaning. Original names that no one else has. With all this spare time I have while "reading" I have come up with some other pretty words that until you really know what they are, could potentially be beautiful. Chlamydia, is a beautiful name for a girl. It evokes the sounds of the Greek Gods. It sounds pretty until you find out it's associated with leaking body parts, and genitalia. There's another pretty word. Genitalia. "This is my son, Genitalia. We call him Gent."

      Diarrhea, in all actuality, is a pretty word. Why give such a pretty name to something so horrible? I think we need a new name for it. Something more raw. Something that signals what it really is. The worst day ever. I was thinking of something along the lines of "assplosion" but that isn't classy enough. The word needs to signify the quivering, gurgling, pain and angst that we all know, while simultaneously seeming harmless. A little old lady needs to be able to use this word as well. Perhaps it should just be called "the uh-ohs" because that's exactly what you think when you feel the first bits of stomach pain to signal what's to come. I think that's a much more apt title, although I really wanted to make up some sweet word that might eventually catch on. Something like, "I've got a bad case of the blooples." Blooples= sound diarrhea makes. Nobody ever said I was classy.


      I am sorry but this word is also pretty...Labia. The word is beautiful. Until you know what it is as well. It looks like chewed up roast beef, and is no longer pretty. Yea, I said it. Cringe and judge. Go ahead. It's true. I talk about wedgies for 5 paragraphs, let's not kid ourselves on where I draw the line on things. Plus, you know I'm about to have a kid. If I can't talk about labias now, when can I? It bothers me that lots of people are going to see mine in ohhhh 5 months. Perhaps I could invent some sort of device like a very small shower curtain to shield the area for everyone except the doctor. It could make the swoosh! noise (from the shower rings) every time the doctor comes back to look at my progress. Awesome. I am going to work on that.


Sunday, October 10, 2010

Heavy Metal Liz

     I was the lead singer in a band.

     I took myself FAR too seriously.

     I'm pretty sure the guitarist was 50.

     Did I mention it was semi-death metal?

      I've only been broken up with twice in my life. It was sort of a hobby to do the breaking. I got really good at it. The second time I was broken up with, it wrecked me. He may only have been 5'4 and had a dragon ball-z tattoo, but I loved him. He was also the lead singer in a metal band. Not a good one. He left me for a chick that had the same birthday as me. We exchanged Christmas gifts and then went our separate ways. I got him a camera. He used it to take pictures of him with the new girl. I went into a deep depression over that little munchkin. I wish I could tell you all his first name. It wouldn't be right if I did, but it is an EPIC first name. So, my logical decision on how to get over him was to start a heavy metal band and start doing shows around town at the same spots he was. The only problem was, my band. Seriously, our guitarist could have been my grandfather. He was uber religious, but smoked a ton of pot. He also kept telling me that I was "more than welcome to move in with him, and he would love me for the rest of his life." Thanks, but no thanks, Grandpa.

      Those of you that know me, know that while I am not conventional, I am no where near heavy metal looking. I used to make these outfits to be more "edgy" and all I seemed to do was end up looking like goth barbie. I shopped at Hot Topic, and when I would go into the store people made sure to let me know, I was not one of their kind. We did some shows. It was fun. We had two groupies. They wore these creepy masks with zippers over the mouths. Probably so they wouldn't actually be associated with Grandpa incorporated. I am sure I made a fool of myself looking back at it.

      This doesn't even graze the surface on poor decisions I have made in the past. I just remember how painful that time in my life was. I didn't eat for weeks. I couldn't sleep and when I did, I would wake up crying. In time, life revealed itself. Time does heal all wounds. If it weren't for that, my life would be completely different. I have always lived life with a "no what ifs attitude." I do whatever it is that speaks to me, and I don't regret it after I do it. I am so happy to be at this point in my life. If it didn't happen that way, I wouldn't be sitting on my couch on a Sunday, watching my husband mow the grass. I wouldn't be here with a smile on my face and a baby in my belly. I am so excited for T-Money to get here. I can't wait to see Chad be the amazing father I have dreamt of him being.

      T-Money, I wrote this to let you know that in life. Things will seem unbearable at times. You just have to bite down and get thru it. Better times are around the corner. Out of sadness comes great things. That's how you got here, but more on that later.

Saturday, October 9, 2010

Dr. Dick

     This is sort of a catch all for this week. It is just a recap of some things I may have forgotten to mention.

      I wanted to thank all the people that reached out to comfort me, and reassure me that I am not alone in my struggles with depression. It means the world to me to know that we are all in the world together and that we can share the same struggles openly without shame. Thank you. Beyond words.


      Gigi's vet goes by the name of Dr. John. I assumed it was to be cool and hip like high school teachers that say "Just call me Miss Stephanie." Then, we got two prescriptions after Gigi's surgery. The name on the bottle, "Dr. Dick DVM" Shut. Up. Dr. Dick? Really? You stuck with that? Then I started to think about the fact that he is a vet. He works on cats. Think about the slang term for cats. "Paging Dr. Dick to the _____ room." He's a great vet. We are beyond grateful that he helped Gigi. Many thanks to Dr. Dick.

      Speaking of dicks. I got my Olive Garden fix today. It was bittersweet as always. While we were waiting to be seated in the purgatory of the waiting area. A family walked in. There was a husband and wife and two kids. The daughter appeared to be around 13-14. We watched as he smacked his daughter's butt hard, and playfully. Like, foreplay kind of smack. He then looked over at Chad and me like we would think it was funny. No, dude, I don't think that's funny. In fact, I am going to judge you AND give you the dirtiest look I can muster you creepy, incestuous, pedophile. Seriously, what made that d-bag think that was acceptable? EVER.

      Speaking of creepy, I forgot to tell you about the one guy I dated...It's kind of important that I tell you this one because of how amazing it is. So, he was like 26 at the time and I was 18. I didn't see anything wrong with that. At. All. There was my first mistake. I met him at community college. Mistake number two. We started dating. Mistake number three. He was a theater major. Mistake number 4. So, this 26 year old winner still lived at home with his mom and dad. He invited me over to meet them. I was fairly excited to do so because clearly there was something very wrong with me at 18. So, I show up at his house. His parents have 4 labrador sized dogs. They all greet me and his mother is sitting in a lazyboy with her feet propped up. She proceeds to say it's nice to meet me and starts rubbing lotion on her feet. That was weird enough. Then she puts her feet out on the end of the foot rest and calls the dogs over. The dogs start licking her feet clean. She starts making moaning noises and telling me how good it feels and offers me the lotion. Ummmmm. Pass.

      It bothers me that my one friend thinks the way I say "onion" is weird. I apparently put a "g" in there. I'll put a G in your face Aaron.


That is all.

Wednesday, October 6, 2010

What Am I Gunna Do With Diapers?!?

      I was all out of funny when I wrote that last post. Could be the bomb explosions rocking my house throwing off my concentration. Hard to think when it sounds like a dump truck was dropped into your front yard.

      What exactly is it that women say they miss about pregnancy? The debilitating need to pee ALL OF THE TIME? The mood swings? The nausea? The thought of a human head coming thru a very tiny opening? I watched "I didn't even know I was pregnant." Those women are screaming and calling 911 telling the operator they are dying.

      I am 15 weeks along now, and so far, I have LOST close to 11 lbs. It's why I haven't posted belly pics. I feel like it would be more like Jenny Craig pictures. But, then I think, this could be the last time I look like this. So, this weekend Chad will be taking belly pics. Suck it. I am eating, turns out T-Money is eating more.

      I know next to nothing about small children. I know they are small, they like canned foods, and chicken nuggets. I know I start to hyperventilate when left alone with a toddler for over 7 hours, because I have no idea how to entertain a small child for that long. Kid's take naps too. I don't do naps. I suppose I will now. Because I will be a different person. A person with gummed animal crackers lodged in the bottom of her purse next to her tampons, and a very iffy idea of what clean and dirty clothes are. I already see it coming. I keep used tissues in my purse, because re-using a dirty tissue is better than no tissue at all. With kids, I can only imagine what I will do with diapers.

      I have never changed a diaper in my life. I wiped a 2 and a half year old's butt crack once, but that's about the most I have done. I have held 2 babies. They didn't like me. I am not really sure how to hold a new baby. The neck thing makes me have a small panic attack. I am also not sure how to relate to a toddler. It's not like they care what color my hair is, or where to find the most flattering jeans. I won't be able to watch my morning episodes of Saved By the Bell anymore either. I am not looking forward to constantly cleaning up messes. No one talks about this stuff. Being a mom is a thankless job. I like attention. I doubt I will get much once T is born. Everyone will be like ohhhhh! baby!!!! and I will be like "what about me? I just slid that sucker out of me. How's about a little 'you look great.'" But I won't. I will look like fat Elvis. You know, the years with the mutton chops, and the white jumpsuit? I have PCOS, so I have facial hair. I don't deny that. By the time I have T I won't care what I look like, and my sideburns will be epic. If you want to get me something, I suggest you make it a white jumpsuit.

      Chad's going to be gone for a good portion of my third trimester. I am totally paranoid that I am going to be at T.J. Max and go into labor. I will be giving birth to T-Money next to the clearance rack of chipped plates and non-matching towels. Or I will just think I really have to poo, and look down and boom! baby in the toilet. I will leave you with my third and final visualization of how I will accidentally have my first child. At home, in my tub, by myself. It will be a water birth, not because I want one of those, but because I just assume that's how you have babies at home now a days. I will be forced to cut the cord with the scissors I use to cut my bangs. If that happens, I have decided I will name the baby Willow. No real reason. It just came to mind. Seems appropriate for a bathtub birth, and bang scissors.

    

Olive Garden Student of the Month

      I haven't felt T-Money kick yet. That scares me. I pee constantly, like as an afterthought to every process I make. Make a sandwich? Go pee. I called the nurse hotline because I was beginning to worry that I had a UTI. Not only did they say "you are just pregnant" they also told me to increase my water intake. I am already drinking like 10 glasses of water a day. For some reason when I think of drinking more water, my brain flashes to memories of some kid that pledged a frat, and they hazed him by making him drink gallons and gallons of water. Then, he died of water poisoning. That's what I picture happening to me if I drink more liquids. I'm really beginning to wonder if any of the "professionals" I have spoken with have ever had children.

      Every time I hear a new person refer to my baby as "T-Money" I am a little more glad I chose that in utero name. Hearing my Mom refer to baby as T-Money was awesome. I may have to pee all the time but I get a good amount giggles from hearing everyone talk about T-Money.

      I have a few confessions to make. Babies terrify me. I'd prefer we start out our relationship at like 3 years of age, and go from there, but I realize that's not how this works. I am terrified of vaginal birth. I'm scared that I will overreact over everything. I am worried I will become complacent with my dogs, or become superwoman and my marriage will suffer. I am scared of stretch marks. I am scared that I will end up on wife swap because my children look like they are homeless.

      I am also worried about all the terrible things I will inevitably subject my kids to. School bullies, and teachers that should be on antidepressants. I remember how terribly painful my elementary school experience was, and I hate to think that T-Money will have to suffer thru that. In the 4th grade I had the single worst teacher I have ever encountered. Mrs. W stepped out into the hallway to speak with someone, and the class went bonkers. I picked up a book and started reading. She came back in and I put the book down (open with the words on the desk side) as she yelled at the class. I told her I was reading, and picked up the book, and she said she wouldn't punish me. Melanie L. the class suck up then said "why is your book upside down?" Mrs. W then made me stand against the wall for a month at recess, and the rest of the class didn't get in trouble. I missed a lot of school that year. Sometimes because I was sick, and sometimes because I couldn't face going in there.
  
      I was awarded an "Olive Garden Student of the Month Award." I was so proud. I didn't open the envelope so my mom could share in the joy of the whole experience. 2 hours after I received the award the principal called me to his office. He told me there was a mix up, and I was actually the child with the most absences, and the award was meant for another student. I cried for weeks over that. Olive Garden has always been bittersweet for me. As a parent, what do you do in those situations? I remember what my mom did, and I can't say it was right or wrong. In fact, in my mind, she gets mad props for calling the principal at home, to tell him off and inform him she's an attorney and that if she wanted to this could go places. Then, she took me to Olive Garden. I have NO IDEA what I would do. Probably try to poop on the principals car, but with my poo issues I wouldn't be able to follow thru.

      I am sure that all my feelings are completely normal. That life as I know it will completely change, and I just don't know how ready I really am. I have wanted this for so long. I know it's what I really want. It just scares the crap out of me to have such a huge responsibility looming. I suppose once in action, it just happens. In the mean time, I am left to process how I will deal with all the trials and tribulations of childhood, craving Olive Garden.

      Ugh.

Tuesday, October 5, 2010

Shhh! Listen to Me Blink!

      I don't know if you know this, but I dated the president of the band when I was a freshman. It's on my resume. He took me to homecoming. It was a terrible night. I got a migraine. I sat on the floor of the "fancy" cafeteria, while he danced with lots of other girls and acted like I didn't exist. It was pretty awesome. After the dance, he took me back to his parents creepy Mormon house. We sat on a couch in the dark in the huge family room. He stood up, and just shoved the front of his pants in my face. I had never even kissed a boy until I was 14. I had no idea why he put his pants in my face. I just spoke directly to his crotch, "I would like your Mom to drive me home now."

      I have had made some terrible boyfriend choices. It's amazing that somehow I found Chad, or maybe he in actuality found me. We did meet in high school, but he was busy dating his blonde perfect girlfriend, and I was busy dating duds. I wore Tommy Hilfiger button down shirts, and khaki pants from the limited. I got my hair super highlighted, and I drove a red Acura. Looking back, I even hate me. What a douche. 

     The summer of my senior year, I had a super huge crush on a dude named "Pete." I originally met Pete as a freshman. He was a bass drummer. He was dreamy. Until I actually started dating him. He had already graduated from high school, and was attending a semi local college. I am not joking when I tell you that our dates consisted of him convincing me that his eyes made a sound when he blinked. I would have to stay quite and listen. He told me his dad was connected with the Mafia. I found it hard to believe. He used to wear FAR too much Joop! cologne, and he thought that getting the top of his head permed and them doing a white jerry curl was somehow attractive. No wonder he was dating a high school girl. College girls were too busy hating the smell of Joop. I let him take me to senior homecoming. He picked me up in his pastel blue 1980's Caddilac. I begged to drive. He refused. My friend and her date were in the back seat. On our way to dinner she tapped me on the shoulder to let me know that Pete apparently had a stockpile of condoms...not 1 or 2 but like 50 in the back pocket of his Caddilac. We broke up that night. Actually, I think I just stopped answering his calls. 

      When I was a freshman in college, I dated a guy that was 2 years older than me. He also went to high school with me. He was uber popular. I couldn't believe that he would ask me out on a date when I was out to breakfast with my father. We dated for 3 months. He told me he was a virgin. I thought sweet, that keeps me from having to tell him I wasn't going to be putting out. He took me to a wedding. His parents were there. Before we got to the wedding he told me he had something to tell me. He stalled for a while, and then right as we pulled into a parking space he told me he had a 3 month old kid. But still stood firm with, he hadn't gone all the way with this girl that was the mother. Right. Immaculate conception. We broke up not much after that because the other guy I was dating at the time was spying on us from across the street and didn't like what he saw. That dude was a creepy hot mess too.

      I dated a guy in college that couldn't poop with clothes on. 

Somehow, I made it to where I am now. I have a normal husband. I'm glad he doesn't make me listen to him blink. 

Monday, October 4, 2010

Random Thoughts

When I got pregnant, it started awesome.

Then, I started to feel and look like Flavor Flav.

Times, they were tough.

I still don't feel great.

I am in the second trimester.

All my pregnant friends said it will ease off in the second trimester.

All my pregnant friends are liars.

      There are so many things I would like to get done. We have two bedrooms upstairs with beds in them that I haven't even been into since moving day. Our suitcases from when we moved in back in August are still in the dining room. They are filled with all the clothes that I used to be able to wear.  Things like skinny jeans, and form fitting sweaters. I am great at washing clothing (well not lately) and I am good at folding laundry. I am terrible at putting laundry away. It goes into the clothes basket folded to sit on the floor of our bedroom for a week. What I should be doing is organizing for when the baby comes. How could I possibly be ready for a child if I can't even push myself to file the electric bill in the filing cabinet?

I'm making stuffed peppers for dinner.

I also made a jello fruit salad that I love.

I am hoping to poop sometime today.

     Some people may know this about me already, others may not. I have struggled with depression for a long time in my life. I have been on and off medications since I was 18 years old. When Chad and I started trying for children I was taking an antidepressant. 9 months before I actually concieved, we thought I was pregnant. I wanted to try going without the medication. I can usually get by for about a year on my own before I start to really need it again. So, here we are at a year. I just think that not enough people talk about it. I struggle with depression. It's part of what makes me who I am. It doesn't define me, but it makes the ups better and the downs a little worse. It's just part of life. The doctors decided that my thyroid will most likely correct itself. Some of my feelings and general malaise may be due to mild depression. I started back on a medication. I am telling everyone this because I am not ashamed. Pregnancy is supposed to be one of the happiest times in my life. If it's not, I should take care of it. I know I have a life inside of me. I know taking a medication could have some potential side effects. So would me not being around to take care of my child. I am no where near that point, do not worry. But, why should I let it get that bad before I take care of it? Pregnancy brings up a lot of things. So, this is me telling everyone who reads about the reality of me. I have a wonderfully supportive husband, and a great life. Sometimes, things just get all Gary Busey on me.

      We went to a pregnancy fair on the base this weekend. The doctors and nurses on the base kept saying it was a great thing to go to, to learn about different things like breast feeding, and get lots of free stuff. It was just the on base nurses, with what looked like middle school science fair cardboard stations, and some signups. Really? Lots of "free" stuff turned out to be a rattle and a pair of booties with clowns on them. I HATE CLOWNS.

      My family has started planning my baby shower. I am really looking forward to it, but it plays into my super huge fear that I don't like to talk about. It's why I never had a graduation party from high school, and why I didn't have a big wedding. I fear that I will invite a bunch of people that I have been close with, and they won't show up. That I was completely wrong about them liking me. It's a stupid fear, I should get some counseling for it. What would I say? Yes, counselor, I have a fear of my own parties.

      All my posts can't be gems. Some are just a bunch of random thoughts. This happens to be a lot of random thoughts.

Friday, October 1, 2010

The Moment I Became Old

      This post needed some elaboration and some editing, but I needed some waffles first.

     Yesterday, it happened. I officially became old, crotchety, and partially insane. I lost it. In a China Wok.  Hi. Have we met? I'm the bitchy lady at the China Wok, but you can call me Liz. That's how I will introduce myself at Chad's work functions. You may also know me as the lady that got momentarily kicked off of a Continental flight for switching seats because I wanted an empty seat next to me because I had been traveling for 24 hours. Whatever. Barracuda Liz is terrifying. Ask Chad. It doesn't come out often, it's sort of like seeing a unicorn, but when I lose it, it's magical. To everyone but me.

      It's 5:15 and we are standing in line at the classy establishment known as the China Wok. There are three pre-teen girls at a table by themselves. (who drops there 12 year olds off at a China Wok?!?) I watch as a 30 year old man walks thru the door and one of the girls flags him down. She asks to record him for a "survey" and then proceeds to ask him what he thinks about itchy crotch. My heart started beating all fast, I  can't be certain if it was the teacher in me or the mom to be in me that lost it. I calmed myself down. The guy responded with "I think you should study hard." Good one. So, we sit down and the girls are over at their table acting like teenage girls. I would look over and they would say "she's looking at us." That's when I lost it. I went over to them. I couldn't help it. I felt like I needed a walker and a cane to beat them with. I proceeded to tell them that doing what they did to the wrong man could end badly for them. I told them I was coming from a big sister place and I was just saying that saying things like that could get them raped and killed. Just think about what they were doing. They then tried to turn it on me and get the teenage questioning going. "Did you know someone that this happened to?"  I wanted to fight these little bitches and throw up on them all at the same time. Why would they listen to someone with their husband's HUGE t-shirt on and jeans rolled up to the ankles, because otherwise they get all soggy in the wet weather? I didn't have anything on that was relatable to Miley (gums) Cyrus, or Justin (girl bangs) Bieber.

      First of all, at what point in time did it become ok for a 12 year old to ask a complete stranger for gynecological advice? Why is there ZERO supervision? Does China Wok provide day care?  In the same plaza there is a supermarket. There is a highway right across from it and the closest housing development is about a mile away. There were 8 year olds riding their bikes around the parking lot. W T F? I guess it is a military town. A lot of people made one too many.

      Here's what I wanted to say to those girls but didn't due to legal reasons: Listen here you snotty little pre-pubescent bitches. You act like your shit doesn't stink and that nothing could ever happen to you. That guy could wait in his car until you leave here. Then he could take a pick as to which one he liked most and then take her and put her in the trunk of his car. Then, he would take the lucky one home and skin her. Wear that pretty hairstyle on his own head. Go watch Silence of the Lambs you little shits.

      There you have it. The moment I became old. In a China Wok. I thought it would be in a cooler spot.  I thought I would get a plaque of some kind. Instead, I got Sesame Chicken, and an egg roll that I threw up three hours later because I brushed my tongue too hard before bed. It was my body's way of saying I should switch to foods I can gum.