Today I want to pout like a child. I got my first pay stub from my new job and Uncle Sam took out quite a huge chunk. It's partially my own doing since I claimed so few exemptions. I just don't want to get stuck with a bill again this year after last year's mishap. But my God!
So I'm feverishly calculating my taxes and deductions. I also worked out my life insurance policy and retirement fund contributions. And after that I got the mind-numbing experience of researching health care packages.
Now for you readers in Canada and Russia (and by the way I'm totally stoked about a reader in Russia! I'm excited about my Canadian fans too, but Russia is much further away, which increases the cool factor. So thanks for reading! And become a follower of the blog or at least like me on Facebook! You might get cookies!) the health care debate in America might be boring to hear about. Sorry.
There are some major perks to having free health care while in the military. The main one being it's F-R-E-E!!! Duh! But that old adage, "You get what you pay for," is 100% true when it comes to military medical treatment. Yes, you get assigned a Primary Care Manager, but you rarely see that doctor more than once in all the times you go to medical. Often you see someone that works for that guy. Or that guy transfers after your last visit with him. And you have to hope and dream that every time you go in for a reoccurring issue that the last guy put in detailed notes. But most likely you have to start all over.
Getting a referral is a bit of a joke some times. And even when you get the referral, you basically have a better shot of winning the grand prize at the local BINGO hall on Friday night than you do being seen in that month. When I was pregnant, they weren't going to get me in to see a doctor for my FIRST visit until I was almost 20 weeks! They just couldn't fit me in. (Sorry I got knocked up during a high baby-making time frame, but I'd love to be seen by a doctor!) And I at the paperwork orientation I was one of 2 active duty servicemembers there. The rest were spouses who had the opportunity to go out into the local area to get treatment if they wanted. I was stuck. I had to be seen by the military doctors... when they got around to it.
So yes, there are some major drawbacks. Like every problem you have can be treated by staying hydrated and taking Motrin. (You think I'm joking?) Or like calling for a mental health appointment because you're about 2 days from a break down and they can fit you in next month. (That's not a joke either.)
But today I found out just how spoiled I was. Reading through all the health insurance options with my job is overwhelming. Trying to pick the best plan for the best price is crazy. There are a million different options. And trying to find one that is going to cover well baby checkups for Elly, the random sickness appointments for Stoofy, not to mention the near fatal accidents I create for myself at least once a year need to be factored in. Plus glasses for the family, dental checkups, and prescriptions. I'll probably need a prescription for anxiety by the time I'm done with all this paperwork!
And trying to figure out PPOs, HMOs, FFSs, FSAs and all the rest of the medical alphabet soup sucks. I wish there was a help calculator where you put in some of your pertinent personal information and then it spits out 2-3 of the best options for you. Then you review those and voila! You've got the best, most comprehensive medical coverage $193.83 a pay period can buy!
Now all I have to figure out is my tax bracket and how best to not let those jokers on Capitol Hill screw me. That's probably a lost cause...
About Me
- Betty Bakedgood
- I'm a working single mom who loves to write in my spare time... so bare with me when there's a lull in the blogging. It means I'm out enjoying my daughter, Elly's, crazy antics!
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
Thursday, December 22, 2011
Cue the Chipmunk Music
All I want for Christmas is my kid's two front teeth to finish growing in. Who knew growing teeth is one of the most painful processes as a parent. Not to mention painful for your kid. But that last point is obvious because that's what makes it painful for the parent... duh!
Anyway, Elly had one of her front teeth come in just before Thanksgiving time. And it was a little painful and she was crabby. But it was manageable. (Either that, or I've already forgotten how exhausting it was last month.) But only one of the two of them cut through.
My first thought was, holy shit! I actually gave birth to a real-life hillbilly. Great. I already need to start worrying about braces, baby dentures and if Fixadent is safe for children under the age of one.
My next thought was, crap! Did she somehow smash her face into something hard enough during the early stages of walking that she already fucked up her grill? Did she somehow push the tooth back up in her gum?
And you're thinking right now that I'm completely irrational and crazy. Stoofy says that I'm not crazy, I'm just a psychotic bitch. He means that in the most funny, loving, tender-hearted way.
As it turns out, the missing tooth is just a late bloomer. It decided it wanted to wait a month before it's grand entrance on the scene. Just in time for Christmas! Lucky me.
But this tooth is different than all the rest of her three teeth. This one has come with more than just tears, it's come with blood too. Twice now I've found her bleeding from the mouth with no tears. And it's left me wondering is this some sick, elaborate prank? Did some kind of special effects guru break into my room, bloody up my daughter, only to wait for me to find her and start screaming my head off so they can capture the sound for their movie?
And Stoofy found her bloody during nap time the other day too. He sent me this little gem of a text:
S- So I just had my first OMG moment as a dad.
B- Oh God, what?
S- I didn't notice it right away when I pulled the bottle out of her mouth. I looked over and saw blood on her bottle so I looked at her and she had blood on her chin and on her binkie so I tried looking in her mouth and she freaked out. She was finally falling asleep so I cleaned off her face and looked again and saw nothing. But kids don't just bleed for no reason and I still don't know what it is. But I don't see any more blood.
And for me, this is victory! Finally, I'm not the only one freaking out (and for Stoofy, that's the closest he gets to a freak out) over something Elly just did! On the other hand, I'm sad that my poor little baby girl is bleeding from her mouth.
Then add in the fact that she's in pain and fussy all day and all night long and it makes for a very long, long, LONG process just for one little chomper. I just want that tooth to finally break through so we can get over this hump.... until the next tooth starts forcing its way out of the gum line. But for now, I'll just keep singing in my chipmunk voice.
Anyway, Elly had one of her front teeth come in just before Thanksgiving time. And it was a little painful and she was crabby. But it was manageable. (Either that, or I've already forgotten how exhausting it was last month.) But only one of the two of them cut through.
My first thought was, holy shit! I actually gave birth to a real-life hillbilly. Great. I already need to start worrying about braces, baby dentures and if Fixadent is safe for children under the age of one.
My next thought was, crap! Did she somehow smash her face into something hard enough during the early stages of walking that she already fucked up her grill? Did she somehow push the tooth back up in her gum?
And you're thinking right now that I'm completely irrational and crazy. Stoofy says that I'm not crazy, I'm just a psychotic bitch. He means that in the most funny, loving, tender-hearted way.
As it turns out, the missing tooth is just a late bloomer. It decided it wanted to wait a month before it's grand entrance on the scene. Just in time for Christmas! Lucky me.
But this tooth is different than all the rest of her three teeth. This one has come with more than just tears, it's come with blood too. Twice now I've found her bleeding from the mouth with no tears. And it's left me wondering is this some sick, elaborate prank? Did some kind of special effects guru break into my room, bloody up my daughter, only to wait for me to find her and start screaming my head off so they can capture the sound for their movie?
And Stoofy found her bloody during nap time the other day too. He sent me this little gem of a text:
S- So I just had my first OMG moment as a dad.
B- Oh God, what?
S- I didn't notice it right away when I pulled the bottle out of her mouth. I looked over and saw blood on her bottle so I looked at her and she had blood on her chin and on her binkie so I tried looking in her mouth and she freaked out. She was finally falling asleep so I cleaned off her face and looked again and saw nothing. But kids don't just bleed for no reason and I still don't know what it is. But I don't see any more blood.
And for me, this is victory! Finally, I'm not the only one freaking out (and for Stoofy, that's the closest he gets to a freak out) over something Elly just did! On the other hand, I'm sad that my poor little baby girl is bleeding from her mouth.
Then add in the fact that she's in pain and fussy all day and all night long and it makes for a very long, long, LONG process just for one little chomper. I just want that tooth to finally break through so we can get over this hump.... until the next tooth starts forcing its way out of the gum line. But for now, I'll just keep singing in my chipmunk voice.
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
A Few of My Favorite Things
In the spirit of end of year review mania that seems to hit our country about this time every year, I figured I'd jump on board. And as a side note: until I started working in news I never knew why every single tv, radio, paper, magazine, etc. puts out a best of at the end of the year... until I wanted some down time around the holidays too. So what's the easiest way to create that for yourself around the holidays? Just rehash all the shit you've already done and call it "new"s.
Anyway, even though I've only been a part of the blogosphere since July (and I took that trip to Jupiter, aka fell off the blogging planet) I still feel like I've got some gems in my archives.
So here are a few of my favorite things (in no particular order):
1) Breastfed Thighs
I'll do my best to keep the positive about my thighs come the end of January. That's inevitably when swimsuit shopping season begins and I'd much rather slice my left hand off with a circular saw than expose my thighs to the world (or expose the world to my thighs depending on how you look at it).
I'll do my best to keep the positive about my thighs come the end of January. That's inevitably when swimsuit shopping season begins and I'd much rather slice my left hand off with a circular saw than expose my thighs to the world (or expose the world to my thighs depending on how you look at it).
2) What Did I Step In?
I feel like I step in a pile of shit every week. Some weeks are shittier than others. But this one just tops them all. I mean, seriously. What the hell is wrong with people? Clearly advertising geniuses know how to plug their products with cute babies. Because people will literally look past whatever shit you've got when there's a cute baby to look at instead.
I feel like I step in a pile of shit every week. Some weeks are shittier than others. But this one just tops them all. I mean, seriously. What the hell is wrong with people? Clearly advertising geniuses know how to plug their products with cute babies. Because people will literally look past whatever shit you've got when there's a cute baby to look at instead.
3) Got Milk?
This is actually a blog from my early days. I hadn't really introduced everyone to Abby yet. But I realized since I talked about her so much as a friend, that she just needed to be named and be a full-blown character in my daily crazy. The main part of the blog really was word for word an email I sent her after being fascinated and disgusted by my cow-like ability. And although I've stopped breastfeeding, I'm grateful for having endured that crazy shit for as long as I did for Elly. She'd better be a grateful little kid when she grows up or else!
I still chuckle a little every time I read this. And then the chuckles are drowned out by my tears of sadness over my awful hair. I have had it cut into a nice, hot-mom cut. So at least my hair is a lot more manageable than when it was longer. And by the way, I STILL haven't found that freakin' calendar yet!
5) Tinkling
I actually have to go use the little girl's room right now. So I'd better stop what I'm doing and take a break or else I may have a code yellow alert!
It still truly amazes me how your body completely changes when you're pregnant. And then morphs into something completely different after the baby. I'll never understand people (specifically insensitive asshole men) who say, oh you're just lazy that's why you don't have the exact same body after having the baby. Uh newsflash dumbass, it doesn't work like that. Not only am I searching for my ass, I also grew bigger feet. No amount of zumba is going to fix that shit!
I crack up every time I eat a deli sandwich now because I only think of windshield meat. If you ever end up tossing turkey on someone's car and they eat it, please let me know!!!! And if you do witness that, I hope you scream at them "BEING AN ADULT ROCKS!!!"
8)BOOBS!
This is still one of my all-time favorites. Because I am so impressed at how many different ways I could work the word boobs into the blog. And because of that, I actually had a few people stumble upon my blog because of their key word searches. Here's what can land you in Betty's world if you google it: "Big Milk Boobs," "Boobs," and my personal favorite "Boobs Rock the World." Yes, yes they do! (PS, I'd love to know who googled "I'm not doing that" and found me!!! LOL! What the hell aren't they willing to do I wonder!)
9) Vanilla Tuna
There are some people in this world you meet and never remember again. And then there are some people that leave a lasting impression on you for the rest of your life. The stinky girl in my Navy school is one of those people I'll never forget.... and I'm so grossed out by it!
Elly just kills me some days. Every day she's learning, exploring, and absorbing new information. She amazes me... right up until she's caught red handed doing something shouldn't have done but has no idea that it was a no-no. I clearly have a long road ahead of me teaching her important life-lessons. And I feel like a lot of them are going to be really messy!
What's terrible about this pregnancy memory is that even though pumpkin pie is my absolute FAVORITE dessert and it's what I love more than anything for my birthday cake, I still haven't had a slice in 2011! Sad :-( I better get on that before the year is over and I better make sure I don't go to jail getting pumpkin pie!
12) That's Not Fair
The phrase "That's Not Fair" could quite possibly be one of the most famous sayings heard in my house growing up. Either (or in my opinion, mostly) my sister or me would utter that phrase whenever we had felt slighted. Our mother was very careful to make sure that things were as fair as you can make them for two completely different-minded children constantly at each other's throats. So I feel like because of that, I have an obsession to try and make things as far as possible in the world when I can. However, there are things that just can't be helped. Like the fact that Snookie makes millions more than I do.
Well there you have it! Betty's favorites of 2011. I can't even imagine how exciting 2012 will be! In just a few short months Elly will be a year old, Stoofy and I will celebrate our 6th wedding anniversary, I'll go on at least 12 tirades threatening to kick someone in their shins, and on top of that, I've got the regular comings and goings of life to chronicle.
Please be sure to follow me on Facebook, become a fan of this blog, and most importantly TELL YOUR FRIENDS! I am a narcissist and I need constant positive approval. So the more people who like me, the better I feel. JOKING, but not really. Force your friends to like me if you have to. It's fine, I completely approve of it!
And I'll have plenty more to add before the year is over... but until then, thanks for enjoying 2011 with me!
I'm a Little Crazy
I am a little crazy. Well, I could be a lot crazy depending on the circumstance. Take for instance pushing my buttons before I've even had a cup of coffee, let alone rubbed the crud out of my eyes in the morning. Stoofy likes to do just that some mornings just to see the end result. It usually means a fake fight develops into a real fight of epic proportions.
I'm pretty crazy when it comes to things I'm passionate about. Sports teams, fairness, my kid, my husband, my car, my ideals, morals and politics. I can easily launch into a 10 minute tirade about almost anything if I'm passionate enough about it. Even if I'm only half-ass passionate about a topic, I can still get pretty spun up about it.
This ability to go from 0-100EPM (emotions per minute) can be a great quality. It can also suck too. It's one of my many character flaws I'm not interested in changing. I've just accepted it as my reality, toned it down a touch when necessary, and decided everyone else just needs to deal with it.
If you're my friend, you're probably my friend because I'm crazy.
Everyone needs a crazy person in their circle. Everyone needs one of those crazy friends to stand on a table and call attention to you for your birthday. Everyone needs someone willing to go out on a limb for you because you're too afraid the limb is too high, too flimsy and too dangerous for you to do it yourself. Everyone needs a friend willing to purger themselves for you when you get caught burying the body.
If you're my friend, you already know I'd do all of the above for you and then some. If you are my friend's enemy, you should be warned. Because I'm flat out nuts! Anyone that's been on the receiving end of a crazy Betty rant will tell you it's not the place you'd like to be. The only thing less appealing would be if you were a Somali pirate who captured an American shipping captain and were standing in range of a SEAL's sniper scope.
So to recap: I'm crazy. Being crazy isn't always a bad thing. That is, unless you're an enemy. Then my craziness is just as bad as Kim Jong-Il. You don't want to be nuked do you?
I'm pretty crazy when it comes to things I'm passionate about. Sports teams, fairness, my kid, my husband, my car, my ideals, morals and politics. I can easily launch into a 10 minute tirade about almost anything if I'm passionate enough about it. Even if I'm only half-ass passionate about a topic, I can still get pretty spun up about it.
This ability to go from 0-100EPM (emotions per minute) can be a great quality. It can also suck too. It's one of my many character flaws I'm not interested in changing. I've just accepted it as my reality, toned it down a touch when necessary, and decided everyone else just needs to deal with it.
If you're my friend, you're probably my friend because I'm crazy.
Everyone needs a crazy person in their circle. Everyone needs one of those crazy friends to stand on a table and call attention to you for your birthday. Everyone needs someone willing to go out on a limb for you because you're too afraid the limb is too high, too flimsy and too dangerous for you to do it yourself. Everyone needs a friend willing to purger themselves for you when you get caught burying the body.
If you're my friend, you already know I'd do all of the above for you and then some. If you are my friend's enemy, you should be warned. Because I'm flat out nuts! Anyone that's been on the receiving end of a crazy Betty rant will tell you it's not the place you'd like to be. The only thing less appealing would be if you were a Somali pirate who captured an American shipping captain and were standing in range of a SEAL's sniper scope.
So to recap: I'm crazy. Being crazy isn't always a bad thing. That is, unless you're an enemy. Then my craziness is just as bad as Kim Jong-Il. You don't want to be nuked do you?
Monday, December 19, 2011
Caught Red Handed
This week (actually the last 2 days) I've made some major rookie mom mistakes! The first being way worst than the second. I'll start with the lesser of two evils first.
Tonight I had to run a few errands. I knew it was close to Elly's bedtime, but I had no choice. I have to do what I have to do! So I packed her up and headed on my way. I barely made it a half mile before she started screaming. She's screaming because it's nearly bed time and she wants to be rocked to sleep with all her usual night time fanfare. None of this bundled and tied into a carseat crap. And what was my rookie mistake? Not having a freakin' binkie!
Man did I swear up a storm at myself. I mean, it's not like I don't have the mom purse (you know what I'm talking about! That jumbo-sized monstrosity you lug around to haul all the shit you can't fit into the diaper bag because your husband packed retarded shit in the diaper bag and you're too exhausted to fight him on it so you just stick it all in your purse instead? Yeah, that thing.) on the front seat. Yet, there's not one single binkie to be found.
You want to know where they were? Four of them were lined up next to each other on the bedside table ready for night time combat ops (or you know, a little thing normal parents like to call bed time).
So what did I do? I just endured it. That's right. There's nothing I could do but suck it up. No speeding, no dilly-dallying or chit-chatting. Just there, pick up stuff, and go. Because she's in the back seat wailing!
Can you say MOM OF THE YEAR?
But the big kahuna of the week is way worse. Yesterday, in all my wonderful glory, I put Elly in her make-shift play area. It's a good play area for her with lots of space and toys to play with. We've blocked off the Christmas tree and she can't get out to freedom (aka, the stairs). And so I put her in her area and turned my back for a minute.
EP-IC MIS-TA-KE!!!!!
I all of a sudden here a splat and her playing with what sounds to be a solo cup. Now this is something that's my own fault. Stoofy and I have gotten in the habit of giving her one to play with. So to her it's a toy. For us it's cheap entertainment for 10 minutes.
Turns out I didn't do a great job inspecting the living room before I turned it into her play area. There was a wayward half-cup of red Koolaide. And Elly got her grubby little hands all over it!
When I first saw her I started to freak out because she was splattered head to toe in red. My first thought was Red= Dead. So I scoop her up and checked for bleeding. Nope, nothing.
And then the realization that I'll be replacing carpet hits me and I look around to see what happened. I grab Elly's hands and see them clearly stained red. The white/beige carpet is a nice hue of pink. And one of the throw pillows is a very festive shade of red to complement the green and white stripes the manufacture meant for it to have.
Awesome. Not only do I suck as a mom, I now suck as a friend and roommate too. Triple wammie! I think that means I've Pressed my Luck and lost. FML.
And of course all of this happens minutes before I have to run out the door to be somewhere to meet people. Clearly this is one of those moments where you realize being a mom is great... just not every single second of every single day. And why the hell does this shit have to happen when dad's not around?
Needless to say I'm now a proud promoter of the powers of Oxyclean. If you catch your kid red handed and need to get the Koolaide up, just think of Billy Mays. Since he's obviously looking down from heaven for all us rookie moms out there.
Tonight I had to run a few errands. I knew it was close to Elly's bedtime, but I had no choice. I have to do what I have to do! So I packed her up and headed on my way. I barely made it a half mile before she started screaming. She's screaming because it's nearly bed time and she wants to be rocked to sleep with all her usual night time fanfare. None of this bundled and tied into a carseat crap. And what was my rookie mistake? Not having a freakin' binkie!
Man did I swear up a storm at myself. I mean, it's not like I don't have the mom purse (you know what I'm talking about! That jumbo-sized monstrosity you lug around to haul all the shit you can't fit into the diaper bag because your husband packed retarded shit in the diaper bag and you're too exhausted to fight him on it so you just stick it all in your purse instead? Yeah, that thing.) on the front seat. Yet, there's not one single binkie to be found.
You want to know where they were? Four of them were lined up next to each other on the bedside table ready for night time combat ops (or you know, a little thing normal parents like to call bed time).
So what did I do? I just endured it. That's right. There's nothing I could do but suck it up. No speeding, no dilly-dallying or chit-chatting. Just there, pick up stuff, and go. Because she's in the back seat wailing!
Can you say MOM OF THE YEAR?
But the big kahuna of the week is way worse. Yesterday, in all my wonderful glory, I put Elly in her make-shift play area. It's a good play area for her with lots of space and toys to play with. We've blocked off the Christmas tree and she can't get out to freedom (aka, the stairs). And so I put her in her area and turned my back for a minute.
EP-IC MIS-TA-KE!!!!!
I all of a sudden here a splat and her playing with what sounds to be a solo cup. Now this is something that's my own fault. Stoofy and I have gotten in the habit of giving her one to play with. So to her it's a toy. For us it's cheap entertainment for 10 minutes.
Turns out I didn't do a great job inspecting the living room before I turned it into her play area. There was a wayward half-cup of red Koolaide. And Elly got her grubby little hands all over it!
When I first saw her I started to freak out because she was splattered head to toe in red. My first thought was Red= Dead. So I scoop her up and checked for bleeding. Nope, nothing.
And then the realization that I'll be replacing carpet hits me and I look around to see what happened. I grab Elly's hands and see them clearly stained red. The white/beige carpet is a nice hue of pink. And one of the throw pillows is a very festive shade of red to complement the green and white stripes the manufacture meant for it to have.
Awesome. Not only do I suck as a mom, I now suck as a friend and roommate too. Triple wammie! I think that means I've Pressed my Luck and lost. FML.
And of course all of this happens minutes before I have to run out the door to be somewhere to meet people. Clearly this is one of those moments where you realize being a mom is great... just not every single second of every single day. And why the hell does this shit have to happen when dad's not around?
Needless to say I'm now a proud promoter of the powers of Oxyclean. If you catch your kid red handed and need to get the Koolaide up, just think of Billy Mays. Since he's obviously looking down from heaven for all us rookie moms out there.
I'm One Lucky B!
If you've been reading my blog, you know that I recently got out of the Navy. And if you've been reading my blog since I started, you also know that I've been crazy (that might not be a strong enough description actually) about looking for a job so, you know, I'm not homeless and the baby has food. (You know, nothing major or anything.)
Well, I've been very fortunate in landing a great job in the civilian sector, and it's truly been a major blessing how it's all worked out.
I'm a firm believe that I'm very lucky. Not like lucky in that I win the lottery or anything (I wish!), but mostly lucky in timing. I miss near accidents. I miss major disasters. I miss events that I wish I could have been at, only to get an opportunity to have an even better experience (sometimes even behind the scenes) for that missed event! And just when I think I've hit a bad spot and my luck has run out, I realize (sometimes I have to be reminded and forced to see the positive) that really, it's not that bad and I'm actually very lucky how things work out for me. (My mom says it’s because when I was very young, like the age Elly is right now, she and my dad took me to Mexico and all these Mexican ladies swarmed me and blessed me. It freaked my mom out since she didn’t speak Spanish and they kept grabbing at me. Uh, yeah, I would have flipped out too mom.)
Take for example this whole Navy thing. I've felt very slighted by the Navy. I feel like I've been cheated on and just finished divorce proceedings. But now I've just gotten to the next step in the grieving process; I'm not as bitter any more. (Well, I'm a little bit bitter still. Just being honest with my friends!) But it's nothing like what it used to be.
Instead, I've taken all my knowledge and experience I gained in the Navy and put it toward getting a new job. And then as luck would have it (and awesome timing) a series of crazy events lead me to my job today!
First, I was going to move to Washington State. But I started getting notices that my resume was moving along with jobs in the DC area. So Stoofy and I decided to try staying put. I told my supervisor that I was staying in the area and for her to keep her ears open for jobs for me. (And that's called networking folks! Or nagging depending on your view.) Well, one of my co-workers decided to take it upon himself to cancel an assignment he had no business cancelling without our supervisor's permission. My supervisor got a call from the canceled event coordinator.
Well those ladies got to chatting (after a whole lot of yelling at the nimrod who shirked his duty!), and it just so happened that the woman coordinating the event was looking for a journalist for a job position! Hot damn! So my supervisor said I've got the perfect girl for you! And low and behold.... I got my foot in the door.
Now, this isn't exactly success yet. But it's a start. You see, there are major budget cuts happening across the board in the federal government. (And unless you've had your head up your ass for the last few years, you would already know that fact!) So there was absolutely no guarantee the job they needed to hire someone (like me) into would even exist after a round of budget cuts. But as it just so happens, my soon-to-be supervisor worked her magic and got approval. The only hang up was she couldn't hire anyone until the guy still filling the job before me officially left his position, late in November.
Well, that's no problem, since I couldn't take a job until after my final day in the military....LATE IN NOVEMBER!!! Oh snap! Another win for the good luck girl!
We began processing all my hiring paperwork that goes into federal employment after I got a soft job offer. Processing paperwork to be a government employee is a lot like your paperwork in-process for the military. The only difference is you don't get a shot in the ass when you become a government employee. (That should be a selling point when advertising jobs.)
And wouldn't you know it, my paperwork was having issues and it didn't look like I was going to make it by the deadline to start my job on time. I had until 2:00 pm on a Friday to get everything in so I could start on Monday morning or I’d have to wait two weeks before I could officially start. I held my breath and sucked it in and just barely got it all in on time! And thank God I did!
I started my job just a couple weeks ago and have begun to hit the ground running. I'm very grateful for my job and the opportunity to get my career going. And even more so grateful after I found out just last week that had my paperwork been delayed, I wouldn't have a job to start today. Because they just laid down a hiring freeze. My job offer would have been frozen and I would have been sitting at home with Elly wondering what the hell am I going to do now!?!?!?!?
So when I say I'm one lucky B, I mean it. I get things in just the nick of time. Life seems to work itself out in just the right moments. And for that, I'm forever grateful!
****Betty's note: My mom set the record straight. I was actually much closer to Elly's age right now when I was blessed by Mexicans. She wanted to make sure I got the facts straight. Side note from Betty's mom: It was Labor Day weekend 1983 in Metamora, Mexico, just across the border from Brownsville, TX. I guess I need to plan a trip there with Elly ASAP. (Maybe once I actually earn some vacation time!)****
Well, I've been very fortunate in landing a great job in the civilian sector, and it's truly been a major blessing how it's all worked out.
I'm a firm believe that I'm very lucky. Not like lucky in that I win the lottery or anything (I wish!), but mostly lucky in timing. I miss near accidents. I miss major disasters. I miss events that I wish I could have been at, only to get an opportunity to have an even better experience (sometimes even behind the scenes) for that missed event! And just when I think I've hit a bad spot and my luck has run out, I realize (sometimes I have to be reminded and forced to see the positive) that really, it's not that bad and I'm actually very lucky how things work out for me. (My mom says it’s because when I was very young, like the age Elly is right now, she and my dad took me to Mexico and all these Mexican ladies swarmed me and blessed me. It freaked my mom out since she didn’t speak Spanish and they kept grabbing at me. Uh, yeah, I would have flipped out too mom.)
Take for example this whole Navy thing. I've felt very slighted by the Navy. I feel like I've been cheated on and just finished divorce proceedings. But now I've just gotten to the next step in the grieving process; I'm not as bitter any more. (Well, I'm a little bit bitter still. Just being honest with my friends!) But it's nothing like what it used to be.
Instead, I've taken all my knowledge and experience I gained in the Navy and put it toward getting a new job. And then as luck would have it (and awesome timing) a series of crazy events lead me to my job today!
First, I was going to move to Washington State. But I started getting notices that my resume was moving along with jobs in the DC area. So Stoofy and I decided to try staying put. I told my supervisor that I was staying in the area and for her to keep her ears open for jobs for me. (And that's called networking folks! Or nagging depending on your view.) Well, one of my co-workers decided to take it upon himself to cancel an assignment he had no business cancelling without our supervisor's permission. My supervisor got a call from the canceled event coordinator.
Well those ladies got to chatting (after a whole lot of yelling at the nimrod who shirked his duty!), and it just so happened that the woman coordinating the event was looking for a journalist for a job position! Hot damn! So my supervisor said I've got the perfect girl for you! And low and behold.... I got my foot in the door.
Now, this isn't exactly success yet. But it's a start. You see, there are major budget cuts happening across the board in the federal government. (And unless you've had your head up your ass for the last few years, you would already know that fact!) So there was absolutely no guarantee the job they needed to hire someone (like me) into would even exist after a round of budget cuts. But as it just so happens, my soon-to-be supervisor worked her magic and got approval. The only hang up was she couldn't hire anyone until the guy still filling the job before me officially left his position, late in November.
Well, that's no problem, since I couldn't take a job until after my final day in the military....LATE IN NOVEMBER!!! Oh snap! Another win for the good luck girl!
We began processing all my hiring paperwork that goes into federal employment after I got a soft job offer. Processing paperwork to be a government employee is a lot like your paperwork in-process for the military. The only difference is you don't get a shot in the ass when you become a government employee. (That should be a selling point when advertising jobs.)
And wouldn't you know it, my paperwork was having issues and it didn't look like I was going to make it by the deadline to start my job on time. I had until 2:00 pm on a Friday to get everything in so I could start on Monday morning or I’d have to wait two weeks before I could officially start. I held my breath and sucked it in and just barely got it all in on time! And thank God I did!
I started my job just a couple weeks ago and have begun to hit the ground running. I'm very grateful for my job and the opportunity to get my career going. And even more so grateful after I found out just last week that had my paperwork been delayed, I wouldn't have a job to start today. Because they just laid down a hiring freeze. My job offer would have been frozen and I would have been sitting at home with Elly wondering what the hell am I going to do now!?!?!?!?
So when I say I'm one lucky B, I mean it. I get things in just the nick of time. Life seems to work itself out in just the right moments. And for that, I'm forever grateful!
****Betty's note: My mom set the record straight. I was actually much closer to Elly's age right now when I was blessed by Mexicans. She wanted to make sure I got the facts straight. Side note from Betty's mom: It was Labor Day weekend 1983 in Metamora, Mexico, just across the border from Brownsville, TX. I guess I need to plan a trip there with Elly ASAP. (Maybe once I actually earn some vacation time!)****
Sunday, December 18, 2011
Quit Your Bitching
No seriously. Just quit your bitching right now. Whatever you're whining and complaining about right now isn't that bad. Unless you're complaining about someone's life in mortal danger, you don't have it nearly as bad as someone else this holiday season.
Overall, this has been an incredibly hard year for me and Stoofy. Probably the hardest year of our lives. And if it weren't for Elly, we both agree this year could make it to the top of the list of worst years ever. No joke. Yet, we've got our health. We haven't gone completely bankrupt. We've managed to get through our hard times and things seem to finally be picking up and tides have turned.
Abby's been having a rough go of things this week as well. There's nothing like waking up one morning and not being sure if the sky is really blue, if up is actually up and if there's anything in this world you can actually trust and believe in.
I've got another friend whose father was nearly blind, had surgery for his eye and ended up coming through great. That is, until he got in a very serious car crash this last week. He's got some very serious injuries and on top of that, his eye surgery from earlier this year could be seriously affected.
But this weekend has been one of the hardest for one of Stoofy's friends. God bless my husband. He did something heroic that not everyone can say they've done. He actually saved a friend's life. His friend has been having a rough go of it for YEARS.
He's an Army vet with very severe PTSD. He's had some seriously bad breaks. His ex-wife left him with 4 kids (not all of which are his) as she went on a multi-state crime spree and ended up in federal prison. His mom, who he cares for, has had cancer. And he's having an incredibly hard time keeping a job. So of course that means he's not making ends meet.
His story will make you cry. It makes me cry every time I think about it. And Friday night he finally had enough. He began saying his goodbyes to the world. And that included my husband. But Stoofy recognized the signs and immediately went to his house. Thank God he did. Because without Stoofy, his friend would have ended his life. His reasoning is that his kids would at least get more from social security than what he could provide for them. He couldn't even afford to send them to a Christmas party for $3 each this year.
He finally had enough and was ready to check out. Without Stoofy, he would have. But my husband got there with enough time to take the gun away from him. And he and I have been working feverishly the last couple of days to get him help.
Because there is nothing worse in this world than to know one of our true American heroes, who has sacrificed his life for our country, can't provide for his young children. That we as Americans have let him slip through the cracks. Our government, and the system Congress keeps fucking up daily, has failed him greatly.
So for God's sake, before you start complaining that you don't have enough time to finish that last batch of cookies or that you ran out of bows for your kid's presents, just shut the hell up. Because you have nothing to complain about.
Overall, this has been an incredibly hard year for me and Stoofy. Probably the hardest year of our lives. And if it weren't for Elly, we both agree this year could make it to the top of the list of worst years ever. No joke. Yet, we've got our health. We haven't gone completely bankrupt. We've managed to get through our hard times and things seem to finally be picking up and tides have turned.
Abby's been having a rough go of things this week as well. There's nothing like waking up one morning and not being sure if the sky is really blue, if up is actually up and if there's anything in this world you can actually trust and believe in.
I've got another friend whose father was nearly blind, had surgery for his eye and ended up coming through great. That is, until he got in a very serious car crash this last week. He's got some very serious injuries and on top of that, his eye surgery from earlier this year could be seriously affected.
But this weekend has been one of the hardest for one of Stoofy's friends. God bless my husband. He did something heroic that not everyone can say they've done. He actually saved a friend's life. His friend has been having a rough go of it for YEARS.
He's an Army vet with very severe PTSD. He's had some seriously bad breaks. His ex-wife left him with 4 kids (not all of which are his) as she went on a multi-state crime spree and ended up in federal prison. His mom, who he cares for, has had cancer. And he's having an incredibly hard time keeping a job. So of course that means he's not making ends meet.
His story will make you cry. It makes me cry every time I think about it. And Friday night he finally had enough. He began saying his goodbyes to the world. And that included my husband. But Stoofy recognized the signs and immediately went to his house. Thank God he did. Because without Stoofy, his friend would have ended his life. His reasoning is that his kids would at least get more from social security than what he could provide for them. He couldn't even afford to send them to a Christmas party for $3 each this year.
He finally had enough and was ready to check out. Without Stoofy, he would have. But my husband got there with enough time to take the gun away from him. And he and I have been working feverishly the last couple of days to get him help.
Because there is nothing worse in this world than to know one of our true American heroes, who has sacrificed his life for our country, can't provide for his young children. That we as Americans have let him slip through the cracks. Our government, and the system Congress keeps fucking up daily, has failed him greatly.
So for God's sake, before you start complaining that you don't have enough time to finish that last batch of cookies or that you ran out of bows for your kid's presents, just shut the hell up. Because you have nothing to complain about.
Friday, December 16, 2011
Elly's New Friend
So Elly has a new friend. Actually a couple new friends. You may be wondering how the hell does a 9 month old have so many friends? Well, don't worry.
One is Mickey Mouse. And not the one you and I grew up on. This one is a digital CG animated one who sings "Hot dog, hot dog, hot diggity dog!" (The tune is actually pretty catchy. So much so I googled the words so I could sing it right because there's nothing more annoying than making a fool out of yourself singing a children's song wrong.)
And I mean "Oh boy!" (please read that in your high-pitched Mickey Mouse voice) is the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse one of her favorite shows. For being so young I'm worried about her watching any kind of TV, yet she seems to really enjoy MMCH so much that I find I give in to it. That and it's sucked me in. Disney bastards. (please read that with a gruff, annoyed mom voice.)
Her other new friend is my savior! She's Ms. B and she's Elly's care giver when Stoofy and I are at work. I knew she was the one when Elly slobbered all over her face upon meeting her. Not to mention that Ms. B didn't seem to mind one bit!
Ms. B is a God send for me! She makes my days easier since I don't have to worry about Elly every single second I'm away from her. (And let's be honest, of course I'm going to, but the level and brain power that I use to worry is much less because of Ms. B.)
She helps me keep track of what Elly's been eating. How much she's been sleeping (or rather, not sleeping), and just entertaining me with videos of my daughter having laughing fits at the dog!
Ms. B even made christmas ornaments with Elly for us! I couldn't be more pleased!
And what's crazy about the whole situation, is that originally Elly was going to be watched by another friend of mine. But after she found new employment (2 weeks before I started my new job), we were back to square one. I had a minor panic attack (not that I fault my friend, but the timing was pretty fucking scary! I'm pretty much anti-major change), but Ms. B was there to step up to the plate I like to call Ms. Bakedgood's Wild Ride!
So now she's got a total of nine friends: Mumma, Dadda, Mema, Aunt Abby, Charlie, Moxie, TT, and Mickey and now Ms. B. I can't wait to meet her 10 month friend!
One is Mickey Mouse. And not the one you and I grew up on. This one is a digital CG animated one who sings "Hot dog, hot dog, hot diggity dog!" (The tune is actually pretty catchy. So much so I googled the words so I could sing it right because there's nothing more annoying than making a fool out of yourself singing a children's song wrong.)
And I mean "Oh boy!" (please read that in your high-pitched Mickey Mouse voice) is the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse one of her favorite shows. For being so young I'm worried about her watching any kind of TV, yet she seems to really enjoy MMCH so much that I find I give in to it. That and it's sucked me in. Disney bastards. (please read that with a gruff, annoyed mom voice.)
Her other new friend is my savior! She's Ms. B and she's Elly's care giver when Stoofy and I are at work. I knew she was the one when Elly slobbered all over her face upon meeting her. Not to mention that Ms. B didn't seem to mind one bit!
Ms. B is a God send for me! She makes my days easier since I don't have to worry about Elly every single second I'm away from her. (And let's be honest, of course I'm going to, but the level and brain power that I use to worry is much less because of Ms. B.)
She helps me keep track of what Elly's been eating. How much she's been sleeping (or rather, not sleeping), and just entertaining me with videos of my daughter having laughing fits at the dog!
Ms. B even made christmas ornaments with Elly for us! I couldn't be more pleased!
And what's crazy about the whole situation, is that originally Elly was going to be watched by another friend of mine. But after she found new employment (2 weeks before I started my new job), we were back to square one. I had a minor panic attack (not that I fault my friend, but the timing was pretty fucking scary! I'm pretty much anti-major change), but Ms. B was there to step up to the plate I like to call Ms. Bakedgood's Wild Ride!
So now she's got a total of nine friends: Mumma, Dadda, Mema, Aunt Abby, Charlie, Moxie, TT, and Mickey and now Ms. B. I can't wait to meet her 10 month friend!
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Vanilla Tuna
I'm a part of various groups, whether in person or in the interwebs. One of my virtual groups of friends is having a Secret Santa party in reality. It should be a lot of fun because so many of us have met a couple people personally in the group, but not everyone has met everyone personally. Yet, we're all friends.
We know certain funny stories about each other, we have a good idea of what our kids like, who our celebrity crushes are, etc. But if I had to pick one of them out of a line-up, there's about a 50/50 chance I wouldn't even come close!
And because of this, it makes the Secret Santa aspect of the party that much more fun. Because you could pick someone that you DON'T EVEN KNOW! So everything about them is pretty much foreign to you. Talk about the ultimate secret!
I mean I know that A doesn't like the sight of breast feeding. It totally grosses her out. B loves to have sex with the windows open so the neighbors get jealous. C pretty much wants to murder her husband once a week and is looking for volunteers to help bury the body. And D, well, she's just a trip and is having lots of great sex with her husband.
The fact of the matter is, I know that J makes great food, K just had a baby and L can put us all to shame with crazy kids stories. I know who's puking or shitting at any moment in time. I know who's just had sex, who's constipated, who's two minutes from strangling their kids, and who just put a hex on their neighbor. (Why we all feel the need to share these intimate details of our lives, no clue. Maybe it has to do with the fact that we don't all know each other personally. Maybe after we meet we'll hear less about E's runs.)
What I don't know is whether E would rather have a gift card to Starbucks or a homemade scarf. I'm not sure if P likes to shop at Walmart or a locally owned store.
So to help with this, we've all begun to ask random questions about our preferences as a way to know more substantial things about each other. Today's topic: what's our favorite smell?
My only response is: ANYTHING BUT VANILLA!!!!! That smell is quite possibly the most popular smell in America and it grosses me out. And here's why.
Way back in the day when I first joined the military, I used to really like the smell of vanilla. The lotions were a nice touch and as a bonus made my skin smooth. But when I got to my first training location after boot camp, I got my first taste of what the "real Navy" was like. And after the smell of boot camp funk wore off (there really is a distinctive smell you acquire while in basic training. It's not really your fault, it just happens and you can't do anything about it. Same thing happens on deployment. You basically need to scrap everything afterward and start with fresh clothing after you're completely done.) it was back to wanting to smell pretty... pretty vanilla.
Well, the problem is, in the military you get a cross-cut of the American public. (The good, the bad, and the fugly.) I just so happened to end up in school with a young woman who didn't really fully understand the concept of personal hygiene. She didn't understand that you need to take a shower every day, especially after PT. That you must wash your clothes regularly and that includes towels, sheets, and blankets. Washing your hands after using the bathroom was even a stretch for her.
And because of these habits, she ended up being pretty smelly. I felt bad for her because she got put in a room by herself since no one could stand to live with her because of the stench. She actually got held up before transferring to her first official assignment until they could teach her the basics of cleanliness. And when I mean teach her the basics, I mean she was escorted to the shower every day and was watched to make sure she used soap and at least got a PTA (pits, tits, and ass) shower. She was shown how to pour soap into and how to operate the washer.
All of this training obviously sank in a bit, because she realized she was smelly. So what did she do to mask the smell of tuna emanating from her being? She reached for the most trusted scent in America and doused herself in it daily.
At this point, the tuna smell was too far settled into everything she owned (they actually had to repaint the walls in her room when she left, and replaced the furniture because it had seeped into the pores). So the vanilla did absolutely nothing at all for her other than give it a sweet musk additive.
So when I say I want NOTHING to do with the smell of vanilla it's because I think of a big, stinky albacore wafting up from the candle, lotion or body mist. And I just puke a little in mouth because of it.
We know certain funny stories about each other, we have a good idea of what our kids like, who our celebrity crushes are, etc. But if I had to pick one of them out of a line-up, there's about a 50/50 chance I wouldn't even come close!
And because of this, it makes the Secret Santa aspect of the party that much more fun. Because you could pick someone that you DON'T EVEN KNOW! So everything about them is pretty much foreign to you. Talk about the ultimate secret!
I mean I know that A doesn't like the sight of breast feeding. It totally grosses her out. B loves to have sex with the windows open so the neighbors get jealous. C pretty much wants to murder her husband once a week and is looking for volunteers to help bury the body. And D, well, she's just a trip and is having lots of great sex with her husband.
The fact of the matter is, I know that J makes great food, K just had a baby and L can put us all to shame with crazy kids stories. I know who's puking or shitting at any moment in time. I know who's just had sex, who's constipated, who's two minutes from strangling their kids, and who just put a hex on their neighbor. (Why we all feel the need to share these intimate details of our lives, no clue. Maybe it has to do with the fact that we don't all know each other personally. Maybe after we meet we'll hear less about E's runs.)
What I don't know is whether E would rather have a gift card to Starbucks or a homemade scarf. I'm not sure if P likes to shop at Walmart or a locally owned store.
So to help with this, we've all begun to ask random questions about our preferences as a way to know more substantial things about each other. Today's topic: what's our favorite smell?
My only response is: ANYTHING BUT VANILLA!!!!! That smell is quite possibly the most popular smell in America and it grosses me out. And here's why.
Way back in the day when I first joined the military, I used to really like the smell of vanilla. The lotions were a nice touch and as a bonus made my skin smooth. But when I got to my first training location after boot camp, I got my first taste of what the "real Navy" was like. And after the smell of boot camp funk wore off (there really is a distinctive smell you acquire while in basic training. It's not really your fault, it just happens and you can't do anything about it. Same thing happens on deployment. You basically need to scrap everything afterward and start with fresh clothing after you're completely done.) it was back to wanting to smell pretty... pretty vanilla.
Well, the problem is, in the military you get a cross-cut of the American public. (The good, the bad, and the fugly.) I just so happened to end up in school with a young woman who didn't really fully understand the concept of personal hygiene. She didn't understand that you need to take a shower every day, especially after PT. That you must wash your clothes regularly and that includes towels, sheets, and blankets. Washing your hands after using the bathroom was even a stretch for her.
And because of these habits, she ended up being pretty smelly. I felt bad for her because she got put in a room by herself since no one could stand to live with her because of the stench. She actually got held up before transferring to her first official assignment until they could teach her the basics of cleanliness. And when I mean teach her the basics, I mean she was escorted to the shower every day and was watched to make sure she used soap and at least got a PTA (pits, tits, and ass) shower. She was shown how to pour soap into and how to operate the washer.
All of this training obviously sank in a bit, because she realized she was smelly. So what did she do to mask the smell of tuna emanating from her being? She reached for the most trusted scent in America and doused herself in it daily.
At this point, the tuna smell was too far settled into everything she owned (they actually had to repaint the walls in her room when she left, and replaced the furniture because it had seeped into the pores). So the vanilla did absolutely nothing at all for her other than give it a sweet musk additive.
So when I say I want NOTHING to do with the smell of vanilla it's because I think of a big, stinky albacore wafting up from the candle, lotion or body mist. And I just puke a little in mouth because of it.
Back From Jupiter
Well, I'm officially back from my month-long trip to Jupiter and my mini trip to the moon. Obviously that's where I've been since I haven't been here in FOR-EV-ER (said in the Smalls from Sandlot voice). And for that I apologize!
A lot has been happening and it's been exciting and overwhelming. I have about 15 stories, tales, and adventures that are sitting half finished just waiting for the finishing touches. (For some of them I'll just scrape off the mold and call it good, like what you do with old cheese.) Yet, I seem to keep getting pulled away by a force of nature from them.
It might have to do with Elly constantly yanking my hair and face for attention, or the fact that I just started a new job. Or maybe that Stoofy also just started a new job. Anyway, let me get hard to work today on those riviting stories of technicolor poop, working mom's guilt, how I suck at time management, Elly's latest firsts, Elly gets a new friend, and the crem de la crem... meeting the General of my dreams!
So stay tuned, there's lots to come! I promise to keep you entertained through the holidays. And feel free to share my stories with your families this holiday season! ;-) Don't forget, I love shameless promotion!
A lot has been happening and it's been exciting and overwhelming. I have about 15 stories, tales, and adventures that are sitting half finished just waiting for the finishing touches. (For some of them I'll just scrape off the mold and call it good, like what you do with old cheese.) Yet, I seem to keep getting pulled away by a force of nature from them.
It might have to do with Elly constantly yanking my hair and face for attention, or the fact that I just started a new job. Or maybe that Stoofy also just started a new job. Anyway, let me get hard to work today on those riviting stories of technicolor poop, working mom's guilt, how I suck at time management, Elly's latest firsts, Elly gets a new friend, and the crem de la crem... meeting the General of my dreams!
So stay tuned, there's lots to come! I promise to keep you entertained through the holidays. And feel free to share my stories with your families this holiday season! ;-) Don't forget, I love shameless promotion!
Thursday, November 10, 2011
I Have a Confession
Today I made a pretty major confession to Abby. She and I (now that we're all roommates) gab often when we catch each other in the evenings. We like to catch up and talk about girl things. You know... the latest reality show junk, politics and how things are going down the shitter, sports (What? girls like sports! Especially hockey!), and of course, Elly!
We also talk often of our beauty regiments because honestly, we’re not getting any younger. So of course, gray hair came up in the conversation. I told her how every time someone cuts my hair, I request they check for grays. Abby informed me that one of Bif's jobs is to be on gray hair lookout. (Not really sure if he likes that job, but it comes with the boyfriend territory. Prepares a man for much worse during marriage. I'm just sayin'...)
His other job is to help knead the knots out of her ass.
Yeah, you heard me right. And no, it's not a sexual thing. I have the same damn problem. I make Stoofy help massage my flabby ass often. You see, there's a pinched nerve deep in the fatty tissue that is my buttocks.
I think I read a long while ago (maybe like 10 years ago in health class) that women commonly have problems like this because of the way their nerves run through their pelvis. The shape of a woman's pelvis is different from a man's to make room for pushing a watermelon through her cu-ca during child birth. Basically to sum it all up, shit gets pinched. (Note: I am not a medical expert. If you try to use this as your own personal web-MD, I’ll laugh at you and call you a moron. If you have a problem, go to the doctor dumbass.)
WARNING: the next part is going to get real, folks!
My ass has been acting up pretty bad this last week. I got so desperate that I began to get creative with objects to help alleviate the pressure. (Stoofy's been working long hours and has no desire to punch his knuckles into my butt.) I found the most perfect thing in the whole house! It's seriously an object no woman should ever be without! (Especially if your man's not around to help!)
NO YOU PERV! Get your mind out of the gutter!
It's a spatula!
Yup, I was so desperate the other day in the kitchen that I whipped open the kitchen drawers and looked for something hard but gentle, long but thick, and pointy enough to get the job done. It just so happens that Abby has the most perfect spatula in her drawer and I snagged that bitch and immediately plunged it into the right side of my ass.
And wouldn't you know, it did the trick! That was the most relief I've had in days. I finally got full feeling back to my leg, no pinched pain radiating from the deepest of my pelvis.
After I was done, I did the right thing and threw it into the dishwasher to be sanitized. Because even though I didn't do anything inappropriate and I had clothes on the whole time, it seemed incredibly necessary.
I also had no intentions of telling Abby. Because even those she's seen just about every inch of my body while watching me give birth to Elly, and I've witnessed her changing her pants in the front seat of my car, there's still some things that should probably be left unsaid even amongst your very best friends.
Well.... until today. When she mentioned that Bif was on butt patrol as well as hair lookout. I couldn't help but fess up to her that if he's not around, the best tool to help with the pain was her spatula. To which she busted up laughing uncontrollably because honestly, how ridiculous is it that your roommate just fessed up to using the kitchen utensil you use to flip flapjacks on their ass to also reduce pain and pressure? It's pretty absurd.
But I felt a lot better after confession. And that's what's good about confessing things. It gets it off your chest and now she'll understand why she just got a brand new spatula without my having to lie. And I’ll know where it went to if I don’t see Bif around for a few days and there haven’t been any pancakes around.
We also talk often of our beauty regiments because honestly, we’re not getting any younger. So of course, gray hair came up in the conversation. I told her how every time someone cuts my hair, I request they check for grays. Abby informed me that one of Bif's jobs is to be on gray hair lookout. (Not really sure if he likes that job, but it comes with the boyfriend territory. Prepares a man for much worse during marriage. I'm just sayin'...)
His other job is to help knead the knots out of her ass.
Yeah, you heard me right. And no, it's not a sexual thing. I have the same damn problem. I make Stoofy help massage my flabby ass often. You see, there's a pinched nerve deep in the fatty tissue that is my buttocks.
I think I read a long while ago (maybe like 10 years ago in health class) that women commonly have problems like this because of the way their nerves run through their pelvis. The shape of a woman's pelvis is different from a man's to make room for pushing a watermelon through her cu-ca during child birth. Basically to sum it all up, shit gets pinched. (Note: I am not a medical expert. If you try to use this as your own personal web-MD, I’ll laugh at you and call you a moron. If you have a problem, go to the doctor dumbass.)
WARNING: the next part is going to get real, folks!
My ass has been acting up pretty bad this last week. I got so desperate that I began to get creative with objects to help alleviate the pressure. (Stoofy's been working long hours and has no desire to punch his knuckles into my butt.) I found the most perfect thing in the whole house! It's seriously an object no woman should ever be without! (Especially if your man's not around to help!)
NO YOU PERV! Get your mind out of the gutter!
It's a spatula!
Yup, I was so desperate the other day in the kitchen that I whipped open the kitchen drawers and looked for something hard but gentle, long but thick, and pointy enough to get the job done. It just so happens that Abby has the most perfect spatula in her drawer and I snagged that bitch and immediately plunged it into the right side of my ass.
And wouldn't you know, it did the trick! That was the most relief I've had in days. I finally got full feeling back to my leg, no pinched pain radiating from the deepest of my pelvis.
After I was done, I did the right thing and threw it into the dishwasher to be sanitized. Because even though I didn't do anything inappropriate and I had clothes on the whole time, it seemed incredibly necessary.
I also had no intentions of telling Abby. Because even those she's seen just about every inch of my body while watching me give birth to Elly, and I've witnessed her changing her pants in the front seat of my car, there's still some things that should probably be left unsaid even amongst your very best friends.
Well.... until today. When she mentioned that Bif was on butt patrol as well as hair lookout. I couldn't help but fess up to her that if he's not around, the best tool to help with the pain was her spatula. To which she busted up laughing uncontrollably because honestly, how ridiculous is it that your roommate just fessed up to using the kitchen utensil you use to flip flapjacks on their ass to also reduce pain and pressure? It's pretty absurd.
But I felt a lot better after confession. And that's what's good about confessing things. It gets it off your chest and now she'll understand why she just got a brand new spatula without my having to lie. And I’ll know where it went to if I don’t see Bif around for a few days and there haven’t been any pancakes around.
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Christmas Shopping
Now that it's November, it's time to get down to serious business... Christmas shopping. Don't get me wrong, I will be celebrating November in all its glory all month long and I do NOT do anything Christmasy until at LEAST the day after Thanksgiving.
I'm very particular about this for a few reasons. The most important is that my birthday is at the end of November and I have no intention of getting into the Christmas spirit until AFTER the best day of the year. This year it rocks even more because while you're all eating your Thanksgiving dinner, I'll be eating my BIRTHDAY FEAST! (In case you can't figure out the most obvious hints here, my birthday falls on Thanksgiving day this year. I can message you my address for birthday cards if you'd like! :-D )
But the one Christmas thing I do take advantage of during the last month of fall (my favorite season, which is another reason I try to prolong my love of November) is the Christmas shopping deals. I have no choice because the damn retailers force you to think about Christmas starting in August. (I wish that was a lie, but I saw Christmas lights at home depot in August. I'm just sayin'... fucking corporate America!)
This year is even more exciting because we have Elly to shop for. This means more toys! I say more toys because last year Stoofy and I got each other legos. What can I say, we're big kids.
We already got her the first of a couple gifts. I have no intention of going overboard since she'll barely be 10 months old at Christmas. What does she even know about getting gifts yet? Plus, I need to take advantage of the few years I have before she can talk and then demand what she wants from Santa. Plus I buy something for her nearly every time I leave the house. To her, every day is Christmas.
But to be honest, I was SO EXCITIED when the Toys R Us Christmas catalog arrived at our front doorstep!!! I flipped through all of those pages making a mental list of all the things I wanted. I mean I wanted to get Elly, you know, so I could play with her.
There were oodles of baby toys, but I didn't stop there. I couldn't help but love the Kitchen Aide all-in-one kitchen and matching refrigerator and washer/dryer set, the craftsman work bench complete with toy chain saw and tool belt, and the ultimate Barbie dream house and really everything Barbie. (It blows my mind that the family camper is $75 by the way.) Plus thousands and thousands of Lego pieces all waiting for me to assemble into the most elaborate of creations.
I just kept making a mental note of all the things I wanted... for Elly of course. And that's when I realized how happy I was to have a little girl. Because she can have the tea set and the tool belt and we can play together! (That and I can pass off all the toys I want to play with as toys for her.)
Like I said, I was super excited about the mega toy catalog. Elly was excited too.... she had a blast ripping the paper to shreds and eating it. Let's hope one day she enjoys picking out toys as much as I do, but not too soon. My budget might not be able to handle that!
I'm very particular about this for a few reasons. The most important is that my birthday is at the end of November and I have no intention of getting into the Christmas spirit until AFTER the best day of the year. This year it rocks even more because while you're all eating your Thanksgiving dinner, I'll be eating my BIRTHDAY FEAST! (In case you can't figure out the most obvious hints here, my birthday falls on Thanksgiving day this year. I can message you my address for birthday cards if you'd like! :-D )
But the one Christmas thing I do take advantage of during the last month of fall (my favorite season, which is another reason I try to prolong my love of November) is the Christmas shopping deals. I have no choice because the damn retailers force you to think about Christmas starting in August. (I wish that was a lie, but I saw Christmas lights at home depot in August. I'm just sayin'... fucking corporate America!)
This year is even more exciting because we have Elly to shop for. This means more toys! I say more toys because last year Stoofy and I got each other legos. What can I say, we're big kids.
We already got her the first of a couple gifts. I have no intention of going overboard since she'll barely be 10 months old at Christmas. What does she even know about getting gifts yet? Plus, I need to take advantage of the few years I have before she can talk and then demand what she wants from Santa. Plus I buy something for her nearly every time I leave the house. To her, every day is Christmas.
But to be honest, I was SO EXCITIED when the Toys R Us Christmas catalog arrived at our front doorstep!!! I flipped through all of those pages making a mental list of all the things I wanted. I mean I wanted to get Elly, you know, so I could play with her.
There were oodles of baby toys, but I didn't stop there. I couldn't help but love the Kitchen Aide all-in-one kitchen and matching refrigerator and washer/dryer set, the craftsman work bench complete with toy chain saw and tool belt, and the ultimate Barbie dream house and really everything Barbie. (It blows my mind that the family camper is $75 by the way.) Plus thousands and thousands of Lego pieces all waiting for me to assemble into the most elaborate of creations.
I just kept making a mental note of all the things I wanted... for Elly of course. And that's when I realized how happy I was to have a little girl. Because she can have the tea set and the tool belt and we can play together! (That and I can pass off all the toys I want to play with as toys for her.)
Like I said, I was super excited about the mega toy catalog. Elly was excited too.... she had a blast ripping the paper to shreds and eating it. Let's hope one day she enjoys picking out toys as much as I do, but not too soon. My budget might not be able to handle that!
Monday, November 7, 2011
World of Wild Crafters
You know World of Warcraft? (Yeah, I don’t either. I've heard about it, but I really have no idea what it is...) Well, if you don't know about WoW, I'm almost sure you probably don't know about the WoWC!
WoWC is the World of Wild Crafters. I know, you're thinking, how crazy could crafters be? Other than the occasional hot glue gun accident or needle incident, there can't be too much to it, right? WRONG!!! The crafting world is filled with enough characters to write a spinoff of Harry Potter or Melrose Place (the original one).
You've got your scrappbookers (they're a bunch of cutters), your cake and candy makers (they're usually my favorite because I never turn down food), floral arrangement ladies (I'm pretty sure they're all born in the spring and named April), wood workers (their slogan is "We do it against the grain"), painters and photographers (that's like a Hatfield and McCoy feud. And the framers are stuck in the middle).
There's the jewelry makers (who are easily distracted by all their shiny things) and the needle point girls (don't piss them off unless you want a needle to the eye). And don't forget the quilters out there. (They are usually found in gangs they like to call guilds and they're like the Masons of Crafting. Once you've made a rambling rose quilt with appliqué you reach the 33rd Degree and get a special ring.)
And then you have the knitters and crotcheter. They're a tough crowd. And you're usually one or the other. No bi-craftials allowed! (I don't consider myself bi-craftial. Instead, I consider myself an ambassador between the two sides since I do both.) I know, I know. You're thinking "Betty, I think you've finally cracked." But honestly, this is serious business!
You see, being a military spouse means you move around a lot just like your servicemember. It's usually really hard to keep bouncing from job to job. Not to mention the cost of day care is pretty much absurd. So many wives find ways to keep themselves busy, and market their hobby as a means of extra income. Shit, I'd do the same damn thing if I could. I totally want to make money off of what I love to do, and was going to do anyway! (Isn't there a saying about if you're doing what you love then it's not really called work?)
Well, in the WoWC on a military base, you end up having many people that do very similar things. It's inevitable. It's not like there's one knitter or only one baker in the world. I mean, we do live in America. In case you didn't get the news flash, we support capitalism here (unless you're busy occupying Wall Street).
Turns out, when there's a little competition, some just can't handle it. It's gotten so serious lately, people are starting to de-friend others! I mean wow! This is EXTREME!!!! Whoever said crafters are a bunch of boring old ladies has no idea what they're talking about. This shit is the makings of the next hit reality show!
And apparently the wives are involving the husbands as well. When I told Stoofy about this, he scoffed.
S: "You women find the most ridiculous things to bitch about. You wanna know what those guys are saying? 'Dude, did your wife bitch at you when you got home? Yeah. Me too. Over crocheting? Yeah! FUCKING IDIOTS!'"
When I explained this is serious business and there's now competition, he replied:
S: "Everybody's got somebody else! McDonald's has Burger King. PF Changs has Panda Express. Everyone has competition. Get over it!" (This is where I realized we’re both fat kids because we’re using food chains as an analogy.)
Me? Well everyone's got a blog in this world. I just have to figure out what my gimmick is to keep hooking readers. (Hahaha! I said hooking! I'm now a pimp! You’re all my bitches!) Maybe if I can't hack it as a blogger I'll keep working on the script for my new pilot show Crochet Drama: Secrets of the WoWC. Maybe Snooki would be available for the lead role?
WoWC is the World of Wild Crafters. I know, you're thinking, how crazy could crafters be? Other than the occasional hot glue gun accident or needle incident, there can't be too much to it, right? WRONG!!! The crafting world is filled with enough characters to write a spinoff of Harry Potter or Melrose Place (the original one).
You've got your scrappbookers (they're a bunch of cutters), your cake and candy makers (they're usually my favorite because I never turn down food), floral arrangement ladies (I'm pretty sure they're all born in the spring and named April), wood workers (their slogan is "We do it against the grain"), painters and photographers (that's like a Hatfield and McCoy feud. And the framers are stuck in the middle).
There's the jewelry makers (who are easily distracted by all their shiny things) and the needle point girls (don't piss them off unless you want a needle to the eye). And don't forget the quilters out there. (They are usually found in gangs they like to call guilds and they're like the Masons of Crafting. Once you've made a rambling rose quilt with appliqué you reach the 33rd Degree and get a special ring.)
And then you have the knitters and crotcheter. They're a tough crowd. And you're usually one or the other. No bi-craftials allowed! (I don't consider myself bi-craftial. Instead, I consider myself an ambassador between the two sides since I do both.) I know, I know. You're thinking "Betty, I think you've finally cracked." But honestly, this is serious business!
You see, being a military spouse means you move around a lot just like your servicemember. It's usually really hard to keep bouncing from job to job. Not to mention the cost of day care is pretty much absurd. So many wives find ways to keep themselves busy, and market their hobby as a means of extra income. Shit, I'd do the same damn thing if I could. I totally want to make money off of what I love to do, and was going to do anyway! (Isn't there a saying about if you're doing what you love then it's not really called work?)
Well, in the WoWC on a military base, you end up having many people that do very similar things. It's inevitable. It's not like there's one knitter or only one baker in the world. I mean, we do live in America. In case you didn't get the news flash, we support capitalism here (unless you're busy occupying Wall Street).
Turns out, when there's a little competition, some just can't handle it. It's gotten so serious lately, people are starting to de-friend others! I mean wow! This is EXTREME!!!! Whoever said crafters are a bunch of boring old ladies has no idea what they're talking about. This shit is the makings of the next hit reality show!
And apparently the wives are involving the husbands as well. When I told Stoofy about this, he scoffed.
S: "You women find the most ridiculous things to bitch about. You wanna know what those guys are saying? 'Dude, did your wife bitch at you when you got home? Yeah. Me too. Over crocheting? Yeah! FUCKING IDIOTS!'"
When I explained this is serious business and there's now competition, he replied:
S: "Everybody's got somebody else! McDonald's has Burger King. PF Changs has Panda Express. Everyone has competition. Get over it!" (This is where I realized we’re both fat kids because we’re using food chains as an analogy.)
Me? Well everyone's got a blog in this world. I just have to figure out what my gimmick is to keep hooking readers. (Hahaha! I said hooking! I'm now a pimp! You’re all my bitches!) Maybe if I can't hack it as a blogger I'll keep working on the script for my new pilot show Crochet Drama: Secrets of the WoWC. Maybe Snooki would be available for the lead role?
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
Shoot Me Now
Yup, just go ahead and shoot me now. I won't mind. I'll even write you a permission slip to the cops saying it was totally ok and I actually asked for it. Because honestly, I'm so sleep deprived right now, I'd sign off on just about anything! (Except Stoofy buying a boat. I'd probably kill him if that happened.)
The problem is that Elly no longer sleeps. And when I say no sleep, I mean screams for an hour at a time throughout the night a couple times a night, every night.
And she doesn't really nap. And when I say she doesn't nap, I mean she takes three 20 minute naps a day, tops. If I'm super lucky, every now and then, she'll sleep (in my arms because the moment I put her down she wakes up wailing) about 40 minutes. But those days are rare.
I don't get it. This has been going on for about a month and half. She was like this before moving, so I don't feel like it's because of the move. She has the same routine every day, I am a pretty routine girl myself. She's been trying a few new foods here and there, but she's enjoying them and her system seems to be processing them just fine. (Output is working just as well as her input!)
She has the exact same bed time routine at the exact same time every night. At 7:00 PM she gets a bath, rocks together with either mom or dad and gets a bottle. She sometimes drifts off with no problems, sometimes it's torture.
And then the hell begins. She'll sleep for a couple hours, then wakes up with night-terrors. (Or whatever the baby equivalent is to night terrors.) She startles herself awake and just starts SCREAMING!!!!
It's flat out awful. Because there's absolutely nothing that will stop the crying. She's not hungry, she isn't sick. She just doesn't want to sleep. I give her teething tablets for any pain, if she's got a fever from teething, I give her baby Tylenol. Nothing seems to work.
It kills me to no end that she doesn't sleep. Not only do Stoofy and I not sleep, it kills me that she doesn't either. But what kills me even more is that she wakes up early and is always chipper. Like a cartoon chipmunk chipper.
She's laughing and smiling and it's like nothing happened. I kind of think a gremlin takes over her body after 6:00 PM every night, and then evades her body by 6:00 AM. I really can't think of any other explanation because baby night-terrors sounds even more farfetched.
I mean, what the hell could cause a nightmare for a baby? Flashbacks to birth? What else could there be? And at what point do you even start dreaming in life? And if she's dreaming, what is she dreaming of? It's not like she knows what the lottery is, so she can't dream about winning it the way that I do. So I just don't get it.
Just like I don't get any sleep. It's time to start stocking up on coffee for mumma and baby Unisom for Elly. (That's a joke, I'm not actually drugging my child... unless someone finds a legal loophole of course. Like I said, I'd sign off on just about anything right now.)
The problem is that Elly no longer sleeps. And when I say no sleep, I mean screams for an hour at a time throughout the night a couple times a night, every night.
And she doesn't really nap. And when I say she doesn't nap, I mean she takes three 20 minute naps a day, tops. If I'm super lucky, every now and then, she'll sleep (in my arms because the moment I put her down she wakes up wailing) about 40 minutes. But those days are rare.
I don't get it. This has been going on for about a month and half. She was like this before moving, so I don't feel like it's because of the move. She has the same routine every day, I am a pretty routine girl myself. She's been trying a few new foods here and there, but she's enjoying them and her system seems to be processing them just fine. (Output is working just as well as her input!)
She has the exact same bed time routine at the exact same time every night. At 7:00 PM she gets a bath, rocks together with either mom or dad and gets a bottle. She sometimes drifts off with no problems, sometimes it's torture.
And then the hell begins. She'll sleep for a couple hours, then wakes up with night-terrors. (Or whatever the baby equivalent is to night terrors.) She startles herself awake and just starts SCREAMING!!!!
It's flat out awful. Because there's absolutely nothing that will stop the crying. She's not hungry, she isn't sick. She just doesn't want to sleep. I give her teething tablets for any pain, if she's got a fever from teething, I give her baby Tylenol. Nothing seems to work.
It kills me to no end that she doesn't sleep. Not only do Stoofy and I not sleep, it kills me that she doesn't either. But what kills me even more is that she wakes up early and is always chipper. Like a cartoon chipmunk chipper.
She's laughing and smiling and it's like nothing happened. I kind of think a gremlin takes over her body after 6:00 PM every night, and then evades her body by 6:00 AM. I really can't think of any other explanation because baby night-terrors sounds even more farfetched.
I mean, what the hell could cause a nightmare for a baby? Flashbacks to birth? What else could there be? And at what point do you even start dreaming in life? And if she's dreaming, what is she dreaming of? It's not like she knows what the lottery is, so she can't dream about winning it the way that I do. So I just don't get it.
Just like I don't get any sleep. It's time to start stocking up on coffee for mumma and baby Unisom for Elly. (That's a joke, I'm not actually drugging my child... unless someone finds a legal loophole of course. Like I said, I'd sign off on just about anything right now.)
Shake What Your Mamma Gave Ya
Before becoming a mom, I used to buy the loudest and most obnoxious toys I could find as gifts for all the kids I knew. I did it knowing the parents would hate me. I'm evil like that, because honestly, as a young single girl, what did I care? I now realize just how awful of a human being I was for doing that. (I should probably make a trip to confession for it very soon.)
Because it seems as though every toy manufactured nowadays is loud. Very loud. (Makes me wonder if this is China's master plan: drive parents insane and pounce when we're at our weakest.) Every toy literally has a bell or whistle on it. They all require batteries. Half of them come with an option on which language your child learns.
And yet, I keep acquiring the loudest toys ever. By my own choice. (Read: I'm a masochist.)
I just got Elly a new toy. It's one of those Leap Frog activity tables and it's got a million buttons and makes millions of noises. What can I say? I'm a hoarder. And it's a good thing, because she LOVES it!
It's possibly her new favorite toy! She's so entertained by all the flashing lights and songs. She stands, clinging to the table, and bounces along to the songs. (I also do my part in singing along with it.) And as she keeps dancing, I can't help but think... dear God, I hope this isn't a sign of the future: table dancing!
Because as she's standing there in only her diaper (because I don't feel like wrestling her into her onsie right this second), shaking and dancing all over the place, I can't help but worry. I mean, maybe I've been watching Dena do the Jersey Turnpike one too many times in Italy. Or maybe it's the flashbacks I'm having of dancing at Clutch Cargos (Pontiac!!! What up!) that worries me. Either way, her dancing scares me.
As I watch my daughter grow, I can't help but to be amazed at how similar she is to me. How her funny little personality is a lot like mine already. And then it hits me, I'm raising me and that's just scary!
But on the other hand, she's only 8 months old. What does she know about the bootypop? Until then Elly, just keep shakin' what your mama gave ya!
Because it seems as though every toy manufactured nowadays is loud. Very loud. (Makes me wonder if this is China's master plan: drive parents insane and pounce when we're at our weakest.) Every toy literally has a bell or whistle on it. They all require batteries. Half of them come with an option on which language your child learns.
And yet, I keep acquiring the loudest toys ever. By my own choice. (Read: I'm a masochist.)
I just got Elly a new toy. It's one of those Leap Frog activity tables and it's got a million buttons and makes millions of noises. What can I say? I'm a hoarder. And it's a good thing, because she LOVES it!
It's possibly her new favorite toy! She's so entertained by all the flashing lights and songs. She stands, clinging to the table, and bounces along to the songs. (I also do my part in singing along with it.) And as she keeps dancing, I can't help but think... dear God, I hope this isn't a sign of the future: table dancing!
Because as she's standing there in only her diaper (because I don't feel like wrestling her into her onsie right this second), shaking and dancing all over the place, I can't help but worry. I mean, maybe I've been watching Dena do the Jersey Turnpike one too many times in Italy. Or maybe it's the flashbacks I'm having of dancing at Clutch Cargos (Pontiac!!! What up!) that worries me. Either way, her dancing scares me.
As I watch my daughter grow, I can't help but to be amazed at how similar she is to me. How her funny little personality is a lot like mine already. And then it hits me, I'm raising me and that's just scary!
But on the other hand, she's only 8 months old. What does she know about the bootypop? Until then Elly, just keep shakin' what your mama gave ya!
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
Adventures from the Marine Corps Marathon
Sunday, Abby and her boyfriend Bif finished the Marine Corps Marathon. Talk about exciting! I mean, 26.2 miles is just NUTS! To willingly want to spend HOURS Running... well... we all know how I feel about that. Abby and I have decided the next marathon she'll be participating in is a RHWOWhatever marathon. And I'll be joining her with the ice cream.
Needless to say, I'm very proud of her. It's truly amazing and it's one more thing she can cross off her bucket list. (Here's a tip: don't try to play the one-up game with her. She's been to war, been shot at, and now finished a marathon. She can kick your ass!)
I was also really impressed with how many people came out to run the marathon. People of all ages, shapes and sizes. I saw a kid who looked like he was 12 running. I think he was actually 14. Still, that's just nuts! I saw some very senior looking men running. They clearly were older than my grandparents. Unbelievable!
I saw countless amputees running and cycling. At mile marker 11, I was standing next to a family who was cheering on their dad. He was a double amputee. When he saw them in the crowd, he pulled over and dropped off his arm. (Yes, he actually dropped off his ARM.) Apparently it was bothering him.
And I saw at least 2 blind guys running with their seeing guides. To see a blind guy running a marathon is pretty amazing. If you aren't a runner and you already felt bad about the amputees kicking your non-athletic ass running, watch a blind guy pass you by. You'll hit non-runner rock bottom right there. (And then the 12 year old kid running will pass you by and kick you while you're down.)
I saw at least 3 penguins, a couple bananas, a woopie cushion, 3 guys in suits, 5 guys barefoot, tons in those stupid 5-finger shoes, one guy in moon shoes, plenty of tutus... on men and women (mostly on women though), a woman with booby tassles (the kind strippers at 'Gentlemen's Clubs' wear), a donut and Dunkin' Donut coffee couple, 3 hot shirtless guys, a couple bumblee bees and lady bugs, and TONS of running pumpkins.
I saw a lot of funny signs too! Abby's sign on the back of her camelbak said:
Needless to say, I'm very proud of her. It's truly amazing and it's one more thing she can cross off her bucket list. (Here's a tip: don't try to play the one-up game with her. She's been to war, been shot at, and now finished a marathon. She can kick your ass!)
I was also really impressed with how many people came out to run the marathon. People of all ages, shapes and sizes. I saw a kid who looked like he was 12 running. I think he was actually 14. Still, that's just nuts! I saw some very senior looking men running. They clearly were older than my grandparents. Unbelievable!
I saw countless amputees running and cycling. At mile marker 11, I was standing next to a family who was cheering on their dad. He was a double amputee. When he saw them in the crowd, he pulled over and dropped off his arm. (Yes, he actually dropped off his ARM.) Apparently it was bothering him.
And I saw at least 2 blind guys running with their seeing guides. To see a blind guy running a marathon is pretty amazing. If you aren't a runner and you already felt bad about the amputees kicking your non-athletic ass running, watch a blind guy pass you by. You'll hit non-runner rock bottom right there. (And then the 12 year old kid running will pass you by and kick you while you're down.)
I saw at least 3 penguins, a couple bananas, a woopie cushion, 3 guys in suits, 5 guys barefoot, tons in those stupid 5-finger shoes, one guy in moon shoes, plenty of tutus... on men and women (mostly on women though), a woman with booby tassles (the kind strippers at 'Gentlemen's Clubs' wear), a donut and Dunkin' Donut coffee couple, 3 hot shirtless guys, a couple bumblee bees and lady bugs, and TONS of running pumpkins.
I saw a lot of funny signs too! Abby's sign on the back of her camelbak said:
Needless to say, she's just as funny as I am, if not more. (Side note: She's 90% sure that Drew Carey commented on her sign during the run. She only got a glimpse of his profile, but she's pretty sure it was him. If a professional comedian thinks you're funny, then you're definitely pretty funny.)
Other signs of note Abby and I saw during the day: 'You're one step closer to beer!' 'Staying up all night to make this sign was hard too.' 'Hey perfect stranger, you're doing a great job.'
One thing that I did see a lot of was good and BAD race spectator behavior! Here's a tip, if you're going to cheer on at a race, then you'd better learn the dos and don'ts or be prepared for me to yell at you (like I did to the dad and his kids and the group of middle-aged women who kept standing in the street, clogging the path for the RUNNERS).
Do NOT, I repeat, do NOT stand in the road and block the path for runners! They've got 15.2 more miles to go and don't need to be tripped up by your dumb ass who can't get a good enough glance at the people running past you.
Also, don't run in front of them to get to the other side of the road. You wouldn't run in front of a speeding bus to get to the other side for a better look at it would you? Then why the hell would you run in front of a SWARM of stampeding people running at you? Unless of course you're practicing for Pamplona 2012.
Do cheer on the runners. But don't tell them they're almost there when they have more than 15 miles to go. Even as a non-runner I know that. Telling them that is like telling a fat kid that he can have an entire cake when you've really only got a mini-cupcake to give him. Such a letdown!
The best way to cheer them on is to call out their numbers or for the cool kids who put their names on their shirt (don't worry, this is normal runner behavior. It doesn't mean they should be riding the "special" bus.) you could yell RUN JIM RUN!!! (However, if you're one of those people with a crazy name because your parents didn't like you, maybe you should go with a nick name since morons like me can't figure out how to pronounce your name. Especially if you're speeding past me in a heard.)
I know the next time I cheer at a marathon (it won't be Abby's since she's vowed never to do it again. She's going with the 'one and done' policy. So we'll be cheering on Bif) I'm totally bringing a cowbell and a bullhorn... one with an airhorn in it. Because I want to be so loud that you can hear my cheering you on the entire running course. By the way, I'm available for all your cheering needs. Just let me know when you're next sporting event is and I'll be there... with bells and a bullhorn!
Friday, October 28, 2011
Hoarding
As my status update stated earlier today: My name is Betty and I am a baby toy hoarder. No joke. I cruise all sorts of sights looking for deals on more toys for Elly. When I get her something new, I get excited as if it's for me!
For her at this age, I don't mind buying lots of her toys second hand. Since babies don't have too much of a tendency to destroy their own toys, they're all in good shape and just need new batteries. So for the best deals, I cruise a ton of different sales pages.
The best are the military base sales pages. There are a TON of moms on these pages and they all have kids. Tons of women with tons of kids = TONS OF TOYS!
I get so excited when I see new toys posted on these pages. But it's one of the fastest moving pages I've ever seen. If you want something, you'd better hurry up and call dibs as fast as you can, or you will be left in the dust by someone else.
It's like the ultimate instant rush when you're the first person to claim an item because you've beat out 500+ other women. And it feels like half of them are all out vying for the same things you are.
It's the virtual equivalent to black Friday shopping for the one 'it' toy of the season. You scout out all the locations, check all the ads, and plan your attack. You get in line hours before everything opens and end up running as fast as you can through the aisles to get to the toy section because if you don’t get little Elly that activity table you’ve been wanting to get her, your world might come to an end. So you end up elbowing the other women at the shelves until you rip someone's hair out as you grab the toy out of their hands and run to the register to check out as fast as you can.
Yup, this sales page is kind of like that. But it’s all online, so it’s not as dangerous. There’s no actual elbowing (but there is name calling… it’s usually only heard by my computer screen.) No one's hair is within my grasp. (Probably best since I tend to get overly excited when I want something. Funny how my daughter does the same thing now.)
But now is the BEST time to start cruising the page for toys. Because all these women are cleaning out their kids' toy boxes and making room (and extra cash) for the upcoming Christmas toy season.
It's like hitting the toy box motherload! And what's better is I don't feel terribly guilty for buying so many things. Because like I said, they're used, but in great shape.
Like today for example... I scored an activity table for Elly. Usually those things run around $35+ brand new. I got mine for $8. All I had to do was dust it off with a few clorox wipes. And badabing badaboom, we’ve got ourselves 30 minutes of colors/alphabet fun time!
Tomorrow I'm picking up a basket full of toys that if they were brand new (all Leap Frog stuff) would cost somewhere near $200. I'll be buying them for $20. And since I buy batteries and clorox wipes in bulk, they'll be practically brand new in no time.
So why shouldn't I hoard? What's the point of stopping when I can make room for them all (albeit in random locations and my socks are slowly losing ground in the closet) and they're dirt cheap? Why shouldn't I give my kid everything, but at a fraction of the cost?
Probably because I'm supposed to be shopping for business clothes for me instead. I need to learn to be a clothing hoarder for myself again and probably stop buying stuff for her soon.... but then what kind of mother would I be?
For her at this age, I don't mind buying lots of her toys second hand. Since babies don't have too much of a tendency to destroy their own toys, they're all in good shape and just need new batteries. So for the best deals, I cruise a ton of different sales pages.
The best are the military base sales pages. There are a TON of moms on these pages and they all have kids. Tons of women with tons of kids = TONS OF TOYS!
I get so excited when I see new toys posted on these pages. But it's one of the fastest moving pages I've ever seen. If you want something, you'd better hurry up and call dibs as fast as you can, or you will be left in the dust by someone else.
It's like the ultimate instant rush when you're the first person to claim an item because you've beat out 500+ other women. And it feels like half of them are all out vying for the same things you are.
It's the virtual equivalent to black Friday shopping for the one 'it' toy of the season. You scout out all the locations, check all the ads, and plan your attack. You get in line hours before everything opens and end up running as fast as you can through the aisles to get to the toy section because if you don’t get little Elly that activity table you’ve been wanting to get her, your world might come to an end. So you end up elbowing the other women at the shelves until you rip someone's hair out as you grab the toy out of their hands and run to the register to check out as fast as you can.
Yup, this sales page is kind of like that. But it’s all online, so it’s not as dangerous. There’s no actual elbowing (but there is name calling… it’s usually only heard by my computer screen.) No one's hair is within my grasp. (Probably best since I tend to get overly excited when I want something. Funny how my daughter does the same thing now.)
But now is the BEST time to start cruising the page for toys. Because all these women are cleaning out their kids' toy boxes and making room (and extra cash) for the upcoming Christmas toy season.
It's like hitting the toy box motherload! And what's better is I don't feel terribly guilty for buying so many things. Because like I said, they're used, but in great shape.
Like today for example... I scored an activity table for Elly. Usually those things run around $35+ brand new. I got mine for $8. All I had to do was dust it off with a few clorox wipes. And badabing badaboom, we’ve got ourselves 30 minutes of colors/alphabet fun time!
Tomorrow I'm picking up a basket full of toys that if they were brand new (all Leap Frog stuff) would cost somewhere near $200. I'll be buying them for $20. And since I buy batteries and clorox wipes in bulk, they'll be practically brand new in no time.
So why shouldn't I hoard? What's the point of stopping when I can make room for them all (albeit in random locations and my socks are slowly losing ground in the closet) and they're dirt cheap? Why shouldn't I give my kid everything, but at a fraction of the cost?
Probably because I'm supposed to be shopping for business clothes for me instead. I need to learn to be a clothing hoarder for myself again and probably stop buying stuff for her soon.... but then what kind of mother would I be?
Thursday, October 27, 2011
New Goal, New Desire
This Sunday, Abby is running in the Marine Corps Marathon. This will be her first and she's super nervous. I am excited for her. She's excited about the dunkin' donuts at mile marker 24. We're both fat asses. The difference is she's more willing to run to ensure it's not so obvious... unlike me.
She mentioned tonight that she would be devastated if they ran out of donuts by the time she got to mile 24. She even threatened to quit right then and there.
My part in this marathon is to motivate her. So what did I promise? To make sure that there would be a batch of no-bake cookies at the finish line waiting for her.
So while her goal is to finish the marathon, my goal is to not finish off an entire batch of cookies before she gets there.
Now, there's no way (not even on a full out hungry day) I could finish off that many cookies. However, that's not to say I couldn't find a way to barter with the other people sitting around waiting for their fitness-minded loved ones to finish the run. I'm thinking 2 cookies could easily get me 30 minutes in a comfy chair. And then I figured out what my real new goal is!
To bring you all a blog of what it's like to be at the end of the marathon waiting... Is it like a big swap meet? Will I really be swapping my cookies for other people's services? Or will we be swapping battle stories of race spectating past? Who knows?
What I do know is that I have no desire to run 26.2 miles. But I will be cheering on my crazy friend who does have the desire!
She mentioned tonight that she would be devastated if they ran out of donuts by the time she got to mile 24. She even threatened to quit right then and there.
My part in this marathon is to motivate her. So what did I promise? To make sure that there would be a batch of no-bake cookies at the finish line waiting for her.
So while her goal is to finish the marathon, my goal is to not finish off an entire batch of cookies before she gets there.
Now, there's no way (not even on a full out hungry day) I could finish off that many cookies. However, that's not to say I couldn't find a way to barter with the other people sitting around waiting for their fitness-minded loved ones to finish the run. I'm thinking 2 cookies could easily get me 30 minutes in a comfy chair. And then I figured out what my real new goal is!
To bring you all a blog of what it's like to be at the end of the marathon waiting... Is it like a big swap meet? Will I really be swapping my cookies for other people's services? Or will we be swapping battle stories of race spectating past? Who knows?
What I do know is that I have no desire to run 26.2 miles. But I will be cheering on my crazy friend who does have the desire!
Saturday, October 22, 2011
Nightmares of the Working Mom
I feel like I'm living a nightmare right now. It's weird, because so many things are positively falling into place as I get out of the Navy and transition into the real world. Everything except one: daycare for Elly. Now that we're all moved out of base housing and temporarily settled with Abby, the next hurdle in my life is finding full time daycare.
First of all, watching a marathon of Law and Order: SVU is really not helping my daily panic attacks when it comes to for Elly’s childcare. (Kids getting murdered and neglected all the time. Who the hell let me have the remote?)
And it obviously can't be just any daycare. I have a laundry list of requirements, but when tasked with typing them all out in an ad on Sittercity. I drew a complete blank. I think I'm actually paralyzed with fear just thinking about leaving her with a stranger.
I'm a psycho new mom. Like I take crazy to a new level when it comes to Elly. So I constantly picture wherever I drop her off, the lady will smile and wave, and then as soon as I'm down the street, Elly's left to crawl through glass and cigarette butts, eat the dog food, play with everything dangerous, left in her own filth and the lady that said she spoke English can't actually read any of the instructions I left. I show up and my daughter is completely traumatized and I collapse in a heap of working-mom guilt.
Just typing this is making me cry.
Because there isn't going to be anyone in this world that can do what I do. Not even my own mom, but she's the next best thing! She at least keeps my daughter on a schedule. I on the other hand have let it all go to shit. Ok, so maybe there is at least one person in this world that can do what I do... probably because she's already raised my daughter once when she raised me.
But still....
I keep envisioning child neglect and abuse and just plain old craziness in every daycare. And yet, I'm stuck. We're a two income family. It's what works for us. (Especially in the most expensive place to live in America according to the latest census information. I also live in the #1 wealthiest county in America. The median income is around $89,000. I won't be making that.) So I have no choice but to find daycare.
I'm also a coupon clipper and deal shopper. But this isn't exactly one of those things you become a full-on penny pincher. Because who skimps on their child care? If there's anything in this world that the saying "you get what you paid for" more closely describes, I'd be shocked. Honestly. If you're going to be paying pennies to some secret evil witch, you can't be surprised when you show up at the end of the day to pick up your kid and she's in the oven. But on the other hand, we can't exactly afford an au pair! Geez! We're not one of the Real Housewives of DC couples!
Now, I know I'm making this so much worse in my head than it actually is. I get that.
I know I will eventually find the perfect place for Elly and it will become a second home for her. And maybe that's what scares me just as much (if not more). What if I find a place that's just so perfect, that she likes the babysitter more than me? What happens if she loves her more than me because she spends all day with her and not with me? And now I've come full circle in the working-mom guilt.
This is why I'm living a nightmare right now.
First of all, watching a marathon of Law and Order: SVU is really not helping my daily panic attacks when it comes to for Elly’s childcare. (Kids getting murdered and neglected all the time. Who the hell let me have the remote?)
And it obviously can't be just any daycare. I have a laundry list of requirements, but when tasked with typing them all out in an ad on Sittercity. I drew a complete blank. I think I'm actually paralyzed with fear just thinking about leaving her with a stranger.
I'm a psycho new mom. Like I take crazy to a new level when it comes to Elly. So I constantly picture wherever I drop her off, the lady will smile and wave, and then as soon as I'm down the street, Elly's left to crawl through glass and cigarette butts, eat the dog food, play with everything dangerous, left in her own filth and the lady that said she spoke English can't actually read any of the instructions I left. I show up and my daughter is completely traumatized and I collapse in a heap of working-mom guilt.
Just typing this is making me cry.
Because there isn't going to be anyone in this world that can do what I do. Not even my own mom, but she's the next best thing! She at least keeps my daughter on a schedule. I on the other hand have let it all go to shit. Ok, so maybe there is at least one person in this world that can do what I do... probably because she's already raised my daughter once when she raised me.
But still....
I keep envisioning child neglect and abuse and just plain old craziness in every daycare. And yet, I'm stuck. We're a two income family. It's what works for us. (Especially in the most expensive place to live in America according to the latest census information. I also live in the #1 wealthiest county in America. The median income is around $89,000. I won't be making that.) So I have no choice but to find daycare.
I'm also a coupon clipper and deal shopper. But this isn't exactly one of those things you become a full-on penny pincher. Because who skimps on their child care? If there's anything in this world that the saying "you get what you paid for" more closely describes, I'd be shocked. Honestly. If you're going to be paying pennies to some secret evil witch, you can't be surprised when you show up at the end of the day to pick up your kid and she's in the oven. But on the other hand, we can't exactly afford an au pair! Geez! We're not one of the Real Housewives of DC couples!
Now, I know I'm making this so much worse in my head than it actually is. I get that.
I know I will eventually find the perfect place for Elly and it will become a second home for her. And maybe that's what scares me just as much (if not more). What if I find a place that's just so perfect, that she likes the babysitter more than me? What happens if she loves her more than me because she spends all day with her and not with me? And now I've come full circle in the working-mom guilt.
This is why I'm living a nightmare right now.
Friday, October 21, 2011
Trick or Treat?
I've figured out that my daughter loves my magic tricks. My first act? Letting her play with an empty solo cup. She whacks it around, tries to eat the end, and every once in awhile tries to drink air from it. I like to trick her and pour a small sip of water into the cup when she's not paying attention. That way she gets a special treat when she takes another sip.
It usually ends with me laughing hysterically and her soaking wet and stunned. It's a pretty cool magic trick for a nearly 8 month old kid! And a seriously awesome treat for me!
You know what isn't a cool magic trick for an 8 month old? Putting her binki under a solo cup and then getting another one and trying to mix them up and show her which one it's under. I thought I'd be so cool and "blow her mind." (I actually said those exact words to Stoofy.) Instead, she cared WAY more about the cup than her binki. Cool treat for her, no trick for me.
But my best magic trick of all isn't pulling quarters from her ears. It's actually pulling puffs out of her pants. There is nothing more rewarding as a magician than watching my captive audience's face light up when I pull out her crack from the crevice of her pant folds.
To her, it doesn't matter if it's a fresh puff, or one that's been in her mouth, hand and then pants for awhile. She still loves them and wants to stuff them in her face. She double fists them into her mouth. Every time I watch her grab fistfuls and stuff them in her cute little chipmunk cheeks, I can't help but think she's training a little early for a career in the sport of competitive eating.
So what's a mom to do? Count how many she can gather in her hand and stuff in her mouth at one time! Right now, she's only up to two. Probably best considering she's only got two teeth to try and chomp those things with. Either way it’s a pretty cool trick, and a treat.
At this point, I'm not sure who's doing the tricking and who's doing the treating. I think it's a draw.
It usually ends with me laughing hysterically and her soaking wet and stunned. It's a pretty cool magic trick for a nearly 8 month old kid! And a seriously awesome treat for me!
You know what isn't a cool magic trick for an 8 month old? Putting her binki under a solo cup and then getting another one and trying to mix them up and show her which one it's under. I thought I'd be so cool and "blow her mind." (I actually said those exact words to Stoofy.) Instead, she cared WAY more about the cup than her binki. Cool treat for her, no trick for me.
But my best magic trick of all isn't pulling quarters from her ears. It's actually pulling puffs out of her pants. There is nothing more rewarding as a magician than watching my captive audience's face light up when I pull out her crack from the crevice of her pant folds.
To her, it doesn't matter if it's a fresh puff, or one that's been in her mouth, hand and then pants for awhile. She still loves them and wants to stuff them in her face. She double fists them into her mouth. Every time I watch her grab fistfuls and stuff them in her cute little chipmunk cheeks, I can't help but think she's training a little early for a career in the sport of competitive eating.
So what's a mom to do? Count how many she can gather in her hand and stuff in her mouth at one time! Right now, she's only up to two. Probably best considering she's only got two teeth to try and chomp those things with. Either way it’s a pretty cool trick, and a treat.
At this point, I'm not sure who's doing the tricking and who's doing the treating. I think it's a draw.
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Can I Have Your Attention Please?!
Since I began writing this blog I have been shamelessly trying to get people to read it. I'm actually a little impressed by my desperation to have people read it. You'd think I'd be embarrassed by my craziness, but no. I'm not. Not even a little bit.
You see, I lost all my dignity during child birth. I don't have a shred left. So to think I'd have a little when it comes to virtually spilling out my life on the internet for literally the whole world to see, I don't mind one bit! (Unless you're one of my grandparents. Then it's not really shame, but honestly Grandma, you're not old enough to read this shit. Thank God you still don't get the concept of IMing yet, let alone a blog!)
Finding ways to get people to read my blog is actually less awful than child birth. Ya, ya... child birth is such a wonderfully, beautiful thing. You're bringing another human being into the world. And yes, it is a miracle and yes I LOVE MY DAUGHTER. However, giving birth at a teaching, military hospital is no joy. Every doctor in that building comes in to stick his head up your gown to check your coo-ka. And after that, every nurse in the hospital is in your room because they heard it's comedy hour. (Stoofy and I did tell jokes and I really did half laugh Elly out... just ask Abby!) It's like a parade of the vagina. My vagina. How the hell are you supposed to have dignity after that fiasco?
Whereas blogging is less intrusive...physically. Not all of you know me personally. And the more and more of you that tell your friends about me the more and more distant I become to you. So why shouldn't I go all out in my quest for virtual popularity? This is like my virtual quest for Homecoming Queen DOMINATION!
I had a friend create a special image just for me as my logo. (And a big shoutout to Team Solo for the awesome image!)
I have become a fan of various websites, blogs and facebook pages, all in hopes they will return the favor.
I have had a contest to get more followers and the person to refer the most friends won a batch of cookies. (By the way, I went from 26 followers to nearly 90 between followers and fb fans!).
I have made business cards and left them at Starbucks.
I have advertised on Craigslist. (Which by the way was fruitful because I gained another reader and got a fun email from him!)
I have added fun key words to my blog like BOOBS. And thank God I did! Otherwise the 14 year old boy who just googled "Boobs rock the world" wouldn't have stumbled across Betty! (No shit, someone actually googled "Boobs rock the world" and got my blog. I really hope I rocked his world with my words! And I really hope he was a he and was 14 and not some creepy 45 year old perve.)
I have entered contests with freefringes.com. Freefringes is all about helping get the love to the little guy like me in the blogging world. And I've just entered another contest! So when I post the link, I really hope you all vote for me. Because I will be shamelessly begging for your love and attention and more importantly, your votes!
Because honestly, all I want is a little attention please!
You see, I lost all my dignity during child birth. I don't have a shred left. So to think I'd have a little when it comes to virtually spilling out my life on the internet for literally the whole world to see, I don't mind one bit! (Unless you're one of my grandparents. Then it's not really shame, but honestly Grandma, you're not old enough to read this shit. Thank God you still don't get the concept of IMing yet, let alone a blog!)
Finding ways to get people to read my blog is actually less awful than child birth. Ya, ya... child birth is such a wonderfully, beautiful thing. You're bringing another human being into the world. And yes, it is a miracle and yes I LOVE MY DAUGHTER. However, giving birth at a teaching, military hospital is no joy. Every doctor in that building comes in to stick his head up your gown to check your coo-ka. And after that, every nurse in the hospital is in your room because they heard it's comedy hour. (Stoofy and I did tell jokes and I really did half laugh Elly out... just ask Abby!) It's like a parade of the vagina. My vagina. How the hell are you supposed to have dignity after that fiasco?
Whereas blogging is less intrusive...physically. Not all of you know me personally. And the more and more of you that tell your friends about me the more and more distant I become to you. So why shouldn't I go all out in my quest for virtual popularity? This is like my virtual quest for Homecoming Queen DOMINATION!
I had a friend create a special image just for me as my logo. (And a big shoutout to Team Solo for the awesome image!)
I have become a fan of various websites, blogs and facebook pages, all in hopes they will return the favor.
I have had a contest to get more followers and the person to refer the most friends won a batch of cookies. (By the way, I went from 26 followers to nearly 90 between followers and fb fans!).
I have made business cards and left them at Starbucks.
I have advertised on Craigslist. (Which by the way was fruitful because I gained another reader and got a fun email from him!)
I have added fun key words to my blog like BOOBS. And thank God I did! Otherwise the 14 year old boy who just googled "Boobs rock the world" wouldn't have stumbled across Betty! (No shit, someone actually googled "Boobs rock the world" and got my blog. I really hope I rocked his world with my words! And I really hope he was a he and was 14 and not some creepy 45 year old perve.)
I have entered contests with freefringes.com. Freefringes is all about helping get the love to the little guy like me in the blogging world. And I've just entered another contest! So when I post the link, I really hope you all vote for me. Because I will be shamelessly begging for your love and attention and more importantly, your votes!
Because honestly, all I want is a little attention please!
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
Locked Out Update
So, let's go back in time to the last week of my life. I've been frantically moving out of my base housing and in with Abby. Yup, Stoofy now has sister wives! YAY! (Except no hanky panky for him with Abby!)
So anyway, we moved into Abby's. YAY! And we got all settled. Sunday night was our last night at the old house and I went back late into the evening to finish all the final inspection cleaning.
Earlier in the day Abby and I had discussed how we needed a Harry Potter/ Mrs. Weasly clock. If you're not an HP fan, it's a clock that doesn't tell time, but rather where all the members of the family are. We need one because everyone has a funky schedule and we don't want to lock anyone out in the evenings.
HAHAHA! Funny because that same night, that's what happened to me!
I had texted Stoofy at 9:30 saying I was wrapping up and would be home soon from the old house. I got home to Abby's after 10 and everyone had gone to bed. No biggie, except not only was the door knob and deadbolt locked, so was the top secret lock... the one that locks you out!
I took a moment to chuckle, thought long and hard about knocking or ringing the bell, but decided not to. I didn't want to wind up the dogs and get them barking. Because then that would wake the baby. And I was too tired to deal with a crying child.
Instead, I just started texting Stoofy.
10:40PM
I'm locked out. Wake up please!!!
Wake up please!!!
Wake up.
Please get this text message.
I'm locked out.
Come open the door.
I don't want to wake the baby.
By throwing rocks at the window.
Sometimes you sleep through everything.
I hope you wake up soon.
I don't want to wake up everyone by ringing the bell.
I'm locked out.
Please wake up!!!
I'm LOCKED OUT!!!!!!!!
I wish you slept with your ringer on!!!!
Did I mention that my iPhone is awesome and can do everything... except make a call right now?! It's jacked up and hasn't been able to make a call in about 5 days. So even though I tried calling Stoofy, it's only static. And that's all he can hear. And that's the voicemail I left him.
It's also the reason why I don't call Abby. That, and the next day is her first day at her very first, brand new, grown-up job post military! YAY! How exciting! I wouldn't dream of waking her from her beauty rest before such a big day!
Instead, I walk around the house, looking for sticks and small stones and start throwing them at our bedroom window. Hoping to wake my husband. No dice.
10:55 PM
To Abby:
I'm really sorry to wake you when you're about to start your new job tomorrow... However, I'm locked out. Please come rescue me if you get this message.
More rocks at the window. And a little loud talking through the open window. Nothing...
11:05 PM
FB Update:
11:09 PM
To Stoofy:
Wake up!!!!!
I don't want to wake the baby.
I'm really cold and tired. I'd like to sleep in a bed.
By this time I decide it would be a smart idea to try the patio door. However, to do that, I have to wedge myself under the gate to get to the patio. It's too high for me to climb over, so under is my only option.
I'm an above average round woman. Squeezing through this hole wasn't hard, but it wasn't exactly easy either. Check the sliding door. NADA.
So I crawl back under, dig through the trash and grab some long pieces of crown molding that Abby threw out. I then try to reach the window with them to knock on it. I'm too short. So I pull out the patio chair. It's one of those tiny bistro set chairs that looks like it could barely hold me if I was sitting out there with my cup of coffee. I climb up on it without a second thought and start banging away at the siding. NOTHING!!!!
Are you fucking kidding me?
The neighbors are awake and can hear me. I'm thinking I really hope they don't call the cops on me. That would really fucking suck trying to explain this one. Plus, I am working hard at keeping the title of my life "the child who hasn't gone to jail." I'd hate for this to be the reason I go. If I go to jail, I want it to be because I either ran over some liberal asshole, or because I stalked General Odierno a little too much. (He's my military crush... I'm a dork.)
I take some pictures because it’s pretty fucking funny I’m still stuck outside.
11:17PM
Still, no one is waking up. I spend the next 20 minutes writing a blog, facebooking my perils and just having a good laugh.
11:33PM
Blog update: Locked Out
11:35 PM
FB Comment update: I'm waiting for the baby to wake up because she's hungry. And seeing as I'm the only one in the house with a food supply strapped to my chest, someone should eventually notice.... Or tonight could be the night she sleeps through the night. In that case... FML.
11:40PM
To Stoofy:
I'm going to the jeep for a bit. I really hope you wake up.
I'm parked next to the truck. I hate my life today. This sucks more than you can know. I'm laughing pretty hard though.
It's pretty funny overall.
For the LOVE OF GOD WAKE UP!!!!!!!!
And check your phone!
Ok, I tried rocks again. Nothing. I'm back in the jeep. Next to the truck. I'm going to hate life tomorrow.
If you're wondering why it is that I didn't just ring the damn bell or knock on the door.... I had already committed to this line of reasoning. I had already decided that waking the baby up wasn't worth getting inside faster. It was more worth making sure she slept through the night if she could than me sleeping in bed.
I am terrible at reasoning when I'm sleep deprived.
12:11AM
To Stoofy:
I guess you'll eventually realize I'm not there when you wake up in a couple hours for work. Let's hope she sleeps in today.
I'm pretty sure I'm going to want to kill myself at some point today. I need sleep.
Please look at your phone!!!
Now I've got the heated seats running and I'm napping a bit in my car. Still holding out hope that the two people I live with that both say that they're light sleepers and wake up in the middle of the night for everything, finally wake up to the sound of their phones vibrating from my text messages. But not so much.
At 12:37AM Stoofy finally wakes up and sees I'm not there and tries to call me. But alas, he only hears static. Seriously world? What the fuck did I do to deserve this? I text him back:
I'm coming to the door now. Let me in please. The front door.
He let's me in. Baby's crying. My dog is going a little nuts. He says to me, what took you so long at the old house? Seriously? I've been fucking locked out for 2 hours. I've been texting you and calling you all night.
S: I only have 3 texts from you.
B: Uh, try again! You have like 50.
S: Oh, yeah. Sorry. Why didn't you just ring the door bell or knock.
B: Because I didn't want to wake the baby.
S: Too late, she's crying right now.
12:49AM
Abby to me: Hello?
B: Well, I'm in the house. Elly woke up Stoofy and he figured it out! I'm good and I just got in. Have a great day at work!!!
A: We SO need a system! I'm sorry!!!
B: I'm crying I'm laughing so hard!
A: BF just called me. He saw it on your facebook! He tried to save the day!
B: That's so nice of him!
A: Hilarious blog though... at least some good came out of this. No one can say you aren't a dedicated blogger now!
Talk about a great laugh moment! And I've learned my lesson: Just ring the damn bell because the baby is going to wake up anyway. It's better to get it done and over with faster!!!!
http://lovelinks.freefringes.com/2011/10/18/lovelinks-27-open/?utm_source=feedburner
So anyway, we moved into Abby's. YAY! And we got all settled. Sunday night was our last night at the old house and I went back late into the evening to finish all the final inspection cleaning.
Earlier in the day Abby and I had discussed how we needed a Harry Potter/ Mrs. Weasly clock. If you're not an HP fan, it's a clock that doesn't tell time, but rather where all the members of the family are. We need one because everyone has a funky schedule and we don't want to lock anyone out in the evenings.
HAHAHA! Funny because that same night, that's what happened to me!
I had texted Stoofy at 9:30 saying I was wrapping up and would be home soon from the old house. I got home to Abby's after 10 and everyone had gone to bed. No biggie, except not only was the door knob and deadbolt locked, so was the top secret lock... the one that locks you out!
I took a moment to chuckle, thought long and hard about knocking or ringing the bell, but decided not to. I didn't want to wind up the dogs and get them barking. Because then that would wake the baby. And I was too tired to deal with a crying child.
Instead, I just started texting Stoofy.
10:40PM
I'm locked out. Wake up please!!!
Wake up please!!!
Wake up.
Please get this text message.
I'm locked out.
Come open the door.
I don't want to wake the baby.
By throwing rocks at the window.
Sometimes you sleep through everything.
I hope you wake up soon.
I don't want to wake up everyone by ringing the bell.
I'm locked out.
Please wake up!!!
I'm LOCKED OUT!!!!!!!!
I wish you slept with your ringer on!!!!
Did I mention that my iPhone is awesome and can do everything... except make a call right now?! It's jacked up and hasn't been able to make a call in about 5 days. So even though I tried calling Stoofy, it's only static. And that's all he can hear. And that's the voicemail I left him.
It's also the reason why I don't call Abby. That, and the next day is her first day at her very first, brand new, grown-up job post military! YAY! How exciting! I wouldn't dream of waking her from her beauty rest before such a big day!
Instead, I walk around the house, looking for sticks and small stones and start throwing them at our bedroom window. Hoping to wake my husband. No dice.
10:55 PM
To Abby:
I'm really sorry to wake you when you're about to start your new job tomorrow... However, I'm locked out. Please come rescue me if you get this message.
More rocks at the window. And a little loud talking through the open window. Nothing...
11:05 PM
FB Update:
11:09 PM
To Stoofy:
Wake up!!!!!
I don't want to wake the baby.
I'm really cold and tired. I'd like to sleep in a bed.
By this time I decide it would be a smart idea to try the patio door. However, to do that, I have to wedge myself under the gate to get to the patio. It's too high for me to climb over, so under is my only option.
I'm an above average round woman. Squeezing through this hole wasn't hard, but it wasn't exactly easy either. Check the sliding door. NADA.
So I crawl back under, dig through the trash and grab some long pieces of crown molding that Abby threw out. I then try to reach the window with them to knock on it. I'm too short. So I pull out the patio chair. It's one of those tiny bistro set chairs that looks like it could barely hold me if I was sitting out there with my cup of coffee. I climb up on it without a second thought and start banging away at the siding. NOTHING!!!!
Are you fucking kidding me?
The neighbors are awake and can hear me. I'm thinking I really hope they don't call the cops on me. That would really fucking suck trying to explain this one. Plus, I am working hard at keeping the title of my life "the child who hasn't gone to jail." I'd hate for this to be the reason I go. If I go to jail, I want it to be because I either ran over some liberal asshole, or because I stalked General Odierno a little too much. (He's my military crush... I'm a dork.)
I take some pictures because it’s pretty fucking funny I’m still stuck outside.
11:17PM
To Abby:
So... About that last text. I'm still out here. I've crawled under the patio door trying to get in that way. It's Ft. Knox here. I also started throwing rocks at the window trying to wake Stoofy. No luck. Here's hoping you'll see this. If not, I hope you have a HUGE chuckle on your first day at the new job.
11:33PM
Blog update: Locked Out
11:35 PM
FB Comment update: I'm waiting for the baby to wake up because she's hungry. And seeing as I'm the only one in the house with a food supply strapped to my chest, someone should eventually notice.... Or tonight could be the night she sleeps through the night. In that case... FML.
11:40PM
To Stoofy:
I'm going to the jeep for a bit. I really hope you wake up.
I'm parked next to the truck. I hate my life today. This sucks more than you can know. I'm laughing pretty hard though.
It's pretty funny overall.
For the LOVE OF GOD WAKE UP!!!!!!!!
And check your phone!
Ok, I tried rocks again. Nothing. I'm back in the jeep. Next to the truck. I'm going to hate life tomorrow.
If you're wondering why it is that I didn't just ring the damn bell or knock on the door.... I had already committed to this line of reasoning. I had already decided that waking the baby up wasn't worth getting inside faster. It was more worth making sure she slept through the night if she could than me sleeping in bed.
I am terrible at reasoning when I'm sleep deprived.
12:11AM
To Stoofy:
I guess you'll eventually realize I'm not there when you wake up in a couple hours for work. Let's hope she sleeps in today.
I'm pretty sure I'm going to want to kill myself at some point today. I need sleep.
Please look at your phone!!!
Now I've got the heated seats running and I'm napping a bit in my car. Still holding out hope that the two people I live with that both say that they're light sleepers and wake up in the middle of the night for everything, finally wake up to the sound of their phones vibrating from my text messages. But not so much.
At 12:37AM Stoofy finally wakes up and sees I'm not there and tries to call me. But alas, he only hears static. Seriously world? What the fuck did I do to deserve this? I text him back:
I'm coming to the door now. Let me in please. The front door.
He let's me in. Baby's crying. My dog is going a little nuts. He says to me, what took you so long at the old house? Seriously? I've been fucking locked out for 2 hours. I've been texting you and calling you all night.
S: I only have 3 texts from you.
B: Uh, try again! You have like 50.
S: Oh, yeah. Sorry. Why didn't you just ring the door bell or knock.
B: Because I didn't want to wake the baby.
S: Too late, she's crying right now.
12:49AM
Abby to me: Hello?
B: Well, I'm in the house. Elly woke up Stoofy and he figured it out! I'm good and I just got in. Have a great day at work!!!
A: We SO need a system! I'm sorry!!!
B: I'm crying I'm laughing so hard!
A: BF just called me. He saw it on your facebook! He tried to save the day!
B: That's so nice of him!
A: Hilarious blog though... at least some good came out of this. No one can say you aren't a dedicated blogger now!
Talk about a great laugh moment! And I've learned my lesson: Just ring the damn bell because the baby is going to wake up anyway. It's better to get it done and over with faster!!!!
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