Hi, Have You Met Me?

His Momma

2010-09-15T22:30:00.003-06:00

Arlo turned 1 last month, and like any good mother I bought myself a gift to commemorate the occasion. A bug for my bug if you will. His birthstone dances around when I wear it and I couldn't be happier with the purchase. I highly recommend!

Baby

2010-09-15T21:22:00.002-06:00

I cried at work today. Technically it wasn't the first time and it most certainly won't be the last, I'm well aware of what a baby I can be. But this episode was bad enough that neighboring coworkers came over to see what the hell was wrong with me and offer up their sympathetic eyes. Which only make me cry more by the way, once I see that someone feels sorry for me, there's no holding back the self-pity.

The morning started off terribly. That teething babe nearly ripped my heart out when he clutched on to me so tight I could barely make my way out of the door for work. I should have stayed home with him. It would have made him feel better and I would not have experienced the trauma of crying in my office. TRAUMA over something that doesn't mean anything, less than nothing, stupid.

If I had stayed home with my baby boy, that heated phone call would have likely taken place over a sweet cuddle session on the couch and HGTV softly playing in the background. My happy place helps keep my emotions in check. If I would have stayed, I would have at least felt like I wasn't failing in one aspect of my life. My role of doting mother would not have been sacrificed for the day. If I would have stayed home I wouldn't have had to experience a room full of construction workers looking at me and my red puffy eyes like they didn't know what to say. My ears would have just gotten the random heckling that penetrates them almost daily, and consequently tickles my soul…When the hell are you going to show up to our meetings? If I remove a tree, do I have to hug it first? I hope those are steel-toe ballet flats missy!

Instead, I cried at work. Like a big blubbery idiot who couldn't take the heat. Which is bull shit really. I CAN TOTALLY take the heat, dish it – take it what have you, BRING IT MF ON! I was just a little off this morning I guess. I feel like a disappointment, like I'm not representing my fellow females in the corporate world. My emotions got the better of me and I lost my shit. LOST IT.

So that's it - enough about that. On to a week of "I'M FINE, quit asking!" and there will be no more crying from this whiney baby about today. I will leave the crying to Arlo and his two front teeth.

View of the Top

2010-07-12T22:23:00.002-06:00

The Aviary finally opened the doors to the newly renovated pavilion. Some much needed upgrades have occured but the integrity of the original structure remains. This beautiful view is now available from the inside!

About a Boy

2010-07-12T20:05:00.004-06:00

It was inevitable. I had a baby so: A. I don't update my blog anymore & B. I just write about motherhood. How predictable of me. But, I do believe you're here reading this out of your own free will, so I don't really feel that bad about it anyway.

Moving on…

This baby. Oh where do I begin talking about this baby? Well I'm sure if I really began where this baby began, it would be a much more interesting blog entry, but hey…It's not that kind of blog people. Okay, it is. But I'm not really in the mood to talk about that, I'm a mother now remember?

Moving on again…

I'll begin with how incredibly adorable that baby is. He actually did turn out looking like little bit of me and a little bit of Scott. My money was on another Carol look-a-like but he actually bears more of a resemblance to Grandpa Jim. I just hope that doesn't mean he'll spend his adulthood checking the Weather Channel every 2 minutes. But the most stunning feature that baby possesses are his eyes. He has the darkest peepers I have ever seen. They're beautiful, I just can't figure out whom he inherited them from. And no, "Maybe from his dad?" jokes ARE NOT FUNNY.

Then there's his personality. He oozes it. In the matter of thirty seconds this kid can give you every expression he's ever seen someone make. It's like watching a flip book. He's so animated in fact, that even I am impressed with his ability to properly associate the perfect facial expression for the occasion at hand. Like when I tell him 'no', he will shoot me a look that makes me think I should protect all my vital organs. It's really quite terrifying remarkable. I'm still wondering whom he got that look from though. It remains a mystery.

And now he's almost a year old. Sometimes I wonder how we made it this far, but mostly I can't believe how much I like this kid. You've probably heard it, how you'll never experience a love so deep as the love for your children. And don't worry; I made myself vomit a little with that sentence too. That's not exactly what I'm saying here either. It's just that when I think about that baby or when I'm holding him and he nuzzles that sweet little head with the mounds of dark mane next to my chin, I can't help but be incredibly happy.

You know how some memories just make you laugh every time you think about them? Like how my friend used to fart and then try to blow it away as a way of being polite…that shit cracks me up EVERY. TIME. Similarly, every single time I think about that baby I feel a giant flutter in my cold, black heart.

Now, I know what you're thinking…"Did she really just compare her feelings for that baby with a fart joke?" And yes, I did in fact compare my feelings to a fart joke but in my defense, Arlo thinks farts are hilarious too.

He hates it when I refer to him as my ‘Old Man’

2010-04-18T23:37:00.002-06:00

"Is this your grandpa?" I've heard it my entire life. Every time someone would meet my dad, their assumptions that he was my grandfather were imminent. And every time I have to explain to them, "No. This is my father. I was just a REALLY big mistake."

I hope that didn't come off wrong. I mean, I'm not bitter about being told I was an accident. These things happen right? The stack of contributing factors to my neuroses does not in any way include this fact. Also, my parents have explained to me several times how much they like me now. I find the reassurance to be comforting enough…plus, without me who would the older siblings have to resent? MY LIFE HAS PURPOSE!

Some of those grandfatherly assumptions are probably based on the wildly thick, white hair that my dad had amassed by the time I started grade school. Truth be told, I can't really even remember a time when my dad still had the dark brown pigment in his locks.

But I digress, weird...I know.

Now, I know what you're thinking: 'How big of a mistake were you?' Well, that and 'When is she going to stop blathering on?' And…here it is. My dad turned a whopping 80 years old today. 80. As in, born in 1920. Think of it like this: 1920 was well before the invention of the glorious television and during the dark age of prohibition. Rough ya'll, I can't even imagine. Not that any of this mattered to him, he being a damn foreigner and all. I just find it quite remarkable that when my dad says they grew up without a television, he's TOTALLY telling the truth.

Funny story. A few weeks ago, none of us could get a hold of Dad. Several of us had called and left messages…but received no returned calls. My Dad also tries to organize the troop for a Sunday morning family breakfast every once in a while, but it had been months since we last got together. Naturally, this led me to believe that he was dead or injured, lying in a ditch and out of range for cell phone service. I then spent an entire dark, snowy, Saturday evening looking for my father. I first snuck into his gated building and then got convinced someone to let me into his locked building. Once inside the hallway I spent 30 minutes calling his cell phone and listening outside his door to see if I could hear the ring.

I know this sounds more sad and depressing than funny…but bear with me.

Five phone call attempts later, I still had nothing. I was going insane, which is a really big deal because I'm already INSANE. I don't know why in the hell I didn't think of this sooner because the answer was clear, he would be at work. What? Doesn't your 80-year old father work 18 hour shifts, 7 days a week? I guess my dad is just super predictable then. So, I left the snowy housing complex to make my way toward the equally snowy industrial area. Sure enough, there was Dad's car parked right outside…so I waited.

A half-hour later he came hobbling out of the building. He wasn't hurt or anything, that's just the way he walks…did I mention HE'S OLD? I ran up to him practically still in tears and started babbling on about how I had been looking for him all night, in the snow, worried sick and why the hell aren't you answering your phone and seriously Dad, you're going to kill me. And do you know what he said to me?

"Hi Becca! Do you want to go to breakfast tomorrow?"

It turns out that he went out and bought himself a new BlackBerry. A pretty new phone that he didn't know how to answer nor dial. Why would a guy with no email address do such a thing? I believe it's called 'expert salesmanship'.

So I guess it's a REALLY good thing that I was born after all. If I wasn't here, who would take the time to make fun of my dad on his birthday?

Happy Birthday Dad.

Best Xmas card EVER

2010-01-07T18:13:00.000-07:00

It almost pays for itself

2010-01-07T18:06:00.005-07:00

I was allowed to get cable last month. And can I just tell you? I hadn't realized how much I missed it. For the last few years Scott has taught me the wonders of life without cable. In the beginning it was hard. I missed the professional wrestling the most. Do you have any idea how much time you can spend watching the series of WWF programs? Every. Single. Night. Plus a little extra on Saturday and Sunday mornings, and don't even get me started on the pay-per-view events. I never left…err, had to leave the couch. But it was good for me to go outdoors at least once a day and I learned my life didn't need to revolve around the Undertaker and the Tombstone and the Rock and what the Rock was cooking and…and…God I miss that show.

But the times, they are a changing and this summer our fine nation upgraded broadcasts to digital. And can I just tell you? It SERIOUSLY pissed me off…because well, have you ever tried to watch digital television with only an antenna? It's a lot like being on a phone call with your best friend and he's just about to tell you who was unrecognizably fat at the high school reunion (I miss my Chau), when all of a sudden he drives into a tunnel and the reception starts cutting out to the point where he sounds like a robot whose been programmed to speak in 'every other word' mode. The result is maddening. Even I can't enjoy watching television that way.

After weeks of complaining, Scott finally decided to break down and call the devil Comcast. One of Comcast's minions showed up the next Saturday and BAM! I'm falling in love all over again. How did I live without being able to watch EVERYTHING on HGTV? I shouldn't say everything on HGTV. I can't stand Divine Design. Maybe it's because the theme song involves scatting…or because I feel like smothering Candice Olson every time she speaks. But other than that, I can watch endless amounts of that channel. Did you know most people will sell their souls for granite countertops, stainless steel appliances and double sinks in the master suite? SEE I'M LEARNING STUFF TOO!

I also love the Clean House marathons. Even Scott will sit down for a little Niecy action. Mayhem and foolishness have never been so entertaining. And the best part? Scott is a changed man. No, he won't watch hours of television with me but he has finally realized that our basement is a strong candidate for a visit from the Niecy and the gang. His new motivation prompted him to clean out a drawer or two. He even gave away 4 hats! This is HUGE! HUGE!!!

I can't wait to make him start watching episodes of Hoarders with me. That show might make it possible for me to find out if we have windows in the basement!

My Loves

2010-01-01T20:10:00.003-07:00

Photo courtesy of Jim Peters

Mad Woman

2010-01-01T18:55:00.004-07:00

Yep. It's been awhile. Again. Nothing since July, it's been so long that most everybody has probably stopped checking this site for updates, not that I blame you. I have an excuse though; it's called 'Having a Nervous Breakdown'. You thought I was going to say 'Having a Baby' didn't you? See…I'm still full of surprises, totally worth reviving your twice a day refresh of this blog! Don't you think? Please?

Where was I? Oh yes, the nervous breakdown. It may have had a little to do with the birth of this guy:

Adorable.

You may think "How the hell is this woman blaming her insanity on an innocent little baby?" But that's where you're wrong see. This little baby is the best baby I've ever had the pleasure to know. I can't even begin to explain how in love I am with this guy. Also, it's not really the baby, as it's just the circus that surrounds babies in general. Babies can be summed up in one word: TERRIFYING. There are also a few choice words that sum up the way I felt when I realized how hard it is to take care of newborn…but Arlo's grandparents read this blog and I'm not about to dishearten them with the fact that their grandson's mom has a really foul mouth. Again. Anyhow, I'm now fully responsible for the care and handling of this little baby boy. Up until now the only thing I was responsible for was making a fool of myself, a job that I easily mastered.

I can't explain the amount of anxiety I felt in the weeks following Arlo's birth but it was similar to being on a super fun roller coaster without a seatbelt and about a fraction of an inch from plummeting to my death. Also, this roller coaster?...it had a feature where if I did fall, I would bring the rest of the passengers with me to their sudden and unfortunate deaths too. And before their untimely deaths occurred I had to listen to each and every one of them tell me what a bad mother I was.

And to answer your question: Yes. I know I'm insane.

My brain is in sort of in this constant mode of determining what is going to be the best thing to do for my baby. Not me, not Scott, not our marriage…MY BABY. The last few months I convinced myself that everything had to be done a certain way because IT WAS BEST FOR MY BABY. Oh yeah, and the breastfeeding I was certain I would not feel guilty about? I spent a lot of my time in contorted positions trying to feed the baby with my new found guilt. Because, who needs convictions right? I also decided I didn't need full use of my arms…and so what if my spine snaps in half? IT'S FOR MY BABY.

Then there's the sleeping, I haven't been doing much of it. When Arlo was born I would spend my evenings making frequent inspections of his bassinet to make sure he was a: ALIVE and b: Not hungry. I spent the time in-between those bassinet inspections to TOTALLY FREAK OUT. During every one of these sleepless nights, the only epiphany I experienced: "I'M A HORRIBLE MOTHER", just added more steam to my anxiety ridden train ride/wreck. My days were also spent half awake and exhausted. But I did manage to find boundless amounts of energy to tell Scott that he was DOING IT WRONG.

Scott likes to say that I got my scars on the outside and his are on the inside.

He's WRONG again; I have plenty of scars on the inside too (Note: HORRIBLE MOTHER). The first month was more difficult on us than the 3 months that we I spent stripping 5 layers of wallpaper in EVERY room of our house.* And while I don't think we'll ever forget the multiple forms of distress we both experienced the first couple of months of Arlo's life, I think things can only get better for us…at least I hope so. Plus, I'm feeling so much better now despite the fact that I sometimes still need to tell Scott that he's DOING IT WRONG.

And for all 86 of my friends that are currently pregnant, don't worry…the beast that was awakened in my soul had been lightly hibernating for some time. Your experience will be totally different. Totally. But if it's not, just remember that I have a bottle of gin and a dry shoulder waiting for you, because we're all in this together. Right? Can one of you please make me a cocktail now?

So there you have it, an excuse that probably took longer than it needed too. But I'm trying to write again, albeit without the full use of my arms and a severed spine. Which doesn't have as much to do with the quality of my writing as it does the frequency…meaning my writing will still be terrible.

Happy Blogging!

*I reserve the right to tell this story in its entirety at a later date.

I get to spend the weekend thinking about a more important set of girls

2009-07-29T22:28:00.006-06:00

My Father-in-Law is going to have a field day with this post come Christmas

2009-07-29T22:19:00.003-06:00

I'll admit it. I have this weird thing about breastfeeding. It seems so surreal that I can feed my baby with my boobs. Yes, MY BOOBS CAN FEED BABIES…and it slightly weirds me out. I'm not weirded out enough to make me not want to breastfeed. I mean, I think it's really weird that I can grow people and eventually those people have to exit my body in the most horrific way imaginable. BUT THAT DIDN'T STOP ME DID IT?

I view breastfeeding similarly to the way that I view being pregnant. I have no false hopes that things will be easy for me and that I won't experience every painful symptom associated with each of them. But I understand that I will have to attempt to make it through both of them to have the child I always dreamed of, a healthy baby boy with a little bit of me and a little bit of Scott…who will most likely resemble Carol (Hi Carol!). I believe breastfeeding is a way to ensure that I'm giving my boy the proper nutrition, a way to avoid having to use my erratic microwave to warm up bottles and also to stay away from measuring formula, as 'measuring' ingredients has never been my strong suit. Plus, that proper nutrition is also a sure fire way to ensure this kid quickly develops the big strong hands he needs to rub my feet and the strong and steady legs he'll need to quickly fetch mommy a beer, because well…his dad probably needs a break.

Basically, I'm on board. No feigned wisdom or conjured delusions necessary. I've already experienced my fair share of the BS ambushes breastfeeding advocates will throw at me. I'm constantly being told how wonderful breastfeeding is. I can't waddle 5 feet before some woman makes a comment about how my baby won't have ever have diarrhea if I breastfeed. I've heard it all before, so I guess I shouldn't have been surprised when I waddled into my breastfeeding class on Monday. I signed up for the class with the hopes of learning the basics and perhaps a few tips and tricks to keep me going once the pain and frustration set in. I know many a mom who had extreme difficulty and their experiences have only helped me learn that I need to be realistic about what I was attempting to do. I need help because it's not going to be easy. But instead I walked into yet another classroom with a hippie teacher making each pregnant woman who signed up describe why she wanted to breastfeed her baby.

"Because it's cheaper!"

-Yeah, I hear breast pads, shields, soothing ointment, cabbage leaves, cooling pads, electric pumps, nursing bras and nursing tops are super inexpensive. Plus we all know that our time isn't worth much either, right? IDIOT.

"Because it will give my child a higher IQ"

-Uh huh, and if you believe that, I think your kid needs all the help he can get BECAUSE OF THE GENES YOU'RE PASSING ON.

"I hear it prevents saggy boobs"

-That's funny; I always thought muscle tissue AND THAT INANE THING CALLED GRAVITY had more to do with sagging boobs than milk ducts did. Silly me.

"Because it prevents obesity"

-Really? Since when is newborn obesity such an epidemic? Wait! If breastfeeding will prevent me from having to teach my kid about a balanced diet and exercise think of all the time and money I'll save! MAYBE IT REALLY IS CHEAPER…AND MAYBE THE BRAINWASHING IS FINALLY WORKING. The Militant Breastfeeding Advocate Army has succeeded where the Mormons failed!

"What's that? Oh, it's my turn…Well, I just figure: What the hell? I'll give it a shot."

…And then, the hippie's head exploded.

Perhaps I should have gone with "Because it will make you shoot rainbows out of your nipples and turn your areolas into GOLD!" Maybe that answer would have also prevented the sound of 6 pregnant women simultaneously blinking uncontrollably in disbelief. But is it so wrong that I can't be forced into a round of Mommy Guilt? Do I not have the rest of my child's life to experience supreme guilt? Why the hell would I want to start now?

We then watched an informative 10 minute video, that in no way made me feel as if I was getting my money's worth. The remainder of the class was reserved for the instructor to stand at the front of the room and ask if anyone had any questions. Questions? Maybe if there had actually been some viable material presented, I could ask a question about it…but all I got was 10 minutes of one of the most outdated instructional videos ever made. Unfortunately I was the only one who felt this way. It became very clear to me that I would be spending the next 2 hours listening to a never-ending round of some of the dumbest questions ever conjured up. Questions that could only be answered a doctor or pediatrician, not by some hippie nurse who felt the need to tell everyone that she hated to wear bras, even when she was nursing each of her 5 children until they were the age of 3…so we shouldn't feel like we had to either. Not. Even. Kidding.

I still can't believe I actually paid good money for that 'class'. I should have known it was all a part of this giant breastfeeding conspiracy. Another way to tell women that breastfeeding is the most wonderful thing on earth and if you don't love it, you're doing it wrong.

Now if you'll excuse me I have to go change my identity before the crazies at La Leche League find out where I live.

Temporarily a picture blog

2009-07-19T22:00:00.004-06:00

I'm just over 36 weeks pregnant now, which officially means…I've been pregnant forever. I'm also huge, incredibly whiny and taking up residence in the nearest restroom. I have been quite busy as of late as well, what with all the complaining I've been doing…but Scott and I have been productive too. The nursery is finally ready thanks to Scott giving up a few weekends of hanging out with his boyfriend, and a couple of lovely baby showers thrown in little Peter's honor. I figure ya'll have probably had enough of my endless complaining so I thought I would just post this endless supply of recent photos. I'm not even going to tell you how bad it hurt my swollen fingers to type this paragraph. You're welcome.

The Nursery

Mushroom bedding for our future hippie (if he's anything like his dad that is)

His fortress of solitude

What my mom says will scar him for life (she obviously doesn't know me at all)

I believe this is where I'll be spending many a sleepless night

Where Scott will be spending most of his time

Papa picked these out special

Burp cloths and bedtime stories ready at the go

Hand painted...gotta love the internet

The Shower & The Goods

They came...

bearing gifts

for Peter Peters!

Even Pete's cousins came to help celebrate

Everyone got to make Peter something special to wear

and I got to make him a special outfit too...I wonder if he'll like bacon flavored formula?

Aunt Tia (awesomest sister ever) made lots of adorable, much needed burp cloths...

and some coordinating blankets

Grandma made some too! Possibly to shield his eyes from all the scary birds we filled the nursery with

Thanks Everyone!

Dam

2009-06-30T22:14:00.003-06:00

There's already a beaver in his bed.

33 down

2009-06-30T21:38:00.003-06:00

Scott and I completed our Third Trimester Class a couple weeks ago and after 8 straight hours of instruction we're more than ready to become parents (right?). At the very least we know what it's going to take to get this baby out of me and we even have a good idea about how to keep him happy once he's finally here. At least that's what we're hoping.

At any rate, the other participants in the class made us feel more confident as soon-to-be parents…mostly because we were the only ones in the room who were old enough to be having kids of our own. Well…us, and one girl's mom but hopefully that woman is done torturing humanity with her offspring.

We had an intense instructor who was two hemp necklaces short of being of full blown hippie. She made us repeat things like "My labor will be less than 30 minutes" and "My baby is perfectly sized for my body". At one point I thought she was going to give us each a copy of The Secret and force us to start making jewelry together. I wanted to tell her what I really thought of the power of suggestion and that my body had already been making a few suggestions of its own. Like how my ankles have been telling me they need to be lanced and my back has suggested it will be on strike until next winter.

For the entire first half of the class we were taught a series of positions and motions that would aide in the delivery of our baby. I'm all for helping things move along more quickly but nothing she showed us seemed all that possible while being numb from the waist down, leading me to believe that she was actually talking about the phenomenon called natural childbirth. While I pondered what I was going to write on my comment card: Make first half of the class optional and offer half price discounts for realistic/frightened women; I glanced over at Scott and noticed how intently he was actually listening.

Me: This lady is super intense huh? I'm having a hard time not bursting into laughter.

Scott: I like her. I think she really knows her stuff. Do you want to see if we can get a delivery room with a Jacuzzi tub?

Me: Nah. You can't use that technique if you get an epidural.

Scott: *Looks at me as if I'm crazy*

Me: *Gives him a look that informs him that he's crazy*

On our lunch break, Scott again attempted to steer me in the direction of natural childbirth, or as I like to refer to it "unnecessary PAIN".

Scott: Don't you think it would be fun to just try to go naturally?

Me: No. I don't think any of LABOR will be 'fun'.

Scott: But…

Me: How about you can go naturally when you give birth?

Scott: But…

Me: You know what would be fun? Testing what else the power of suggestion can do to you! Repeat after me: "I will clean the basement when I get home"

Scott: Very funny.

Last hurrah

2009-05-31T22:51:00.002-06:00

A shot from our last childless trip together. Too bad it felt like all that water was flowing straight to my ankles.

I can see you

2009-05-31T22:26:00.003-06:00

Yeah I know. It's been while. I've heard all your complaints and while I'm sorry I haven't been around to entertain, I just can't manage to write on any sort of regular basis anymore. I won't bore you with all my excuses, but I'll just say that things have been quite insane for me as of late and my brain is no longer able to handle the load it once did (which is really sad considering). It is also safe for all of you to assume that I've just been busy having a love affair with peanut butter. Seriously, I'm taking a snack break as soon as I finish this paragraph.

I've also been busy enjoying the springtime as I hope most of you have. The trees are covered in greens leaves, colorful flowers are blooming and the park is loaded with people to stare at. I really love having a park across the street from me. It's nice to always have somewhere to go if you want to spend some time outdoors and the choices are abundant… long strolls on summer evenings, an impulse visit to the aviary or a quiet breakfast on a Sunday morning. As I've said before, I think it's possibly the one of the greatest parks in the world, except on Sundays when it smells like dirty drum circle hippies.

This time of year is especially good for utilizing the free pair of binoculars Scott acquired some years back. Yes, you read that sentence correctly. I stare at people in the park with binoculars. What? It's not weird.

Or maybe it is a little weird.

A couple months ago Scott and I ran into an old acquaintance and his new bride at the grocery store. We congratulated the two of them on their recent nuptials and then my mouth starting spewing an array of self-implicating word vomit that could only lead this poor couple to believe that I was stalking them.

Perhaps I shouldn't have told them that once I saw them both walking in the park in the rain with their dog and why weren't you wearing shoes? WHO DOES THAT? I also probably shouldn't have mentioned how much I liked her wedding dress and flowers or told her how beautiful their reception in the park was, because, well…I WASN'T THERE.

As my mouth continued to ramble off things I had spied them doing in the past, the warm friendly light I had seen in her eyes upon our introduction began to dim and then they widened as if to say: "Who is this insane woman?" and "If I start running now do you think she'll follow me?" I did eventually realize what an ass I was making of myself and I even managed a friendly "It was nice to meet you." before they both took off running.

Needless to say I have now learned my lesson…so I may or may not be continuing to spy on people in the park with my binoculars anymore. But regardless of whether or not I'm prolonging my exploits as a P.I. in training…I'm certainly not going to be telling anybody else about it.

A lighter shade

2009-04-17T17:07:00.001-06:00

Gray

2009-04-17T16:57:00.002-06:00

We're finally getting there. It only took two months of convincing, a whole lot of crying and the ordering of new baby furniture strategically placed in his way. But the baby room is finally coming along, thus quenching my fears of having a toddler who is forced to sleep in my closet. This last weekend Scott patched the plethora of holes in the walls and finished the painting, even though we took awhile to finally decide on the color.

Scott told me I could get anything I wanted for the nursery if I let him paint the walls gray. I told him I would be getting whatever I wanted for the nursery regardless of the paint color…but I would think about gray. At first, like many of you, I thought gray would be an awful color for a nursery. Gray for a nursery? Can we do that? I believe Scott's reasoning came from the fact that the bedding I ordered was pictured in a gray room. Also, at one point, I mentioned that peach might be a good color to paint if we found out we were having a girl. The suggestion of the color peach immediately sent him in convulsions and he spent the next week contemplating ways to convince me that peach was a terrible idea.

I agreed to gray only because Scott seems to have this sixth sense when it comes to color. I was once confident in my decorating/designing skills but then, this one time…I was allowed to select the colors for the kitchen. Once I had made my selections and the painting was finished, the result only revealed that I had absolutely no business selecting what colors the walls should be. Ever since that day I've seriously doubted my ability to choose the right color. And I figured that at the very least, if gray looked as terrible as my kitchen color selections…I wouldn't be the one to blame this time.

It came down to actually picking the shade that made us struggle the most. At the paint store Scott wandered over to the darker hued versions of gray whilst I was methodically trying to steer him toward the lighter shades. We brought the samples home and Scott immediately went to work seeing which of his color selections looked he liked best. Each shade he showed me seemed entirely too dark and each sample triggered my response of: "Why don't we just paint the room black and save him some time when he's 15?" I was really starting to regret my decision.

I finally gave in and we settled on a shade of happy medium. As Scott painted, I was reminded of the dark shade of gray I painted my own bedroom at the age of 15. My mom was completely frightened by the shade of Empire State Gray I selected but she agreed to let me paint as long I changed the color back to white before I moved out (Yes. My mom was already ready for me to move out at the age of 15). But the paint color didn't scare her nearly as much as the posters I decided to hang on the walls.

Consequently, this was exactly the point in my life where I remember the family dynamic shifting. My parents now began to fear me more than I feared them. I couldn't understand what the problem was though. What's wrong with a few dead chickens and a shotgun? They're Republicans, they're supposed to like that kind of stuff right? I then went from painting my room gray and hanging up Tori Amos posters to telling my dad: "Well neither is peeing indoors and I don't see you using the backyard as a toilet!" when he told me that my dark fingernail polish was "very unnatural."

I was officially a teenage shithead and my parents spend the next few years avoiding/ignoring me. I still believe that my parents assume the wall color is what finally set off my world of sass. I only hope that by painting our kid's room gray we're not asking for the same kind of attitude and abuse. And by attitude I mean painting his walls peach and by abuse I mean hanging up a poster like this.

Kicking back

2009-03-31T22:07:00.001-06:00

First name: Pete / Middle name: Peter

2009-03-31T22:04:00.004-06:00

Its official, we're having a boy. I've suspected this for awhile and thus experienced five months of constant worry about what I'm going to do with another boy in the house. I'll be outnumbered and I've been wondering how I'll survive with another guy in my life that has an insatiable need for me to hand him things and refuses to close drawers all the way. Me, with a son? What? With my luck he'll probably want to play sports and watch them on TV. I've totally been freaking out.

We found out about the penis growing inside me at our scheduled ultrasound last week. I have a love/hate relationship with the ultrasound experience. It's nice to have an ultrasound because ultimately they quench my fears when I see a real live baby moving around in my burgeoning belly and not layers of fat accumulated by over consumption of Corn Chex and Mexi-IceÒ. I just never realized the amount of torture you'd be put through to gain that peace of mind.

First, you're asked to down 32 ounces of water, exactly one hour before your appointment without peeing in a toilet…or in your pants. This is a task I couldn't do as a sober, non-pregnant woman who didn't feel the urge to pee at any given moment. I'm always close to tears even before I get to the exam room, which is usually because no matter what time my appointment is, I wind up in the waiting room for at least an extra 30 minutes before my name is called. Then, once inside the exam room a warm shot of lube is squirted onto my exposed belly making a sound reminiscent of a time in my life that I'm sure most young mothers would most likely want to forget. And finally, the absolute worst part comes immediately after that sound, when an ultra sweet technician shoves a wand onto my stomach causing my overinflated bladder to wince in pain. Which wouldn't be so horrible if I didn't hear the words: "You're bladder is too full, how much did you drink?" when the image of my suffering bladder appears on their screen. After which I impulsively feel like punching said sweet technician in the neck.

Luckily at my last ultrasound, things went pretty smoothly. I wasn't about to be told that I drank too much, especially when I wasn't drunk. This time I scoffed at the registration nurse who told me the amount of liquids I was to ingest before my appointment. And when showed up for my scheduled time I didn't feel like crying whilst waiting an extra 45 minutes in the waiting room. I did have to pee pretty badly…but really that's just par for the course these days. I was feeling pretty good when we all waltzed into the exam room; things were definitely going my way. After the tech took all her measurements she asked if we wanted to know the sex. I hurriedly put my hand over Scott's mouth and told her: "Absolutely!" And after she had the wand in the right position she said: "Any guesses?"

There was indeed a penis in the picture, a future sports fanatic if you will. But at that moment, as I watched my little guy wiggle around and I couldn't help but get excited for his arrival. My wandering mind now flashed to pictures of Scott watching his mom make dinner in the kitchen and then my own mom's stories about how my brother was her favorite child. Seriously, how could I forget the stories of my older brother being the model child? My mom won't ever shut up about it.

I'm now truly excited to be gaining another boy in our household. And after the gender reveal, I turned my gaze to my husband expecting to see him grinning from ear to ear. Instead I was surprised to see that familiar look of panic on his face. It turns out that I'm not the only one who's afraid of spending their Saturday mornings watching Pee Wee Football. We'll be fine I'm sure. Someone can explain the game to me without making me black out from boredom…right?

I have the best sister ever!

2009-03-05T17:14:00.003-07:00

Behold! New floor pillows. Now when I eat my dinner in front of the TV, it's much more civilized.

Potty mouth

2009-03-05T17:11:00.003-07:00

I don't hate technology, I just hate seeing or hearing others use theirs. Lately, it seems like everywhere I go, some idiot is yapping on their cell phone or sending a text. It wouldn't be so bad, but every one of those idiots is usually in front of me in line where it's impossible for me to escape. Like the time I was waiting in line to vote, and the girl in front of me saw the extremely large line as an opportunity to call every person she knew. Apparently she had some "amazing news" that she needed to share with the entire population. I personally did not see how quitting law school to become a sports agent was worthy of the hour and a half that she made my ears bleed. Unless of course the sport involved picking her 90-pound ass off the floor, tossing her as far as you could and destroying her phone, because then…I would have totally been on board.

I also harbor a deep hatred for my college classmates who felt the need send texts for the entire hour and a half we were in class. I once wondered why they even came to class because it must be impossible to pay attention when your thumbs never leave your phone…and I'm pretty sure they weren't taking notes. Mostly I'm curious as to how they were accepted into the University in the first place. Did their moms fill their applications or did they just text them in? My guess is the former.

And just when I thought these people couldn't be any more annoying, I experienced the unthinkable. Twice.

The first time I was at work. My office is on the less populated side of the building therefore, I work near the 'poo bathrooms'. At any given time during the work day there will be some random woman in there taking care of business. It's not a big deal other than I'm pregnant, all smells make me nauseous and I have to pee ALL THE TIME.

I digress…

Anyway, a half hour had passed since the last time I went to the bathroom, so I headed over. When I got inside the bathroom I noticed that there was a set of feet a couple stalls down. After I sat down I heard the woman say: "Well? What do you think?" I sat there for a moment trying to imagine what on earth she could be talking about and how I should respond. I think we should get better toilet paper? I think the automatic air freshener is broken? I think you should use the bathrooms ON YOUR SIDE OF THE BUILDING? But just as I was ready to open my mouth she said something else. "Well, I don't think it's a big deal." It took me a couple of seconds to realize what was going on. Was she really on her cell phone? In the ladies room? At work?!?! HOW IS THIS OKAY?

The second time I was at the mall. I was shopping for some pants that actually fit me (an impossible task) when I suddenly had to go. Bad. This usually happens to me when I make the mistake of eating the cafeteria food at work for lunch and yet, day after day, I return to the land of undercooked meat. Anyhow, there I was in the middle of the mall with a sudden urgent need. I rushed to find the nearest bathroom and when I finally got there, the room was packed. Perhaps this is why I assumed the woman yapping away loudly in her stall was talking to a friend next to her. But as I sat there and the bathroom started to clear, it became very apparent that this insane woman was on her cell phone. I couldn't believe this was happening again. Seriously. It's one thing to talk on the phone in the bathroom in the comfort of your own home, but in public?!? That's disgusting.

This time, I didn't have the obligation to respect my co-worker, so I decided it might be fun to mess with her. Luckily the toilets weren't automatic, so I began flushing my toilet every minute or so. But this, in combination with the sounds being emitted from my body (Like I said, I'm pregnant), wasn't enough to deter her…she just kept talking.

Finally she decided she was done. I heard her flush her toilet, open the stall door and walk toward the exit. Not. Even. Kidding. And get this: after I washed my hands and walked out the exit, this woman was just standing there. She was still on her phone and obviously waiting for me so that she could shoot me a death stare. I was very surprised and I totally felt bad too. I mean…I should have been much louder.

I have a slight addiction to Color Me Mine

2009-03-03T21:39:00.007-07:00

Unfortunately, I think a meth addiction would be cheaper.

Things I’ve learned

2009-03-03T21:39:00.005-07:00

I'm officially 16 ½ weeks pregnant (yes, the ½ is important). And, in addition to the barfing, the constant urge to pee and the inability to make it up a flight of stairs without an oxygen mask…I've learned a few things. Here they are.

I miss sushi.
Sometimes I just really want to have a drink.
O'Doul's is surprisingly delicious.
I never knew how much I enjoyed sleeping on my back.
Gums can bleed. A lot.
My least favorite reaction when someone hears of my current condition is: "Was it planned?"
Maternity pants are awesome. I should have given up and starting wearing elastic waistbands long ago.
I hate when people touch my stomach. I already knew that one.
Suddenly, everyone is inquiring about my penchant for pickles. However, the lack of interest in my obsession with Corn Chex or jelly beans is unchanged.
I've never needed a massage more than now in my entire life.
I was a fool when I thought my boobs couldn't get any bigger.
I can fall asleep anywhere.
I now know why my mom has to cross her legs when she sneezes. I'm also guessing that I do not yet fully understand why she has to do this.

What you shouldn't do to the stuffed animals in your co-worker's office

2009-02-18T22:01:00.002-07:00

What? They're rabbits.

VD

2009-02-18T21:45:00.004-07:00

I don't like Valentine's Day and unlike most people, it has nothing to do with my marital/relationship status. As a kid, I loved the holiday. I remember making my own Valentine's box each year to hold all the cards my classmates were required to give me. I loved getting all those cards, especially when they had candy attached to them. Come to think of it, I don't think I even read the cards without candy attached to them. One year I even won a contest with my Valentine's box. I had made a robot out of 3 small boxes wrapped in tin foil. The robot's mouth was the open slot for everyone to place their cards in, but the best part was the size of the robot enabled me to acquire even more candy, especially since the first place winner won a box of heart shaped lollipops. I was such a resourceful kid…and did I mention fat? And what could be better than requiring every kid to write a valentine to everyone in the class? I remember writing out a card to my 3^rd grade nemesis, resisting every urge I had to call her a clammy bimbo. Looking back, I would say nothing better prepared me for the amount of ass kissing required in corporate America. Now if I could just find a use for long division.

My disgust with the holiday started in Jr. High. Gone were the days of contrived valentines and free candy. All I was left with was a false hope that some dumb boy would purchase a wilted rose to be delivered to me during gym class. Needless to say this never happened. It didn't happen to me in High School either and my disgust for the holiday began to develop.

In my junior year of High School I started a lucrative career as a florist. On my very first day I was bombarded with stories from co-workers about the horrific holiday. "Just wait" they would all say, "you'll never believe how awful it is". They weren't kidding. I had been working double shifts for a week, right until the day before the big V. I was already exhausted and my fingertips were numb from having millions of tiny rose thorns stuck in them. Over the years I discovered that my least favorite part about Valentine's Day as a florist wasn't the 4:00 AM wakeup calls, the 15-hour shifts or the endless phone calls. The worst part was the first time I had a man ask me if he could get a discount if he bought two rose bouquets…one for his wife and one for his girlfriend (please note that this happened more than once). Which is almost as bad as the men who would tell me that their sweetheart's bouquets had to be delivered before lunch or they wouldn't be getting any 'appreciation' therefore making their purchase unnecessary and thus worthy of a full refund.

Those were the days.

I hope you can all realize now why I hate Valentine's Day and that I'm not just an all-around holiday hater (even though I mostly am). The holiday lost its luster after the 6^th grade and it will never be the same for me. But the good news is that now, instead of being one of those women who impatiently waits for a dozen half dead red roses before her lunch break…I'm a woman who's happy getting this little surprise on Valentine's Day:

I ate every last one of those discounted mangled cupcakes and I have to admit...I may have enjoyed Valentine's just a tiny bit this year.

Pee-Wee and Chairy are a little creepy at sunset

2009-02-04T20:21:00.004-07:00

Temple of Doom

2009-02-04T20:19:00.003-07:00

It took my sister weeks to convince me this tour would be a good idea. She told me that after all those years of suffering in our youth, this was truly the only way either of us would really ever be able to step foot inside a temple. She was of course completely right, but her reasoning was not what made me finally agree to go – it was the fact that no one else would go with her. So she made some reservations and assured me that everyone was welcome.

I had already started to regret my decision to go when I had to get dressed for our parade through the temple. The tickets said 'Sunday Dress Requested'. And after all my years spent going to that awful church, I knew exactly what they meant, however I don't think the Mormons were aware that I only wear sweat pants on Sundays. But…I decided on a pair of dress pants figuring the fact that I was not wearing a dress would be enough to send the Sisters with their hollow, judging eyes into fits of convulsion.

We arrived at a local ward house just before our reservation (Please note that I said "a local ward house" and not "the local ward house" as there is a Mormon church located every 500 feet or so. Not. Even. Kidding.). The schedule said we would watch a 10 minute video and then be bused to the temple for a 10 minute tour. But when we finally got inside the church, we were immediately shuffled into the gym, which was chalk full of waiting Mormons. After 2 minutes I was starting to feel claustrophobic and after about 30 minutes I was starting to get pissed off. WTF Latter Day Saints? This tour was only supposed to be 20 minutes!

Like fools, we kept waiting. There were no announcements about how long the wait was going to be or even as to why we were all crammed into the gym. We finally noticed a group of the volunteer/missionary ushers huddled and whispering next to where we were sitting. After extensive eavesdropping, we heard that one of the buses had broken down and the wait was now up to 45 minutes just for the bus ride. I was angry of course but this experience did at least confirm my belief that Mormons only know how to communicate by gossiping.

Our next move was to force the missionaries to talk to us. They could tell immediately our souls were bound for the walls of hell (probably because my sister and I were wearing pants) so they were a bit hesitant to speak to us. And even though they couldn't bring themselves to make eye contact, we did learn from them that there was another host ward house up the street that was nearly empty, so we hurried back to the car to head over. When we arrived the church wasn't so empty anymore and we wound up waiting another hour before we could wait for the bus.

This is the point where I should have run out of that church screaming and waving my arms around with my middle fingers up. But unfortunately I stayed, and I got on that god forsaken bus. When we finally arrived at the actual temple, it was packed and we were immediately ushered into yet another line. I believe this was so we could enjoy the temple from the perspective of a herd of cattle, but I could be wrong.

After about an hour of standing in hot hallways and stairwells that reeked of feigned innocence, I had absolutely had enough. I was hungry. And not just any kind of hungry…pregnant woman hungry. I was ready to kill something or throw up and I didn't think that anyone would appreciate either of these things happening in the house of the lord. My sister sensed my urgent need to get the eff out of that place so she quickly approached the elevator usher and told her we needed out…stat. We were allowed on the elevator, but as soon as the elevator doors opened, we were immediately led into YET ANOTHER LINE. Then it took another 10 minutes to get out of that building and another 30 to wait for a bus.

Once I finally got home I realized I should have used my waiting time to report those people to the fire department. I don't think that being the 'house of the lord' excuses you from having an emergency management plan and I truly feel sorry for the person who winds up having a stoke or a heart attack in that building. Wait! This quite possibly is their plan...it's probably easier to baptize the dead if they're already inside right?

My plants are sick of winter too

2009-02-04T18:47:00.001-07:00

Tag you’re it

2009-02-04T18:37:00.002-07:00

I've been tagged. If you don't know what that means…consider yourself lucky. Normally when this happens to me I ignore the tag and secretly mock the person who spent the time completing whichever list/questionnaire they were assigned, and then I secretly mock them for having the bad idea to include me. Sometimes I may take a tag and attempt to make the person who was unfortunate enough to send it to me feel like a total moron, but I'm not sure they always get the idea. The truth is, all of these surveys and polls sort of remind me of high school and my time wasted spent at the Mormon Church…two times in my life that I would like to exorcise from my memory entirely.

At this point you may be wondering why I'm discussing this subject at all. Hello? This is not how you 'secretly mock' someone. But this time, this time is a little different. I feel like I have to complete this tag and it's for two reasons.

#1 - I wasn't tagged by just anyone…I was tagged by Traci. Traci happens to be one of my closest friends. Someone I respect, and therefore I have a hard time mocking her secretly or at all.

#2 – This isn't just any tag…it's a list of 25 facts about myself. And this is, as you all may know, my favorite subject.

So…25 random things about me. Here goes nothing.

I absolutely hate surprises. It is impossible for me to enjoy a surprise and if you have ever said these words to me: "I have a surprise for you!" …You've ruined any chance of me enjoying the 'surprise' and I probably don't like you that much anymore.
Airports give me anxiety. I have always hated going through the metal detectors even before the whole security process became so rigorous.
I rarely have to pee more than 4 or 5 times a day. I'm like the best person to take a road trip with for this reason. I know grown men that have to pee more often than I do. Although, I'm almost certain this is now a thing of the past as I now have to go pee at least 37 times a day.
I hate using the bathrooms on the airplane. I can usually hold it no problem until I reach my destination (see #3), even when I traveled to Australia.
I cut my own hair. I started cutting it myself on and off when I was about 16. I haven't had my hair cut by a professional in over 10 years.
Grocery shopping will forever be one of my least favorite things to do. When Scott goes out of town I will eat the most random things while he's away, just so I don't have to go shopping. He's always surprised that I survived without going shopping when he finally gets home.
I live across the street from the greatest park in the world. Except on Sundays when it smells like hippies.
Friday is one of my favorite movies. I never get sick of watching that show. Cereal.
I have 5 siblings and I only like 3 of them.
I became an aunt at the ripe old age of 10 years. I now have 8 nieces and nephews; they're awesome.
When I get embarrassed I blush. Uncontrollably.
I'm not allergic to anything. Except for hippies.
Deal breakers: Chacos, Crocs and acrylic nails.
I hate calling people, even when I really need to talk to them. This is why I should probably pay for a texting feature on my phone. However, I also hate texting.
Meeting girls I like enough to consider a friend is tough for me. This is why I am extremely grateful for the girlfriends I do have. It makes their awesomeness even that much more staggering.
There are about 3 blogs that I read somewhat regularly of former acquaintances. It's not because I care about what is going on in their lives anymore, it's because their poor spelling and grammar are guaranteed to give me a good laugh.
Right now I sort of feel like I should be writing some of these things down on a postcard to send here.
I've been wearing Sweet Pea for years. I don't even smell it anymore.
Sitting on my porch in the summertime when it's raining is one of my favorite things to do.
I wish my best friend still lived here just so I could go shopping with him more.
I've never broken a bone. Not even when I was hit by a car.
My dad never ceases to amaze me. But I worry about him every day.
I never get mad or jealous when people tell me how pretty my sister is…because I totally agree.
I really hate it when people use the term 'LOL', but I think 'OMG' and 'WTF' are hilarious.
I truly believe that organized religion is the root of all evil. Well…that and Disney.

See how painful that was? More than likely you just learned things about me that you wish you never knew. I would say sorry…but really, it's Traci's fault.

I've eaten a piece of expired ham bigger than this that didn't make me throw up this much

2009-02-02T20:16:00.003-07:00

Pregnant Pause

2009-02-02T20:14:00.003-07:00

I hope you now understand why I've been exceptionally lazy lately as opposed to my usual extremely lazy. I just haven't had the time to write mostly because I've been busy spending all of my time doing 2 things:

Puking
Trying not to puke

I've also been spending a lot of time sleeping, partaking in a somewhat mandatory 2 hour nap every day. This practice isn't entirely out of character for me other than the naps usually follow a night of excessive partying, not a night of going to bed at 9:30. I think most of the exhaustion actually stems from the fact that I now have an urgent need to pee every 3 minutes. All those trips to the bathroom really tend to wear a girl out. Then there's my chest. It would be an understatement to say that the ladies are hurting. I'll just say that they're each ready for a shot of morphine and a permanent body cast to ensure that they never move again.

What can I say? Kicking. My. Ass.

I truly believe this kid knew just how badly we wanted him or her, and the little one is already making its momma pay for it. I'm so proud of this kid already! And through all the pain and anguish, I can honestly say that I couldn't be more thrilled. And also...I'm not sorry if I made you roll your eyes just now.

The good news (or not so good news – depending on how you look at it) is that now that I'm approaching week 13, I'm suddenly starting to feel better. I'm no longer hovering over the toilet before and after every meal, so it's time for the sporadic blogging to resume. Be excited!

Couldn't have said it better myself

2009-01-15T19:41:00.005-07:00

My sentiments exactly.

(Thanks Jessica)

Today I wished I was working with these again

2009-01-12T17:20:00.003-07:00

Family matters

2009-01-12T17:14:00.003-07:00

My mom ventured off to the motherland for the holidays this year. The woman left everyone here alone to fend for ourselves for Christmas dinner, sometimes I wonder if she even likes us at all anymore. I can't say I blame her though…I too try to avoid spending time with the family during the holidays. And what better way to say "I can't stand to spend another minute with you and if I do I might just shove this eggnog right up your nose!" than by just saying "Sorry, I'll be out of the country"? Of course, by visiting the motherland, she has elected to spend exorbitant amounts of time with the extended family…so we'll see how she fairs after spending over a month with her big brothers. I know I would probably have had my head forcibly shaved and lost all my valuables by the first week.

I am slightly worried for her safety for this very reason. My own brothers gave me plenty of ass kickings when I was a kid. At times they would even tickle me until I peed my pants – which may not sound like a big deal to some of you…but only because you've probably never had to take off a pair of wet pantyhose right before you left for church. And while my incidents of 'brotherly love' still haunt me at times, nothing will ever compare to the moment I met my mom's brother.

I was a mere 8 years old when I first met my uncle. The entire family had taken a trip together to see the relatives and on this particular day we had all ventured to my uncle's citrus farm. Upon our initial meeting, Uncle Mauro took it upon himself to show me one of the ways he would once torture my mother. We were introduced to each other by my mother and then Mauro quickly grabbed my face to give me a kiss on each cheek, a standard Brasilian greeting. But when he was done, his hands swiftly moved back over my ears and his grasp began to tighten. Before I realized what was going on, he had securely attained his grip of death, and proceeded to lift me off the ground. BY MY HEAD. Apparently, when an assault/situation like this happens, the victim/person being lifted up by her head, is supposed to grab the arms of her assailant/attacker and proceed to hold herself up as to prevent the severing of her own spine.

…If only I would have known.

The fact that he was covering both my ears made it impossible for me to her my mother say: "Grab his arms! Grab his arms!" But the real problem, the language barrier (i.e. what do you mean he doesn't speak English?), prevented me from understanding the same directions my uncle was shouting at me in Portuguese before I blacked out. And when I regained consciousness, that same language barrier prevented Mauro from understanding that I was calling him Satan and that he subsequently 'get the hell away from me' in English.

I spent the rest of the trip appreciating my own brothers. Sure they had made several efforts to kill me, but none of them had ever come that close. I like to believe that the whole ordeal helped me to make it through the rest of my adolescence with comparative ease. I'd also like to think the event has left me with a longer neck. It probably didn't, but a longer neck would be a nice consolation for the fact that I now have a paralyzing fear that resurfaces when people try to touch my head.

I still wonder how my mother ever made it out of that country alive. I only hope that she can make it back safely again. Keep your fingers crossed for her!

Bird on a wire

2009-01-02T19:52:00.003-07:00

No New Years Day to celebrate, no chocolate covered candy hearts to give away

2009-01-02T19:46:00.007-07:00

Happy New Year everyone! I hope that you all rang in the New Year with plenty of fun and debauchery. I've always loved the New Year's holiday. Not because it's one of the biggest drinking holidays that we celebrate, I mean…have I ever needed a reason to drink heavily? No. I like the holiday because of what it represents: new beginnings, fresh starts and unspoiled resolutions. I personally made a New Year's resolution several years ago to stop making New Year's resolutions. I'm happy to report that I have successfully honored that goal for the last 5 years. Good for me.

I am of course bringing this fact up because I plan on slightly breaking my resolution this year. I recently read that Britney Spears had made a resolution to stop biting her nails in 2009. This got me to thinking…if someone that bat shit crazy thought that ceasing to bite her nails was a proper goal for 2009, there might just be more people out there that may need some additional help in determining a substantial resolution for themselves. It's not because I don't think that putting an end to nail biting is not a worthy goal, I just think it's hard to bite your nails when you have these bacteria breeding, chunky talons residing on top of them. I just think she's not being realistic.

So here are a few worthy resolutions*

Stop saying "Happy New Year" after today. Seriously. It was a nice holiday, but it's over. There is no need to keep repeating this phrase over and over. Can you think of any other holiday where everyone continues to send its greetings two weeks after it's over?
Make sure your pants aren't too long. No, it does NOT make your legs look longer if you wear pants that stretch past your toes. It makes your legs look dirty, just like your salt stained, wet, ripped pants.
Get rid of the goatee. Shouldn't the fact that every middle aged man now sports one confidently, be enough to tell you that they're just not cool? It's time to be a man and just sport the stache already. PLEASE. It's time to celebrate its awesomeness.
Do not wear flip-flops, shorts or leave the house without a coat during the winter months. IT'S COLD. Dress accordingly.

I hope these useful goals can help us all have a safe and Happy New Year. And yes, that is the last time I'll be sending you greetings and well wishes for this holiday…until next year.

*This is my blog, therefore my feigned advice is welcome here.

There's got to be a way for him to get a live 24 hour feed of the Weather Channel

2008-12-31T22:42:00.002-07:00

Back home again

2008-12-31T22:40:00.003-07:00

We're finally home and settled back into our daily routines, rewiring and insulating the house for Scott and watching TV and napping for me. It's good to be home!

I've been lazy busy the last couple weeks and I figured it was about time I post something new because you're all probably really tired of looking at that bacon covered maple bar. I understand how hard it is to look at that picture and not crave one and I also realize that over the past two weeks ya'll have been more than likely spending your life savings on trips to the bakery demanding that bacon be added to your doughnut. So, I'm sorry about the lack of posts…but when you settle the lawsuits filed by your baker from unnecessary grease burns obtained by force and you look at the extra 10 or so pounds now residing on butt, just remember that you did your part to help a struggling economy. And when you feel better, come over…I'll make you another doughnut.

Now…where was I? Oh yes, our Christmas vacation. We spent Christmas in Florida with Scott's family as we have been doing for last several years. His generous parents are kind enough to invite us back every year so that we can catch a glimpse of their leisurely lifestyle and eat fabulous meals paid for with Scott's inheritance. Which may irk Scott and his lovely sister somewhat, but I see it as the only way I could get a steak and lobster dinner out of a Peters.

The weather was really nice this year, almost too hot. It's true. There was only one somewhat cold day and it really wasn't too bad. And the best part was I didn't even have to go outside to get this information. You see, Scott's dad (Hi Jim!) is eternally obsessed with a fan of the Weather Channel. His addiction enthusiasm for watching the Weather Channel does conflict with my favorite vacation pastime, but luckily for the both of us a 30 minute episode of Clean House includes 40 minutes of commercials. So there were plenty of arguments opportunities for me to switch back to the Weather Channel so Jim could get his fix information.

We also got to enjoy two parks this trip. The Florida Aquarium featured some really cool fishies and an eco-friendly underwater show where we were told to prevent dropping anchor on the ocean's tender coral reefs. Which is probably good advice, but shouting the words "Don't drop anchor!" over and over confused me for several hours and I spent the rest of my Florida Aquarium experience avoiding every restroom I saw. Next up was Silver Springs. Silver Springs just happened to be the filming location of choice for 6 Tarzan movies, the Sea Hunt TV series and the Creature from the Black Lagoon. It's true, and you could even see some of the left over props rotting at the bottom of the springs because of their awesome glass bottom boat tours – just don't tell the folks over at the aquarium, I think they might be a little upset.

All in all, In spite of all the weather updates, it was a great trip and Jim and Carol were the perfect hosts once again. And before I lay down for another nap I just wanted to say – I hope all of you had a fun lobster dinner, cable TV and bacon doughnut filled Christmas too.

Proving once again that EVERYTHING is better with bacon

2008-12-13T16:52:00.002-07:00

Now you’re totally going to be hungry

2008-12-13T16:50:00.002-07:00

A few weeks ago, while a bunch of us at work were waiting around before a meeting, the subject of first jobs came up. So, we went around the table and took turns discussing what our first jobs were. I wish I could tell you some of the responses but I have this slight attention problem when the subject isn't me or doesn't have anything to do with me. And while some of you just read that last sentence and thought "What a b-----!" …I would just like to point out that the only difference between you and I, is that I admitted it.

As a fresh young teenager I had a few odd jobs. I would clean my sister's nasty smoke-filled apartment (not this sister) for a measly $20 or so. This in retrospect wasn't nearly enough considering that she didn't inherit the Mendes Anally Clean Gene. I also did my neighbors ironing for about $20 per giant hefty bag. This may not seem like a lot but in an era of hard to iron splatter shirts and puffy painted clothing, a bag of ironing could take weeks. There was also my brief stint as a parking space saleswoman, where I basically just stood on the curb by the entrance of the lot to wave in prospective parkers. Which really didn't pay so well, but all the whistling and suggestive comments I got from passing motorists prepared me for the years of sexual harassment I would receive as a member of the taxpaying workforce. And while these jobs seemingly taught me many valuable lessons, none of them could really be considered my first job.

My first real job was in a bakery at a discount grocery store. I realize now that this was the absolute worst job a fat kid turned fat teenager could have had, but it seemed like such a great idea at the time. We were allowed all the free doughnuts we could eat and I ate a lifetime of doughnuts whilst working at that bakery…which is why it's good that my employment there only lasted about four days. After my brief stint as a doughnut inhaler taster, I decided that maple bars were my absolute favorite. I wasn't the only one either…I worked with a girl who would literally dip a freshly baked doughnut into the vat of maple frosting, so that all sides of the doughnut were drenched in creamy brown frosting. Then she would dump a bag of chocolate chips out on the counter and roll that freshly dipped doughnut through the chips until it was completely covered.

Until just recently, I thought she was a genius. Then I heard about this little slice of heaven. Two of my most favorite things to eat gently placed together to form one of the world's most perfect meals. And can you guess what special treat Scott brought me back from Portland? That's right my very own bacon covered maple bar. It did taste similar to a McGriddle but way better and it won't give you the runs like McDonald's food either, so really there's no comparison. Chocolate chips couldn't hold a candle to 4 strips of sweet bacon. I can only imagine how much bigger I would have gotten had I thought of this idea when I was a 14 year old doughnut counter girl. Thank goodness for my lack of creativity.

Truth be told nobody in that meeting was really interested in my first job at a bakery counter either. I was sitting in a room full of people who wanted to talk about themselves. But they'll definitely be more interested about my tale of eating a bacon covered doughnut! At least I hope they're more impressed. Because I'm totally not going to shut up about it for like EVER!

My Dad totally wishes he could have had grandkids first

2008-12-08T21:38:00.002-07:00

Cynophobia

2008-12-08T21:01:00.005-07:00

Most everyone is scared of something right? Some people are afraid of heights. Some are afraid of confined spaces. And some are even terrified of the dark. I personally, happen to be extremely afraid of dogs. This of course includes big ones and even the little ones…but mostly the ones who have teeth.

Scott believes this is an irrational fear because I'm so in love with this animal. I know it's hard to explain, but let me put it this way…I never worry about whether or not there will be angry llamas present when I go to a friend's house or if that friend will allow their terrifying llama to jump all over me with its vicious teeth only inches away from the fingers and toes. I don't have to worry about having to sit by a fervent llama, perched on its owners lap on a plane. I don't worry about stray llamas chasing me in the park or secretly sleeping in my back yard waiting to ambush me when I walk to my car. I only have to worry about them spitting on me and I'm okay with that…as long as I can keep all my fingers.

Then there's the whole unbearable conversation you're forced to have when you actually tell someone you're afraid of dogs. Their reactions go something like: "OH YEAH! I've been bit by a dog too, so I totally know where you're coming from." Or "My dog would never bite you; you'll never meet a sweeter dog. You should lean over and let him give you a kiss!" Or "My dog wouldn't hurt a fly. Well, there was that one time when he killed a duck at the park by chomping down on its throat and then shook his head violently until he broke its neck….but he only did that once." Or "SICK HER!" Please note that these were all actual sentences spoken to me (except for that last one, which was spoken to a rather large Great Dane). They were also all spoken to me when I had made the tough decision to go to a friend's house for a party even though a ferocious dog might also be attending said party. And they were all spoken to me while the person's ravenous dog was inches away from my vital organs.

But I've been working on my fear these past few years. I try to tell myself that don't need to cry uncontrollably if I encounter a petrifying canine. I also try to tell myself that the fury creature probably won't bite off my index finger…even though I know it totally could. I still can't fully trust dogs and I still have moments where I get scared half to death upon seeing their teeth but I've gotten much better. These days I willingly try to pet my friend's dogs and just this last weekend I agreed feed my neighbor's dog for her while she was out. Alone. And even though I made Scott go with me, I feel I'm vastly improving!

Despite my lingering fear of dogs, I've always been, and still am, disheartened by the misperception that I hate dogs. There is a difference between fearing and hating something. For example, I'm afraid of having to speak to, talk to or smell a dirty hippie, but I don't hate….err, that was a bad example. How about this? Just because someone is afraid of the dark, doesn't mean that they hate looking at stars. Or just because someone is afraid of confined spaces doesn't necessarily mean they hate elevators; they might even wish they had the courage to take them more. I just want to point out that there's an enormous difference, and I do not hate dogs.

But this morning I struggled not to hate a dog. I woke up early for a pre-crack of dawn run, something that I've only recently started up again. I had to give up my early morning jogs when this happened to me two years ago. Before I started my workout regime back up again, I went to a running store, got sized, fitted and grilled about my running style, then hesitantly purchased the most expensive set of shoes that I will ever own. I hated that I spent that much cash on running shoes. I once bought whatever tennis shoes were on clearance for running and I wasn't too concerned if they were actually my size or not either. My thought was that the shoes just got dirty and eventually smelled like a goat farm anyway, so why bother spending a lot? However, this time around, I'm not taking any chances with my feet.

So…you may already see where this is going.

At some point during my run, I stepped in a huge steamy pile of dog shit WHILE WEARING THE MOST EXPENSIVE SHOES I'LL EVER OWN.

I. WAS. LIVID.

And as I scrapped dog poo out of every crease of those shoes, I took slight comfort in the fact that today…

Today, there was a dog that should have feared me.

Not really though

2008-12-03T19:00:00.001-07:00

Merry Ludachristmas!

2008-12-03T18:46:00.005-07:00

The holiday season is here, which means it's time for me to find a rock to crawl under until President's Day. I have the same attitude about Christmas every year. To me, Christmas is like a band-aid…best if you get it over with quickly. This is why I'm typically done with my tree decorating and Christmas card addressing by Thanksgiving. Then, after my holiday duties are finally complete, I try to ignore Christmas for the rest of the month. By Christmas Eve, I somehow pull some Christmas spirit out of my butt and start celebrating. This is mostly for the sake of Scott's family, they're such nice people and Carol gives me a stocking stuffed with goodies every year, something I never experienced as a kid. Also, please know that my mother is rolling her eyes and playing an imaginary violin as she reads this.

But, before you get all Bah-Humbugy on me, you should know that I willing participate in this event. Now you can rest assured that there are some things that will melt my cold, black heart. Plus it gives me a chance to spend some time with my sister and support her manic Christmas habit interests. Besides, before I started my career as a Unicornologist, I spent over 10 years as a florist. So the added bonus is that participating in the Festival gives me a chance to keep my bow making skills au fait.

This year's tree was dedicated to the memory of Christine's mother-in-law, Grace. Grace was an avid fan of the holiday and our donated tree mimicked the style and type of tree that Grace herself once decorated every year. The flocked tree featured bright reds and golds, and was crammed full with ornaments and ribbon. Grace loved a traditional tree and I must say that it was actually quite spectacular (please don't assume that this means I'm starting to like the holiday).

Decorating a tree usually means working with a heap of glitter, and this tree was no exception. Glitter eruptions are similar to sand on the beach – it seems pretty at first, but once it winds up in your butt crack, the romance is dead. I inhaled so much glitter that I'm fairly certain that when I die, my autopsy will read: Heart was cold and black. Lungs hosted a virtual rainbow of sparkly glitter (pretty sure she smoked it).

Here is a picture of my lovely* sister holding a bag of said glitter:

*Yes, I know she's prettier than me. But let's not forget that I'm taller – and for those of you who still think this seems unfair, you obviously haven't seen how short she is.

And the lovely tree:

If you're interested in checking out our awesome tree (which you totally should be), as well as, countless other fabulous trees – here's more info:

The festival, which benefits needy children at Primary Children's Medical Center, will be held at the South Town Expo Center (9575 S. State) from 10 a.m. to 10 p.m. Dec. 3 – 6. Discount tickets (available at Zions Banks) are $3.50 for adults (ages 12 and older) and $2.50 for children (ages 2 – 11). The regular ticket prices when purchased at the South Towne Expo Center are $4 for adults and $3 for children. There is also a family day pass for six immediate family members on Wednesday, Dec. 3, available only at the door for $14.

My new obsession, now in GIANT size

2008-12-02T21:07:00.002-07:00

Cross dressing, Mexico and Canada

2008-12-02T20:40:00.002-07:00

You may have noticed that I've been M.I.A. for that last week or so…but more than likely you had no idea. Either way, I've decided it's time to torture you with the narrative of my recent activities. Now, where did I leave off? Oh yes, Thanksgiving. Unfortunately I wasn't lucky enough to witness any pants-pooping-butchers in the park but witnessing my two small nieces attack Scott and give him the pretty princess make-over he always wanted, was enough to make the holiday bright.

The Friday morning afterward started off a little sketchy. Scott's been dying to shop on Black Friday and who am I to crush his Christmas spirit? Actually, crushing his Christmas spirit perfectly describes who I am, but I was still too drunk on tryptophan to say no. We went to a few small stores and then ended up at the mall in my old neighborhood. Growing up, we never really had a great mall on the *wEsT SiDe*, and predictably to my surprise…it's actually gotten worse. The dirt mall is now even more like a flea market, representing all areas of the world including: Mexico, China, Tonga, Polynesia, Mexico and Mexico. And did I mention Mexico?

Walking down the hallways was a little disconcerting as well. Every few steps, someone was yelling in my ear, pedaling their wears and getting quite barmy when my reply was 'no thanks'. Even the guy at the candied nut stand gave me a rather hostile "WELL I HOPE YOU HAVE A NICE DAY THEN MA'AM! THANKS SO MUCH FOR YOUR TIME MAAAA'AAAAM!" The worst part about my Black Friday excursion though, was standing in the 40-minute line alone. Apparently, Scott doesn't totally understand what it means to get the full Black Friday experience, therefore next year, he'll be going alone.

He did redeem himself by Friday evening. Some of you may know how much I hate watching sports. I will literally start convulsing if I hear the voice of Bob Costas, which coincidently, makes it extremely difficult to watch the sports related programming I do like -- the Olympics. Do any of you realize how annoying it is to watch synchronized swimming on mute? Totally sucks all the fun out of it. I can however, appreciate a good hockey game and Scott scored us a pair of tickets for last Friday's Grizzly game. The Grizzlies played the Victoria Salmon Kings and we scored some really great seats. I could totally smell the locker room without even trying. However, I did wind up sitting in front of a total meathead who would yell obscenities at the Canadians, calling them cheap and dirty…just like their country. I'm really hoping they didn't take any offense, because those were in fact the two words I would use to describe the girl who came with him…he obviously meant it as a term of endearment.

I truly enjoy watching hockey but I can't tell you what the score was or who had the most shots on goal – turns out I was a little distracted. When I walked into the arena, I had no idea I was going to learn about Canada's finest import. I was mesmerized the whole time. I hadn't been that excited about a hockey team since Slap Shot, I can only image how much more obsessed with that movie I would be if Paul Newman actually sported one too. Scott had to tell me to settle down a couple times and to stop staring. I felt a little bad but it's not he has one for me to ogle and it's not like I haven't asked him to grow one. What was I supposed to do, pretend they weren't there? Seriously. HAVE YOU MET ME?

In related news, I'll be planning a trip to Canada next year if any of you are interested.

Not quite as exciting as last year... but pretty good

2008-11-29T14:13:00.008-07:00

I think he looks rather charming. Don't you?

This time last year

2008-11-26T17:02:00.003-07:00

Tomorrow will mark the one year anniversary of one of the finest displays of lunacy I have ever had the pleasure to witness. The absolute finest display of course being the time I saw a kid in my kindergarten class give himself a swirly after he used the toilet…but I'll have to save that story for another day.

Last year, Scott and I decided that we should try to act a little more like grownups and switch out our bumper pool table for a dining room table. It was a hard decision, but we were excited about the prospect of not having to gather around our coffee table for dinner with friends. And to celebrate our newfound adulthood, we invited a few people over for a Thanksgiving celebration.

Of all the things I could have been thankful for…like a new dining set, freshly budding maturity and having friends to share it all with…what I was most thankful for was the fact that Dee (aka: Sweet Dee) offered to make the turkey. So, not only did I not have to worry about the logistics of actually cooking a giant bird, but she freed up several hours of my day by offering to do so. I thought her generous offer would allow me relax a little before I had to start cooking some side dishes and getting the house ready for guests. What I didn't expect was to be glued to our front window for several hours watching this instead.

The series of events went something like this -- Starting at about 10:00 a.m., this guy showed up with several turkeys and empty fishbowls. He then spent hours cutting up about 4 large turkeys and placing their various parts in the fishbowls. I'm still not quite sure what the eff he was doing with all those turkeys but I'm still impressed by the fact that he spent so much time, in freezing weather, cutting up cold, wet turkeys. I was literally glued to the window with our binoculars* watching this guy diligently cut up his birds almost all day.

At about 3:30 p.m., this strange fellow packed up his supplies and walked over to the nearby garbage cans to take a piss. This segment of his Thanksgiving ceremony may sound weird, but I believe it was the only moment where he had displayed a scrap of sanity that day….because at least he didn't pee in the same place he was handling food and at least he waited until he was done cutting up the turkeys.

And that's not all. To my surprise, the most astounding part of this man's show in the park last Thanksgiving Day, was what he did when he was done peeing on the garbage cans. Turkey dude pulled a plastic grocery bag out of his pocket and then proceeded to unzip his pants. After some deliberate maneuvering he had managed, from what I could tell, to place the bag in such a position as to aid in catching 'the punching of one's grumpy'. This man had invented his own traveling toilet and all I could do was watch in awe as he made poop faces whilst standing up. I hadn't been so entertained with pooping since the day before I was in kindergarten. I only hope I can catch a glimpse tomorrow too!

*Yes. I have binoculars that I stalk people in the park with. And no. It's not weird.

Weather the weather

2008-11-25T21:01:00.004-07:00

It's getting cold. I can't complain too much though. Wait, I mean I can and will complain, but I'll first say this: there's been an incredible transition this year where I've actually felt like the fall season made an appearance. The last few years it's felt like the seasons go from deathly hot to deathly cold in a matter of minutes. Seriously. Not even kidding. But now it's getting cold and if there's one thing that makes me cranky it's extreme weather. And yes, I'm well aware that there would be way more truth in that statement if I would have said – If there's one thing that doesn't make me cranky, it's not extreme weather. But that's just semantics right?

It starts in August. My friends begin talking about how excited they are for winter and…snow. Consequently, August is also the time I start wondering what the hell is wrong with them. It begins when each of them questions the other on the status of their hire back letter from Brighton. Don't get me wrong, I worked with them for years and I really loved my time at that resort. What's not to love about free lift passes and taking breaks on the hill? I mean, I love snowboarding too – but not once did I ever start getting excited about returning to the resort in G.D. August.

I suppose their excitement stems from actually being good snowboarders though…and, while I'm fairly skilled and loading the most beers into my jacket, I am by no means as good as any of them. For me, my most exciting experiences at Brighton were because of the occasional John Stockton sighting and the rare chance to see Mark Harmon and his wonky eye. I never impulsively got excited to return to the resort; it was just a pleasant consolation during the blemish of the season. And while I miss Brighton and the snowboarding, it never really made me love winter.

My parents were no help either. As two tropical weather transports, each of them dislikes the season too. My dad is the type of guy who will mow the lawn with his coat on. In July. And my mom? She doesn't even bother going to work when it snows. My dread for the season must be partially inherited. My inability to warm up once I'm cold definitely came from them. Plus I don't want to go to work when it snows either (not that I don't experience this feeling everyday).

And so it begins. The next few months will be riddled with nasty inversions, sliding on black ice, back-breaking shoveling and comments about how I should 'pray for snow'. But the thing that is really going to kill me, the reason why winter pisses me off beyond belief…is the fact that I now have to wear socks every day.

It's going to be a long winter for this perpetually lazy girl.

This is why I love living in the city

2008-11-19T21:18:00.005-07:00

This morning as I was about to leave for work, I noticed that a car was parked on my neighbors front lawn. Because today is a Wednesday and I know the neighbors like to hold off on throwing a good kegger until at least a Friday, I decided to take a closer look. This is what I saw:

Not the result of a really great keg party, but pretty close. And being the courteous neighbor that I am, I decided to snap some photo evidence for future reference. However, being the passive-aggressive coward that I am, I only took 4 photos from the safety of my living room. Please pardon the water spots. They’re Scott’s fault.

After I called my neighbor and he told me to stop being so creepy, I went outside to get a better look. The suspect was standing outside her car, with two blown front tires, talking on her cell phone. When I started to walk closer to her, a motorcycle cop pulled up. From the curb he yelled: “What happened?” So, I assumed he was going to take care of it and that I should probably stop gawking. I went back inside to get my things then hopped in my car and started down the driveway. But by the time I reached the end of the driveway, the cop was gone and the suspect was back to sitting alone in her car. Hmmmmm…..so I parked and starting walking toward her –she saw me and slowly started to open her door. And then it hit me…PeeeeeeeeeeUuuuuuuuuu!

When I finally regained consciousness, I had to cover my mouth as to form a filter between my air passageway and the largest ash tray in the world. I composed myself enough to ask her what had happened and when she replied, she sounded just like my 8th grade math teacher. Only drunker. Her story went something like this:

I was drivin’ and the car pulled in front *hic* and I tried to swerve but *hic* basically they did a U-turn so here I am. You know what I’m sayin’? *hic*

Um, no. But I really wasn’t paying attention BECAUSE I’M STILL TRYING TO FIGURE OUT WHY THAT COP LEFT. I wasn’t too concerned about her current stupor though. I figured she was done dodging DUIs for the day and why kill a perfectly good buzz at 7:00 AM? I mean, if a G.D. car accident couldn’t do it, the odds that I could were slim to none. What I was concerned with however, was the Valley Mental Health employee badge dangling from her neck. I’m still sitting here a little distressed over the whole thing. I mean that’s like the blind leading the blind. But the good news is, if the current job doesn’t work out, I know a good place for me to start looking!

Bah. (Elwood revisited)

2008-11-18T22:29:00.003-07:00

Cable ready

2008-11-17T16:44:00.003-07:00

We’re back! The Lone Star State was very entertaining, but it was definitely time to come home. We spent the entire week going to conferences, avoiding salespeople and trying to check our e-mail from the hotel lobby. Our “hospitable” hotel was only kind enough to offer free Wi-Fi in the front lobby; all “hospitality” above the 1st floor started at around $5.95 a minute. And since that “hospitality” didn’t include any sort of “happy ending” we decided to pass. I’ll certainly miss all the restaurants, shops and picturesque walks we enjoyed on our trip…but mostly I’m going to miss the free cable.

I have a propensity to want to go back to my hotel while traveling and I’ve been like this since I was very little. When I was a kid, all I wanted to do was go back to the hotel and head straight for the swimming pool. It didn’t matter where we were; my preference was always to head back to the hotel. Eating Happy Meals at McDonalds? I want to go swim in the hotel pool. Building sandcastles on an empty beach? I want to go back to the hotel pool. Enjoying free balloons and ice cream at Disneyland? I. WANT. TO. GO. SWIMMING. IN. THE. HOTEL. POOL. Well the times most certainly have changed…sort of. Nowadays, all I want to do is scurry back to my room and head straight for the remote. It probably has a lot to do with the fact that I now boycott swimsuits, but mostly I believe it's because I’m not allowed to have cable at home. I understand how cruel and unjust most of you think it is to be denied cable and believe me…I totally agree. You can submit your letters of disgust here, here and/or here.

Truthfully though, I’ve grown accustomed to having only 4 channels to choose from (4.5 if the weather is good). There was once a time when I was as addicted to cable TV as most of you comfortably are. My evenings and weekends were scheduled around a gaggle of reality TV shows, re-runs of the A-Team and the WWF Wrestling series. When the $30+ a month subscription became too much for my income as an unemployed florist to handle, I had to let go. I went through cable detox, IT TOOK ME YEARS.

Cable rehab officially ended when I moved in with Scott. I realized how much I loved the fact that he didn’t watch a lot of TV. Unlike my previous experience living with a boy, Scott actually did things besides clocking 93 hours straight playing Zelda and bragging about the fact that he’d had watched every episode of Crocodile Hunter. Twice. In one day.

My recovery has also been aided by the fact that over the years I’ve figured out that Scott doesn’t allow himself to have cable either. It’s not just because of my tendency to sit, mouth gaping in front of a TV – he’s just as prone that brand of conditions as I am. I slightly relish in the fact that he too can get sucked into a cable show whilst staying in hotels. It makes me laugh when he waits for commercials before he scurries to the bathroom, it’s so very unlike him and thus so very entertaining.

So yes, I do look forward to a few hours of HGTV & E! for my own entertainment when I travel. But I also enjoy watching the anguish of a terminally antsy man struggle with the fact that he can’t leave a hotel room because he starting watching an episode of My Super Sweet Sixteen. Priceless memories people, I think it might be time for me to take up scrapbooking.

The doors to the Alamo

2008-11-14T19:58:00.002-07:00

The View...a tourist's perspective

2008-11-14T19:50:00.001-07:00

Texass (typo but I’m keeping it)

2008-11-14T19:39:00.002-07:00

So here I am in sunny Texas. Actually the last few days have been terminally overcast with a chance of rain at any moment. I’m hoping it holds off though, my skin can’t take any more moisture. It starting sucking in the humidity from the moment I stepped off the plane and I can barely bend my fingers any longer. Seriously, my wrists are practically dangling from my chin as I type.

Where was I? Oh yes. I’m in the state of Texas, on my first business trip, in San Antonio to be exact. Luckily I get to enjoy it with Scott as I would hate to have to enjoy this city alone…but mostly because if he wasn’t here I wouldn’t have had the chance to witness him get pooped on by a bird. Twice.

San Antonio is also quickly becoming one of my favorite cities. The weather this time of year, even with the clouds, is phenomenal. The locals are quite friendly and I even got a chance to Remember the Alamo. I will always remember it as the place I actually paid $5 for a snow cone, but a memory nonetheless.

Our hotel is right on the River Walk. It’s just like Disneyland but with better Mexican food. Okay, maybe not just like it, but there are a lot of restaurants and shops right on the river. I’ve only felt like pushing Scott in a couple of times too. So far, quite a successful trip!

Elwood in the AM

2008-11-08T09:45:00.001-07:00

It's heeeeeeRRRRRRRRRRRRRe!

2008-11-05T17:50:00.005-07:00

Meaty feelings

2008-11-05T17:20:00.004-07:00

I’ve had an interesting week so far. A week filled with blessed Mormons, evil trolls and lots of meat. The abundance of meat was hands down the only way I’ve been able to derive enjoyment of a somewhat tedious week. It started out innocently enough. A slice of ham here, a bit of beef there, a plate of bacon everywhere. But last night, last night was the coup de grace of ingesting massive amounts of meat.

The Boomgardens were gracious enough to invite a few of us over to watch the election results and Mrs. Boomgarden was awesome enough to make us all some Meat Log. That’s right, not meat loaf. Meat Log. Imagine this – a large steak topped with bacon, salami, cheese and boiled eggs then rolled into one, very delicious, artery clogging, saliva inducing roll. It was beyond delicious. And if Joel hadn’t already married her, I would have proposed. Well, that and if the elitists in California could have pulled their heads out for one more election and supported our love…but I’ll get to that in a minute.

CNN and Meat Log made for one magical evening. Toward the end of the night, CNN announced that I would not have to deal with another evil troll this week, or even the next four years for that matter. And the best part is I still get to rub it all in my mom’s face when I see her next. She’ll probably just make some unfortunate jokes and proceed to make me cry, but for a brief moment…IT’S GOING TO FEEL SO GOOD!

If it weren’t for my disappointment with regard to the fate of Proposition 8 in California, these election results wouldn’t feel so bittersweet. But I’m not going to blame the Mormons. I’ve read that as a group, Mormons feel like gay marriage is a ‘moral issue’. And of course it would be morally wrong to allow two people who love each other to enjoy the same rights and freedoms as the rest of the population. That would be inconceivable. The nerve of those gays. I’ve also read that the Mormons aren’t ‘anti-gay’. They’re just ‘pro-marriage between and man and a woman’. And a woman, and a woman, and a woman, and a woman, and a woman. The Church is true people, they’ve never been wrong before. Now excuse me while I go involuntarily give up some of the meat I’ve ingested.

Self fulfilling prophecies aside, I’m still celebrating and I hope all five of you are too. The festivities continue on tonight with some more meat, this time of the seafood variety. And no, I’m not trying to rub it in. I just want to provide some documentation to the emergency crew who will be assigned the task of reviving me from my meat induced coma.

This close to setting one on fire

2008-10-28T21:35:00.009-06:00

I hate bras. Hate them. I’ve hated the things since the day it became necessary for me to wear one. Don’t get me wrong…I’m not some sort of militant feminist who likes to set her bra on fire or a nutty exhibitionist who thinks I just shouldn’t have to wear one. Quite the opposite in fact, I want to wear one. My problem with bras is the task of actually finding one that offers all the things I need – comfort, prettiness, support and the option of being able to breathe. I’ve tried and tried but every bra I’ve ever owned has only produced a series of tugs, pulls and inappropriate adjustments.

It all started in the 4th grade. That’s right, the GD 4th grade. Hippies might blame the hormones in cow milk for my sudden ‘development’ but I know better. I never drank much milk. I may have had a penchant for cold cereal but really, my new additions had more to do with the fact that I was a fat kid. And up until that fateful day, I had worn the same purple sweat suit almost every day, even when it was incredibly hot outside. I loved that thing and I have the two consecutive years of school photos to prove it. My mother finally realized I needed a little extra support when one day I came home with a new light yellow t-shirt that I was required to wear in a school play. She was mortified when I tried it on and when I asked her what she thought, she quickly handed me my sweatshirt, shoved me in her car and speedily drove us the four blocks to our neighborhood ZCMI.

My new training bra resembled some sort of medieval torture device. It wasn’t cute and little like the ones I observed the girls in 6th grade wearing. A better description: giant, constrictive and blindingly white. On the day of our school play, my class was lined up outside the auditorium. While I was standing there waiting in my new see-through yellow shirt, I felt the distinctive sensation of someone grabbing the clasp of my new bra. And WHAP! It happened, my first bra flipping. I turned around in pain and embarrassment to see the Pocock sisters laughing. “I can see your bra!” Tammy teased, as Megan continued to laugh. I was in shock. I didn’t know what to say other than: “At least you can’t see my boobs.” Yeah, I know. Brilliant. I’m amazed they didn’t let me skip a grade.

My struggles have continued every day since then and I’ve never in my life gotten to wear a cute bra, at least not for more than a few minutes. I’ve tried them all and even when I do find one that has the potential to offer what I need, it stretches out in a matter of days and I’m back to square one. I’ve tried so many bras that the collection of bras I don’t wear has reached significant proportions. I have the feeling Scott is scared he may be suffocated by the stack of them one day. And to add insult to injury, when I finally finished school and proposed the idea of staying home to be a trophy wife to him…he told me yes – as long as I got a boob job first.

“What my boobs aren’t big enough?”

“No. No – that’s not it. It’s just the principle.”

Awh. Isn't he the sweetest? But to be honest, I thought about it. Not because I agree with him in any way – I know that this was just his way of telling me to just get an effin’ job already. I thought about it because, the prospect of actually having boobs that hold themselves up enough so that they wouldn’t even require a bra…is something I can totally support (pun intended).

String of bananas

2008-10-28T17:15:00.003-06:00

Proud Voter

2008-10-27T22:45:00.004-06:00

Like many of you, I’ve learned a lot of things from my parents. How to tie my own shoes, how to make my own breakfast and how to walk my own ass to school – are just a few of the invaluable lessons that will last me a lifetime. Also worth mention was how my father taught me the very useful technique of finding treasures on the side of the road. The man was truly gifted in his aptitude to hurl his Volkswagen onto the top of any median, just to pick up a stray plastic comb or a freshly discarded visor. But seriously, all kidding aside, there is one lesson that I still find to be one of the most important things each of my parents ever taught me.

I’m going to premise this tale with a little background information. As you may or may not know, my parents are damn foreigners who migrated from one America (South), to another (North) (Obviously). My father came first and he sent for my mom once he had secured a job and enough money to bring her here. Years later, when I asked my mom and dad why they chose to move so far from the beautiful place they once called home, they proudly explained to me that it was for their children. They wanted their kids to have the opportunities and freedoms that this country provided. Although, I still secretly think it may also have had something to do with a dream my dad had – involving Joseph Smith, prophecies and Zion?

Regardless of my suspicions about religious motivations, it is very clear to me that each of them is damn proud of being a citizen of this country. They both worked incredibly hard to provide for their family, sacrificing the comforts of familiarity to bring the opportunities of this nation to their own children. My parents take the responsibilities of their citizenship very seriously and one of the most important things I ever learned from them is what a privilege it is to vote. I fully respect their attitudes on voting. And if it weren’t for the nasty fact that they’re Republicans, I would fully respect their persistence to vote too.

I registered to vote as soon as I turned 18 and I experience a sense a pride every time I cast my ballot. Scott and I now go vote together as a family and we proudly list the activity as one of our favorite things to do together. I too feel incredibly privileged to be able to vote and I can’t help but feel that I’m contributing to my parents’ legacy...even though I’m blatantly cancelling out their votes every year.

Scott would like me to stop talking about how awesome my pumpkin is

2008-10-26T22:36:00.006-06:00

He's dreaming.

Sick and wrong

2008-10-22T17:14:00.007-06:00

I came home early from work today. I’ve caught myself a nasty case of the ‘Holy Shit I Don’t Feel Good’. I’ve been feeling sick for the last few days but when I walked into the office this morning, I received a friendly: “You look like a walking corpse” welcome from my boss. So I decided that rather than be the self-appointed a-hole that gets everyone else sick, I should take a sick day to get some rest. It wasn’t a tough choice considering how irked I am at the a-hole that decided to go out instead of stay home for the same reason. And consequently has now left me hacking up a large portion of what was presumably my left lung.

Choosing to go home wasn’t my most brilliant decision. It turns out I wasn’t the only one planning to spend the day at the Peterses house. The construction equipment perpetually parked in our backyard magically started up today and progress has ensued. And that’s not all. There are actually two sets of contractors effectively making steps forward in completing the great ‘Peters Garage/House Restoration Project of 2008’. Which is awesome because I really didn’t feel like tacking on a ‘/2009’ to that title. But it isn’t so awesome because it seems the pouring of a new driveway and repairing damaged bricks on a chimney aren’t the quietest of activities.

Instead of actually trying to sleep whilst listening to the simultaneous sounds of a cement truck rolling, a hand saw defacing the chimney and an anxious husband pacing; I’ve of course resorted to watching TV. I totally forgot about my love/hate relationship with daytime television. I’d forgotten that you can be tortured by the sound of Tyra’s voice in the middle of the day; that woman’s hair and facial expressions have become so absurd that she has now become a virtual caricature of herself. I’d forgotten that you can make your ears bleed by watching the View; why can’t Elisabitch Hasselcrack just give it all up already? And lastly, I’d forgotten about the assortment of idiots who parade through the set of the Maury Povich Show. In case any of you missed it, today Maury’s show featured a slew of adult film stars including one Ms. Ryder Skye….and did you hear that? It was the sound of about a dozen Mormon parents exclaiming: “Oh my heck! My kid has the same name as a porn star.” I should also point out that Ms. Skye was actually Mrs. Skye and her doting husband joined her on today’s program. When Maury asked her if she actually became aroused by the men she ‘works’ with her answer was a candid, “Yes I do”. A flabbergasted Maury then asked her if she considered her job duties to be a form of cheating and her reply was priceless.

“Intimacy and connecting with someone are two totally different things Maury.”

…And then, I remembered why I love daytime TV. So thank you Mrs. Skye. I’m feeling so good about myself that I might just be okay with staying home sick tomorrow too.

My only Halloween decoration

2008-10-20T18:07:00.003-06:00

She's crafty?

2008-10-20T17:36:00.004-06:00

When I was younger, I spent a lot of my weekends going shopping with my Mom and sister. I always had high hopes that we would somehow wind up at one of the various malls around the valley, and the prospect of getting new clothes was, and still is, my major source of motivation. Sometimes we actually did wind up at the mall and I was able to get a new body-suit or a pair of platform clogs. Of course this post isn’t really about what a bad dresser I was, and still am, but the fact that a lot of my weekend time was sucked from me at the craft and fabric supply stores. Yes, craft and fabric stores. Where they didn’t sell Girbaud jeans or Units belts and consequently held no appeal for me. And yet, weekend after weekend I wound up joining Mom and sister, time and time again on their standard tour of the Mormon handicraft circuit. I don’t know how it always happened this way. You might think several years of being dragged through the stale, fluorescent lights of a fabric store would take its toll on me and eventually I would just announce "Enough already!"…"I’m staying home to watch TV!" But I never did.

I believe it was because, through all the torture of deciding which candy corn printed fabric to use on a Halloween witch’s skirt or which ceramic Santa should be used for this year’s Christmas magnets, I always had aspirations of being just like them. And also maybe, just maybe, their passion for holiday decorating would surface in me one day.

So here I am, one week away from Halloween, sitting in my less than decorated house. I still can’t bring myself to willingly put up holiday decorations and I still have no desire to make any sort of craft that can’t be completed with a hot-glue gun and beer caps. I will occasionally join my sister on a trip to a fabric or craft store, but only for things that project more permanence. Like fabric for curtains that will shield my neighbor’s eyes from random naked trips to the bathroom. I once thought the urge to craft and decorate for the holidays would emerge as soon as I had my own place. But the mere thought of putting up decorations only to have to take them down a few weeks later makes me feel tired.

Christmas is the only time I begrudgingly drag out decorations from the basement and this is mostly because of the demands…err, requests made by the other resident of this household. My excuses are limited during the Christmas season too, as Scott’s Mom (Hi Carol!) has kindly given us several charming decorations over the years. She has even saved every Christmas ornament ever given to her kids, as well as, gift the entire collection to each of them. Isn’t that the sweetest thing? Even I have enough of a soul to appreciate that kind of effort.

So maybe that's it? The holiday decorater attribute is maternal! Perhaps, if I ever wind up with more than just the one kid, I’ll be beyond motivated to decorate for every holiday. My friends, neighbors and children will be dazzled with my painted ceramic typewriter on Administrative Assistants Day and my personally crafted decoupage tribute to pirates for Columbus Day. Highly doubtful, but maybe. And until that unlikely day, I’m at least still getting some use out of all those Christmas magnets my sister painted.

"What is with all guys and Star Wars?"

2008-10-16T18:15:00.004-06:00

A few more pictures from Ice Capades 08

2008-10-16T18:02:00.009-06:00

Angela got the birthday boy a new hat!

Then I stole his new hat.

But at least I remembered a cake!

I think it's Shannon's favorite food too

2008-10-16T17:58:00.002-06:00

Hey Scott, it's your birthday...why you wanna party like it's MY birthday?

2008-10-16T17:32:00.006-06:00

Everyone’s favorite towering adolescent celebrated his birthday yesterday. And in true Scott Peters fashion we had pizza, lots of sugar and some good times on the ice.

Usually when mention of his birthday and subsequent birthday party come up, Scott's eyes light up like a crazed jack-o-lantern and suggestions of ways to celebrate come flying out of his mouth. For days. Previous ideas have included simple things like roller skating, laser tag and go-cart racing. Last year we went on this elaborate biking/camping trip with a whole slew of people that I typically wouldn’t spend more than 5 minutes with. And Scott didn’t want a gift from me; his only request was that I be pleasant and not complain.

*Picture this* Me. In the desert. Head. Ready. To. Explode.

I was all: “Can I just give you a 1000-dollars for your next birthday?”

However, I was a little concerned about my husband/child this year. When I asked him what he wanted to do for his birthday, I braced myself for another one of my worst nightmares. Making dinner for 50 of our closest friends while listening to Fishbone without complaining? Hiking for miles through snow, poison ivy and mud without complaining? Waterskiing in a two-piece in front of a panel of photographers with telephoto lenses without keeling over or complaining? But his reply was a little surprising and very disconcerting:

Scott: “Maybe a nice dinner. Just the two of us?”

Me: “Wait. It’s your birthday. Not mine.”

Scott: “I know.”

Me: “You’ve changed. Who made you so bitter against the world?...Wait. Don’t answer that.”

So like a good, cheerful, but really just guilt-ridden wife…I attempted to plan a suitable birthday party for a '30-something year old kid'. We wound up going ice skating and eating way too much pizza. And like the truly horrible wife that I am, I forgot the candles. This of course didn’t stop me from forcing him to take this picture anyway:

I think he was happy though and at the very least he probably enjoyed it way more than he would have if we had just gone out to dinner together. So I would like to extend a great big THANK YOU to all of you who attended Scott’s Ice Capades Birthday Party this year. Your presence was especially important this time as it helped him enjoy a birthday that he wasn’t really looking forward to, as well as, restore his vigor for dealing with his pessimistic wife.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY SUGAR!

I have never been more turned on in my entire life

2008-10-13T22:36:00.010-06:00

We finally have a pantry! Please excuse my lack of posts for the next couple of days, as I will be organizing my kitchen cabinets and thanking this man profusely.*wink, wink*

Safety glasses chic

2008-10-13T21:56:00.002-06:00

If you tell me I look like Sarah Palin...I'll cut you.

It's not okay

2008-10-13T21:38:00.005-06:00

It’s killing me that I’ve been thinking about Britney Spears all day. I’ve never really understood how some people become obsessed with her *cough* *ahem* JESSICA *cough, cough…wheEeez*. The over fascination with Britney Spears sort of reminds me of excessively religious people or vegetarians…it’s just not natural. I guess I can kind of relate though. She does have brown eyes with blonde hair, which is a combination I actually love, even if she gets a little help from Ms. Clairol ya’ll. And there are times when she’s all done up that I almost start to consider extending a lady crush. But then I see her in cut-off shorts with a bag of Cheetos and I’m officially over it.

I digress. Weird.

So anyway I’ve had Britney Spears in my head all day. I made the mistake of watching her new video yesterday. I’m talking about the video for her new song where she just repeats the word ‘Womanizer’ over and over AND OVER AGAIN. And wouldn’t you know it, it’s stuck. Stupid catchy song. Take this as a warning: DO NOT WATCH THIS VIDEO. You’ll regret it. The only reason it’s worth watching is for the steam room scenes. There was a brief moment when, for a second, I thought that maybe that lady crush could actually happen. But then…she runs her French-manicured, chunky talons through her weave and *poof* reality once again sets in.

It of course doesn’t help that Scott, much like Jessica, loves her. Tonight when I was watching the news (Entertainment Tonight) a clip of the Womanizer video started playing. I rushed to mute the television as I did not want to suffer through the incurable cycle of her lyrics, when all of a sudden Scott yells: “NooOOooo! DON’T!” So I looked at him and said: “You’ve got to be kidding.” “No” he said, “This is a good song. Did Chau send you the free download yet?” while he bobbed his head in an off-beat rhythm (which is unfortunately typical when he is listening to dance music).

I don’t really remember what happened next, other than a lot of blinking and a few idle threats. And I actually can’t tell if he really loves her or not, or if he just likes to torture the general population by forcing them to listen to her music on a daily basis. But it doesn’t really matter…because either way, I’m ready to set his iPod on fire.

A conversation had whilst eating Barnum's Animal Crackers

2008-10-12T22:45:00.004-06:00

Scott: Mmmm....tiger for me, elephant for you. Koala bear for me...and you can have this one. I can't tell what it is.

Me: It's a buffalo.

Scott: It is NOT a buffalo.

Me: Yes it is.

Scott: Buffaloes are NOT circus animals.

Me: And koala bears are?

Scott: Good point. What kind of GD animal crackers are these?

Because one big mistake deserves another

2008-10-12T14:52:00.005-06:00

This is completely mortifying and hilarious all at the same time.

One of those days

2008-10-09T21:29:00.013-06:00

Today just wasn’t my day. I know that I’ve said I won’t talk about work here but since my calamity was caused by someone outside my company I feel it’s probably okay to complain…err, discuss just a little. I spent the day trying to edit a very important/time sensitive document written by someone with a penchant for commas. I still have a headache from all that pausing. Also please excuse the lack of commas in this post as I just can’t look at anymore today EVEN IF THEY’RE TOTALLY NECESSARY.

Things didn’t get any better once I got home either. When I walked in the door my somber faced husband informed me that some random unsupervised children invaded our backyard today. They proceeded to throw dirt around then load our garbage can with rocks and bang them against our new rain gutters. Luckily our contractors actually showed up for work and put their mayhem to an end. I think all of you know how much I love kids but today I wanted to seriously injure a couple of them.

And just when I thought the day couldn’t get any worse…it did. Apparently our contractors don’t deserve too much credit. We received a letter today from a disgruntled vendor who never got paid. Turns out our payment didn’t go where it needed to and DID I MENTION HOW I’M READY TO MURDER SOMETHING? Because I'm ready.

*practicing my breathing*

Anyway…my next door neighbors weren’t having the best day either. Both of them have a bad case of food poisoning. Luckily for me their situation led me to volunteer to watch this little ray of sunshine:

A brief game of peek-a-boo was enough to restore my faith in the world…and small children.

Then just when I was starting to feel better my life partner brought me these:

And now I’m feeling like a 100-bucks again!

Scott brought his favorite doggie treats

2008-10-07T21:55:00.004-06:00

I'm pretty sure Scott didn't know he was playing a game of "I'm crushing your head" when I took this photo...

I even made it all the way there! Maybe it's because I wasn't carrying a six-pack of beer this time?

2008-10-07T21:41:00.010-06:00

The bouquet

2008-10-07T21:33:00.003-06:00

Conference weekend

2008-10-07T17:11:00.009-06:00

The 178th semi-annual General Conference was this weekend and Scott and I couldn’t think of a better way to celebrate than by leaving town. So we headed down south to Moab for some biking and good old fashioned debauchery. Of course, there was also the added bonus of getting to witness the union of Elisha (WARDLE!) and Mike (The Nung) too.

I can’t tell you how excited I was to attend this wedding. I feel this has a lot to do with the fact that both Elisha and I are former Mormons and neither of us chooses to follow the self-fulfilling prophecies…err, teachings of Joseph Smith anymore. In fact the only reason I remain on the Church’s registry of members is because I want to be one of the first people to receive free food and shelter after the Apocalypse. I didn’t spend the first part of my life paying tithing for nothing and I think that 10% donation off of every dollar I earned should still yield some sort of return even if it can no longer be my own…err, my husband’s own planet in the afterlife.

It was a proud moment when Elisha chose to celebrate her union with Mike by waving her middle finger at the Latter-Day Saints. She too gave up the chance for Mike to acquire his own kingdom in outer space. Their ceremony was outside in the rain, miles away from any church or temple and preformed by someone whom the couple actually knew. I know - I know…the nerve of those two. And like most heathens, Elisha and Mike looked incredibly happy and very much in love. I even shed a tear or two. This is remarkable because I would mostly describe myself as a big fat baby but ironically I never cry at weddings. Never. Not even at my own.

I only wish I could show all of you some pictures of the lovely bride and groom, I know all 4 of you are dying to see some photos. Unfortunately Scott and I never did capture a really good photo of the happy couple. We were both too busy trying to load up on free food and drinks…leading me to again wonder why our friends keep inviting us to their weddings. Scott did manage to capture these photos however. Further documentation of what I have a tendency to do after said drinks. Please notice the look of horror on the bride’s face in the last photo. I believe this was when she tried pretending she didn’t know me. The look of unfamiliarity and desperation in her eyes says it all: “PLEASE MAKE THIS CRAZY WOMAN STOP TRYING TO DANCE WITH ME.”

To sum up, it was a lovely event especially because of the tempestuous weather. The rain seemed to be the perfect metaphor for the effort it takes to join two lives. Two people who bring different personalities and opinions to a relationship and still manage to make it through the day together…even when their drunken friends dance inappropriately at their parties. Because hey, if none of us are getting our own spiritual planet when we die we may as well get accustomed to each other now.

One small request

2008-09-30T12:05:00.000-06:00

Bring it back Tom. BRING IT BACK. We're all having withdrawals...Plus, it is Amy's birthday!

My old favorite T-shirt

2008-09-29T21:18:00.004-06:00

I once wore this shirt almost every day, which you probably already deduced from the condition of the puppy’s face. I also once wondered why no one took me seriously.

Isabel

2008-09-29T20:56:00.004-06:00

I also found a lot of old art work in the basement yesterday. This one was for an assignment called 'Your Favorite Photo'. I chose a photo of my little niece Isabel. I thought it turned out okay until my professor told me her head looked too big for her body and then he gave me a whole lecture on proportions. But now that I'm looking at it again...I'm pretty sure her head was that big.

Cleanse

2008-09-29T20:05:00.005-06:00

Don’t worry; I’m not going to write about some weird diet that I’m trying. Seriously I’m the last person who would consider doing a ‘cleanse’. I don’t need to starve myself to think more clearly…I’m pretty sure cutting back on the Irish Crème in my coffee would be enough to accomplish that. And I don’t buy all that business about purging the toxins in my system because I don’t think the bacon grease flowing through my veins is doing me any harm. No, my weekend cleanse was purely about purging some of the remnants of my past.

Awhile back I wrote about an argument Scott and I have been having about closet space. Well, I would just like to say Thank You to my on-line friends (all 3 of you) because the guy finally caved! So in order to make room for his clothes in the guest room closet I had to make some space in one of the pseudo bedrooms in our basement. I spent an entire day going through papers, documents and random mementos that I have stored down there deciding what would stay and what needed to go.

The documents I had to sort through were the worst part. I’ve collected a mountain’s worth of old pay-stubs, receipts and previous bills. They all seemed like part of a former life that is no longer mine (Thank God). The bills and late notices from Apple Loan were the hardest to see. Remember that computer I decided to buy? Well it wasn’t exactly my decision. It just turned out that I was the only one in the relationship with good credit and that fact seemed more and more ironic to me as I sorted through a pile of late notices and threats from their internal collection agency. I should have just let him take the computer when he left but I was afraid he wouldn’t make the payments either. Weird, I know. I think it has something to do with the fact that he failed to make the payments while we were still together. Yes, that was totally behind my reasoning …well, and his tendency to buy new video games instead of say paying the electric bill.

When he left I was stuck with a pile of bills to pay on my own. Not that this situation was entirely different when we lived together but at least I had the faint hope that he would actually contribute. I was so deep in debt that I had a hard time even being able to afford food, which was perfectly evidenced by the birthday cards I still had from Chau. I sorted through at least 4 different cards from him yesterday that said: “Happy Birthday. I know U R STARVING. Go eat.” and there was always a gift card from Target tucked inside. But before you go labeling him as some sort of saint…I would also like to point out the dozens of postcards I found from him that all read: “Wish you were her”. Truth be told, I remember buying a lot more cheap beer than food during that time anyway. I really wasn’t apt to deal with my circumstances. A friend once described her early twenties as “A Very Dark Time” and I think her description perfectly applies to my situation as well.

So that was basically my Sunday. It’s bizarre that I hung on to all those effects for so long. I think I had just gotten into a routine to take it all with me every time I moved and I had never really thought about sitting down and going through it all. By about 10:00 PM I had shredded 2 ½ Glad bags worth of paperwork and emotionally it turned out to be a very hard day. I did learn a lot about myself during those formative years though, especially because I was able to live through one of the hardest situations that I had ever faced and here I am today, actually writing down how I feel about it all. Hooray for progress! And also, I should point out that during that time I developed a deep penchant for Pabst Blue Ribbon…and that my friends is priceless.

A story that many of you have already heard but explains perfectly why I’m fond of my mother...and a warning that some profanity is about to ensue

2008-09-26T16:53:00.006-06:00

I loved to cuss when I was a kid…wait, who am I kidding? I still love to cuss. Even so, when I was a kid I figured out that one of the best perks of having foreigners for parents was that they did not understand much of pop culture or the profane slang that accompanied it. Plus, thanks to cable TV, my vulgar vocabulary had begun to broaden. Because of their hindrance with the English language my parents didn’t pay a lot of attention to what I was watching on TV and by the time I finished Jr. High my crude lexis had considerably developed and my mouth started to get me into a lot more trouble.

In my last year of Jr. High I had this advanced English class (I know, a lot of good that did me). The class was taught by an uptight woman who loved to ignore my existence. One day this boy in my class and I were arguing before the period started. He was a total day walker who liked to end our conversations by calling me some sort of demeaning name and on this particular day the ginger decided to end our argument by calling me a Whore. Not to be outdone I responded with my new favorite expletive and proceeded to call him a Cock Sucker -- just as our tightly wound teacher stepped into the room. She was mortified and because my expressions had developed and not my understanding of them, I really didn’t get why her face had turned a vivid shade of crimson. She made me us both stay after class and explained to me that I was going to have to apologize for what I had said. I just remember thinking: ‘Lady…have you met me? I am a Latin woman. We do not apologize for things we say. You should consider yourself lucky if we even apologize for things you’ve driven us to say.’ …plus, I didn’t see what the big deal was. She proceeded to tell me in her rigid tone that I would not be leaving that classroom until I apologized, so I looked that ginger and his feigned innocence right in the eye and said: “I’M SORRY YOU’RE A COCK SUCKER.” …then I turned around and walked right out of her classroom certain that I had just proven my time in that English class had not gone to waste.

Later that night as I was sitting in front of the TV, the phone rang. From the stairway I tried to eavesdrop and guess who it was my mom was speaking to. The minute I heard her scream “REBECCA” I knew exactly who it was and I knew I was toast. I meekly walked up the stairs and waited for her to get off the phone. While I was standing in front of her waiting for her to finish the conversation I listened to her say: “WELL HOW CAN YOU EXPECT ME TO PUNISH HER IF YOU WON’T TELL ME WHAT SHE SAID?”, “JUST SAY IT”, “WELL IF YOU’RE NOT GOING TO TELL ME THAN I’LL JUST HAVE TO GUESS SHE DID NOTHING WRONG” and again, “JUST SAY IT” with her delicious little accent. A million thoughts were going through my head but mostly the thought of ‘Oh God, please don’t let my mother hear those words spoken out loud’. My mother continued to state her demands into the receiver once more and then….there was a long pause. After what seemed like a lifetime, mom finally thanked my teacher for calling and said goodbye.

My eyes were clenched tightly in preparation of the series of blows that were sure to land firmly on my ass…but after the commencement of hostilities failed to happen I decided to slightly open one eye to see what was going on. What I saw was a beacon of happiness and rainbows…my mom doubled over with her legs crossed so she wouldn’t pee her pants. She was laughing so hysterically she couldn’t even bring herself to place the phone back on the receiver. I couldn’t believe my eyes! I thought: ‘Does she know what those words mean? There’s no way!’ When she was finally able to control her laughter she just looked at me, shook her head and said: “Rebecca. What am I going to do with you?”

I learned two important lessons that day. One, my mom’s English wasn’t as bad as I had originally assumed and two…my mom, she totally had my back.

Speaking of grey hairs...

2008-09-25T21:42:00.004-06:00

Although...they definitely suit him. Me-OW!

I should change the name of this blog to : Whining About My Age

2008-09-25T21:35:00.004-06:00

The other day at work a co-worker I’ve rarely talked to stopped me in the hall. With a look of genuine ardor she began to tell me how beautiful she thought my hair was. She raved on and on about how wonderful the color was and how she felt the style was perfect. She kept going too…which of course had nothing to do with the fact that I kept motioning for her to continue.

This encounter doesn’t have a whole lot to do with anything other than I wanted to relive the confidence boost. It does however remind me that I keep finding these stupid grey hairs all over my head. Every time I yank out one of those wiry hairs, a little piece of my soul gets ripped out right along with it. These events remind me that I’m just that much closer to the day when I’m going to have to decide if I should dye my hair an awful shade of Black Henna Power or Cocoa Bronze. And do you know what that’s going to be like? It’s going to be like choosing from a shade of Filthy Hippie or Over-tanned Cougar. Basically my hair will become an oxymoron.

Estate Sales...creepy, yet gratifying

2008-09-22T21:48:00.008-06:00

My new unicorn flair

...and a place to put it when I'm not using it's magical powers to see the future.

S to the T to the A-L-K-E-R

2008-09-21T22:52:00.004-06:00

Lately I’ve been getting a little (A LOT) of flak about making my blog private. Isn’t that the sweetest thing? I’m so lucky to have friends with genuine concern for my well-being. I suppose they’re right too, I should really limit the amount of people who can be subjected to my slaughtering of the English language…but really, where’s the fun in that?

The subject itself has mostly stemmed from the fact that recently a couple friends and I have discovered a whole new realm of internet stalking. Do any of you realize how easy it is to actually find the blogs of people you have gone to high school with? I’ve lost hours scrolling through posts from former classmates. Dozens of blogs littered with the photos of cherubic (or not so cherubic) little kids and their now more ‘cherubic’ parents. I only wish I could have had some sort of insight as to what my junior high crush would have looked like 12 years after graduation. Because then… I may have gotten better grades.

And talk about self-affirming! I am of course aware that I don’t need to talk about self-affirmation with my readers. Hell, there are probably a few people from my high school reading my blog at this very moment and to them I would just like to say: You’re welcome, enjoy the rest of your day.

Not that I’m doing a very good job of making it, but my point is -- writing about their shortcomings is not my intention. And as you may have noticed it’s not for lack of inspiration. After reading the blogs of my fellow graduates I could probably fill an entire post’s worth of material on their misuse of the words: there, they’re and their alone but I’m not going to do that. Mainly because I don’t have that kind of time but mostly because I realize that this isn’t the proper forum. It’s also not my intention to write about anything that has to do with my job. I hear that blogging about your workplace is a sure fire way to get f-i-r-e-d and I don’t want to find that out from experience. And just so you know, this really is quite a shame because O the stories I could tell. Gold I tell you…GOLD!

So what I’m saying is I have some boundaries. BOUNDARIES! I know I’m as shocked at this revelation as much as you are. Who would have thought that a girl who regularly throws up gang signs at work could have boundaries? --Not that I’m going to talk about that. Also, as I’ve stated before, my hope is that my blog can be therapeutic. As an adult I’ve realized that I have to censor the crazy to get through the day and here I have the chance to release the senseless dribble that runs through my mind on a daily basis. It makes me feel better to know that there are people out there who actually read my blog and will still be seen in public with me. And I promise to keep my blog public and buy you all ice cream with the money I’ve saved on a therapist --my only request is that you judge me in private.

Enjoy!

I walked through their poop

2008-09-15T22:39:00.009-06:00

Ode to a funnel cake

2008-09-15T19:02:00.005-06:00

Here it is: My obligatory State Fair blog entry. Before I begin, I must thank Elisha (WARDLE!). Because of her sweet generosity we were able to enjoy the State Fair for free…and we all know how I loves me some ‘free’. So thank you WARDLE!. The Fair was especially enjoyable this year and I dedicate this post to you...eventhoughIbrieflymentionanothergirlinaninappropriateway. Okay, now that I’ve said too much I’m ready!

There we were. In the middle of this mass of people and suddenly I felt really bad. I realized just how much time I waste worrying about the way I look, when clearly the majority of the population doesn’t even bother to find clothing in their size. I suppose this is the reason we all write about our State Fair experiences though, the sheer shock of seeing a woman crammed into a skirt that was probably used as a hand towel moments before she decided to wrap it around herself and go to a place where you literally walk around in animal feces.

So with my self confidence swelling, I decided to let the size of my butt partake in the excitement too and I headed straight to the funnel cake line. Honestly I would have headed for that line regardless of what I was feeling about my appearance but it was nice to know that I didn’t need to worry so much about sharing. When I was done with my funnel cake I asked Scott if he was ready to go see the Nachos. He responded with some nonsense about seeing farm animals, so my food Fair was officially on hold and I rolled up my jeans in preparation of strolling through poop.

On our way to see the goats we ran into Stacey and Jason. This would have been a totally random but because I had read Stacey’s blog moments before we left for the Fair, my senses were on full alert…however my senses are total shit so Stacey saw us first. Normally the experience of hearing someone say my name in public makes my skin crawl but unlike most of the people I went to high school with, running into these two is always a treat. We all talked briefly and I realized that I had the same wave of emotions I always do when I see Stacey and Jay…I miss them. As I stared into Stacey’s bright mesmerizing eyes, which are the color of green sea shells, I remembered my Stacey lady crush. I spent the years following my high school graduation hanging out with these two and Chau almost every day. Our days were spent shopping at the mall, watching Reality Bites and going to every concert we could get tickets for. There was once a time Stacey and I would hold hands at concerts, sometimes at this very same venue, so we could watch the reactions of anyone who looked in our direction. And while I’m now the type of person who gets thoroughly annoyed with the young dumb girls who do this in public for the very same reason, our brief moment at the Fair was serendipitous.

Annnnnnnnnnd there. I just spent the better part of this post COMPLETELY OFF TOPIC. Also I may have taken some liberties when I used the word ‘briefly’ at the beginning of this post.

Anytangent, the Fair did not disappoint this year. I’m always impressed by the sheer magnitude of this festival and the amount of people who are compelled to attend the spectacle that is the Utah State Fair. The only complaint I have is that we didn’t go sooner. For some reason we always wind up attending on the last weekend and it’s always a little weird to see the dead flowers in the floriculture exhibit and the shriveled vegetables from the agriculture exhibit. It makes me feel like I missed a really good produce party. Plus if we had gone earlier I bet I wouldn’t have had to walk through so many piles of cow poo.

Jetty madness

2008-09-13T10:58:00.003-06:00

It's up! Take a look.

Scabiosa!...another photo taken this weekend

2008-09-09T23:07:00.001-06:00

I'm so sleepy

2008-09-09T22:52:00.006-06:00

Sorry for the lack of postings, but I’ve had quite the extended weekend. Carol was in town and an array of adventures were planned for the occasion. This is why I like having house guests; it forces you to see all the cool and interesting things your home town has to offer. Well that, and Carol brought gifts.

We started off the weekend with a dinner at a r-e-s-t-a-u-r-a-n-t. Some of you may feel this adventure is not worth mentioning but I assure you this is a rare event in the Peters household. These types of excursions are infrequent and usually involve tears or a mutual agreement that we are both way too tired to actually make food for ourselves...which mostly takes the pleasure out of having someone make your dinner and serve it you.

Next on the agenda was a trip to IKEA, followed by more shopping and then some shopping. I’m pretty sure Scott was ready to gouge his own eyes out at the thought having to spend the day shopping with his wife. And his Mom. And his wife’s Mom. He held up pretty good though and I only had to mutter idle threats to him to stop rolling eyes about 30 times. A new record! We were even able to drag him to another mall to walk around and get dinner and he did an excellent job refraining from the act of strangling me.

My favorite part of the whole trip was the Saturday we spent in Northern Utah (Now there’s a sentence I never thought I would compose). I’ve lived here my entire life and had never made the effort to see this even though I’ve wanted to see that thing since high school. We also had a special little experience bundled up with our visit and hopefully you’ll see photo evidence of it here soon…I would explain further but I don’t want to ruin the nuttiness of the encounter. We also made a stop at Promontory Point, you know… so we could actually see the thing displayed on the back of the Utah quarter.

The weekend was packed with adventure and I’m exhausted. I’m not adapted to leaving my spot on the couch for extended periods of time, that and trying to be on my best behavior so Scott’s Mom didn’t realize....err, think I was some sort of psycho psychopath. Good times were had, but I am so ready for a nap. Hopefully Carol had enough fun that she would consider coming out again. I'm always up for more presents...err, impetus sightseeing!

Sunday ride

2008-09-09T19:01:00.004-06:00

Mr. Green in the garden

2008-09-04T21:55:00.002-06:00

Can I first just tell you what a perfect evening it was? The weather was outstanding. A chill in the air with warm jackets necessary once the sun had set. This is the definition of perfect Becca weather. It required no sweating and I had the option of whether or not I wanted to expose my parts to the people in my general vicinity.

I should also tell you that Scott won free VIP tickets for us to the concert at Red Butte. VIP and free just happen to be one of my favorite word combinations. Like bacon and consume or even celebrity and news or dirty and movie. The VIP tickets were also very important to the evening because they absolutely prevented the potential reoccurrence of the incident that took place on our anniversary at Red Butte. ..and if you have yet to hear that story, you’ll just have to wait and get the story in person because it features way more profanity than I’m willing to document here.

Anycrazy, the seats we wound up with were perfect. We sat on the front row near the pathway that accessed the VIP area. So basically I was able to watch the VIP monitors turn away people without the right tickets ALL NIGHT. Do you have any idea how satisfying that is for someone like me? I could not have planned a more ideal set up myself. Also, the section featured free adult beverages and hors d'oeuvres too. Are you jealous yet? No? Then I’ll keep going…

When Al walked on stage and said “Hello Salt Lake City!” I immediately took off my pants. Once he spoke, it was obvious that the man still has a voice that could tear the garments off a Mormon and he hadn’t even started singing yet. The set list went from new skool to old skool with some great tributes in between, including an inspiring rendition of one of my favorite Sam Cooke songs. And did I mention that I was drinking free wine too? Cause I was.

Also worth mentioning, other than Al’s soulful buttery voice, was a delightful form of entertainment that came in the form of 3-dozen or so red roses which Mr. Green had set out on stage to pass out to all the ladies. Heaps of crazy old white women would swarm the stage and assail him at any given opportunity. Some would even just waltz up to the table and take a rose without even looking in his direction. At times it got a little ridiculous. And I have to say, I’ve never seen such attentive security at Red Butte. Actually I’ve never even seen any security at Red Butte. It was mostly hilarious, except when some of the crazies would try to kiss him and he would stop in the middle of a song to kiss them back. There were times I felt like we had shown up just to watch Al get some action. Which was okay, and believe me I would have been right up there with them, but we weren’t very close to the stage and I wasn’t wearing any pants.

The Reverend

2008-09-03T10:22:00.002-06:00

Guess what I'll be doing tonight? That's right...time to be jealous.

Let me count the ways

2008-09-02T19:13:00.013-06:00

I often get asked what I believe Scott’s best attributes to be. It’s always a tough question to answer too, there are just so many.

Like how he is proficient in distributing crumbs up to 3-feet away from himself - no matter how close his face is to his plate. Or how he has the uncanny ability to make me blink uncontrollably and speak at UNCONTROLLABLE VOLUMES (sorta like that).

Let’s face it though…none of those attributes are my favorite and despite my constant mockery (which sadly is my best attribute), I have come up with a short list for your perusal. Short only because I don’t have all day and because there is beer to be consumed in the fridge.

Here goes:

#1. Legs – Because now there is hope for our children…the hope that they will not have to go through life complaining about being “all torso”.

#2. Rhymes with “Rutt”—I’m censoring myself because Scott’s Dad now reads my blog (Hi Jim!)…otherwise I would have gone into a very detailed explanation of why I love this attribute sooOOooOo much. You can all thank Jim later.

#3. And last but not least:

I'm keeping this photo in a special folder on my desktop labeled: PORN

I do of course have to thank Carol for his this very important attribute. If it weren't for Scott's Mom teaching him to sew, my life would be void of these fantastic new curtains.

I heart these curtains so much. And...our neighbors don't know this yet but they will no longer have to witness Scott or I scurrying to the bathroom naked in the morning.

I'm expecting a batch of warm cookies on my doorstep at any minute.

Quote of the Day

2008-08-31T22:17:00.004-06:00

When asked if Sarah Palin is really ready to make decisions regarding National Security...

Oh yes. You know Sarah is from Alaska, and Alaska...where it's situated, is right next to Russia.

-Cindy Lou McCain

Survey Says

2008-08-28T21:26:00.003-06:00

1) Has anyone ever told you that you have a cute nose?
Does it count if you’ve been told you have a big nose?

2) Do you ever keep arguing when you know you're wrong?
When I’m what?

3) What do you think your latest ex would remember about you?
Well. I hope he remembers that there was a time that I would have done almost anything for him. Like how I purchased a new computer and a Playstation for him because I wanted to see if he could actually be any more indolent. The answer to that question was an astounding “YES HE CAN”. Of course, I spent the next several years paying for it, literally and figuratively but that was just the kind of girl I was.

However, I think he just remembers that I cried a lot.

4) When was the last time you fought with your best friend?
Today. He can be so testy - does that have to do with the fact that he has testicles?

P.S. CHAU: I will vote for Obama. I really like Obama but IT’S OKAY IF I STILL LIKE HILLARY.

5) What did you do today?
I went to work and when I got there I tried to work. Like all day.

*Soul dying*

6) When was the last time you wrestled?
Thursday.

7) Do you like to cuddle?
Would I be compensated?

8) How many different people of the same sex have you really cried over?
Like we had sex with the same people? That would make me cry a little. Ah, but you asked about REALLY crying, and as you now know, it would take severe exhaustion and extreme debt to really make me cry (See answer #3).

9) Who was the last person's voice you thought of?
Marti Skold, because I’m watching the evening news. I also have an overwhelming urge to find out where she lives (probably Draper), ring her doorbell and proceed to punch her in the neck once she opens the door. This urge more than likely has a lot to do with this show which consequently sends me into seizure or dramatic convulsions whenever I hear the theme song. WHEN WILL IT BE CANCELLED?

10) Have you ever passed out on the bathroom floor?
Have I ever! The more important question is: have I ever passed out on the bathroom floor and not had someone hit me smack in the head while opening the door to get inside the bathroom too?...and that answer would be ‘no’ as well.

11) Do you like your life as of now?
Like right this second? Let’s see…

Eating bacon? Check.
Watching TV and utilizing the internet at the same time? Check.
Wearing dirty sweat pants? Check.
Drinking a cocktail? Check.
Someone else entertaining Scott for a while? Check. (Thanks Keith!)

Dude. Life is good!

12) Who makes you happy most?
You would probably expect me to say Scott Peters and I would tend to agree. Scott is nice, I mean really nice and there is no one who can make me happy the way he does (if you know what I’m saying…which you probably do). However, there are times he can make me feel like pulling out all make hair whilst running to the curb with my thumb out to catch a free ride to: WHO THE HELL CARES? So can I really say that he makes me happy most?

Neil Diamond on the other hand can always put a smile on my face. The only way Neil could make me happier more often would be if the guy would just break down and grow a mustache already.

13) Regret doing anything in the past week?
Am I awake?

14) How many kids do you want?
DID MY MOM PUT YOU UP TO THIS?!?!?!

15) When did you last cry?
About 12 questions ago.

16) Do you wear sunglasses at night?
Should I be concerned that you’re legitimately asking this question in a public forum?

17) Do you still talk to the person who hurt you the most?
Are you kidding me? I could think of a BILLION better questions to ask me than this one. Namely: “Are you drunk?”

18) Have you ever kissed anyone whose name started with C?
Should I be getting their names?

19) Have you ever kissed anyone whose name started with L?
See #23.

20) Have you ever kissed anyone whose name started with J?
I’m starting to believe the answer to my question on #23 is ‘yes’.

21) Do you drink coffee?
Yes indeed. I’m like the opposite of a Mormon. I believe the cold caffeine is what will kill you. Take that Granger 19th Ward…….YOU THINK COFFEE IS BAD?!?!? MAYBE YOU SHOULD JUST POUR SOME OF YOUR COKE IN A CUP AND SEE…..okay I feel better now.

22) What were you doing 20 minutes ago?
Mixing a cocktail.

23) Does anyone call you babe?
Ya, no.

24) Do you like school?
Nobody likes school. Well at least until you’re out of school and can appreciate how much better it is to be at school that at work. Unless of course you’re Scott Peters…but he’s just weird.

25) Who's car were you last in?
My own. I am however more concerned that you do not know how to spell “Whose”.

26) Last thing you drank?
See answers #15 & #28.

27) Are you more of a coffee or alcohol drinker?
Yes.

28) Have you broken a bone?
Yes, but I said I was sorry.

29) Do you like long term relationships?
Wait....did someone in high school write this survey?

30) Who was the last person who called you?
Called me what?

31) Rent a movie or go to movies?
If it’s porn I would rather watch it at home.

32) Has anyone told you they missed you lately?
Yep, written by someone in high school.

33) If you could ask the person you last kissed anything right now, what would it be?
“What is your name?”