Don't try to follow the logic, it'll only hurt your head.

I got home from work yesterday to find Xtian had chopped all his hair off, and shaved his beard, leaving some well trimmed sideburns and an adorable soul patch. He does this every so often just to keep everyone guessing. Now, every time I leave the room, and then come back I’m startled at the stranger in the house. Because I’m retarded and have a hard time with some changes. Meanwhile, he looks fabulous.

Also when I walked in the door, Xtian had a look on his face like a beaten dog. With his head hung low, he confessed, “I did something bad.”

Being the crazy broad that I am, I just assumed he’d brought home a prostitute who’d not only stolen all of our stuff, but had also lit the cats on fire an given him an STD. Isn’t that the first place EVERYONE’S mind goes in such a circumstance?

But no. Instead, the bad thing Xtian did was to do some laundry. Unfortunately, part of that laundry just happened to be his cell phone in the pocket of some pants.

Now, I don’t know if you’ve ever sent an electronic device through the Heavy Duty Clean cycle on your washing machine, but let us just say, the phone was dust. My husband is a delightful human being, kind, thoughtful, strong, and have I mentioned hot? Another thing he is: extremely accident prone. This is a man who has been hit by a tree. (No, he didn’t hit a tree, a tree dropped an enormous branch on him while biking through the park, totaling his bicycle.) I often joke that anything that can happen, will happen to Xtian. And I think this just reinforces my belief.

Of course the poor guy feels like a total schmoe. But to be honest, while I’m not thrilled at being arm-wrestled into throwing $200 into A&T’s pocket, I’m just surprised that it took this long for him to destroy his phone. (This time I was smart and opted for the $4 per month insurance. Why this option was not offered to me at the last contract signing, I’ll never know.)

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A lot of people told me that when they were pregnant, their partners put on some extra weight as well. I was always kind of comforted by that, since as some of you might know, Xtian is exponentially hotter than I am. (But don’t tell him that, seriously. I’ve got a good thing going here!) Not that I wanted to fatten him up, per se. More like I was hoping it would even the scales a bit while I was in Chubby Pregnant Lady Land.

Instead, the opposite has been true. Xtian has redoubled his efforts at the gym, causing his teeny little belly to shrink even more. And with the suave new hairdo, and the skin care regimen that makes his skin glow, and the love for dressing nicely, Xtian is getting hotter by the minute, while I sink further and further into Hag Land. It’s just not fair that he’s widening the gap here.

This really shows by my complete inability to keep my hands off him for longer than a few minutes, and his growing disinterest in me as anything other than a mom. Just depressing as all get out.

Now, in my magical fantasy land, my body will decide immediately after giving birth to shed 80 or so pounds, without any effort on my part. And, even better, it will let me keep my engorged boobs for the duration of my life. And with all that coming to fruition, I will take a giant leap in hotness that makes it so Xtian and I are on a little more even ground. Sounds reasonable, right? Yeah. Don’t shatter my dreams, man.

Hurray for doctor’s appointments taking up a few hours of my day. Hopefully she’ll give me some idea of how close to getting MC the hell out of me we are.

My Girl got a girlfriend

Yes, the graduation. Look, I’ve got to be honest here. I hate graduation ceremonies. I hated my older sister’s graduation ceremony, I hated my high school and college graduation ceremonies, and now I hated my little sister’s graduation ceremony. I just hate the self-serving administration speeches; the over-the-top/badly amplified musical numbers; the trite, cliché and completely generic student speeches; this whole belief that THIS is the greatest moment of these kids’ lives. Dear lord, I hope that graduating high school isn’t the only good thing these kids ever do. Since, these days, you basically show up 2/3 of the time and get to graduate.

And for schools with more than 300 kids graduating, it’s just an assembly line. You barely have time to register the kids’ names before three more kids have walked across the stage. Not a single person on that stage knows the names of more than a handful of students. There’s absolutely no character or personality to it at all.

This class had the added built-in emotional manipulation of having had a student die earlier that year. He was a great kid, a friend of my sister’s and everyone else. It was sad and tragic and needed to be addressed. And I’m glad they presented the parents with an honorary diploma and let them speak for a bit. But I really took offense to the principal (who is an unrivaled douche bag) giving a “tearful” talk about this kid, whose name he’d never have known without his death. Discussing this kid took up more than ½ the ceremony. Which, I felt, kind of screwed over the other kids who were deserving of some recognition.

(I will put a caveat in here though; my brother went to an alternative high school for all the “fucked up kids/criminals.” THAT was the best ceremony ever. Only about 30 kids graduated, and every kid had been given up on by everyone else in the world, so when these teachers, who teach the fucked up kids for a living, are moved to tears by the kids’ accomplishments, how does that not rock your socks off? I still get weepy thinking about those kids and those amazing teachers and principals, who knew every single kid personally.)

So, yeah, as a rule graduation ceremonies are pretty weak. But, it was great to be there for my sister, see the family, and have a few stress free days to enjoy. My family got to experience some full-on Step Grandma Bull Shit in action, so that was kind of funny for me. She, evidently, has panic attacks in the car when anyone EXCEPT for HER drives. Now, this issue could be easily remedied by just having her drive as often as possible. But she insists that other people drive. Her doctor has tried to put her on Valium for this issue, but she “doesn’t want to take a *gasp* drug.” (I’ve tried explaining that sometimes, the medication isn’t for you, so much as the people around you. No dice.) I guess my family didn’t know about that, so were completely puzzled by the moaning, crying, whimpering and eventual shrieking. The weird thing though, is that when her freak outs were at their worst, we were traveling at a moderate speed, and the closest car was about a quarter mile away. Just classic. Fuck, dude, if I had to live with this woman, I’d have poisoned her food YEARS ago.

Have I mentioned that I like cupcakes? Because I really like cupcakes.

Our satellite dish was installed yesterday, and I think I may have a problem. I don’t ever want to leave the house again. The dish, she is glorious. I’m embarrassed at how excited I am at this. I mean, especially since we only got it so we could watch the new season of Big Love without giving Comcast one more chance to screw me out of watching one of the few shows I give a shit about. (Funny how every time I call to complain about the shitty reception and the fact that half the channels I pay for are dead, shortly thereafter, my cable would go out completely. Coincidence? I think not.) So, yes. That’s it, I’ve bought into the consumerism and materialism of it all. *sigh*

But, screw it. I’m going to enjoy my several hundred channels of fabulousness.

A few notes:

I finally got around to joining a gym around here. I’m tired of running in the dark, in the ghetto, dealing with crack heads and beating myself to death by running on asphalt. Seriously, shin splints suck, as does being accosted by some drug addict who hasn’t seen a toothbrush or solid food for more than a year among abandoned warehouses. But that’s just me.

Xtian went with me as he’s DYING to join a gym (for real). So we show up at the gym, have to fill out some forms before they’ll tell us anything or give us the tour. We already knew we were joining this one, so we kind of just zoned out while he gave us a rushed sales spiel. When it came time to pay, and set up the EFT, salesdude asked for a debit or credit card. Xtian pulled his out, and I mentioned that since both cards were linked to the same bank account, he could just put all the charges on the same card. Salesdude asked if I had a card with my name on it as well. Puzzled I said yes I did. He then hemmed and hawed for about 4 minutes saying things like, “Well, not that anything…don’t want to be rude…. sure you’re fine.” It finally dawns on me what he’s saying: in the event we break up, the gym dues would be screwy.
I just blurted out, “Umm, WE’RE MARRIED. If we were to break up, the gym membership would really be the last of our concerns.” He was totally embarrassed, and frankly he’s kind of a dipshit. He still refused to put both our dues on the same card. Well played salesdouche. Well Played.


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In other news, in spite of my best efforts, on the surface, I’m pretty much a Mormon housewife. Aside from the whole “having a job” and all that. I cook, I obsess about babies, I stockpile food like the end of the world will happen tomorrow, I clean (unless Xtian beats me to it) and am really thinking I should be making all Xmas presents out of pipe cleaners, embroidery thread and LOVE. If only I could get my sewing skills up to par and lose that whole “I am still complete human with the same rights, dignity and intelligence as men” mentality, I’d be campaigning for Relief Society president.

And who did it take to point this out to me? My mother. Obviously. I fucking rule.

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And finally, I fear my hair is growing out even worse than I thought possible. The huge WAVE my hair seems to love is getting uglier by the moment. And better yet, not even my hardcore flat iron is doing anything to stop it. It's just a few gray hairs from looking like every terrible aging soccer mom haircut. Now all I need is a pastel twinset to pair with my boxy, sagging ass khakis. Just amazing.

Blurbs, because I suck.

Yesterday morning, I noticed my cell phone wasn’t working properly. Anytime I tried to make a call, I got a “Service Unavailable” message. I was locked in a training room all day yesterday, so didn’t think much about it.
Yesterday evening, I tried to make another call, and had the same result. So, I called my cell company, and was informed that they were having service issues in my area (no, I don’t mean my AREA, perv). They had no explanation as to why Xtian’s phone (which resides in the same house, is on the same account etc) is not having any problems. And, when the delightfully helpful customer service guy looked into matter further, he found this little nugget of happiness:

Estimated date for fixing problem: October 31.

Yeah, so 20 days sans cell phone is not really a big deal. I mean, I went for more than 24 years without one, right? Yeah, except I spent half of my afternoon driving around suburban HELL looking for a non-existent street sign, with no way to call anyone for help. So, either my phone better get fixed, or Mapquest better step it up. Either way.

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And, in another story where half the people (yes all 2 of you) will be screaming “TOO MUCH INFORMATION!!!!” at the end, I present to you: How to Kill the Mood with One Sentence!

Last night the husband and I were getting around to the “doing it,” if you will. Before any actual “doing it” had happened, but after “launch sequence” had been initiated, a random thought occurred to me. Being the mostly-ridiculous person that I am, I blurted that thought out. What thought could dampen the mood for a couple of twenty-something newlyweds?
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“What did you mother want when she called earlier?”

Nice job Coley. We tried to pretend I hadn’t said anything, but man, did that sentence hang over us for the duration.



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And just like that, I’m out of here.