Panda love and social media

I'm a lover of social media.  It might have something to do with the fact that I've found a way to make a partial living off of my social media skills.  I look forward to making more of my living from my ability to like, share, comment, and retweet.  And whether you like it or not, social media isn't going away.  It may change and morph into something different, but the general concept isn't going away.

You're always going to know what is going on in someone else's life, for better or for worse.

You know what? That's just fine with me! 

You know why?  Because it means job growth! Yay!!!

But even I draw a line when it comes to TMI in the social media realm.  And last night I finally figured out what that line was.

Recently I've discovered I'm old.  I listen to news/talk radio on my way to work.  Sometimes I listen to it on my way home, too.  I get sucked into a story I hear is coming up so I just leave the station be so I can hear about the weather, traffic and details on the story that intrigues me.

Yesterday, while driving home, I heard a teaser that really threw me through a loop.  I almost changed the station because I was so miffed by the topic.  But it's like a bad car accident; you just can't divert your eyes.  Rubbernecking is human.  So I listened for the story.

The topic?  The panda at the national zoo in DC was getting artificially inseminated.  Ok, not too much of a gross-out, big deal there.  But wait!

YOU CAN WATCH/FOLLOW THE WHOLE AI PROCESS LIVE ON TWITTER!!!!! 

My god!  Are you serious?  Have we really gotten to the point in our society where we now need to watch Panda Porn on our various social media apps on our smart phones?  Really people?!?!?!!?!

Is this really the best use of social media?  I mean, I get it that we could use a few more pandas in the world.  And I know that the two at the zoo are having their own love spat right now and science and technology needs to lend a helping hand.  But do we need to watch the turkey baster do its thing?  Really? 

There is a fine line between sharing your life with the public and sharing what your bathroom toilet looks like while you try to take a rockin' picture of your "duck face" pose.  Honestly, there's no need to do that.  I don't care if you're texting people while you're on the pot.  I don't get bothered by the idea that you respond to facebook posts when you should be focusing on not missing the bowl.  But keep that information to yourself.  That's what makes it great.  I don't care that you're doing that, because I don't know that you're doing that!!!

But the fact of the matter still remains that we as Americans made it possible to watch an animal get artificially inseminated.  They don't even do that on National Geographic.  Come on folks!  GEEEEEEZUS!

Let's have a little social media decorum.  I'm pretty sure Mei Xiang would appreciate it!

Cup O' Joe

Elly is back on the sucky sleeping schedule again.  I swear that kid goes through sleeping phases like people go through fad diets.  (I don't diet, I just eat cookies.  Lots and lots of cookies!)

What does that mean for me other than my own sleepless nights?  It means my new health insurance company thinks I'm an insomniac for one.   I took a health assessment test for a $35 gift card to be used for medical expenses.  (Why the hell wouldn't I answer 100 questions about me for $35 free? Duh!) It asked how many hours of sleep I get a night, how rested do I feel when I get up for the day, and so on. 

What it doesn't allow for during the questionnaire is a place for you to fill in any kind of explanation behind it.  Like if I was a meth-head and was tweaking every night then of course I wouldn't get any sleep.  (But at least I'd get all the laundry done!)

But what about parents of insomniac kids?  There's no box to check for that.  So instead, I'll now get spammed with a million emails about how not sleeping enough has a poor effect on my health.  No shit.  Now if only there was enough time for a mommy nap time in a day and this wouldn't be a problem.

But yesterday afternoon was the icing on the cake for just how sleepless I've been the last few nights.  At work, I have a Keurig in my "office."  (I say "office" and not office because it's only got three walls and no door, so people can still come in my space willy-nilly whenever they feel like it.  Plus, since I'm a natural loud talker, they can hear pretty much everything I say.)  I drink a lot of coffee and the Keurig gets quite the daily workout. 

It was time for my afternoon cup o' joe pick-me-up.  And as I plopped the little k-cup in and watched the coffee stream into my cup, I realized I needed to up the ante a bit.  So I pulled out the canister of mocha cappuccino mix from the drawer and added a few scoops of that to the coffee for the extra jolt I was going to need to re-read the same story five times for copy edit mistakes.  (I lead a glamorous life!)  

As my coffee finished brewing I started searching for the blue lid to the canister so I could clean up and get on with my afternoon.  But alas, I couldn't find the lid!  (Mind you, the entire coffee making process was done from the comfort of my desk chair.  I didn't move more than 12 inches during the entire process to make this cup of coffee.  How the hell I misplaced the lid I have no idea.)  And as I'm standing up, spinning in circles, cursing myself for being crazy and not able to find the blue lid (I even checked my pockets!) a lady I'd never met before but needed to introduce myself to (and make a good first impression for because I'd be working with her lots in the future) walked in and saw me turning in circles on my own little crazy train.  My entire conversation with her was distracted by the fact that I couldn't find the blue lid to this damn canister!!! 

Finally, as I tried to shoo her away so she wouldn't see how crazy I was, I just got down on the floor and started digging under a cabinet in my "office."  And alas!  I finally found the lid... a GOLD lid.  Why I swore it was blue, I have no idea.  

Clearly, I not only needed my afternoon cup o' joe, but I needed to add another scoop of cappuccino mix to it.  Because my little insomniac is making me crazy!!!!   

Betty Factoids

1) I don't like gum.  In fact, I downright hate it.  Everything about it grosses me out.  So do me a favor and keep your disgusting wad of germs away from me.  I don't even like mints.  Just keep all spearmint products away from me. 

2) Small talk is pretty annoying.  Especially in the bathroom.  I don't want to talk about the weather, traffic or my shoes in the bathroom.  In fact, I don't want to talk at all in there.  I want to get it, get what I went in there to get done done and leave.  Don't get me wrong, I like to BS with people, just not in the bathroom!

3) My favorite number is 13.  It stems back to when I was in a special program with the Girl Scouts.  We all were assigned a number for roll call and uniform identification purposes (funny how well that set me up for the military!).  My number was lucky 13 for 7 years and it just stuck. 

4) I'm terrible at spelling.  There are certain words that I just can't spell right no matter how hard I try.  In fact, I've tried them so many times that my autocorrect has given up on me and just misspells them wrong for me automatically.  I usually spell check my facebook statuses before posting them, because I don't want to look like a dumbass for spelling something wrong. 

5) My worst misspelled offenders are: separate, necessary, guard, guarantee, and Massachusetts. (Actually, when I plugged this blog into Word to do a double check on my spelling, I misspelled every single one of those words again! Man I suck!)  I never made it very far in the school spelling bees.  I usually got eliminated within the first round of classroom preliminaries.  How I got a job in journalism, I have no idea.

6) I feel I'm a pretty good judge of character.  And if I meet you and don't get a good feeling about you, you automatically end up on my shit list.  It's hard to work your way off the shit list.  It's happened only a couple of times, but usually when you go on that list, it's for a good reason.

7) I was a cheerleader for about 6 minutes in middle school and I've never been in any kind of drama club or performing arts classes.  I probably should have been, but who knows what kind of trouble that would have led me into! :-)

8) I truly would love to make a living off of writing about my crazy life.  I have no idea exactly how to do that yet, but how wonderful would it be to just get paid for living?  Sounds amazing!

9) Until I figure that out, Stoofy and I regularly play the lotto.  We don't spend a lot on it, just a few bucks a week.  But we started because as my mom said, "You can't keep saying 'when I win the lottery I'm going to...' if you don't play the lottery!"  And my mom was right about applying for the makeover, so I guess I should play a little each week!

10) I talk a lot to myself in my car when I drive.  I talk about a lot of random things.  And I used to feel weird about it, because I didn't want people to think I was super weird talking to myself driving down the road, but nowadays with blue tooth, no one really knows if you're talking to yourself or talking to someone through your car speakers.  So I don't look so retarded now!

11) While most people are afraid of heights, spiders, snakes, loneliness, I'm afraid of tall, wet grass.  Creeps me out and I don't like the feel of it.  I think it goes back to my days being stationed in Cuba.  Running on the trails through the tall grasses in the early morning so there's still dew on them, is gross.  You never knew what kind of critter would crawl out of that stuff and eat your leg.

12) I like even numbers rather than odd numbers.  And I really can't stand to leave something hanging on an odd number.  And when telling time, if it's 11:37 I round to the nearest multiple of 5.  If you asked me what time it was and my clock said 11:37, I'd say it was 11:40.  It's just how I am.

13) I enjoy watching a lot of sports, but I do have a line.  I don't like basketball, you only need to watch the last 5 minutes of the game to get the gist, soccer is excruciating because you could watch the whole thing and there's still no winner, and golf is worse than watching paint dry. 

14) Talking on the phone annoys me usually.  Nine times out of 10, I don't like it.  I'd rather have written communication... even if that means a text.  Or even better yet, I'd rather talk to you in person.

15) I hope one day my daughter can read all of these things and not think her mom is a complete crackpot.  And even if she does think I am, I hope I've made enough money off of it to shut her up and tell her to do whatever she dreams of doing, even if everyone thinks she's crazy.  Because that's what life's all about! 

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.

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: FML, this day is ending just as sucky as it started. I'm locked out and everyone's phones are on silent. And I'm not about to ring the bell and wake Elly and make my life even more miserable. I guess I'll continue to throw rocks at the window and hope I don't break anything!

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.

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

Pumkin Pie and Jail Time

Fall is by far my favorite time of year.  I love the cooler weather, the clothes, the sights and sounds, and most importantly I LOVE the food.  Fall food means the best of the best: squash, pumpkin anything, apple pies, and the big kahuna: THANKSGIVING DINNER! It's like a fat kid's delight! 

And this time of year brings back a very strong memory for me.  It's something that I did about this time last year.  I'd like to say it wasn't me, but then it wouldn't make for a very funny blog.  It's a little something involving pumpkin pie, my hormonal rage, and me... nearly beating a woman up and a punk-ass teenager. 

About this time last year I was about 4 months pregnant.  I had cravings, but my cravings consisted of people who had food needed to leave my smelling radius because everything made me want to puke.  I was sick nearly every day until about the 6 month mark.  So the fact that one night I even got an actual craving that wouldn't pass after the thought of it made me dry-heave was a little extraordinary!

It was after 10pm and Abby had just left to go back to her place.  Stoofy was in Kuwait in the midst of his contract out there.  So I was on my own and I needed pumpkin pie.  And I mean NEEDED it!

So I climbed into bed thinking, I can let this pass.  If I fall asleep, I won't want it anymore and I'll be fine.  That lasted all of 5 minutes and then I climbed out of bed, put on something decent to go out in and hopped into my car.  I was on the hunt for fresh baked pumpkin pie.

I knew that being the end of September meant there would be pumpkin pie available. (It’s fall time for God’s sake!) I knew exactly what store would have it too.  Harris Teeter.  Because I had been there the day before and saw the pies lined up for display at the front of the store. 

At 10:10PM I arrive at HT and walk through the door.  I can't wait to get to the pies all sitting there waiting for me to snatch up and eat on the car ride home.  Except when I got there, they were out of pumpkin pies.  They had sweet potato pie, but everyone knows that's totally different.  Even if you smear it with whipped cream, I knew I would be able to tell the difference.

So I scoured the rest of the store.  I went through every pie in the bakery section.  Checked behind random loaves of bread just in case some jerk tried to hide one for themselves until they got off shift.  I'd show that asshole!  But alas, there was no pie.  I checked the freezer section thinking, ok I'll just find myself a Sarah Lee and pop it in the oven.  That bitch creates pies that take an HOUR to bake! Uh, I needed my pie fix immediately!

What's a hormonal pregnant woman to do?  Search the store and buy cinnamon rolls for breakfast the next morning, juice and lemon poppy seed muffins because they've got the best ones.  And that'll hold me over until I get to the next store.  I did pass the baking section and thought, damn, it'll take too long to bake my own pie.  I'll just go to Giant and get a pie there.

As I check out, the cashier asks if I found everything ok.  Uh no, you do you have any pumpkin pies left in the back? I'm seriously craving them and I want one. 

And the pimple-faced douche bag bagger turns to me and says, "I bought the last ones about an hour ago.  (ha ha) If you want a slice I'll sell you one in an hour when I go on my break. (HAHAHAHA)."

To which I respond, "Listen here you fucking asshole, I'm pregnant and I want a fucking pie now.  Don't be a prick and tease me."

I quickly paid and left the store before the manager, who was headed my way, could escort me out. 

Now I'm just pissed! I want a fucking pie and if I could figure out which car was that kid's I'd consider breaking in for a slice.  Then I decide going to jail tonight wasn't going to be the best decision... so on to the next store.

10:35PM- I arrive at Giant and make a beeline to the bakery section.  I leave no slice of pie unturned in my quest for pumpkin.  They've got cherry, apple, sweet potato, pretty much everything but pumpkin.  And nothing is going to do until I get a slice of pumpkin.  So I start sprinting (as fast as a pregnant woman can go) to the freezer section hoping I can find a pie that doesn't take an hour to bake.  But as I get to the freezer section I start to search people's carts as I pass them, hoping to find my pot of gold.

Low and behold, I do!  There is a woman with a pumpkin pie in her cart.  So I rush up to her in a panicked frenzy and ask her (in my mind it was with good, friendly intentions.  It came across as scary and abrasive) if I can have her pumpkin pie.  She says no.

I explain to her I am pregnant and I really NEED that pie.

She says no.

I dig in my purse, pull out a $20 and start shouting I'LL GIVE YOU $20 IF YOU GIVE ME THAT PIE! I'M FUCKING PREGNANT AND I NEED THAT FUCKING PIE!

She starts to walk away scared.  I take a few steps after her yelling... it did me no good.

Back to the freezer section.  And yes, they do have pies that take only 25 minutes to bake... but they’re all out.  I'm nearly in tears and I want to scream at the top of my lungs (which I already had at the woman with the pie). 

I storm back out of the store feeling defeated.  But across the street I see the hazing red light of a bulls eye sign.  FUCK YEAH! Target is open until 11PM tonight!  And it's only 10:50!!!!  I zip across the street and throw it into park.

I don't think I've ever hustled as fast as I did to get into the store.

I run to the freezer section and find a pumpkin pie, and it only takes 25 minutes to bake!  FINALLY, VICTORY IS MINE!!!  But it's a bittersweet victory.  Because deep down I know it's not going to be a great pie.  I know that with the time it took to track down this pie, I could have baked one in my house already and be sitting in my bed with a warm slice topped with crumb topping like I like and a dollop of whip cream on top.  But I don't fucking care.  I just want the pie.

So I purchase the pie (and vanilla ice cream… ala mode, DUH!), speed home and throw that sucker into the oven.  25 minutes later (plus the time it took to preheat the oven and the time it took to cool and set), I dish up my pie slice and dig in.  Only to find that it sucks just as much as I knew it would.

I go to bed even more pissed and in tears that I didn't have good pie, that I nearly accosted a woman and teenage kid.  And I'm even more pissed that I didn't just buy the ingredients and make my own pie.  Because now that it’s nearly midnight, going back to the store to buy the ingredients and bake another pie is just flat out CRAZY!!!!

Lesson learned: when you have a craving, it's just easier to make it yourself.  And it's less likely to get you arrested. 

Tinkling

On my ride to work this morning they talked about embarrassing childhood moments involving tinkling.

There can't be much worse in the way of embarrassing moments than peeing your pants.

The female host talked about the time she couldn't hold it in 3rd grade and it reminded me if the kid in first grade who couldn't hold it. And how mortifying that must have been for him. I still remember him, his name, and that he peed his pants.  That sucks to go to school with someone with a great memory like me. Poor guy!

What's even more cringe worthy was the girl in bootcamp that was too meek, shy, and afraid of the drill instructors to ask to go to "the head." She peed herself in the parking lot after dinner in front of 60 other individuals. I was the closest, but thankfully wasn't directly hit.

It was my job, however, to help her back to the barracks and get her through the embarrassment. Thankfully, our drill instructors felt too bad to make her feel worse. This girl already had enough self-esteem issues. No need to make it worse.

But the radio show host asked callers to regale the listeners with other cringe worthy stories.

I'm fortunate enough where I don't have stories like those from my childhood. However, adulthood and pregnancy are a whole other story!

No one tells you that you're going to pee your pants every time you sneeze while pregnant. And certainly no one tells you that even after you have the baby, and no matter how many kegel exercises you did, you're still going to pee your pants at every sneeze and laugh.

And no one warned me that I shouldn't discover Damn You Auto Correct when I'm one kegel away from being incontinent.  Needless to say, when I discovered the best of for each month, I laughed so hard I actually peed a little.  What sucks more is that those things are so fucking funny, that I just couldn't stop reading.  They're worse than Lays potato chips.  You can't stop at just one. 

I actually had to restrict myself for a few months until I could make sure I regained control of my urinary tract.   

And that's what's so important for new moms to know.  Is that no matter how many kegels you do, it's still going to be a little while before you can laugh your ass off without pissing yourself.  And even then, you need to make sure you hit the bathroom before a big laughfest, or else you could find yourself feeling like the poor kid in 1st grade who peed his pants in front of everyone.  But worse, because adults remember that kind of crap way better than children do!