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.

Weirdness abounds!

Still no call from the doctor's office. It makes me crazy, but also, since their first order of business is triage (wherein they prioritize cases based on urgency)maybe that means little Warren isn't too bad yet? Looking for the bright spots, or something.
This week seems to be filled with crappy news on the internet. A couple of divorces unveiled, a miscarriage or two. Rough stuff. Let's hope that trend doesn't continue.

I'm feeling wrecked today. I kept waking up all night for weird reasons. At one point, I sat straight up in bed because I was certain a pigeon had gotten into the room. What? Where did that even come from? But I swear, I heard it flapping around inside my bedroom. Shit like that kept waking me up. These weren't dreams, more like when you're semi-conscious and you hear someone else in the house moving around. Clearly, I'm losing my mind.

Some annoying stuff going on at work. The crazy broad who complained about being in the building with my boss continues to be awkward. Today, I walked into the hallway to find she had stepped out a few feet in front of me. I don't know if she saw me coming from around the corner or not, but she suddenly broke into a run for about 10 steps. Then just walked into the ladies' room. Not sure what that was all about, but it's really fucking weird. Also, she doesn't wash her hands. Gross. So, now I can't touch any door handles since we have a confirmed nasty ass in our midst. How hard is it to wash your hands? The soap and water are RIGHT THERE! I don't care what the excuse is, there's always a way around it. I'm not really interested in contracting dysentery at this point in my life.

So, am I a complete douche since I still haven't written or sent out thank you notes for baby gifts? Yeah, probably. But damn, it's like the only thing I don't want to do, and it feels a lot like it's a moot point right about now. I wrote and sent out thank yous for baby shower gifts, isn't that good enough? I reciprocate gifts when appropriate. When will a nicely written email suffice? Isn't it "greener" to not use up the paper and gasoline used in writing thank you's and mailing them? I'm just grasping at straws now, aren't I? Damn it.

Week: Almost over. Coley: Almost happy. Huzzah!

Dear Mean Russian Lady,

Yes. I have a zit on my forehead. Thanks for pointing it out.
Sincerely,
Coley

A few annoyances.

Thought I'd provide an update on the whole "house on fire/insurance screwing us into the ground" thing. So, our landlords are awesome, and basically worked out a deal with us. Xtian fixes the damage and buys the material, and the problem goes away. But, the insurance company has decided to throw a collection agency at us. Hurray. So a few phone calls later and I fear I may have just thrown my landlords under the bus. Since they got a check from the insurance company, but we've made repairs, the collection agency just informed me that, "Collecting twice on an insurance claim is illegal. Can I have that information again?" Whoops! I had a hard time explaining "it's not like that! Umm, hold on, let me check on some information and we'll be back in touch." Man, do I hope I didn't just get my landlords arrested for insurance fraud after they've been so cool.
Of course on the other hand, since we just emptied our savings account paying for materials and a contractor, and Xtian has spent every second of free time working his ass off, I really don't want to shell out $7,000 for repairs that WE ALREADY PAID FOR! Nor am I thrilled that a collection agency is involved since all it can do is fuck up my credit. Gah.

But, anyhow, the repairs are almost done. All that's left are a few layers of paint and I get my husband back! Hurray! I've missed the guy.

Meanwhile, the clowns at my work have succeeded in getting our schedules changed. For now it's only half an hours difference, which isn't that bad, I suppose. But, because it's all later in the day, it adds about 15 minutes each way to my commute, robbing me of another 30 minutes with my kid. You know, it's bad enough that I only get 4 waking hours with Warren, with moving my workday back, that takes another 30 minutes away, and the extra commute takes another 30 minutes. Giving me a grand total of 3 hours a day with my sweet baby. It makes me want to shake the shit out of everyone I work for. I'm really hoping my VP will tell us who these complainers are so I can sit down with them and ask, "How is my schedule your business? How do my work hours affect your ability to do your job? How does keeping me from my family help you in any way?" GOD!

This is the first time I've really started getting upset about the lack of time I get with Warren. It doesn't help that he's in this really great smiling phase. He spends all his time smiling and giggling at me, making awesome sounds and just generally being a delight. He has a hard time making himself eat these days, because he'd rather be smiling at me and singing. And these petty fuckers are so bored in their own lives they just gotta fuck with mine.

Lest you think I'm overreacting, allow me to list some other things people have complained about regarding me or someone in my department:

• a car being parked in a different spot
• a car being backed into a parking space
• not wearing jeans on "casual day"
• washing out pump supplies in the kitchen
• an office door being closed
• an office's lights being a little dimmed
• not wearing socks with loafers
• not putting a phone on the Do Not Disturb setting
• emailing a group email list rather than each member of the list explicitly
• referring to a coworker by their initials (and no, those initials aren't anything awkward like BM)
  

That's just what's happened since I returned from maternity leave, 4 weeks ago. Does this happen other places? Are people everywhere this insane? I mean, I've worked for a cocaine addicted, bi polar asshole, and I've gotta tell you, this is worse. At least with the asshole, you knew who the enemy was. Here, it's everyone, even people you wouldn't suspect.

In other news, I get to see my brother this weekend. Hurray! Also: holy shit my baby brother is turning 22 years old. *sigh* Dude, all my siblings are adults. When did this happen?

Gripe, Gripe.

You know what's awesome? Getting up at 4:30 in the morning, walking into the kitchen only to find that the freezer was left partially open all night. Fantastic.
I mean, having an inch thick layer of freezer burn on EVERYTHING, including a three-week supply of breastmilk, is just...awesome. My favorite thing. I suppose it's my own fault for shopping like a mormon (meaning: buys everything at Costco because you're always prepared to feed 25 people, therefore have approximately 42 pounds of various meats living up in the freezer)and not insisting I be the one to arrange the freezer. The boys mean well, but sometimes Freezer Tetris is just not their game.

You want to know what's awkward? Having lunch with my work friend, Eric, Eric's baby mama, and their kid CJ. Well, the lunch itself was fine. But during their pregnancy, Eric and his baby-mama (how do you write that, by the way?) had some...disagreements as to the paternity of the kid. The kid looks just like Eric, and the paternity test came back with those same results. Fine.
So, at lunch, they just kept talking about it! The test itself and the previous Unknown status was brought up at least 10 times. Really, really awkward. After lunch, I turned to Xtian and said,"You know, that conversation right there is EXACTLY why I'm glad we got married THEN had a kid. SHeesh!"

~~
Dude, folks at my work need to get a grip. My entire department (all three of us) have determined that our schedule is from 7 am - 3 pm. It makes an otherwise heinous commute actually tolerable, and allows me to spend some daylight hours with my family. It works for us, work gets done the end. We've had this schedule for over a year. And yet, people keep complaining to our VP about what time we leave. No one seems to be concerned about what time we come in. But I guess that's not their concern. So, instead of backing us up, VP is trying to make us change our schedules.
Look, it's bad enough that she wouldn't work with me on a flexible/family friendly work week, and did everything in her power to reduce the amount of maternity leave I actually got. Does she have to keep picking away at what little time I have to spend with my family?

My work has made all kinds of claims about being "a family friendly employer." But I've yet to see ONE actual policy that backs up that claim. Flexible work schedules? Well, yes, until someone whines about it then we take them away. Working from home? Nope. Creative solutions for job-sharing/maternity leave timing? No. Onsite or even geographically close daycare? No.
As far as I can find, there isn't a single aspect of this place that could be termed "Family friendly." Fucking bullshit.

You guys? This is so weak. How pathetic and petty do you have to be to complain about someone else's work schedule? I mean, I knew that my coworkers weren't always the sharpest of folks, or the nicest of folks. But this is getting utterly ridiculous. Oh yeah, and they pay at least 10K under market value. Glorious.

But did I mention that Warren is adorable? Because he is. More pictures as soon as I can get my ass in front of the computer at home. Kisses!

Rambling begets rambling, with a side of complaining

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Of Fat Feet and Cruel Overlords

So, with the increasing heat and my forever expanding body my feet have been swelling. And I don’t mean a little puffiness. I mean, I officially have CANKLES! I wake up in the morning with slightly puffy feet, and by 9 am, we’re looking at Flintstones feet.

As every woman in the world can tell you, what are you supposed to do when you have water retention/swelling? Say it with me now, drink lots of water, and avoid salt like the plague! I’m kicking ass on the drinking water thing. But, the problem is salt.
Nothing tastes right anymore. Nothing except salt. I had a delightful, perfectly seasoned steak with orzo salad for dinner last night. At least, it used to taste perfect. Last night, each bite demanded another shake of the saltshaker. Thinking that was pretty gross, I was further disgusted to find myself thinking that the cookie dough I ate later (shut up, don’t you judge me!) needed more salt. Right now, I’m thinking about salting my granola bar. Seriously. So, my own body has decided that feet so swollen you can’t flex your ankle are the best thing ever. I need a nap.

~~

So, did you hear some states are trying to make it possible to sue your boss for being mean? http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2007/08/22/BUSARMLCQ.DTL
Reading that article immediately evoked memories of my last job in Milwaukee. It was a really small, web based company where the creator of the site also filled the roles of manager, HR, and small time coke head.
So, a quick email to my old coworker, and we ended up swapping stories. Some were so amazing, I have to share, but all names have been changed to protect the victims.

My personal annoyances with this boss were the standard being made to use my vacation time when I had to have some surgery on my foot, and providing a doctor’s note. Being shrieked at when I accidentally used the wrong link on our website my first day doing any web editing. The problem was fixed within 4 minutes, but that didn’t stop the 25-minute tirade, no exaggeration. Taking 5 sick days in 8 months, and being called into his office to explain myself, regardless of the fact no sick time policy had been violated.

This guy was like an abusive boyfriend. He’d abuse everyone one staff, verbally and publicly for a week, then when everyone was just getting to mutinous rage, he’d take everyone out for drinks. “Baby, you know I don’t like to hurt you. But you just make me so mad! Here, have some jewelry. I don’t know what I’d do if you ever left me…”

So, a couple of the stories that were relayed back to me are as follows:

“I went into his office in tears one morning apologizing for the short notice but my cousin had died in a car accident over the weekend and I would need to go to Michigan for a few days. He said he was sorry for my loss and then said it would not be a problem, but since my cousin was not an immediate family member I would have to use my vacation days. The bereavement policy only offered two days for an immediate family member.” (Please note: the bereavement policy that the boss himself wrote!)

“The IT guy, had a kid diagnosed with juvenile diabetes and had to go to a lot of appointments at Children's Hospital. The boss was disgusted and I believe expressed to another coworker ‘I don't know what the big deal is. It's JUST diabetes!’”

So, in honor of that crackpot of an asshole boss, I will open up the comments to those who wish to share the heinous actions of bosses/former bosses. Pseudonyms encouraged.

Perhaps it's all the sugar...

Ok, so that was weird. The knocked up VP just came into my office for a command belly showing. I mean, I get it. We’re both pregnant. But, we weren’t friends before and I see no reason to be friends now. Just strange the way pregnant people and especially their bellies become public property. People feel able to say things and ask questions that would NEVER even be considered when speaking to a non-pregnant lady.
Imagine asking a casual acquaintance, “How’s the uterus today?” “Are your breasts sore?” “Having any gas?” You wouldn’t do it ever. But these are the types of questions I’m answering every time I run into another human in the hallway. And then people wonder why I’m holed up in my office all day every day.

Yesterday I decided to give myself a treat for breakfast and made a Nutella sandwich. (If you don’t know what Nutella is, or you don’t like Nutella, I don’t think we can be friends anymore. Nutella is a chocolate and hazelnut spread similar to creamy peanut butter. Except it is made of chocolate and hazelnuts. Two of the ruley-est foods every found). So, I slathered two pieces of bread with a THICK layer of the stuff, put it in a bag, and off to work I went.
After one bite, I decided that I hate that bread. It was so dense chewing was difficult. Swallowing: impossible. So instead I pulled the bread apart and licked all the Nutella off. Sounds like a balanced breakfast to me. But seriously? I want everything to be made of Nutella. All food products should be made out of chocolate. We’d all be much happier people.
Except for people who don’t like chocolate. But those people should be summarily executed anyway.

I’ve found that being constantly tired, emotional and irrational really brings out the fascist in me. In the past week I’ve lamented that a mother hadn’t aborted her ill-mannered child; an old person hadn’t just kicked off yet; that we can’t round up all people I find unnecessary and leave them in a compound in Siberia; that ex-boyfriends aren’t all immediately shipped across country in an unprecedented exchange program; and that at least 15 states in the US could be blown off the map, and no one would miss them (Florida? Gone. Arkansas? Forget it.); and that working reproductive organs aren’t handed out only after passing a general IQ and common sense test, administered by me.

Wow, writing that all down really makes me look awesome. Or something.

I’m tons of fun these days.

You think my Love of Charmed is bad?

My compulsive need to see every episode of Charmed has been well documented. Probably one of my less charming traits. (Charming, get it? Sorry, that was awful.)
But it’s time to rat out Xtian.
Xtian has developed a love of Bridezillas. Yes, that terrible, train wreck of a show about women who lose their damn minds planning a wedding. And I wholly encourage Xtian’s newfound obsession, you want to know why?

With each episode I look steadily less crazy. Close friends will remember the Parmesan cheese fiasco the day before my own wedding. But that is not even comparable to the level of horridness displayed on this show. Xtian is amazed at the shrieking, bitching, freaking out wenches portrayed on this program (but I seriously see how some of them can get that way. Your dressmaker ripped the bodice of your $4000 dress and didn’t mention it or fix it? So you’re now being stitched into the dress 45 minutes before the ceremony? Proceed with the complete mental breakdown.).

I’ve decided all television shows viewed by Xtian should serve to make me look better by comparison. For every lunatic spewing animosity on her betrothed, I look like more like Mother Theresa.

In this same vein, Xtian watched a documentary on Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. Again, I think my compulsive neuroses and obsessive traits have been discussed at length on this site. But watching this documentary made Xtian remark, “After seeing these people, it makes your OCD look CUTE.” And that, ladies and gentleman, is precisely what I’ve been trying to convince him. Mission accomplished.

~~~~

In the restroom at work, there are three stalls. Two of them have doors that automatically sit slightly open, unless you lock them. The third stall has a door that automatically falls closed. The one that falls closed is a touch roomier than the other two so when possible, I use that stall. (Umm, what’s with making bathroom stall so cramped you have to step around the toilet to close the door behind you? This is just awkward and gross.)
Knowing that the one stall is always closed, whether someone is in there or not, I usually listen when I walk into the bathroom to hear if someone else is in there. If I don’t hear anything, I’ll gently nudge the door to see if it’s locked. If so, I move on to another stall.

Apparently, this is not a thought process anyone else has experienced. Every time I’ve been in the preferred stall, someone will burst into the bathroom, and SLAM their full body force against my stall’s door. It’s disconcerting. (and being the pregnant lady who pees 4 times an hour these days, I’m in and out of the bathroom a LOT.)

But that’s nothing compared to the other day. I was in the preferred stall when Mean Russian Lady and someone else walk into the bathroom. They are having a loud conversation as they walk in, and MRL SLAMS into my stall’s door. While continuing the conversation, she moves on to another stall, does her thing and steps out of the stall. Then she proceeds to SLAM into my stall’s door again, and again while loudly saying, “This door is locked but no one’s in here!” My response was to clear my throat, cough, make some other sound to alert the person that, indeed, someone IS in there. But she didn’t hear anything because she’s loudly banging on the door and shouting about NO ONE BEING IN THERE!

Finally, I had to shout, “MEAN RUSSIAN LADY! SOMEONE IS IN HERE!” It was beyond uncomfortable.

Apparently, I have to somehow announce my presence in the bathroom in order to not have someone beating the door down. F’ing A.

But then again, why do expect anything better from the people I work with? Picture your rank and file trailer park in back woods Arkansas. Now, imagine the people who were chased OUT of that trailer park for being too stupid and low class. Now think if all those people were brothers and sisters who procreated together. THIS is the level of people we’re talking about.

Party like a Rock Star. Totally, Dude.

Yeah, so blah blah, headaches, blah blah, whiplash trip to Chico, blah blah work is annoying.
There, I think that’s everything.

Oh, except, did I mention that we bought a car? Oh, I didn’t? Whoops. Yeah, so the cutest car in the world is now in the Coley-Xtian possession. We’ve named her Priscilla. She is blue.

It’s hard naming a car when you’re also in the process of picking out baby names. I kept getting stuck with all the names on the “Possible Baby Names” list, and thought it might be awkward to name our child after our car. Or vice versa. So, it had to be a name that wasn’t on the list, with enough humor to it that we don’t feel like asshats when we call the car by name. So, Priscilla it is. Extra points if you put on an Elvis sneer when you say it.

I went maternity shopping with my mom last weekend and actually bought clothing with PATTERNS. Those who don’t see me in person might not know that I avoid all patterns if at all possible. Everything I own is a solid color. (Hell, it’s only a few months ago that I branched out from my wardrobe containing only the colors black, red, yellow and sometimes blue. These things take time.)
And while shopping, I tricked my mom into cursing. Which, let’s face it, is always funny. I was trying on some jeans, and asked my mother, “Do these give me Mom Ass?”
Without thinking, mom replied, “No, they don’t give you Mom Ass.” Then was horrified that I’d made her cuss. Hehehehe. I’m pure evil. And it’s awesome.

DUDE! These weekends with *gulp* activities planned? They have to stop. I’m tired. I need a week to sit on my ass and eat Twizzlers. And Ramen. And watch the last season of Charmed.

~~
So, for those not in the know, I did not change my name when Xtian and I got married.
There are a lot of reasons for this ranging from simply: I’m lazy and changing all my ID’s, spending a day at the courthouse filling out forms, and learning a new signature sounded like torture to me; and all the way to the more complex: My name is part of my identity, and names are a traditionally powerful thing (mythologically, if you name something you own it) and that didn’t sit right with me. (I’ve got no issue with those who choose to change their names, more power to you. It just didn’t work for me.)
Xtian didn’t care one way or the other if we have the same last name, and really that’s all that matters.
Some family members showed some surprise when they learned I’d kept my name, but I hadn’t heard anybody expressing negativity about it. Until last weekend.

Two instances in the same day kind of irked me.
Instance the First:
While Step Grandma and Grandpa were visiting at my parents’, we were chatting about my aunt’s recent marriage. Someone asked if my aunt had changed her name, which she did. SG told the story like this, “I asked Aunt if she was keeping her name or changing it, and she said, ‘I’ll be changing it. I’m NOT Coley.’”
This was a little weird. I’ve talked to Aunt and was supportive when she said she was changing her name. So, what’s with the attitude? Did she really disapprove or my choice? Or is it more like she felt judged and threatened?

Instance the Second
Later at dinner, my brother and his friend were over. We were chatting about marriage and babies and all that. My dad asked the very logical question, “What will your kids’ last name be?” I explained that we’ll hyphenate, and when/if the kids get married, they can do whatever they want with it.

My brother suddenly got kind of agro about me not changing my name. He kept asking why I wouldn’t. When I joked that I was too lazy to fill out forms, he snipped, “how hard can it be? One day at the courthouse! It’s not hard,” Etc. What the fuck does it matter to him? Is it so offensive that he had to start a fight with me over dinner? It kept escalating despite my efforts to disarm with, “It was important to me, and Xtian is fine with it, so that’s all that matters.” Shit, dude. Why does anyone think they get to have an opinion about these things? How does it affect you, in any way? And, seriously, we’ve been married over a year. NOW is the time to have this throw down over a PERSONAL CHOICE?

Fuck. Now I’m getting all annoyed just thinking about it. I love my family, but sometimes I want to choke the shit out of some people.

Right, I’m out.

Throw some D's on that bitch.

Oh my, the tiredness, she is upon us. I was reading my book while I ate a little lunch, and could not keep my eyes open. I attempted to just put my head down for a few minutes and catch a little rest, but the people in my office do not understand that’s NOT an invitation to check in with me. I know it’s out of concern (or gossip possibilities), but DUDE! I’m trying to catch a little catnap before I have to be back on my game. You asking, “Is everything ok?” is not helping.

That’s it; a soda and a Ho Ho are completely called for.

~~
I realize that the people I work with are not always the smartest or most socially savvy people in the world. But, really, I didn’t expect to be drilled about the reason I quit the softball team. Most people just mention that I quit, ask if everything’s ok, and move on. I guess they realize that when medical stuff is involved it’s not usually any of their business. Except for one guy. He dropped by yesterday to ask about my leaving the team. But wouldn’t let me leave it at, “Well, my doctor said I shouldn’t be playing, hopefully I’ll be back next season.” Larry needed to know why. And kept asking. I finally had to say, “I’m not comfortable talking about it, so I’d appreciate your respecting that.” Would it even occur to you to start quizzing someone you’ve only spoken to in passing about their medical situation? Now, granted, I’ll eventually tell my office about Mocha Cub, but it’s entirely too early to be public knowledge (although I don’t seem to have any problem publishing it on the internet, so maybe I’m a smidge retarded…)

Damned if that Ho Ho didn’t make me want another. Curse you and your deliciously awful dessert products, Hostess! Oh well, I haven’t gained any weight since I got pregnant, so I’m completely justifying my near-constant eating.

Oooh, I think I saw some donuts in the kitchen… this has definite possibilities.
Rock the Tuesday, yo.

Holy Crap! I'm really hungry. (How's that for a non sequitur?)

So the weekend was mostly delightful. We had a superfun Game Night on Saturday with friends, Sarah took us out for breakfast on Sunday, and I got to watch about 6 hours of Charmed. Just phenomenal. (Although, seriously? When does Shannen Doherty die? I’m really tired of looking at that bitch. I was sure it was during Season three, but I’m almost finished and SHE’S STILL ALIVE!)

Step Grandma is just as crazy as ever, and has decided that I’m her confidant when things are bothering her. So, I’m now fielding an average of 6 phone calls a week wherein she whines and complains and stresses out about things that DO NOT MATTER! She brought her daughter, (the bride and mother to be) to tears by ragging on her eating habits in front of the entire family. Yeah, because you know what’s good for pregnant ladies? A lot of stress and anxiety needlessly brought on by your own mother. Good stuff.

I think I may have finally gotten across to SG that while she’s allowed to worry, she’s NOT allowed to bother my aunt with that shit. The pregnant lady’s stress is far more detrimental to the baby than is the moderate amount of salt she’s eating. But, we’ll see if my lecture actually made an impact. On the plus side, she listened to my tactful lecture without hanging up on me, as she’s been known to do. So, maybe this wedding won’t be quite the shitstorm I’m fearing.

Who am I kidding? Every event our family touches involves someone getting lit on fire, someone cooking the main course without removing the plastic wrap, or someone getting blitzed and telling people some REALLY inappropriate things over the toast.

~~

Over game night I told my oldest friend, Mel (er, the friend I’ve known the longest, rather) about Mocha Cub, and so it was all fun and delightful. Until her friend, whom I’ve also known for several years, started talking. Her friend, we’ll call her C, is not exactly couth, and has not lost that 20-year-old-I-know-everything arrogance.

So here’s how the conversation goes.

Coley: We’re having a baby!
Mel: YAY! Congratulations, I can’t believe it that’s awesome!
C: Congratulations…there’re so many pregnant women at my work, and man! Pregnant ladies are bitches.

Really? That’s what you thought it would be ok to say right now? Really?

Later in the evening C was giving us a dissertation on how “No Parents Have Any Idea What They Are Doing and Only I Know the Right Way to Raise Kids.”
Now I know that everyone is guilty of judging parents and saying some ignorant shit about, “My kids will NEVER be allowed to watch tv!” But, really this was too much. Any time someone says something that applies to “all” parents or babies, I call bullshit. When I attempted to say something to the effect of, “Well that may be true for some, but there’s a reason there are so many books written on the subject, kids react differently,” I was met with absolutism, “No. If something is tired, it will sleep. Parents are just stupid by running to their kid when they cry.” I’d like to watch her tell that to the parents of a 3 month old. I don’t think she’d make it out alive.

Not every child is the same, and so why would the exact same behavior training work on every kid? It won’t. I just love the arrogance, as though millions of people have been having children for millions of years, but ONLY C knows how to do it right. Especially since C does not have children of her own. And for those of us who have babysat, or teach children, that does NOT mean you know how to raise children.

It was just too much for Coley, and I had to leave the room.

This is not to say that C is a bad person. She’s generally lovely. But that whole arrogant naiveté is more than a little irritating.

~~~

Oh man, I know turnover is just a part of work, but it’s getting comical around here. In an office of about 70 people, I can think of 4 people who’ve left in the last 5 days. That’s a lot of people. I wonder when management figures out that reducing turnover, saves them money?

~~
So, last week I mentioned Crazy MIL sending us bible workbooks. But what I forgot to mention (and Sarah pointed out to me) was that the other things she sent us, were photocopies of flyers that would be passed out on busy street corners. Like, she got a flyer, photocopied it and mailed it to her son. And these weren’t things that were useful. They were like, coupons for Los Angeles based businesses, or somebody’s bullshit political flyer.

I think Faith said it best: What does that MEEEAAN?

Open letter to coworkers in my office suite:

I understand that bodily functions aren't always within your control. But in the future, could you refrain from farting into my office as you walk by? It’s disgusting. And rude.

Gratefully,

Coley

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.

Ass, Vagina. Not like that!

Can I call an official moratorium on calling people who plan to procreate “breeders”? It’s just obnoxious. Shall we call people who don’t plan to procreate “sterilized”? Yeah, didn’t think so. Eat my ass people. My plans for my uterus have fuck all to do with anyone else. (Did that seem a little annoyed and defensive? It did, didn’t it? I shall try to move on).

Ok, now that that’s done… So tired. My eyes look like two pinholes in a puffy, undercooked pancake. Oh, and to top it off, red, painful zits, two of them, developing right on the tip of my nose. Say it with me, people! “Hot.”
Yes, that’s me. But, you know what makes me feel better about that? I finally got my birthday present from Xtian. It’s a bright blue, really shiny, Ipod! I know, I’m a little retarded in my excitement, but I’ve been coveting one ever since I bought Xtian his for Xmas last year. I’m a terrible human being. But, I finally get to jump on the bandwagon, after all these years. I feel accepted and socially with it. And that’s what really counts. Right? Right? *cough cough*

Moving right along: So, in an effort to show those at my work who are thinking I’m knocked up like a rapper’s personal assistant, I tried to wear more snug clothing today. Unfortunately, I don’t think it’s helping. After more than a cumulative 60 hours on a treadmill for the last 2.5 months, my gut has not shrunk in any way. So, I’m probably just reinforcing the rumor. Good lord. Now, when if I ever do get knocked up *knock wood* everyone’s going to give me those knowing smiles and roll their eyes. Just awesome.

For all those squeamish about vagina talk, consider this your warning.

So, I had a gyno appointment last week. All’s well so far, which for someone with my fucked up cervix is a good thing. I actually had the gumption to ask the nurse to NOT tell me my weight when I stepped on the scale. Very liberating. I’m done freaking out because I weigh an ENORMOUS amount. (Don’t ask. Just….don’t).
The doc came in, and I told her all about the whole trying but failing in the baby-making department, and she wasn’t concerned, gave me some helpful advice and then got down with the exam. While I’m in stirrups, she’s chatting about this Doctor’s conference she went to, where this guy was talking about “Hello Therapy.” The whole idea is to speak directly to your organs, “Hello kidneys! How are you? I know you’re having a rough time right now, but I know you can take care of yourselves. Thank you for taking care of me all this time.”
Now, I fall pretty in the middle of the traditional vs. nontraditional medicine. I’m very “just give me the fucking vicodin and let me get on with it,” while still being pretty “So, I think instead of having surgery, I’ve heard of this therapy where you lie nude from the waist down in a bed of daffodil stems, and drink sun tea.” So, I’m pretty open to new stuff, and I told the doctor that this “Hello Therapy” sounded interesting, even just from a greater awareness of your body function view.
We chatted like this for a while, and then she says, “You know, normally, I wouldn’t tell a patient about that, but I just feel so comfortable with you.” WHILE HER HAND WAS IN MY VAGINA!
The situation was so strange, but I guess pretty cool, I almost laughed out loud.

I guess I really have that affect on some people. Most of my life, people have really felt comfortable telling me things they wouldn’t tell their closest friends, let alone practical stranger. I don’t know what it is, people just trust me kind of naturally. I think it’s mostly a good thing, but it can really lead to some strange scenarios. On the other hand, this was the best exam I ever had. I didn't feel a thing. I thought she was just getting the speculum in, and she was already done. Seriously. (Maybe only a woman can appreciate the art form that is a GOOD vagina doctor's exam.)

So, with that visual imagery threatening your sanity, I’m going to go eat as much food as I can find. I’m freaking famished today!

In a continuing "Plague" theme

So, I’m older. 25, I am. So far, meh. My actually birthday was spent running some errands with Sarah, waiting for Xtian to get home, napping, getting all gussied up for dinner OUT.

You’ll notice, that actually HAVING dinner out was not mentioned. Why, you might ask? Poor, darling Xtian was stricken with the dreaded food poisoning.

I was really annoyed and disappointed. This may sound mean and callous. However, I’d like to point out that Xtian has not been full-on sick ever, since I’ve known him. So, of course it happens on my birthday. It took me about an hour, a drink and a cigarette to be able to gain perspective on the situation. Last year’s birthday was cancelled due to a wicked fight, this year’s was postponed indefinitely due to illness. In order to avoid further catastrophe, I think I’ll stop celebrating my birthdays. Seriously.

Not that it was all bad. Sitting around in pajamas, watching Saved with a delightful rum-based beverage was just as delightful as a ridiculously good bottle of wine, amazing food and an evening being called “pretty” by my wicked-hot husband would have been.

We’re still out of money from Xmas, car repairs and general what-have-you. Therefore, birthday gifts are running at least a week behind. This weekend Xtian got his cake and gifts, and maybe I’ll get mine next weekend. But probably more like the week after that.

Sunday’s Superbowl extravaganza was superb. I took Monday off work so that drunken debauchery could unfold, as it will. Jenga and rum? A winning combination.
OH! And Jen came over to bring me a GORGEOUS cookbook, and some socky-slippers that say Cutie on them. Needless to say, my feet were plenty toasty all day. Jen sure knows how to spoil a girl!

Ok, one little “work annoyance” then I’ll mosey along. A little while ago, my big sister called to chat a bit. (A little side story: my entire office building is an OPEN DOOR office. If you close your door, ever, for even 5 minutes, people walk over to wave in the window and ask if everything’s ok. So, even when on a personal phone call, I leave my office door open. This place does not believe that you should even HAVE a door, but the building came with them). We were on the phone for about 15 minutes. I’m aware that sound carries in this office, so I always make it a point to speak softly and only in work-appropriate manners. So, I was really miffed when, about 2 minutes into the conversation, a woman from down the hall came over and closed my office door. Umm, fuck off? Maybe I’m just being overly sensitive, but since I have to listen to this woman talk OVER everyone else (including the people she’s speaking with, yeah, she’s a monologuer) for the 5 hours she works a day, I think she can listen to my muffled voice for 15 minutes. Yeah, so in a big “FUCK YOU” gesture, I’m going to go ahead and keep my door closed for the rest of the day. Oh, and on top of it all, she’s probably the least intelligent person I’ve ever met. And you know there's nothing I hate more than a really stupid person who A) doesn't ever shut up, B) doesn't realize she is stupid and C) is too busy talking to ever listen. Ever.

Happy F*ing Tuesday.

Jingle Bells: seriously shut up.

So, there's a woman who works near my office. She's very strange in ways I can't really describe (always looks frightened in a Large kind of way, talks in really excited tones about things that aren't really exciting at all: such as PAPERCLIPS! and TOAST!). But her most defining characteristic would have to be her walk. It's more of an upper-body forward leaning stomp. Kind of a march with momentum. It's obnoxious to begin with, and today she's added....a freaking jingle bell.

Festive.

F'ing A is today going to be long.

Can I officially call a moratoriam on clothing or accessories that MAKE NOISE? At least noise I can hear from more than 10 inches away? How precious is this fucking holiday season going to get?

~~~~

In other news, my MIL (you remember, the psychotic one?) has apparently decided I no longer exist. This is so stupid, I just had to share it.
Yesterday, in the mail was a 2 foot long, 1 foot wide envelope. Xtian took one look and said, "Oh god. It's from my mother." Now in the past, everything we received in the mail from her has been addressed to "Xtian and Coley." This was addressed to Xtian only. So, I started giggling.
Then Xtian opened it, and it's an obnoxiously large Xmas card with some dumbass cartoon character or something on it. Totally weak yet ridiculous.

On the inside some personalized note was scrawled to the effect of, "Xtian, I hope you are having a wonderful season, I *heart* you, Xtian, Mommy" and the preprinted message had the word "family" underlined about 9 times. (I think she just forgot to write "Only Xtian and NOT Coley.")
I consider this the equivalent of being 5 years old, getting mad at, for example, your dad. So, to show your displeasure, you draw a picture of the whole family, except dad. And inscribe it, "I love mommy, and sister, and brother and dog, and parakeet and NOT DAD! Everyone but DAD is good, and fun, but DAD is mean and icky!"
It couldn't have been more juvenile and petty if it had been scrawled in crayon.
I haven't been able to stop laughing since I saw it.

Just amazing.

Tuesday is For Lovers

Ugh. I feel vaguely nauseous. Awesome.

But, other than that things are just delightful. My little sister came down to visit last weekend, and much snuggly girly fun was had by all. I’m always amazed and a little misty over the neat relationship Xtian and my sister share. They are such good buddies, it makes my insides hurt from the cuteness. As Xtian says “I’ve never had a sister, so having a baby sister is fun!” Yeah, again, with the cuteness.

Saturday night we were joined by my brother and his girlfriend, whom we will call Lisa, because that is her name. I’ve met Lisa a few times, and she’s nice enough. Seems a smidge personality-lacking, but whatever. I guess we can’t all be as obnoxiously full of personality as me, right? (Or something…)
But here’s where the annoyance began. I realize they are 20 years old, and being young and in “love” is all well and good. However, I draw the line at under-clothing-groping while in the presence of ANYONE ELSE. I’m not a prude, and I think most PDA is sweet. But, it’s really awkward when your brother and his girlfriend take a shower TOGETHER while other people are home. I could get over their assumption that they would be sleeping in the same bed (I really don’t know how comfortable I am with that, weird.) but the showering and constant PAWING was just beyond the bounds of good taste and manners. I think Sarah said it best, “it sounds like they used your house like a hotel. They just came to have sex.”

So, that’s an awkward conversation that needs to happen. I’d hate to think they would do this at other relatives’ homes. Time for some lessons on being a courteous and polite houseguest.

~~~~

In another note, I’m trying to at least PLAN ahead for Xmas. I was pondering on what to do for some cousins/aunts etc. I’m partial to the “family gift” when it comes to non-immediate relatives (hell, I’d be poor if I bought/made gifts for everyone). I was lamenting that I have no skills/hobbies that lend themselves to making gifts. I can’t sew really, I don’t knit, can only crochet in the most lenient meaning of the word, not very artistic etc. See, nothing really awesome here.
But then I got to thinking. What I can do, is cook.
So, I’m thinking about putting together meals that can be stored in the freezer, then just popped into the oven when you’re not into cooking, or whatever. Kind of like the Chop-Shop does.
I’m asking the Internet now, is this the dumbest idea ever, or is it as cool as I think it might be? Let’s take a poll. Get honest here, if your cousin/niece gave you a fully ready-to-go meal (which would be delicious) for Xmas, would you think it was a good gift, or would it be a “Wow….that’s….neat? I guess?” scenario?

I ran it by my mom who thought it was kind of cool. And she told me that I’m more of a Mormon woman than anyone would ever believe. And I guess it is a little “Jesus Wants Me For a Sunbeam,” but I think I’m ok with that.
So, the polls are open, weigh in, my feelings will not be hurt if you think it’s a little stupid.

Genius?

In traffic this morning, I found myself behind a car with a vanity plate reading “Mensan.” I can only assume this person was a member of Mensa the so-called genius organization. Here’s the thing, if this person was so smart, why couldn’t they figure out that the left lane is NOT for people wishing to drive 45 MPH in a 65 zone?

A few things to note:

You know what’s awesome? Waking up, going for a run, feeling pretty good today after a couple of yucky weeks, only to get to work, and have someone who almost never talks to you ask “God, are you sick? You look sick.” To which I replied, “No, not sick, just looking good, apparently.”
Awesome.

I finally responded to one of my MIL’s offensive emails (this one was so racist, I almost cried) with a polite, and nice “please don’t send me emails like this in the future” note.
I can’t wait to see how this turns out.

I had dinner last night with Jen and a couple of her friends and their children. It reminded me that a lot of people are focusing on the negatives of having children, as though they need to remind me that it will be hard. But spending time with this neat family and their super neat kids, reminded me that THIS is why people have children.

And as another note, now that is mostly common knowledge (at least to anyone NOT related to me) that we’re “trying” I seem to be getting a weird response from some casual acquaintances. Every time the subject of having kids comes up, at least one person will start making a case about overpopulation. Nice. I just have to wonder if these people have figured out:

• That’s unbelievably rude,
  
• Umm, telling someone who is trying to get pregnant that THEY are contributing to this problem might not go over well (thanks for trying to tell me I’m not entitled to want children)
  
• That we actually have a negative population growth in this country, and a lot of overpopulation problems have nothing to do with birthrates, and EVERYTHING to do with people living longer. So, easy solution for those people: DIE NOW.
  

Can you tell it bothers me just a little? Oh, you can?


~~~~~~
And I just noticed that this is my 200th post on this site. So, I found myself wondering why I do this. Why do I spew my garbage all over the internet? I know a lot of what I write is petty stuff and I’m not meaning to sound whiny or complaining. Really, I just think it’s better to laugh at the little annoyances rather than actually letting them hurt me. If I can find the humor in something, it can’t be that bad, right? And framing events for a public forum makes me look at it all from an external perspective. And everything is funnier when it doesn’t happen to YOU.
And at least I have a creative outlet since I don’t really get a chance to write what I want in my job and I’ve never aspired to write the great American novel. So, at least I can feel like I’m not letting my writing wither away and die.

Hell, it’s not like anyone who doesn’t know me reads this thing anyway.
Anyone else ever figured out why they essentially write a journal in a public outlet? Are we all just self-indulgent narcissists? Probably, but meanwhile, it’s been nice reading about people in the same/different situations.

Happy 200, yo. Wish I had something a little more interesting, but it is Monday afterall.