Huzzah!

Over the weekend we had a family party to attend for some cousins' birthdays. I was excited to go because my aunt and her kiddo would be there. I was dreading it because my gross uncle and irritating step grandmother would be there. But, I refused to let the former be outweighed by the latter.

As soon as we got there, I was irritated at my gross uncle. To be fair, he didn't really say anything to me, or do anything icky, I just don't really like him. So everything he does bothers me. And I'm a little horrified that my aunt and uncle are drinking again. (This is the aunt and uncle who only two/three years ago were in jail for having a meth lab in their home, and for abusing/neglecting their four children due to said meth lab). Yeah, you know what drug addicts need? A gateway drug like alcohol to allow them to exercise addictive behaviors. Whatever. At least the kids are old enough to tell folks when things get bad...I hope. But they kept it together while at the event, and really if anything gross uncle was trying to be less annoying. In fact, he never mentioned the whole "Yay boys! Booo girls!" bullshit he's been repeating for a year. So, that's a plus.

And Step Grandma has found something else to keep her worries occupied. The new worry is that my aunt will have another baby before she loses weight. This from a woman who could stand to drop 100 pounds, easily. But I guess it's easier to pick on your daughter than deal with your own problems. Sheesh, the more time I spend with her, the more I really appreciate my own mom. How do you deal with a mother who can't shut up and be happy for you? How do you not strangle the woman for constantly putting you down and doubting every decision you make?
How the hell is it any of her business if/when my aunt has another kid? Where do you even get off feeling the right to an opinion on someone else's reproductive plans?

Gah!

Anyhow. When my aunt and her kiddo, Evan (who's 6 weeks older than Warren and about 10 pounds heavier), arrived, we put both babies on the floor to check eachother out. Both babies had pacifiers in their respective mouths. So they sat for a minute, staring at each other. Then Warren reached over, pulled Evan's pacifier out, and tried to put it into his own mouth. When Warren failed that, since he still had his own pacifier, he reached over and handed Evan's paci to Xtian. Meanwhile, Evan just sat there like, "hey... that's mine. What the hell?" Too funny. It made me even more certain that Evan will be the Lenny to Warren's George. ("We're gonna have rabbits, right George? And live off the fat of the land!") But hopefully without mental handicaps and mercy killings.

And in a final note of great news, My sister and Kate (her girlfriend) will arrive in Oakland today! They're finally going to be here, permanently, and I'm so excited I can hardly sit still.

Sick.

I just spent the last week mowed down from the cold virus of death. While the symptoms weren't that bad, my inability to take cold meds made a huge difference in my energy level. Nyquil, you magnificent bastard, I miss you. I also miss your partner in crime, Dayquil. I feel like ass.

But, anyhow, in addition to illness, work has been a clusterfuck of retardation lately. Bad decisions being made, throwing tens of thousands of dollars at a problem that doesn't exist, and people who have no idea how to do my job telling me...how to do my job. Nice. The thing about working in AD/PR is that EVERYONE thinks they know how to do those things. Clearly. That's why local commercials are always awesome, right?

But whatever. Kiddo update: the boy had a big weekend last week. Farmer's Market, first time meeting a horse, first sushi. It was awesome. Warren's in a really fun stage right now. He likes being part of conversations, which mostly consists of shouting gibberish OVER the other people talking. It's pretty dang adorable, if I do say so myself. His sleep still sucks, but we're working on it. Like most things, I'm pretty sure everything we do is just killing time until he grows out of this phase. He keeps waking himself up by trying to crawl in his sleep. Yeah, that would freak me out too. But during the day, he has no interest in crawling, as he can wiggle and roll pretty much anywhere he wants.

The other morning, he was sleeping next to me in my bed (I was sick, and not about to keep getting up to deal with him), when he woke up, saw me awake, and rolled across the bed to come snuggle me. It warmed my cold little soul, anyway. Oh, and funny enough, on the food front, his favoritest thing in the whole world? Butternut squash. He will eat ANYTHING so long as it's covered in butternut squash. He's currently taking out an entire butternut squash to himself every week. That's in addition to the other food and breastmilk he still eats/drinks. That's a lot of squash. Damn. Good thing he's finally getting tall, or he'd be the fattest fat that ever fatted.

Ok, I'm tired. Sorry, no fun stories. But at least it's content, eh?

What?! I'm bored. Don't you judge me.

So, I'm bored, and to help illustrate how retarded the whole door/Crazy Lady thing is, I've created a little visual aid.
So, my friend Char works in the pink office suite. There are two doors leading out. Door A, which is right next to my boss' office, and Door B, which leads to a back hallway. Again, these doors are pretty much the same distance to anything you'd want to get to, so it's dealer's choice which one you use.
Crazy lady sent my friend Char and email informing him she didn't want Char to use Door A, and that he should be using Door B. For no other reason than... well she's crazy.

And to further show how crazy, Notice how close she is to Door A? Well, she won't use it. For any purpose. Even if she's needing something from my office suite. She'll take Door B and go around the long way just so she doesn't have to walk past my boss' office. That's a whole lot of effort, if you ask me.

Anyhow, I hope that helps.
Ok, so, now that I've killed a bunch of time with that... I HEART 3 day weekends! Especially since this is probably the first time Xtian and I have ever had a 3 day holiday weekend off together in... well at least two years. Oh, the delight! The sheer and utter fabulousness that was three whole days of hanging out together. And even better, was trading off who got up with the kid so the other could sleep in. On Saturday, I slept until... 9 am! Seriously, I mean it. NINE in the MORNING! Haven't done that since... Warren. And then Sunday, I got my happy ass out of bed and let Xtian sleep until...almost eleven. Woo! Party people.

Oh god. We're totally lame, aren't we?

So, can someone explain to me how folks in my ghetto ass neighborhood got their hands on the same fireworks that were being set off by the city? I'm not joking, these fireworks, which were being set off in the middle of the street, all over my neighborhood, were shooting up over 100 feet in the air, and exploding louder than you can imagine. Until midnight when the police finally started cruising the neighborhood. I mean, I'm pretty used to hearing gunshots, but these fireworks sounded like we were being mortared. How does one think that setting these things off, DIRECTLY ABOVE people's homes, is going to be a good idea? Oh yeah, the same people who think slinging dope is a pretty fine way to supplement their income.

Man, I can't wait to get the hell out of there.

Yeah, that's all I've got for now. Huzzah, and happy Monday.

Now that we all have diabetes...

Or at least want to puke from all the saccharine around here, let's talk Family Party, shall we?
So, Uncle Mark, the birthday boy, showed up. And avoided me mostly. Which makes me, lucky. I only overheard a few really fucked up things being drunkenly shouted with dozens of kids present, so we'll call that "success." I'll share one choice selection, so if you have sensitive sensibilities, skip a few lines, mmmkay? While discussing a neighbor who'd been arrested for molesting a 10 year old girl, "I'd a thought he's a complete queer, 'cept for that little girl he was fucking."

Oh joy. Just awesome. My other awful uncle (at least this one isn't actually blood related in any way), Joe, made himself a complete ass, as per usual. His big thing lately has been celebrating that TWO boys were born. Yeah, we have mostly girls in all the families, the joke being that you get one boy. If you have 2 kids, if you have 12, you get one boy per family unit. And both my aunt and I had boys. And Joe has taken that as a personal achievement. What HE had to do with it, I'll never know, but he's quite pleased with himself. My favorite quote from him, regarding his three daughters, followed by a son, "I made three mistakes before I got one right." Yes, he said it in front of his young daughters. Classy.

He's been on this kick for a while, so I usually avoid him at all costs. Look, it's annoying, and offensive, and if I thought he was joking, I'd be able to overlook it. But he started in again on Saturday, he grabbed my shoulders from behind and kind of shook them back and forth while shouting, "GOOD JOB! GOOD JOB! Now just make a few more of those boys and we'll be all set!" Fucking asshole. I finally responded with, "Keep it to yourself, Joe." But he didn't get it. Because he's stupid.

The other fun thing he does, is tell me all the ways I'm doing it wrong. Specifically in how I'm raising Warren. Yes, because so much really can be done wrong at 4 months old. Good thing I don't take parenting advice from the guy who just spent 3 years in San Quentin for having a Meth lab in his home, with his children. That doesn't stop him from offering his advice however. God, I hate that guy. Why is it, half the men in my family are just the most worthless pieces of shit imaginable? And yet, Joe thinks we need MORE boys? Yeah, because they turn out so well, right? (No offense to the actually decent men in our family, of which there are a few.)

Ok, that's all the energy I have for today. I'll tell you all about my sweety mother's day and our "meh" anniversary.

That's why we're busting your shit.

Ok, maybe you all can help me figure something out.
Maternity pants. Here’s the deal: pretty much all maternity pants I’ve seen have a “belly panel” or a huge, wide elastic waistband. Now this would seem to make sense, rapidly expanding belly, elastic, seems to go hand in hand, eh?
This is where the breakdown happens. Do you know why elastic works? Because it’s always trying to restore itself to it’s unstretched out shape. Which means: it’s always seeking smaller ground. So, while those belly panels sound like a great idea, they do not ever stay on the belly. Instead they seek smaller ground (which at this point would be hips/directly UNDER the belly), and end up with a roll of elastic paneling creating a spare tire of ugly and uncomfortable.

You know, dressing this weird body is hard enough. Did we all need added bulk? Don’t even get me started on pants that just have elastic waistbands, THEY SIMPLY CREEP DOWN ALL DAY UNTIL EVERYONE CAN SEE YOUR ASS!

Clearly, clothing is a challenge, eh? Especially when I am irritable. And, am I ever irritable these days. Right now, I’m actually starting to fume over the fact that my office chair won’t adjust in the way I need it to. And why are the keys on my keyboard so damned close together. My arms are actually squishing into my belly to reach the proper positioning on the keys. This is annoying.

While I whined about being uncomfortable last night, Xtian turned to me and asked, “So, you REALLY want more than one child? You realize you’ll have to be pregnant to have them, right?” To which I said, “Of course! I want dozens of children! Sure I’m uncomfortable, but I’m fine, right?” My response made his eye twitch a little. Makes me think he’s not so concerned about my being able to get through another problem free pregnancy, so much as he’s concerned about having to live with me while I endure subsequent pregnancies.

I should probably start making this all worth his while. But that sounds like it will take a lot of effort. And anyway, I don’t really see Xtian ever having enough motivation and follow-through to hire a lawyer and actually file for divorce. And it’s that level of inaction that keeps me secure in our relationship. (Ok, not really. But you all know how I am, right? I’m not a total monster. Not all the time anyway. Hell, I poached salmon for that man. POACHED! Salmon! Yeah, I don’t have a leg to stand on. Let’s just move on shall we?)

I’m so relieved to find that the last season of Charmed is finally being released. Praises be! And, it’s only a few weeks away, which means I will have ample opportunity to satisfy my obsession before having to care for a screeching child. Although, I must tell you, after watching Charmed, I was kind of disappointed to find that being knocked up didn’t make ME invincible like it did to Holly Marie Combs on the show. And that was really a bummer. I mean, come on! Invincibility! It would kick ass! *sigh* Such is real life, I guess.

Ok, in the vein of oversharing, (WARNING BLUNT TALK ABOUT BODY PARTS TO FOLLOW! AVERT YOUR EYES AND BE SAVED FROM THE HORROR!) I keep catching Xtian starting at my vagina. I finally asked him what the fuck he was doing, to which he replied, “I’m trying to figure out how a human is going to come out of that.” Yeah, tell me about it. But I tend to think he’s more concerned about, “How will that every be useful to me again after it stretches itself to the point a human is able to come out of that? Like a chapstick entering the La Rey Caverns?”

Oh god, did I ever tell you about session 2 of our birth class? Xtian made it to this one, so at least he got to experience the Classhole’s douchery first hand. First things first: I realize that many of us are coming straight from work for these things, so I’ll let some stuff slide. Like the guy who clearly works in some kind of outdoors environment? I know he didn’t get a chance to shower, so his…ripeness I can overlook. However, Classhole’s breath? Look, it’s called “gum!” look into it. Of course, dude was sitting right next to me, not even a buffer chair betwixt us. And of course, we were practicing breathing. I almost threw up. I seriously gagged more than once.

Every week, the teacher has us watching a different birth video, mostly to get us used to the sites and sounds of labor. Some are more graphic than others. This last session, there was no crowning shot, no vag, and the sound was mostly dubbed over for the narrator. Frankly, not one of the more intense videos, which is fine. But Classhole spent the whole video muttering, “Oh. Wow. That’s amazing. How incredible.” In the least sincere voice I’ve ever heard. But he wasn’t joking either. You know that faux sincerity that new agey types use when employing “active listening skills?” Yeah, that voice.

Look, at your child’s birth, or any live birth, you are certainly allowed to be awestruck. But watching a badly done birth video, distributed by Kaiser, without any emotion involved (god, it was really clinical and boring), should not cause you to remark Wow.
God, I hate that guy. Luckily, his wife is in the mid-30’s weeks. Hopefully, she won’t make it much further and will just give birth already!

Right, I’ve got a couple more hours to fill, then I’m blowing this joint.

Will the Classhole Please Stand Up?

My god, the cankles. It took a full 24 hours of putting my feet up for my normal ankles to return. This cannot be good. This can also not go on for another 3 plus months. I will die. Or at least, whine until Xtian leaves me. I’m going to have to remember to take a picture of my normal feet and ankles so the next time they swell to mammoth proportions you can all see them and think, “Wow, them’s some nasty ass feet and ankles.”

I like to share. Clearly.

I’ve been kind of wondering if I was ever going to start getting cravings. To this point, I’d mostly just experienced food aversions. Such as, “Gee, I know I just spent an hour making the most amazing dinner in the world. But I think I will die if I have to eat it. Good lord, time to make a batch of Ramen and call it a day.” Even after the morning sickness died down, nothing sounded good, but some things sounded less bad than others. But then…then I started feeling STARVING. Every minute of every day I’m starving. Even while I’m currently consuming food, I’m thinking about the other food I want to be eating. This has made grocery shopping a dangerous activity. I’m trouble shopping hungry anyway, let alone hungry, knocked up and desiring every food stuff in the world. Hence the Costco box of Hot Pockets currently waiting in my freezer, the tub of Nutella, the boxes of Macaroni and Cheese, the bag of fun sized Twix sitting in my cupboard, then the stop at McDonald’s for McNuggets and a White Trash Hot Fudge Sundae. With nuts. Oh, and could you double up on the fudge? Great.

So, perhaps this is when I gain all the weight I’m supposed to gain? But no. Still not putting on the weight because as soon as I have three bites of anything, I’m stuffed beyond belief. For serious, body. Let’s work together here.

~~~
I don’t think I ever talked about my childbirth class. It was mostly fine, except: Xtian got off work late, and so couldn’t join me. So, I was totally the big ol’ pregnant woman, sitting alone in the birthing class. Loser. Most of the other couples were in the same boat, first kid, no idea what to expect etc. The teacher of this class is a doula and midwife. I was concerned she was going to be too hippy for me, but then I realized that for all my big talk, I’m still a Whole Foods shopping, green bag using, recycling, composting no good dirty ass hippy. So, fine.

As class started we went around the room and each person gave their name, kid-background, and what they were hoping to get out of the classes. Things were all fine with everyone: looking for information, wanted to be prepared to help their wives etc. Fine, all perfectly acceptable answers. Until we get to the last couple. The man was a total Berkeley-type nerd. About 6 feet tall, maybe a buck twenty in weight, bad hair, but is probably a nice guy. The woman is SMOKING HOT. Even with her at 32 weeks pregnant, I was still thinking, “Damn, I’d hit that.” So, when it was their turn to speak, she talked about how excited they were, and how she really just wanted more information since they’d read all these books…ALL these books and was feeling a little…

At that point the man of the couple interrupted and rambled, “You see, we both have such wonderful parenting examples in our lives, and we just can’t wait to join them in this journey. And the first part of this journey is to bring this child into the world and..” Oh dear god. It just never ended. 5 full minutes of annoying new agey man crap. Oy. He mentioned again all these books they’ve read. So, why is it, as we were going through the class (again, since I’m not a retard, and actually have done some research I found not one piece of information was new ) that HE DIDN’T KNOW A GODDAMN THING? He was the question guy, he had no idea about anything, from the parts of labor, to the meaning of episiotomies, or anything. So, did you read these books or just put them under the bed and hope for osmosis learning?

Yeah, so I was glad to have identified the classhole so early. Usually it takes a few meetings to really decide, but he made it abundantly clear. So thanks, Greg! Or whatever the fuck his name was.

I imagine the next 5 classes will give me a lot of material. So, hurray.
Meanwhile, it’s Friday and my hunger must be fed. Huzzah!

This is how I fill my days.

I keep telling myself that I only need to tough it out for a few more months. Just get to maternity leave, then I can start doing some big job hunting. I needed this job because I needed the job title. Now, I’ve got it, had it for over a year, and am starting to wake up dreading coming to work.
Not because it’s really all that bad, but because I’m so bored I could cry. I like the things I’m doing, but there just isn’t enough of it to go around. I like writing up bullshit, I like dicking around with graphics all day. I even like doing layout for the driest, legally required brochures. But there’s only so much work to be done.

Add that in with the snitches, the bitches and the email assassinators, (You know the ones, innocuous seeming emails, cc’d to every VP in the company so it reads like an indictment); it makes for a pretty unpleasant work life.

Every Monday as I lay in bed slowly heaving my swollen body to a sitting position, the only thought in my head is: how am I going to fill another five days? I’m becoming an expert at stretching my tasks out. And it feels like crap. I’m an achiever. I want to be so busy during the day I forget to pee. I want to juggle three different projects at the same time. I want to feel like I’ve actually accomplished anything. Rather than counting the minutes until I can legitimately leave.

This is also the reason why I will never be able to be a stay at home mom. I would create the most neurotic children ever if I were left home with them all day long. Type A personalities with shades of perfectionism should really not be primary caregivers. At least not THIS Type A personality.

Yeah. So. One more workday, then I’m off to Chico to hang with my mom after she’s sliced and diced. My little sister has already been tasked with keeping me and my older sister from killing each other. So, this might be a more successful family week than I’ve had in years.
Unless it’s not.
Woot.

In which I discuss my bladder.

Right so, hurrah. Boredom abounds at work. Allow me to illustrate:
This week I have 5 tasks to complete. I could easily complete all 5 in a couple of hours. But, since I won’t have anything else to do all week if I did them all quickly, I have to stretch them out into a week’s worth of work. I am bored. Also, I am uninteresting.

Had our second ultrasound yesterday to check out MC’s organs, brain etc. Except, this is clearly my child because MC would not cooperate. While trying to look at organs, MC is twisting the body around so you can’t keep the organs in view. While trying to look at brain structures, MC is shaking his/her head “no.” Anytime he tried to get pictures of other body structures, kiddo is throwing hands in front of them. Did not sit still for the entire hour I was being scanned. Contrary little bugger. Clearly, my child.

But let me tell you about the preparation for an ultrasound. I knew they make you drink water and all that, so your bladder is full, but I didn’t realize how full they wanted it.
My appointment was at 4:15 pm. At 2:45 pm, I was told to start drinking water. I had to ingest 32 ounces of water between 2:45 and 3:15. Then I had to let that water sit IN MY BLADDER until 4:15. And did I mention that there is a human living on top of my bladder?
By 3:20, I was doing the pee dance. By 3:50, I was ready to cry. I couldn’t sit down since that would have made me pee uncontrollably. So, I paced and snarked until they called me in.
The nice thing was, the ultrasound tech said all measurements we got show MC to be at 20+ weeks old, instead of the 18.5 we were originally told. What does that mean? Well, it means I’ve just made it past the halfway point. So, huzzah!

In the vein of fucked up things people say to you when you are with child (god that’s an annoying term, Like I’m with a child…on a bus? On a bench? I’m often with children, sheesh it makes no sense. Fucking euphemisms!), I’ll tell you about my newest favorite.
A few people have come up to me and warned, “be careful not to take in too many calories!” Usually this is while I’m eating, and is said in a reproachful tone. Umm, first of all, fuck off. Second, would you say this if I weren’t knocked up? Then don’t say it ever. Third, do you know how much I weigh? Or how much weight I’ve gained? Are you a medical professional? If the answer to any/all of these is no, then you are a fucktard and should be shot.

I was really looking forward to being pregnant since it was one time you are not hassled about fatness. But good job America! Every other article I’ve read hounds women to not gain so much weight! DUDE! This “fat people are the devil” mindset has finally reached the last bastion: pregnant ladies. YOU ARE NEVER SUPPOSED TO LOSE WEIGHT WHILE PREGNANT! Even morbidly obese women are told to gain some weight during pregnancy. So, get off my slightly chubby ass!

And for the record, I’ve officially put on 9 lbs since I got pregnant. NINE. It’s not like I’ve porked up, or anything. In fact, as some will remember, I’m actually having a hard time putting weight on, and so have had to increase my caloric intake, and decrease my workout schedule to ensure this baby isn’t robbing me of my nutrient stores. I’m so annoyed at this topic, it’s not even funny anymore.

~~
Ok, ranting over. And just for fun, here’s a picture of Mocha Cub’s foot.

In the Ghetto...

Oakland had no fireworks this year. I wasn’t terribly upset by this because I have to go to bed long before darkness arrives. But, oh ho! I should have been concerned. You see, since the city didn’t do anything EVERY SINGLE NEIGHBOR OF MINE put on their own crazy fireworks display. And not just sparklers, poppers and the shit sold out of campers just the other side of the county line. These were huge, professional grade fireworks being set off in every direction, every 8 or so minutes until 3 am. It need not be said, but I will anyone, I’m one tired fucking lady.

I had a hard time falling asleep last night as it was. I used all the tricks in the book. I tried to get my poor husband to have “relations” but the man was tuckered out. No dice. I tried to read really boring reference materials, goose egg. I tried lying still in the dark regulating my breathing and pretending to be asleep. Nada. When I would finally start to doze off (after 11 pm) I was immediately startled awake by what sounded exactly like a bomb landing on my house. Oh no, it’s just the neighbors behind us blowing shit up. And when Xtian’s alarm went off at 4 am, he fumbled with the “off” button so long, any chance of falling back to sleep for an extra hour and a half of sleep was long gone. So, I went to the gym and kicked my own ass for extra punishment. I am a damned fool.


Most people say the second trimester is when their energy picks back up. Obviously, those people do not get up at 4 am, 5 mornings a week to run for an hour before heading to their job for 9 hours, only to come home, unpack, repack, make dinner, clean up and throw themselves in bed to repeat the process. I’ve had some very lovely friends express concern that I’m still this tired. But let me assure you: growing a human takes a lot out of you. Growing a human on only 5-6 hours of sleep a night is even more exhausting. And doing all this without being able to relax and sleep on the weekends is the perfect storm for a state of constant “oh dear lord, just let me lie down for a few weeks” tiredness.

And just in case anyone runs into a pregnant woman, and feels the need to say something along the lines of, “Hehehe, I hope you sleep now, because you NEVER WILL AGAIN!” or “You have NO IDEA what you are getting into,” do me a favor. Don’t. These are not helpful, and really just piss me off. It’s condescending, unsupportive, infuriating and rude. I know the sight of a swollen belly and waddling gait is viewed as open season on advice offering. But, we don’t want to hear it. And when we respond with, “You know, people keep telling me that. Even when I tell them it’s not helpful,” that should clue you in to what a crass asshole you are being.

I did have one person who said something supportive though. When he congratulated me on the future baby, I mentioned that everyone keeps telling me that THINGS WILL NEVER BE THE SAME, he replied with, “you know what though, the kid starts small. And it’s hard, but really, it’s just three things with the little ones: poop, food, burp.” See? Not belittling me or my abilities to cope and raise a human. Supportive! Kind! Well-Meaning! Not mockery. So, just as a guideline to those who want to speak to someone who hasn’t been comfortable in months and would really like a rum and coke about now.

Just saying.

I'm gonna show you how to ball, middle finger to the law.

So the weekend exploded into far more activity than I was hoping for. What with birthdays and graduations coming up, we had a lot of errands to run.

Then, Saturday evening was my cousin’s 17th birthday party. That was just delightful, and I’m so glad I have the luxury of being so close to my extended family. I’ve been fortunate in that I get to watch my cousins turn into real people, and neat people as well. There were some awkward moments there, so I’ll share. (Because that’s what I do.)

Awkward Moment number 1:
The two preggos (me and my newlywed aunt) were chatting when a family friend wandered by and joined in the conversation. I’ve known this woman for years and years, but only casually. She started putting both hands on the bellies and kind of palpating, like trying to see where the baby was at that moment. For a few minutes she was kind of groping my abdomen, alternating between my belly and my aunt’s. It was really kind of odd. I mean, I don’t mind people close to me, who ask, touching the belly. But this was not just touching; this was two steps from a pap smear. Weird. (And to stem the questions, no this women is not a medical professional.)

Awkward Moment number 2:
The adult women were all kind of clustered together chatting about the wedding, specifically about the groom’s sister. (you know, the one who went into labor with what I found out was her SEVENTH child during the wedding). This woman is in her late twenties, has SEVEN children and doesn’t seem to really give a shit about parenting any of them. One of the women (not related to me) engaged me in a one on one conversation wherein she regaled me of tales of the so-called Welfare Queens in her town. According to her, 90% of all people receiving welfare or food stamps are all churning out new kids each year to get more money.
First off, like any stereotype/urban legend, I know there’s a nugget of truth. Yes, some people do take advantage of the systems meant to take care of those who need help. But I do not believe that this is the majority of those receiving help. Secondly, how the fuck would she know? She does not work for social services; she works for a grocery store. Her only experience is the people she comes into contact with, I daresay, NOT every single person on welfare in her county.

So, this kind of ruffled my feathers, but she’s a friend of one of my family members and clearly this upsets her, so I just kind of made noncommittal sounds while she complained about old neighbors of hers who were “paid to come to this country, NONE of them work, they party all night long, and drive brand new cars that I can’t afford. That must be nice.” This is when we get to the heart of it. She is upset that other people have things that she does not. She does NOT know these people’s situation, because she’s never spoken with them. She is angry that she does not have more. This is a person who will never be happy with what she has, but does a nice song and dance about how “I don’t let it bother me. I’m happy with my life.” But clearly, since this is the conversation I’m stuck in, it does bother her. Enough that she’s proselytizing to someone who was trying desperately to get out of this conversation. I was openly looking around trying to find someone to get me out of there. She wouldn’t let me walk away. Sheesh. Finally my cousin rescued me, and I spent hours avoiding this woman. If I may use a quote brought to my attention by the glorious Sarah, “A fanatic is someone who can not change their mind, and WILL NOT change the subject.” I think we hit the nail on the head with that one.

Awkward Moment number 3:
I was walking out of the bathroom (you know because peeing is my new favorite hobby these days), and I was corner by my Step Grandmother. I’d chatted with her a little earlier in the evening, did a little post mortem on the wedding etc. So, I was confused when after finding me walking out of the bathroom, she immediately whined, “So you didn’t like the wedding?”

*sigh*
I had said nothing but positive things about the wedding in every conversation I’d had with her and everyone else. Hell, how could I not like the wedding, I MADE THE WEDDING. I can stand back and realize that this is her sick way of asking for affirmation and reassurance. Anyone else with any level of social skills would fish for compliments by saying, “So, how’d you like the wedding?” But it’s SG, so it must be couched negatively. Just fantastic.
Once again, I will thank my mother for reminding me that this is a person who is bound and determined to be unhappy. So, I mumbled about how the ceremony was great the wedding went well etc and ran the hell out of there.

Why is it all the wackos decide to vent their Crazy on me? I mean, I know that I’m often described as easy to talk to and I try to be kind and open-minded with everyone I meet. But this is just taking advantage of someone who is too polite to say, “YOU ARE FUCKING NUTS. PLEASE LEAVE ME ALONE, I DON’T WANT WHAT YOU ARE OFFERING.” For serious.
Anyone, got anything they use to defuse situations with nutbags like those illustrated above? (Aside from the aforementioned, “FUCK OFF!”?)

Thanks Sarah!

So, one of my favorite things about Sarah working in a school is that she gets to see all the retarded-assed things parents are naming their children these days. And if the names are that original, the spellings of them sure are. Yeah, because the name "Brianna" is WAY better when spelled with 6 extra vowels.

I think Xtian said it best: Stop naming your children things that preclude them from getting hired at a normal job.

It being a rainy Friday, I thought I'd share some of the best.



TRAYAHNNA
SHAWNIECE
JERICA
RONYAE

Abubaker
LeKenndrick
Marvaneisha
Jahdell
Ranessa
Shatawn LaShay
RonJeremy (Nice choice Asshats. Name your child AFTER A PORN STAR! This kid is seriously GOING PLACES with that name.)

Marcellus (also spelled Marcelles)
Brandashia
TaWhan (Some of the best are the best solely because they have more than one capital letter per first name)
ShawnDale
Pearlkisha
Breyonnie
Keyona

Lessandra
Ariel Stan (Stan? That's what you decided to name this girl? Ariel STAN!?! I think this counts as child abuse.)
Trayahnna
La Debra (Ah, because she's THE Debra, right?)
DaiShawn
Denisse
RandilynAnna

Dezjawnna
Lanisha
Alexandrya (Oh yeah, substituting that Y for the standard I REALLY makes this name significantly more creative.)
Gerquetta

ShaniQue (I never thought about how this one is spelled)

Latajhanique (Anyone venture a guess on the pronunciation of this one?)
Yvonneshenea