Screw It.

Still pregnant, and now officially feeling completely overwhelmed and like an abject failure in every aspect of my life. I apologize, but this will completely be me whining about 1st world problems. And yes, I'm luckier than 99% of people in the world. Also I am hormonal, enormously pregnant and lacking in other outlets right now.

Work: Work is hard. I don't know how many more hours I can put in and still never make a dent in what I have to do. And I do believe I just talked myself into a situation where I'll be working, unpaid, on maternity leave. Because I'm a fucking idiot. I managed to tell everyone that I am officially off all projects, and will be focusing my remaining time on two last things. Yet, today I was still handed new projects to do "real quick." Except they lasted all day. And part of tomorrow.

Warren: I have had very little patience for poor Wu lately. And I'm lucky to see him for 20 minutes every day when I get home. And during those 20 minutes, I'm either working or trying to get dinner made. I feel like a completely awful mother, and like I have no business having a second child when I can't even be there for my first.

Xtian: I can't seem to be nice to him for more than five minutes at a stretch. Not because he's doing anything wrong, but because I just can't find the emotional energy to be nice. Tomorrow is his 29th birthday, and I have failed to do anything for it at all.

Finances: I can't seem to keep up with our money situations. Every month plenty comes in, and every month more goes out. I can't seem to catch up and it's getting a little touchy. We should be ok assuming we get the tax refund I think we are. But if that is not the case, we'll be a little bit sunk.

Home: the house feels cluttered and disorganized and I don't know how to stop it. I haven't cleaned our house in weeks, and the boys try to keep up, but it's not fair to constantly demand that they pick up the slack for me. When is it my turn to pick up the slack? When do they get a break? When am I done being really busy and unable to pull my own weight?

Friends: I don't feel like I'm being a very good friend to anyone right now. I have a hard time pulling the energy together just to make a phone call, and honestly it feels shitty. I have amazing, incredible friends who have never let me down at all, and I don't feel like I'm giving them the same.

Family: See above. Same deal. I didn't even remember to call my brother on his two years sober birthday. After I reminded myself, and the rest of my family, and talked to his girlfriend about it. Jerk.

Pregnancy: I'm not doing everything I should be to keep myself healthy and sane, and to prepare for this birth. I desperately want to have a natural, normal delivery this time, but I'm not doing any of the work that will help make that a reality. I'm not eating like I should, I don't know when the last time I exercised was, I'm not doing enough to deal with my stress levels in healthy ways. I am terrified that my body will utterly fail me again, but never manage to get around to doing anything to prevent it.

And I just realized that the word "I" is the most used word in this post. And that makes me feel like shit too. As though other people aren't alone, homeless, hungry and wouldn't kill to have these problems. So, on that self-loathing note. I'm out.

Goddamnit.

I arrived home early Tuesday afternoon, after running some work related errands. I decided to get Warren from daycare at his usual time, so I could have half an hour to get some things done around the house. I knew I wouldn't be home much, since as soon as Xtian got home, we would be running over to Jenn and Kate's new apartment. (Hurray! They're Here! It's AWESOME!)

So, I dicked around a little and made the weekly shopping list, got all my stuff ready for the next morning and tidied up a bit. I called Xtian to see where he was and if he'd be home soon, or if Warren and I should just head over to Jenn's, but he was in the middle of work stuff and said he'd call me back.

It was about time to get Warren, and daycare is so close, I decided to just walk over and carry my twenty pound butterball of a kid home. As I stepped outside, Crazy Captain Ron from across the street started chatting/harassing me. It's just what he likes to do. I managed to avoid most of the awkwardness that is a conversation with Captain Ron, but managed to fall into step, three feet behind some guy who was also walking down the street. I tried to vary my speed and create some distance without it being all "Hi, I'm totally not following you. I swear! Also, I'm not the police, straight though I look." But no matter how fast/slow I tried to walk, he was still right there, and clearly, he was sure I was up to no good. Really kind of weird. Finally my phone rang, giving me a perfect excuse to stop walking altogether. But, man, that was uncomfortable.

By this time, I was already standing right outside of Nana's (what we call the daycare lady). I ran in to gather Warren's stuff up, see how his milk stash was and was ready to run back out the door, when one of the helpers stopped us and said Nana needed to talk to me for a minute.
Nana came downstairs and asked if there was anyone who could pick Warren up at noon from now on. I replied, no of course not. Xtian and I both work full time, and our jobs take us anywhere from 30 to 200 miles from Oakland everyday. No way could we get away every day.

I still didn't really know where this whole conversation was going until Nana finally dropped it on me, "The state says I have too many kids, so as of Today I can't have Warren anymore." My daycare lady was breaking up with me.

I know. Warren's schedule is weird and it sucks for daycare providers. He's in full time, but only three days a week. So, unless you find that magical kid who needs it full time the other two days of the week, you're stuck with an open slot. But damn. Warren was just in the last month or so starting to enjoy going to daycare. He would get excited when he figured out where we were going. And all the folks there love him, and would spend 10 minutes every day telling me how gorgeous and fun he is. And that is like crack to any mama.

So, there we were on a Tuesday night, needing daycare for him Thursday and I couldn't take time off work since NO ONE else from my department was going to be at work for the rest of the week. I called Xtian and told him "Meet me at home NOW!" Because clearly, it's time for Coley to have a complete meltdown. And I still had to carry my hammy hammy baby home.

Nana referred me to a nice daycare lady, whom, coincidentally, we had actually interviewed 6 months ago when we were first looking for daycare. We liked her just fine, but Nana's house was bigger, closer and has a huge backyard. And Warren so loves being outside. So at least we had somewhere for him to go. I set up a meeting for Xtian and Warren to go over to the new lady's place and get all the paperwork so we'd be all set. She was prepared to take him starting Thursday, but I was feeling hesitant. At work on Wednesday, I waited to hear from my VP, but she never did show up. So, I let the HR lady know the situation, and told her, I'm working from home for the next few days. Here's my cell number, if anyone comes looking for me, have them call me, ok?
Fortunately, she didn't give me even a sideways glance about the whole thing. Which is good, because I was primed for a fight. So, I managed to make it to the meeting with the new lady, and we worked out a little introduction period for Warren. Rather than just dumping my kid, who's already slow to warm up to new people, directly into a new place with people he's never seen before, and abandoning him there all day. And for the next few days, we'll be going to the new place for a little bit so Warren gets to know the sights and sounds. Even so, I'm certain he's going to go through the few months of intense clinging and neediness he did when we first started daycare.
So, I'm at home for the rest of the week. Which kicks ass, but for shitty reasons.

I know being dumped from Daycare isn't personal and is strictly a business/licensing decision. But I can't help feeling rejected, and feeling like they rejected my kid. Which makes my heart hurt.

So that's my world. How're y'all doing?

PS. Anyone else really tickled by the Hillshire Farms' "Go Meat!" commercials? No? Just me? Ok.

Brutal

Holy crap. When did everyone decide that Memorial Day is now a four or five day affair? I mean, I know Christmas is subject to "Holiday Creep." But I was not aware Memorial Day was in the same boat. If you couldn't tell, ain't nobody at work today. It's only 9:30 am, and I've already burned through all 30-something websites I usually browse through over the course of the day. PEOPLE! WRITE! I'm bored!

Oh, and I have something else to add to the list of bullshit people have complained about at my work. A few days ago, we got an email from one of the VPs stating that apparently there were some boxes left in the hallway, and my department needs to take care of those. Umm, no fire codes were broken, they weren't blocking any walkways, they were only in the hallway overnight, since the mailroom didn't have room for them. But during those 2 business hours the boxes were there, THREE emails were sent complaining about it. Dude, the boxes were stacked up and took up less room than an office trashcan. Just fucking ridiculous. Sometimes, I want to punch everyone in the face.

Methinks today is an excellent time to take a half day. I don't know how I"m going to make it another 5 and a half hours. I'm already done with everything that has to be done today, and I'm pretty sure this is how office violence happens. Luckily, I'm unarmed. Enjoy your long weekend folks.

One week down, infinity to go!

So, the first full week back at work is nearing its close. So far, it was ok. I definitely feel ok about returning to work, although I do miss my snugglebug.
Warren's first day in daycare, he was feeling insecure, and it showed in his eating habits.
19 ounces of milk over the course of 9 hours. Not to mention the 6 or so ounces I fed him in the morning. Holy crap! If he keeps going like that, I'll NEVER be able to pump enough to feed him. We'll see how much he ate today to see if it's going down, or if I should just permanently attach the pump and spend the rest of my life with bruised nipples.

Ok, so some things about pumping at the office are just awkward. Like having to wash the pump equipment a few times a day. I use the kitchen/break room as it has a sink with hot water and dish soap. But then there are dozens of people around. And I have a hard time making small talk while washing the equipment that I attach to my tits to suck milk out. It's just outside my comfort zone, you know?

~~~
This weekend we'll be going to Chico for a wedding reception. The lovely couple got married on New Year's Eve in Hawaii. I just adore these people, and the reception should be chock full of Xtian's friends, whom I mostly like. However, it occurred to me a few days ago that the bride's high school friends would most likely be there as well. Which includes a girl whom I will call M. M was part of our little group during my senior year, which I spent at the local community college. She is the queen of the backhanded compliment. I've always felt really insecure next to her, and she is completely obsessed with looks, especially weight. And after having had a baby 11 weeks ago, my body is not exactly at its most attractive. I just really would like to avoid being told how fat I am in her special way.

The stupid thing is, I know that looks are all she has, and those aren't even all that great (I know, bitchy, aren't I?). From secondhand reports, I hear she isn't really doing anything with her life, I don't think she's even finished school, her mom had to move out from under her since M wouldn't move out. I'm sure she's probably alienated most of her friends by now, so I can't imagine she's got many left. Whereas, frankly, I've got pretty much everything I wanted to get out of life. I have a wonderful life partner, a GORGEOUS kid, a job that while not challenging is in my field of study and pays the bills pretty comfortably, a wonderful relationship with my family and the most amazing friends imaginable. So, why am I still afraid of what this girl thinks of me?

High school insecurity and need for approval are hard to shake. I know, I'm getting myself all worked up, and odds are, it won't even be a big deal. But it's the way I work, people.

Right, off. Hey, Fridays mean something to me again! Hurray for having to know what day of the week it is!

So, I am awesome.

I shall explain why.

I go to the gym before work. This means that I pack all my clothes the night before, as doing so at 4 am would lead to some rather unhappy fashion choices.
Last night, while packing my bag, I threw in one of the three pairs of pants I can still wear, a shirt I am just barely fitting into, a horribly uncomfortable pair of panties (seriously, Hanes. Some women have this thing called an “ass.” Please accommodate some booty without the front panel bunching and bulging. Thanks!), and just grabbed a bra off the top of the pile.

I got the gym this morning, worked out, had a shower and was getting dressed when I realized the bra I had packed? Hasn’t fit since before I got pregnant. It’s a full cup size and probably two band sizes too small. And the shirt I’d brought is very thin, therefore going without was not an option. So, I did my best to cram into the bra. I’m going to have welts all over my chest by the time I get home. Why do I even keep old, non-fitting clothing?

Of course, because I’m me, I don’t just keep my own retardedness to myself. I called Xtian as soon as I got to work to tell him how dumb I was. He made some sympathetic sounds and then said, “Why didn’t you just drive home and change before going to work?”


Um, because that would have made sense? Jebus. Now I’m doubly retarded, as the thought never even occurred to me. What is UP, college education? I’m pretty sure my uppity university would be demanding my degree back if they were made aware of this situation.


MC keeps teasing me with contractions. For the last handful of days, I’ve had some nasty, painful, back pain inducing contractions, usually a handful of minutes apart. Last night, in the car, I was having some really horrid pain that I could barely breathe through. I’ve not let myself believe that it was going anywhere, but start timing them, just in case.

And without fail, every night, they peter out on their own. Look here, kid. I’m tired. I’m ready to be done with pregnancy. I understand that means I’ll have to endure labor and delivery, neither of which sound pleasant, but it’s the price we pay to increase the number of cute children in the world. And I’m ok with it.

What I am NOT ok with are these continuous fake outs. Screaming pain is not something I’d choose to endure for fun. So, bring the pain, but get on the stick and be born already. Or, conversely, let me remain pain free until you are ready to be born.

I guess what I’m saying is, shit, or get off the pot. Commit, already!

Wherein I admit to vulnerability.

Apparently, I’m a raw nerve today. When Xtian and I left the house this morning, he was teasing me because I couldn’t seem to find the right words for things (you know, like, “car” and “keys.” Pregnancy brain is no joke, folks). Normal, good-natured teasing that characterizes our relationship. Except then I managed to set off the car alarm and couldn’t get it to turn off (Public apology to all my neighbors who had to hear that at 4:30 this morning!), then when I finally started my car, I forgot it was in gear and stalled the fuck out of it.
Xtian kept being silly and teasing, and I lost it, jammed the car into gear and sped the fuck out of there. Then I started crying. Because I’m crazy.

I went to the gym and beat the hell out of myself for being such a pansy assed bitch. Xtian called me as I was just getting on the road to go to work, and I apologized for being insane, and started crying again. I suck ass. He felt horrible, and had no reason to. So, now I feel horrible because he shouldn’t have to deal with my bullshit.

I think I’m having a hard day, for no reason. It’s Friday. I have a three-day weekend (thanks banking industry for deciding that a European dude who never set foot on this continent and thought he was in India, necessitates a day off work!), and I have permission to take off work early as hell. So, why can I not handle even the slightest of mishaps without bursting into wracking sobs?

I am not this person. I rarely cry, let alone let loose pitiful, hiccupping sobs. And I hate being that girl. But jebus, I just feel so unwieldy and out of control of my own body. I can’t even roll over in bed without strategizing the proper tactical maneuvers. I’m not usually very clumsy but these days I feel like I can’t do anything. I’ve cut my hands on every remotely sharp object I’ve come into contact with for the last week, I’ve slammed doors on my own feet, belly, hands and in one AWESOME occurrence I slammed my own head into the doorframe of my car. This shit feels alien, and I’m not very good at being out of control of my body (hence recreational drug use was never my bag).

Even now, after my Friday morning mocha, I can’t seem to keep it together. Everything is making me teary eyed and choking-breathed. What the fuck is going on here folks? Have I finally turned the last corner into certifiably nuts?

It's a good thing I can cook.

Ok, I’m irritable. I’m just warning you that this post will shortly devolve into whining about inconsequential bullshit that effects no one but me. So, yeah.

Last night, it was still 75 degrees at 10 pm. Since I live in Oakland (where the temp rarely tops 80) I do not have air conditioning in my home. So, trying to sleep in one of the TWO positions I’m allowed to sleep in, with the sweaty, steamy, smelly weather was just impossible. Factor into this equation, the douchebag across the street having his/her car alarm go off every 20 minutes for an hour. And no, the car was not being messed with, and also no, the owner did not bother to interrupt his/her evening to turn it off. So I was treated to the 21 horn salute for 3 minutes at a stretch. It goes off, you sigh and think “FINALLY! Now I will just relax and drift…into…glorious….FUCK! There it is again!”

And of course, it’s hot outside, so animals are still awake. Including the 4 dogs on the block, each being too annoying to keep inside, apparently. So instead of the dogs’ respective owners being annoyed at their own pet, I was kept awake by constant barking for hours. Thanks! I’ll be shooting your dogs tonight if it continues.

There’s something my neighbors need to understand: white people call the cops. We just do. While other people might be content to just ignore barking dogs, neighbors fighting or shrieking children without a bed time, white people will grumble to themselves for 15 minutes, then we call the cops. I thought this was a generally understood principle, but apparently, I was wrong.

So, anyway, sleep was a luxury I didn’t get to enjoy last night. (TANGENT! So, I’ve been having a lot of nightmares lately, from being chased by alligators to having really rude houseguests. But by far the one that left me most upset? My Mother in law was moving in with us, and Xtian had NO IDEA why I was upset about this. It was so realistic, I woke up and it took me about 30 minutes to realize that it wasn’t real, and I could stop giving Xtian the stink eye.) But, life goes on, eh? And since I was already awake and stuff, I just got up and went to the gym like normal. Since getting myself knocked up, I’ve continued to work out. I did find that I was losing weight (really, body? REALLY! I lose nothing for 4 months, until I get knocked up, then the same workout schedule suddenly starts working? F. You!) so I knocked my workouts down to 4 days a week. And up to this point, I’ve been doing pretty well at about 80% of my normal exertion. (I know, you so don’t care. But guess what? My space to babble, and I did warn you…)

Today, however, I walked into the gym to find it was a good 25 degrees hotter inside than out. At outside was a balmy 66 degrees. Now, I know, it’s a relatively small space without a lot of ventilation, and add in a couple dozen people sweating, it’s bound to be a little tropic. But this…this was something far more nefarious. The gym’s climate control had lost its mind. The HEATER WAS ON FULL BLAST! Hot, smelly air being blown directly at you while you try to workout? So unpleasant.
Needless to say, my workout was kicking my ass to the point I actually had to take a break in the middle of my running.

And nothing tops a sweaty, uncomfortable, borderline painful workout like a shower. Oh wait, except the heater was even more pronounced in the shower/toilet area. And we all know how nice smelling those places are to begin with, let alone with 90-degree air being circulated. Just…eww. And then, you get out of a shower, only to start sweating again, since the air is on fire.
Oh, and since I got up this morning: dizzy spells. God, this rocks! I’ll be going along, doing fine, then suddenly, the floor is COMING AT ME! Except I’m still sitting in my chair. It’s almost like the drunken spins. Except that instead of being drunk, I’m sober. And annoyed.

And I’m officially uncomfortable all the time. I can’t find a comfy sleeping position, and sitting at my desk? Forget about it. To accommodate the belly, I’ve leaned the chair back as far as it will go. But now, my tailbone is bruised. Have I mentioned the cankles? Oh, wait, yes. So, I’ve found a way to keep my feet up and still be able to work at my desk. The problem here is that the trash can I’ve inverted to prop my feet upon, has a large rim on the bottom that officially cuts into my legs. So, I have some nice indentations and the beginnings of some really good bruising.

Whew. I think I’m all out of things to whine about. Sorry for the venting. Now you see what poor Xtian lives with ALL THE TIME! And, ask any pregnant lady, I’m having an unbelievably easy pregnancy, with no problems *knock wood*. Can you imagine how whiny I’d be if this was a difficult gestation? *shudder*

I’d like to finish on a high note (Lalalalallaal! Oh wait, you can’t hear that. Sorry)
New reasons to love Xtian:

• He’s finally learned that when I start whining, there is nothing he can do, or is expected to do. He need only say, “oh, poor honey. Can I unwrap another Twix for you?” And he does so with perfect sincerity.
• Every night, before he does dishes, but after he brings me my ice cream, he packs my lunch for the next day. Complete with silverware and appropriate condiments.
• On those mornings when I work, and he has the day off, he still gets up before 6 am to make my breakfast and coffee before walking me to the car.
• While I make dinner, he giggles about having his wife, barefoot, pregnant and cooking grits for him. Yes, it’s totally hilarious, because I’ve become a cliché.
• He convincingly shows as much distaste for the people I hate as I do. And no, he’s never met any of them.

So, today you got a lot of whining and a little bit of gushing. And basically this is what it’s like to live with me. Wild deviations from “I hate everything!!!” to “Did you know you are the cutest boy alive?” Perhaps there is something to be said for men who find wives just like their mothers….
No, mustn’t think about that. I’m not crazy, I’m adorably quirky. Right?

When all else fails: Bitch!

In a complete about-face… I will now bitch about completely inconsequential things that have pissed me off recently:

Canned Crushed Tomatoes. I make a mean pasta sauce, and have always employed canned crushed tomatoes as the base of my pasta sauce. More texture, higher nutritional value, etc. And I’ve always been pleased with the results. Until yesterday. Apparently my neighborhood natural foods store has switched suppliers. And the new supplier has not figured out: PEEL THE DAMNED TOMATOES BEFORE YOU CRUSH THEM. Is there anything nastier than a chunk of skin in what should have been an excellent sauce? Nope, didn’t think so. It has rendered my otherwise fabulous meal completely inedible. Thanks.

Smokers with poor hygiene. Look. I’m not anti-smoker or anything. In fact, when in non-pregnant states, I’ve been known to partake from time to time. My problem lies with about 5 smokers in my office who have yet to figure out that they need to wash their clothes between wearings. Fresh smoke is annoying, but tolerable. 5-day-old smoke on someone’s jacket? Heinous. Disgusting. And vomit inducing. It’s like working with a bar room floor that hasn’t seen a mop in 3 years. Just foul.

Having to explain 4 times a day why I’m not a drooling pile of goo over having a kid. Look, I like kids. I’ve always wanted kids. But I’m just not that guy. I don’t get all sentimental over every little thing having to do with this kid. There’s nothing wrong with those who get all googly eyed hearing their fetus’ heartbeat. I’m just not. Yes, I’m glad MC has a heartbeat, but beyond that I have a hard time getting all worked up over the idea. But when you are a pregnant lady, the only thing people talk to you about is the alien in your belly, and they get really disappointed when you don’t “awwww!” shrilly along with them. I don’t get sentimental over pretty much anything, so why would this be different?


Yeah, apparently I deal with yucky emotions by shutting down all emotional processing and focusing on minor annoyances. Good stuff.

Might be better off just skipping this...

Right now I should be writing several pages of content for our quarterly newsletter. But really, how many different ways can you write about the same 5 products before you gouge your own eyes out?

And I’m preoccupied. So, lucky internet, you get some bullshit stream of consciousness babbling from your resident crazy pregnant lady.

I woke up feeling mean yesterday. I realized I was feeling mean when my boy kitty followed me into the bathroom for our daily snuggle while I brush my teeth. As he rubbed all over my shins, all I wanted to do was kick that cat across the room. Yeah, not my normal reaction to a lovey kitten. So, I spent as much of the day hiding from people as best I could. No one was mean to me, but someone asking how I’m feeling was more than enough to evoke violent rage. All I could think about was punching them in the face. And those were the people I usually like. So, it was going to be an awesome Tuesday.

Then I talked to my family.

My mom is having some pretty ridiculous surgery next week. I’m going to take a week off work and go be another adult to help while she recovers. In making these plans, I figured I should coordinate with my dad so as to be there when I’m most useful. Dad and I figured out a good schedule, and that was fine.
Then dad mentions that he visited the Neurologist, who looked at all his lab work and test results, ran a few tests of his own, then said, “um, yeah, you DID have a stroke last week.” So, we’re all thrown right into the panic from last week. My 51-year-old father has had a stroke and has a 50/50 shot of having a massive stroke in the near future. So, that’s pleasant.

After that news, the family was all making phone calls to each other making sure we’d all received the news, and had all the information. My older sister was shocked and needed time to process. My mom is already covering her emotions by making jokes about dad either fixing all the house stuff, or at least upping his life insurance so she can pay someone to fix all the stuff. (This may seem cold and uncaring, but since Mom is expected to be in charge, and never show weakness, it’s just the way we do things, right or wrong.)
I can’t decide if it’s easier or harder for my little sister who gets to see dad everyday. Is it easier because she can see that he’s still dad, and nothing really changed? Or is it harder because she was there when the really scary stuff was happening, and the possibility of losing dad is more concrete? Or if she’s just like the rest of us, and doesn’t deal well with emotions like: scared, weak and unsure. We deal fine with “angry” “sad” “happy” but these less concrete emotions; these powerless emotions are not our forte.

After that news was covered I started some conversations with my family about my brother. After I wrote about him here, I needed to say it out loud. So, I talked to my dad. Strangely enough, my dad was probably the most helpful person to talk to. I keep forgetting that he’s been through this battle before with his own brother. He knows about family members’ addictions. He actually was really helpful and had some comforting words for me. I’m looking forward to talking with my dad some more about this as I get more used to the idea that my brother doesn’t exist anymore. In his place is a drug addict. And it’s hard to know what to do with him. Do I talk to my brother? Or do I just do what I can to protect my family and myself by cutting off the ties?

Speaking with him is futile. He does nothing but lie, and worse, he believes his own lies. When people have confronted him about stealing money from his baby sister, his only reply is, “I didn’t do that! How can I make you believe me?” He has completely managed to disassociate with his own actions. Shit is scary, and really the only thing we can do is stop supporting him. Which feels like the worst thing we can do. Doesn’t he need the support of his family? But if our support is enabling him, we aren’t really helping are we?

Damn it, this is reading like a bad after-school movie. Sorry, but I warned you.

So, yeah. Another day, another doctor’s appointment. This is another one where I will be asked to pee into a container the opening of which is less than a half-inch wide. Lovely. Nothing says loving like pissing on your hand. Sorry, that was grosser than it was meant to be. But I’m leaving it there because I can.

This shit ain’t fair. I’m so not in a place where I can deal with normal emotional hurdles. Let alone being a crazy pregnant woman who is moved to demented sobbing at the drop of a cheesy commercial, who gets to deal with her father’s stroke, mom’s surgery and a drug addicted brother. Can everyone just take it easy for a few weeks here? I need some time to recover my emotional health.

In other news, PEOPLE GET TO WRITING! This once a week or less posting schedule? Not doing it for me. I know some people are on summer break, but that shit doesn’t fly with me. I need content! Help a bitch out, would you?

And thus ends our Lifetime Movie of the Week. For now.

Wedding Recap

Executive Summary:
Overall the wedding was just fine. I spent too much time having to beg people to do what they were supposed to do. (You know like, “Ok, time to walk down the aisle. First bridesmaid, go. Now. GO NOW! NOW! Yes, right now.”) And by the end of the day I was feeling really taken advantage of, and not very nice. But the bride and groom had a good time, Step Grandma only had to be talked to a couple of times, and overall no one really noticed all the places where all hell broke loose. So, I did my job. Unfortunately, now everyone in the family has asked that I help with upcoming events/future weddings. I think my fees need to be in the $200/hr range to make it worthwhile.

I was definitely reminded why I did not go into the Event Planning business. Bitches is crazy.


Assorted Highlights:

• I threatened to punch a 10-year old. (He totally had it coming)
• The groom’s sister went into labor, complete with her water breaking during the reception, as the cake was being cut. (This would be her 6th child by three different men. All children were there; none of them knew how to behave.)
• Only one person who said they would, showed up to set up. That’s of the 10 who volunteered. If not for my other aunt, and my mom and dad, this wedding would not have happened. Or at the very least, we would have all had to stand while it happened.
• Guests started arriving at 12:30. The wedding started at 2. This is far more rude than showing up late.
• The groomsmen’s respective girlfriends (who were not in the wedding) threatened to kick the bridesmaids’ collective asses because they “linked arms while walking down the aisle.” This apparently necessitated a large parking lot scene wherein cops were nearly called.

In Depth Analysis:
I awoke on Saturday morning at 5:30 am, running through my to-do list in my sleep. My parents and sister all stayed with us the night before, so we all got up, dressed and to the wedding site at 9:30 am. My aunt (not the one getting married) was the only other person who showed up when they said they would. By 11:20, we had all tables and chairs set up, and a good sense of how the event would flow. The centerpieces, linens, favors etc arrived way late in the trunk of my grandfather’s car (only an hour late!)

The groom and his groomsmen got to the site just in time to unload the beverages. Then drink the beverages. Then decided that they needed to go get food. And drove 30 miles of busy-ass freeway away. So, while they originally arrived between 11 and 11:30, they still all almost missed the wedding.

Step Grandma in her infinite wisdom decided NOT to hold a rehearsal, because she didn’t want to do a rehearsal dinner. I thought this was RETARDED but not my call to make. I scheduled a quick run-through of the wedding for noon. The bride got there at 12:45. Excellent. The groom and his groomsmen did not arrive back until 1:35. Even better.

So, no rehearsal, no pictures before the ceremony. The caterer was told that I was the wedding planner; so all questions should go my way. Fine, but sometimes it would be helpful if ANYONE HAD COMMUNICATED ANYTHING TO ME! I was unaware of several factors: the time food was to be served, what was being served, when/if the toast would happen, who was in charge of distributing glasses and champagne, and several more things I’ve blocked out. I was already annoyed.

While trying to bullshit together the flow of the ceremony, and figure out why NO ONE thought to bring matches or candle holders to a ceremony that revolved around unity candles, I also got to wrangle the 30 or so guests who arrived at 12:30, and expected to be entertained and refreshed. This is highly fucked up. People, I know it’s hard to time everything out perfectly. And I’m glad people thought ahead and allowed extra time in case traffic sucked. However, you are never, and I mean no exceptions, never allowed to show up and hour and a half before the event. Drive around, find a bookstore, hang out in the parking lot, whatever. Just don’t get in the way and start DRINKING before the event has begun. It’s low class, and rude.

So, we had a flower girl who was very shy and no one had told her what she would be doing, so that took a lot of convincing. I quite literally had to shove the bridesmaids and groomsmen out of the house to get them walking down the aisle. Then, I had to yell at the bride and her father to GET THEIR ASSES WALKING! (There was almost a two-minute gap between the last bridesmaid and the bride. Awkward). I mean, have these people never seen a wedding? Even on tv? I thought this was all pretty basic. First you go, then she goes, then she goes. Then the bride goes. No, don’t stop walking until you reach the altar. No, you can’t sit down after that.

So, I missed half the ceremony while sorting out the caterers, and organizing the wedding party, Sheesh. I think most people there assumed I was a paid wedding planner, NOT a family member, and kept looking at me funny every time I tried to sit during the ceremony, or eat the meal. It was kind of strange. I’m sure everyone thought I was the worst wedding planner ever.

About halfway through the reception, I caught Step Grandma lecturing the groom about him drinking. So, I grabbed the groom, shoved him the other direction, and promptly told SG, “Leave him alone. Let him enjoy his day. Aunt can drive, since she’s not drinking. Get off his back, now.” And that seemed to do the trick.

I did get several apologies from SG over the course of the day, but by that point, I didn’t want to hear it anymore. If you knew you were saying mean hateful things, why didn’t you just stop? Saying you’re sorry now doesn’t mean shit. You still walked all over me for two months.

I kept asking the bridesmaids and groomsmen to help with things, they would all nod and say, “ok” then ignore me for the rest of the day. They did not do one fucking thing to help. They showed up, ate the food, drank the beer, smoked EVERYWHERE and never raised a finger to help anyone. And on top of everything else, they complained about things. Little things, but with a group as useless as they were, who couldn’t do anything to help while their “dearest friends” got married, it was more than I could take. I didn’t yell at them, that would have really hurt the bride and groom, but I think my eyerolling got the point across just as well.

I was ready to leave by 4 pm, but couldn’t since the music had to leave with me. So, I toughed it out until about 6, then I just couldn’t deal anymore, and most everything had been torn down and put away. (Speaking of which, what is with people my age watching everyone else helping to move chairs, and not helping? Like, we were employees and their job was to just stand there and drink? I kind of hate people my age right now.) So, I was home, fed and passed out cold by 7 pm. I woke up at 8 am. It was glorious. I spent the last two days sitting on my ass, letting Xtian take care of me. Of course, now he needs a vacation, but that’s what he gets for marrying me.

So, that’s the long-winded retelling of the wedding day. Enjoy. I’m still tired.

Why do all the Crazies marry into my family?

Ah, nutty Step Grandma is back at it. Apparently, my aunt changed her mind for the 20th time about the wedding ceremony, and decided to not bring religion into it at all. All I know is I offered to give my aunt a copy of my ceremony to give her some ideas. She didn’t take me up on it and said she had found something that worked for her.
Then, yesterday, SG called and demanded that I remove all the music she requested from the reception play list. (Oh yeah, did I mention that I also volunteered to do music? Because I’m not very smart.) “Even though I am paying for every last thing, every single part of this wedding, I’m not allowed to have ANY input on the ceremony. So I don’t want anything that reflects ME involved.” Yeah, because she’s going to show them.

This is the lecture I then gave her, you know, but in nicer words. “Look, old bag: you are allowed to feel hurt that they don’t want your input on the ceremony. But they are writing it, and it is THEIR WEDDING. You got to have your own goddamn ceremony 20 years ago. Since you are paying for it, you are allowed to veto things because they cost too much money. You are allowed to offer ideas. You are allowed to have feelings. But you are not allowed to make this about YOU. I’m sorry you’re feeling hurt. But she doesn’t have to have religion involved in her ceremony if it’s not meaningful to her.”

My theory when it comes to weddings is that if all else fails, the actual ceremony is the only part that matters. If the bride and groom get to choose nothing else, they should get to choose their ceremony. Hence, Xtian and I did a completely non-religious ceremony, because it wouldn’t have meant anything to either of us to pledge our love before god. If you do religion, by all means, reflect that in your ceremony. But if the ceremony doesn’t mean anything to you personally, why are you having that ceremony? THAT’S the part that makes your marriage legitimate.

SG got all hurt because she believes that my aunt is using the same ceremony I did. Not that SG would know that, since she and my grandfather couldn’t be bothered to come. (In their defense, they lived in Florida at the time, and were only given 2.5 months of notice. But they also tried to get us to move the date. After invitations had been sent out and a venue paid for. Nice touch, old people. Oh and my only grandparent who was physically able to attend, left immediately after the ceremony to try and bag his ex-wife. Just glorious, I have awesome grandparents.) But clearly, this was MY fault, and I should be made to pay. When I explained that my aunt doesn’t have a copy of the ceremony, so how could she be using the same one, SG declared, “well, clearly she remembers enough of it.”

Yeah, because you know what I make it a point of doing? Memorizing other people’s wedding ceremonies, from over a year ago. All the time. Sheesh.

So, later that evening, my other aunts, cousins and SG got together to make wedding favors and centerpieces. SG has now decided to FREAK about the weather, and stressing about it being too hot. Despite the 6 conversations I have had with her about the weather in the last two weeks. “We hope it’ll be nice, but we have contingency plans. There is enough room inside or outside for whatever we need. We can not control the weather, so why waste energy worrying?” Clearly, this wasn’t enough for her. So I told her I’d looked up weather forecasts and everyone is showing this weekend is supposed to be a perfect 74 degrees, and isn’t that good news?
All SG can muster is, “Don’t count on it.”

*sigh* I officially throw my hands up and say enough. If she’s that bound and determined to be negative, I’m out. I’m done holding her hand, and listening to her whine, and convincing her that the best course of action is to SHUT UP and think about what she is saying.

I mean, I knew this was coming. I knew we couldn’t get all the way up to the wedding day without someone completely melting down. But I really hoped we just might squeak by. The bride and I have talked. I know how she wants things to be. So, I will be avoiding SG’s calls until the wedding, then assigning her the job of “shutting the hell up” during all W-Day preparations.

And if anyone is wondering, I will NOT be answering my phone, emailing or talking to anyone aside from Xtian and the cats for the remainder of the holiday weekend. Seclusion and booze are the only ways to deal with family sometimes, and since I can’t down a liter of Maker’s Mark these days, ignoring everyone else in the world is my only alternative.

I’m sure I’ll have a fabulous recap of the Wedding Day Shit Show Extravaganz-Crappa next week. Oh dear lord, I hope of get pictures of the inevitable bitchslap fight!

Only Bitches Talk Shit.

Part I: Rant No One Cares About

So, I’ve had digital cable since I moved to the Bay Area, almost 3 years ago. Generally it has worked fine for me, and any issues I’ve had were dealt with quickly and without cost to me.

However, in the last 6 months or so, my cable reception has gone to shit. Half the channels, which I pay EXTRA for, do not come in at all, and the rest of the channels are choppy. Not to mention that all reception keeps dying periodically (You know, like in the last 20 minutes of the last Gilmore Girls Episode, ever!). I don’t think it’s a coincidence that the day before the cable died for two days, I called to get my cable fixed. Here is how it went down:

They will fix it, but they’ll charge me on top of my ridiculous monthly charges. When I told them, no they would not be charging me to service THEIR equipment; they informed me that I am responsible for the equipment in my home. Here’s the thing, when I cancel cable, I will not be keeping the equipment. The cable company will demand it back. So, since it’s not MY equipment, how can I be responsible for it’s maintenance? So, fuck all that noise, I’m getting a satellite dish. And Comcast can bite my ass.

Part II: Really Random Food Things

Food is such a challenge these days. For weeks, all I could get down were plain turkey sandwiches. Now, I can’t even stand the site of a damn Quizno’s store.

Generally, I’m not a big cream cheese fan. This week, I can’t get enough of the stuff into my body. I’m pretty sure I’d eat it by the spoonful if I had the means.

All food sounds disgusting at all times. But I’m constantly STARVING. Makes deciding what to eat a true joy.

Part III: Semi-Political Rant In Which I Piss Off Half the People I Know

First things First: Whom does Mitt Romney think he’s fooling? He’s never going to be elected President. I’ll tell you why I’ll never vote for him.

I’ve made my feelings on religion in general and the Mormon religion in particular, clear. If it works for you, great. Just leave me alone, and don’t go pushing your shit on me. (Shit being hang-ups about gays, abortion, birth control, global warming, whatever. Believe what you want, just stop trying to legislate morality. If you don’t believe in abortion, don’t have one. Repeat for all other topics). I will never vote a Mormon into office because I know from experience that Mormons cannot compartmentalize their religion from the rest of their lives. It’s not just what they believe, it’s who they are and what they do. So, if a Mormon were to get into office, they would feel duty-bound to create legislation that would destroy many things that I hold dear. Women’s rights over their own body, consenting adults being able to marry without regards to genitalia etc.

I think most other non-Mormons would agree with this line of thinking. But I also think everyone is afraid to say anything because they don’t want to start the religion debate. And I would agree that one’s religion really shouldn’t determine their ability to run a country. Except after living in this fundamentalist regime for the last 7 years, I’m a little terrified of any candidate with a “God is telling me, and only me, what to do. So if you disagree with me, you are inherently evil,’ mindset.

Second: Immigration “Reform” Ok, how many illegal immigrants do you know that have $5000 lying around? Yeah, none for me either. And this proposed legislation will never work. Temporary worker visas sound like a great idea. Until you look down the road a little. Now the government will know exactly where to find immigrants and do whatever they please to them. Since illegal immigrants live in constant fear of being found and sent either to jail or back to the conditions that made living life in poverty look like the promised land, they won't exactly be lining up to tell the government their home address.

Why do people get all pissed off about this? Illegal immigrants are NOT taking jobs that other people are trying to get. Most work for significantly less than minimum wage, without benefits or any protection. We all benefit from this system: going out to dinner is affordable for most people because restaurant owners can pay their back-of-house staff about $3/hour, tax-free. We can afford to buy produce because migrant workers are paid Dustbowl-like wages. Without these workers, lettuce would cost about $12 per head just so farmers can cover their costs.

This whole mindset that we are entitled and “they” are not is purely destructive. People who feel they are at a disadvantage find someone else to blame. (To put it into alarmist terms this is how the Nazi Party won over Germany. Things are hard, we'll serve you up a scapegoat.) So, poorer Americans blame illegal immigrants for their trouble. I know, I know, it’s human nature and all that jazz. It just pisses me off. What especially pisses me off, my father (a freaking immigrant himself) is SO anti-immigration it makes me nuts. But then again, for a man who has chosen NOT to become a citizen, and therefore forfeited his right to vote, he sure has way more opinions than he needs.

Ok, I’m off my soapbox now. I really need to stop watching the news while I work out in the mornings. Just gets me all pissed off first thing in the morning.

*PS: Many thanks to Lil John for the title of this post. I've had this song stuck in my head for three days. Again, my child will have a VERY interesting vocabulary.

Friday Night Bitch Fight!

So, you know how I like to jinx myself. Constantly? Like when I mentioned offhand that I’ve been feeling pretty good lately, and not very sick at all? And then today? I’ve had to make three emergency trips to the ladies’ room to loudly dry heave? And spend the rest of the day wishing to lie facedown on the cool tile of a bathroom floor?

Yeah, like that.

But it’s all ok, you know why? I just talked to my Step Grandma, and for the first time in my/her life when I asked, “How’s everything going?” Her answer was…..

“Everything is just going wonderfully!”

I had to make her repeat herself. I couldn’t believe it. Not a negative thing to say. Did someone finally start grinding Prozac into her morning coffee? Holy crap, we may just get through this wedding without any violence or psychotic episodes! Except, now that I’ve said that, I guarantee I’ll be fielding 12 panicked phone calls a day leading up to the wedding.

I was having a great day at work, I was feeling all magical after figuring out how to create an animated gif. AND THEN. The fucking DEATH VIP (not the knocked up one, who’s just vaguely annoying and viper-esque) decided it was a good day to fuck with Coley. Anything that I’ve sent to her for the last two weeks, asking her to make happen, you know, like things in her job description, she’s either ignored, or kicked back my way. And on top of it all, people keep accusing me of having fucked up. So, when I explain “where we are in the process” *cough* ratting out the sack of uselessness that is the VP *cough* it still goes nowhere. I’m so annoyed.

She’s asking me to do work that is NOT part of my job, nor in my realm of ability and access. Hello! My name is Coley. I write. I do graphical work. I can even bullshit my way through some VERY simple web editing. What I CAN NOT do, is mess with domain servers, and subdomains. No idea how I would even try. Yet clearly, the VP of fucking Information Technology, does not know how, so tries to get me to do it. She has one sweet ass gig though. I’d LOVE to be responsible for NOTHING, expected to DO NOTHING, and get paid six figures a year. How does one get this job? Oh wait, by being a terrible human being.
Maybe it’s not worth the sacrifice of personal morals and values. Let’s see….

So, thus ends my ranting and raving for the day. My mama and baby sister come into town tonight for the shower. I’m so looking forward to some girl time with my family, it will be awesome.

Why yes this HAS become all about my pregnancy...

I’ve become a complete tease. My tits have increased to a ridiculous size. But they’ve now become so sensitive you can’t even touch them, breathe on them or even think about them. Xtian is so pleased. He’s a lucky man, that one.

On top of everything else, at least the boost in hormones and relatively light symptoms have REALLY let things in the bedroom pick up. Until the cramping and bleeding began. Now, we aren’t allowed to have sex and I’m not even supposed to become aroused. Just awesome. So, I’m all riled up, all the time. My husband is finding me more alluring than ever (between the bigger tits, and the almost extreme end-table-ass I’m rocking these days). And I can’t do a damn thing with it. Seriously Mocha Cub? You are not making mama very happy. I think I’ll make a note of all this and start grounding MC for it once MC hits 14. Sounds about right, eh?

This is how you know that life is one big joke. Or just that the universe doesn’t give a shit about me. Either way.


And since I can’t stay up past 7:30 these days, I’ll be watching my taped Gilmore Girls. It’s the last episode ever, and I foresee a lot of crying on my part. Perhaps I should just hand Xtian $20 and have him leave the house. No, that’ll never work. I hate watching tv by myself. Who would I make bitchy commentary to? The cats have heard all my material.


Life is about to get a little more ridiculous. I’ve only got a few more days to get all the games ready for my aunt’s bridal shower. Anyone have any games they love/hate? I’ve always hated the toilet paper wedding dress game, but if life keeps fucking with me like this, I might just have to do it.

Then it’s only a week until the actual wedding. Have I bought the gifts for either of these events? No. Have I at least pulled all the things out of storage that I promised I would? No. Do I have any idea what I will be wearing to the wedding? Hmmm. Nope. And even better, the belly is starting to make itself known already. How does one dress for a daytime wedding these days? The only things that fit and can pass for “nice” anymore are all black. Does that seem in bad taste?



Oh, and one of the VP’s at my work just announced she’s knocked up as well. She and this guy have only been dating a few months, her divorce was only made legal last month and her BF is unemployed. White trash much? Except to make me feel petty and shitty (like that’s new), her BF is black and she is white. I feel like she’s stealing my thunder.



I expressed my craziness to Xtian who had one thing to say, “well at least OUR child will be LEGITIMATE.” This is why I love that man. For all his sweetness and kindness, he can be just a bitchy as I can. And that’s the strongest foundation for marriage that I can think of.

In which much disdain is rained down upon those mentioned:

First things first: People. Update your blogs! I need more reading material. And there’s only so much time I can read through the descriptions of Personality Disorders, in an attempt to figure out exactly what is wrong with my MIL.
(Note: I think I’ve settled on this guy right here: Narcissistic Personality Disorder.)

AND speaking of which, I don’t think I ever mentioned this story, so I’ll tell it now, since I don’t give a shit.

Last year, I was trying to get friendly with my then-MIL-to-be. She mentioned offhand that she doesn’t speak with her siblings or their children. In fact, she doesn’t keep contact with any of her family. I thought this was strange, but hadn’t yet realized that this woman isn’t a little crazy. She’s clinically insane. She went on to explain that her family came from a lot of money and that she was raised with maids, chauffeurs, nannies etc. She reasoned that she didn’t want her kids being brought up like that, so she broke contact with her family.
This seemed a little extreme to me (Ummm, just raise your kids with some values. You clearly didn’t have much money, so I don’t think the whole “rich entitled” thing would have actually happened) but whatever, I’m playing the role of understanding future daughter-in-law.

Then when we got engaged, and asked her which family members she wanted to invite the wedding, she sent me a 4 page rambling email, telling me in no uncertain terms that I was welcome to invite her family, but then she would absolutely not be attending. Ok, this was just getting plain weird. I responded that of course her feelings were important to us, but that it was equally as important for Xtian to have as much family as he wanted there, and I hoped she could make arrangements to come.

The response was a little horrifying. Several pages of email telling me that her family was all a bunch of perverts and drug dealers. That’s a direct quote. Her sister’s kids were all in jail; her siblings were all perverted individuals who belonged in prison for their crimes. Without saying so outright, she was trying to give the impression that these people were all child molesters who shot up. I showed the email to Xtian who had actually spent a few weeks with these people when he was 17, and none of those things were true.

So, at some point I finally figured out that it’s not that SHE won’t have a relationship with her family. It’s that THEY won’t have a relationship with HER. That’s only two of the different stories she’s told me about her family and not one of them were compatible with the others.

Then a week before the wedding, she decided that she couldn’t afford to come to the wedding since the hotels were just “unreasonable.” Yeah, it’s the bay area and some hotels are really expensive. But there are also Motel 6’s for under $50 a day, and she was only there for a couple of days. She had months of notice, but decided to wait until the week before the wedding to pull some more manipulation. So, some of my family chipped in to help her get a room. Just another way to make sure she was getting the VIP treatment she feels she deserves.

So, yeah, yet another chapter in the Coley’s MIL is Fucking Mentally Ill diaries.

~~


So apparently, I quit the softball a few weeks too soon. They have still YET to win a game, and I missed the brawl last night.

That’s right, BitchFace got into an actual fist fight with a woman on the other team. This is what I call, “Classy.” The story goes like this: BitchFace and her friend Jennie (both women well over 30) got a little sloshed before the game. During the game, there was some intense shit talking between BitchFace and a woman on the other team. After the game, both teams were engaging in the customary handshake and “good game” exchanges. The woman on the other team apparently jumped on BitchFace’s back and started whooping on her. Now, from here I can see defending yourself. But then Jennie started hitting the other woman. Two on one does not a clean/defensive fight make. The rest of the teams pulled the three women apart, the three women were all straining to get back to the fight. It was a this point BitchFace screamed into the other woman’s face, “You FUCKING BITCH!” So, rather than fighting back to get herself out of the situation, she’s upgraded her participation to "fight inciter". Following this, the rest of the players managed to get the three women into their respective cars. Unfortunately, this just started a dangerous chase through the rural suburb. Several folk on our team took off after them just to make sure no one died, and that they didn't just continue the fight on the side of the road.

Just the classiest thing I’ve ever heard. But I guess when you get enough white trash and booze together; these things are bound to happen.

~~

Grumble Gus.

A notice to all people I know: Do not bother to ask me how I’m doing. The answer is: I feel crappy. I’ve felt crappy for several weeks in a row now. Yes, I know it’s juts part of the whole “Being Knocked Up” thing, but that doesn’t make it any more manageable. My eyes hurt more everyday, only resetting slightly on the weekends when I don’t look at a computer screen for a glorious 48 hours. But, then Monday rolls around and it all begins anew. I’ve taken my glasses off, which means I can’t see the words I’m typing right now, fewer than 16 inches from my face. My apologies for the fucked up typing. Maybe I’ll put my glasses back on to spell check. Probably not.

I’ve mentioned before how I don’t trust HR people as far as I can throw them (and with my back problems, that isn’t very far). Well, today I got even further proof. Last Friday, I finished all my work; double checked everything and decided to leave about half an hour early. Today, I found out that the HR Snitch ran upstairs on Friday to report my early departure. Now, here’s the thing. I’m SALARIED! Technically, as long as my work gets done, I don’t have set hours. I don’t clock in, I don’t clock out. So, that’s just annoying. On top of this, Snitch is also eavesdropping on my boss’ office, even when he’s having a closed-door meeting with another coworker. All of this has been reported to my VP, who wouldn’t give a shit, except that the Snitch keeps reporting it.

Now, I know that the Snitch must be a very unhappy person, and has no real job tasks to fill her time. So, I realize that her snitching is just in an effort to keep people from realizing that she serves no purpose. And I know we work in an office environment that really lends itself to narc tactics. But DUDE! I’m a million kinds of sick of this. This covert political warfare is getting ridiculous. No one has ever complained about my work product, my attitude, my timeliness or anything. So, why is someone getting all up in my shit about leaving 30 minutes early on a FRIDAY, when 2/3 of the cars in the lot are gone before 2 pm anyway?

I’m officially pissed off. I hope that bitch finally lets her alcoholism get the best of her and just shows up drunk. Hell, she already shows up hungover, reeking of booze, it's only a little ways to go...

As a result, the next Casual Day, I will be wearing a shirt like this:


The high point of my day? I made the best chicken salad in the entire world and am eating it right now. Damn, sounds pretty pathetic now that I’ve written it out. Oh well, I’ll take pathetic right about now.

So, yeah, if you see me, don’t ask how I’m doing, because I’ll probably actually tell you. Instead try, “Are you still crappy?” Then I’ll be able to politely say, “well, yes, I am still crappy, thanks for asking though!”

I know they mean well, but...

So my boss has gotten a very specific idea in mind for a web graphic I’m making. Unfortunately, the idea itself is hackneyed, cliché, ugly and more than anything just fucking ugly. In addition to style issues, since the size I’m allotted (145 pixels wide) any text he wants to use is completely illegible.

But, I can’t seem to steer him in a different direction. Instead, clearly, it’s MY fault it’s not working. I’m just not cropping it right, or using the right font, or who knows what. And I’m about tired of it, and am on the verge of saying, “Look, it’s a terrible concept. Just fucking awful. Can we stop it now?” Probably won’t go over too well.



Minor irritations added to constant, grating nausea are a good way of getting Coley to bite your fucking head off. There will be some who might feel that I’m not allowed to complain about the ailments of being knocked up, because I actually MEANT to get knocked up. To them I say, “Just try to stop me!” I’m in no mood for kindly meant advice, or “Just hang in there!” motivational clichés. The only thing in the entire world I want right now is to go to bed for a month. I will lay in bed, read my book, sip my ginger ale, and snuggle my obnoxious-ass cats. Unfortunately, I have to go to work, and SMELL everyone’s nastiness (which includes gas, perfume, scented lotion, soap, cigarette smoke and AWFUL food smells). For those not in the know, my sense of smell and taste are so sensitive right now, someone down the hall was eating corn chips, and I had to run to the bathroom and dry heave for 5 minutes.



Something I’ve noticed, people who have had kids, will not offer bullshit encouragement. They will either sympathize, or even better, tell you, “Just wait til that kid starts kicking you in the kidneys”. As the ER nurse told me, “No one gets to have an opinion unless THEY have that alien living inside them.” I think that sums it up nicely.

Oh, and I had to quit the softball team on doctor's orders. I'm also not ready to tell people at work about Mocha Cub. So I made some vague reference to my doc telling me not to play. Of course, now everyone on the team is asking, "is everything alright?" Because clearly I'm dying. I don't think anyone has an inkling of the truth. But I bet the rumors are AWESOME.

Let the Kvetching Begin!

So, this pissed me off and I felt the need to discuss.

I was out sick for a couple days last week, and had a planned vacation day Monday, so today is my first day back in the office. My work husband, Eric, dropped in to ask how I was feeling. He then mentioned that he had to go, since he’s not supposed to be in here.

Yes, that’s right. HR has “unofficially” told him that he’s spending too much time in my office chatting. About three times a week, he’ll drop in for a five-minute chat. Clearly, this is a problem. I’m so annoyed about this, especially since our HR department consists of one person who always plays “SuperNiceConcernedPerson” role whenever I see her. She’s not. She’s just like many other HR folks, whether they intend to be or not. She’s not an advocate for employees, she’s there to protect the company at all costs, including human costs.

If Eric’s occasional chats with me are a problem, I expect to be spoken with as well. At least given a chance to defend myself without all this backdoor politicking. I hate that shit, and I always will.

Another thing I must share: My MIL is at it again, only this time, she’s fighting my mother.

After last fall’s…unpleasantness, I’ve just pretended that my mother in law didn’t exist. No communication, and so far it’s been fine. While visiting my mother this weekend, she told me that my MIL has now targeted my mom.

My mom sent MIL a Xmas card, just like she sent everyone else. MIL returned it, unopened and sent my mom an email stating that my mother was NOT to contact MIL or her family. My mom replied and wrote: I will respect your wishes, but if you change your mind, I’m here.

(That bitch! I know! (note: sarcasm)

My MIL bounced the email back and wrote: I told you NOT to contact me!

Last week, she even sent back the invitation to my wedding shower (for those playing the home version, the wedding shower occurred a year ago. Good timing!)

This, if nothing else, just smacks of crazy, classlessness. And yes, I’m here venting it all on the internet, but it’s one thing to get all fucked up Crazy Lady on me. But to treat my mother like that? This bitch has to go. And then she wonders why her husband left her, her sons want little to do with her, she does not have friends, and can not find/keep gainful employment. But, clearly, EVERYONE ELSE is the problem. She’s the only one doing right.

What a fucking bitch.

~~

Other than all that shit, things are fine. Saw my brother for his 21^st birthday, bought him a drink, then begged off early since my head was going to fall off from the hurting. I spent a delightful weekend snuggled up with my family, and got home with enough time to relax and unwind a bit. Just a wonderful weekend.

I hope all is well for y’all!

Signs of the Inevitable

I forgot to grab something for breakfast this morning. Figuring it would be the only thing I ate until I got to Chico this afternoon, I indulged in a doughnut from my coffee shop. When I got to work, I realized it was a Potluck day. So, I devoured a slice of breakfast pizza, some spinach dip, and about a million crackers with cheese. Yeah, one simple indulgence?

I’ve discovered… I actually really like Fergie’s music. “Glamorous” has been playing in my head on a loop for three days. And yes, I know this makes me a 14-year old girl.

Last night I dreamed I was having a mean, nasty knockdown drag out fight with Xtian in the middle of Target. When I woke up, it took me a few minutes to remember that I’m NOT in the middle of a fight with him. SO, I should probably be nice to him.

My level of irritation with other people is at heretofore-unseen levels. Someone was VERY gassy the other day, and I raged for 20 minutes about the audacity of someone actually farting in my bedroom. Don’t they realize I SLEEP IN THERE!?

I just realized that all this added up, probably means I’m PMS-ing. Spectacular.

Turns out, Marriage is Hard.

Not a good weekend. It had its moments, definitely. Like getting to hang with Jen, Jen’s sister and niece and a few more fun folks. Then there was some excellent tequila drinking until 4 am. But, overall, I think this is one weekend I’d like to just wiped from the books.
Without going into too much detail, there were some lies discovered (to the tune of $1800. That’s ¾ of everything we’ve managed to save in the last 7 months. Let’s hear it for “Starting Over!”), and some continuing issues. Mostly everything is ok again, with the exceptions: still really tender feelings, the aforementioned depletion of savings, and that the whole “trying to get knocked up” thing is on official hiatus. Just not a good time to be thinking about babies with things being the way they are.

After that, I feel so wrung out, I can barely process anything. Luckily, all my work today is thumbing through pictures and cropping them. This is all I can handle.

So, since I’m trying not to let myself word-vomit all over the internet, I’m going to tell you another story.

My aunt turned 21 earlier this month, (Just don’t ask why I have an aunt who is 4 years younger than I am.) so on Thursday, the aunts and I all got together for margaritas and Mexican food.
They all live way out to hell and gone in the ‘burbs, and as such, the shindig was held about 40 minutes from my house. Sarah had a shitty day, so I convinced her to come with and at least have some fun sipping tequila and gossiping with the ladies.

We all got to the restaurant, a cute little Mexican restaurant that had recently opened. The permanent signs weren’t yet in place, there was still wet paint, it was that new. All the wait staff was actually Latino, which is usually a good thing when it comes to GOOD Mexican food.
For the first little while, it was just me, Sarah, my other aunt (not the 21 year old) Nancy, and her friend Cindy. Cindy has been my aunt’s friend for decades, and so we all know here pretty well. She’s a loud, brassy dame who usually I enjoy very much. We often joke that she’s my real mother, since we have so many attitudes in common.

The waiter came over to get our drink order; he was brand new on the job and it seems like he was not terribly comfortable with English. My bet, first job in a restaurant ever. He wasn’t quite sure the order of things, didn’t have table management skills at all. But, he was nice, and trying hard. Cindy was asking him about some things on the menu, while Nancy was ordering drinks and Sarah and I were chatting. Frankly, I didn’t hear Cindy order a drink, but that’s neither here nor there.

A few minutes later, the waiter comes back with 3 margaritas and 4 waters. About this point my other aunts, Donna and Joanna (the birthday girl) and my step-grandma Rita arrived. The waiter came back to get their drink orders, and Cindy snarkily pipes up, “Yeah, and I’d like my drink too, you know, whenever you find the time.” I thought it was a little harsh, but was willing to let it go.

We all get to chatting and the table is chaotic. The waiter tries to come back and get the order, and then everyone is talking to each other trying to decide on what to order. We decide on a sampler, and ask the waiter if that sounds like enough food. He smiles kind of shyly and says that it really doesn’t look like enough food. So, Sarah mentions that she’d like a quesadilla, and a few others echo the idea, so Nancy asks for two quesadillas, and a sampler, and asks again if that’s enough food. Now, we’re still all talking. That’s seven people all talking at once, at least two of whom are directing their chatter at the waiter. I have no idea what everyone else is saying, but I didn’t really catch what was finally ordered.
We keep drinking and nibbling chips and bean dip (Oh my lord, this place had salsa, salsa verde and hot bean dip with cotija cheese on the table in lieu of the standard chips and salsa. Just glorious). A little while later the food arrives, and we all start devouring it. There are three large-ass quesadillas on the table, I was bummed we didn’t get the sampler, but promptly forgot about it. After a few minutes, the waiter stops by to see what we need. I order another drink a few people ask for water.

After we’ve finished off the food, someone asks about the sampler platter we had talked about. It’s only then that anyone realizes the order was a little mixed up. So, when the waiter shows up with the check, Cindy begins the interrogation.
“Did you forget something, maybe?” The waiter looks confused and terrified.
I try to break up the silence that’s descended, “Not like we could eat anything else, right? No need to be rude.”’
Cindy continued in her mocking tone, “Well, he needs to learn sometime. What did you forget?” And keeps looking at him, waiting for the answer. I finally just tell him, “I think we ordered the sampler platter, but we weren’t charged for it, so no big deal.”
But, Cindy’s not done yet, “First you forgot my drink, and then you couldn’t even get the order right. What's the problem? Do you not understand simple orders?” There’s a definite undertone of racism that leaves me completely abhorred.

I’m mortified. I’ve never been so horrified at someone’s behavior at a restaurant. I grab the check, do some quick math throw down $20, Sarah does the same and we go to the bathroom to fume at how absolutely out-of-line Cindy’s behavior was.

When we got back to the table, Cindy incredulously tells us how the manager brought the check back to double-check the amount of cash that had been left. The reason? For a $68.75 tab, we only gave them $70. It was then I started doing some math:
I left $20
Sarah left $20
Nancy left $20
Donna (who doesn’t drink) left 10.
It was Joanna’s birthday, so the idea was to everyone leave enough to cover Joanna too. When the check was sent back, Rita threw in some cash too (she had been waved off because someone didn’t count properly).

Cindy was furious that they had the audacity to bring the check back. I tried to defend the manager saying, “I think he was double-checking in order to give us the opportunity to NOT stiff them on the tip. And frankly, I’d rather he did that than let me leave them without a tip.” Cindy kept complaining about the nerve, the audacity, blah blah blah.
Sarah and I were so embarrassed, we found the waiter and gave him another $20 for dealing with that horrible woman.
So, after all her bitching, and unacceptable behavior, she didn't put down a dime. So, we paid for her to eat, drink and be a terrible person. Just amazing. If you don't pay, you don't get to complain. Ever.

I understand how frustrating it is to get your order mixed up. Hell, not a month goes by without a restaurant either completely forgetting my food, or just fucking it up beyond edibility. But, you know, I believe in that old adage, “Don’t piss off the people who deal with your food.” Also, I’ve worked food. Taking orders from 7 people, who all insist on talking at once is impossible. It doesn’t mean you just take what you’re given. Send the food back, absolutely. Just do so with some empathy and kindness. That’s a human, right there.

If anyone ever spoke to me the way Cindy spoke to that waiter, I’d have thrown him or her out of the restaurant. That shit doesn’t fly with me. Cindy occasionally rubs me the wrong way, but I’ve never been openly ashamed to be seen with her.

I can at least comfort myself a little that I spoke up after her little shame-outburst. I told her outright that she was rude, and it was completely unnecessary. Not that it did any good, but at least I didn’t let her behavior go without a challenge.

Few things piss me off more than people who mistreat restaurant staff. How much of an asshat do you have to be to ridicule a waiter? The answer: A pretty fucking huge ass hat.