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?

Verbal Vomit (Ewwwww)

Oh, the life, she is crazy.
Another delightful trip to Chico this weekend that I really couldn’t afford. But, my dad was kind enough to figure out what was wrong with my car (the answer: warped rotors! I know, I was excited too) so now I can brake without seeing my life flash before my eyes. And, as an added bonus, while my dad was under my car, he discovered that one of my shock absorbers was bent at a 60-degree angle. And, no, it’s NOT supposed to do that.

Project: New Roommate is going well, though poor Sarah has been in Chico so much, it’s almost like she’s just storing her stuff, and dropping in from time to time. That’s always the way it goes when you move somewhere within driving distance. Luckily, in time, I’m pretty sure her car will know the way to Chico and back without her input at all. Which is nice if you like to sleep in the car. And the good lord knows I do.

So, no one in my family knows this so clearly I should be talking about it on the internet. Smart? No. But I’m going to do it anyway.
Project: Get Knocked Up is still underway but hitting a weird snag. (NOTE: personal and vaginal information ahoy! Look away if ye be cowardly bastards)
So, the period is officially 9 days late, the piss sticks keep coming out negative. And now that I’m paying attention, EVERYTHING is direct evidence that I am or am not, depending on my mood. (“See, I’m really hungry. I totally am.” “I’m being a total bitch, it’s probably PMS, I’m so not.”) It’s fucking frustrating because if I am, I’d like a little confirmation so I can get excited. If I’m not, I’d like my period to show up again so we can get another round of trying started. Obviously, everything about my body is fucked up and stupid, so clearly this has to be the exception to everything.

I keep yelling at my uterus: “JUST MAKE UP YOUR MIND!” I’m sure that’s helping. Meanwhile, if I don’t get confirmation soon, I’m just going to start smoking and drinking heavily (not even a mom, but already gunning for Parent of the YEAR!), especially with the birthday party this weekend. Can I have a ROCKING good time, or can I only have a, meh, good time? Anyone?
*grumble*

Other notes from today:
One of my coworkers has some FOUL gas today. My note to them, “thanks for sharing.”
The entire women’s bathroom smells like Old Lady Vagina. A question, when exactly does the Old Lady smell find your vagina? Just thought I’d ask. Lots of questions today.

Ewww, can you smell that?

Ladies and Gentlemen, can we all just get together and determine some guidelines for perfume and cologne use? Like, please stop wearing it altogether? I realize some of it smells nice. But mostly, if I notice it at all, I’m less than impressed.
I’m of the “if you’ve showered lately, you probably don’t need to wear perfume” school of thought. Sure, about twice a year, I’ll bust out a light florally something for a REALLY special occasion. But mostly, if I smell clean, I’m good.

I know, I’m mostly alone in my dislike of fragrances. But, can we at least all ban together and agree on a few rules?
I propose:

• "Musk" is a euphemism for "Disgusting".
  
• If I can smell you, and you are not within licking distance, you are wearing too much.
  
• If you are using perfume to “cover” the smell of cigarette smoke, you smell like burnt ass.
  
• If you are no longer in the room, and I can smell your fragrance, you are wearing too much.
  
• And can we please all tell our female friends that their perfume/cologne of choice smells like old lady vagina? Please? I know it’s an awkward conversation, but I think a little honesty here can help the rest of the world.
  

So, let’s all raise our fists and pledge,
“It is ok to NOT wear fragrance, I will only spray ONCE per day, if that. I will stop wearing vanilla scented everything. I will tell friends when they smell like the bottom of great aunt Bessie’s purse. I will take other people’s comfort into consideration before hosing myself down every day. I will spread the perfume gospel to others in need.”

Needless to say, I am about ready to stage an intervention with some coworkers. Yech!