For the past few days now I've been feeling under the weather and only seem to be getting worse. But as I lay here in bed wishing that my headache would finally go away or that by some miracle I could instantly feel better, I think back to when I was younger and all of the wonderful things my mom would do to make me feel better.
It's times like these that I wish she were here making me my orange tea that only seemed to taste perfect when she put it in my favorite mug, which of course, she always did.
There is nobody that can compete with my mom when it comes to making blanket beds on the couch or making the perfect chicken noodle soup. (You know, that super tasty kind in the box.) It may not have been homemade, but it was the best.
I would fake being sick on (more than one) occasion just because I liked that she would take the day off work and hang out with me. Even when she probably knew I was faking she would pull out all of the stops and make me all of my feel better treats. And by the end of the day, faking or not, I always felt better.
Of course as I got older I was forced to fend for myself (unless I was really sick) or she'd send in Grandma as the back up!
Too bad she can't be here with me now, because I know I would feel much better if she were. I guess no matter how old we get, sometimes we just need our moms for a little TLC.
2.23.2009
2.16.2009
Paint is like Duct Tape...
Again I've been ignoring my blog because of all the activity surrounding my recent move. Well, tomorrow is officially our final day in our town home and what a nightmare the cleaning process has been.
Seriously, where did we get so much shit? We found things we hadn't seen in over a year.
As I cleaned, I learned an important lesson. Paint is like duct tape, it can apparently fix anything.
As I was scrubbing the baseboards and counter tops, like a good resident would do before moving, I discovered that everything was actually getting dirtier as I scrubbed. How can this be you ask?
After looking at my sponge, I found the answer. Paint.
Apparently instead of cleaning the apartment when the previous resident(s) moved out it was actually easier to PAINT OVER THE DIRT! The more I scrubbed, the more paint I was actually removing from the cabinets, baseboards, counter tops (yes, they painted the counter tops) and grout. Off with the paint came the dirt from who knows how long ago.
I thought I may throw up. But, instead I continued to peel away at the layers and decided that our place is now cleaner than the day we moved in.
Let's just see how our checkout goes tomorrow...
Seriously, where did we get so much shit? We found things we hadn't seen in over a year.
As I cleaned, I learned an important lesson. Paint is like duct tape, it can apparently fix anything.
As I was scrubbing the baseboards and counter tops, like a good resident would do before moving, I discovered that everything was actually getting dirtier as I scrubbed. How can this be you ask?
After looking at my sponge, I found the answer. Paint.
Apparently instead of cleaning the apartment when the previous resident(s) moved out it was actually easier to PAINT OVER THE DIRT! The more I scrubbed, the more paint I was actually removing from the cabinets, baseboards, counter tops (yes, they painted the counter tops) and grout. Off with the paint came the dirt from who knows how long ago.
I thought I may throw up. But, instead I continued to peel away at the layers and decided that our place is now cleaner than the day we moved in.
Let's just see how our checkout goes tomorrow...
1.29.2009
Pregnancy...no, not mine...
I've been neglecting my blog in the midst of my moving and getting back into the swing of the new year. But, today I received something that I just cannot keep to myself. I take absolutely no credit for this Craigslist posting but am happy to share it with you....I praise the author.
Enjoy...Oh, and if you are sensitive about foul language...close blog now!!
Yeah, we get it - You're pregnant. BIG FUCKING DEAL. It's not like you went to school for three years and had to take some excruciating multi-day certification. It's not like you saved a Golden Retriever puppy from getting run over by a bus load of Norwegian tourists. It's not like you cured macular degeneration. YOU SPREAD YOUR LEGS AND TOOK A MAN-MUSTARD INJECTION... Wow. Way to go. I am amazed you made it through such a mentally and physically demanding challenge that probably lasted all of 45 seconds (either natural or lab-grown.)
And now we are suppose to fawn all over you. We are suppose to act like it's so incredibly difficult to get pregnant, and that you are now this pristine chalice of life -Something that deserves to be worshiped and adored.
Feel sick in the mornings? Do your feet hurt cause they are swelling? Gotta buy new clothes because you are 12 weeks along and have already put on 19 pounds? NOT MY PROBLEM. Do your job like you are suppose to and shut the hell up already.
…Oh btw - Quit using your pregnancy as an excuse to stuff your gullet each and every chance you get. When you proudly stand up at the staff party and announce that "The baby wants" an entire pint of Ben & Jerry's Super Fudge Chunk, a liter of Dr. Pepper, some curly fries THEN TELL THE BABY TO SHUT THE FUCK UP.
Now what exactly do I have to look forward to for the next two or three years..? A constant stream of verbal diarrhea such as "little Bobby went to the toilet and pooped all by himself - But he forgot to wipe and then sat on the floor to pull his pants up! It was so precious, but there was poop everywhere!" or “I'm sorry I'm 40 minutes late, you see I have a four-year-old in potty training and we had an accident." or "I don't feel comfortable doing the speed limit, my baby is only two months old - You can go around." FUCK YOU.
Two years after that and now I'm stuck behind you at the concession stand - And guess what? You feel it's important to empower your child. It doesn't matter that there are nine people behind you, you want little Bobby to make his own choice when it comes to artificially flavored processed movie snacks. By God, Bobby is special. He must be because that’s what all the Nike commercials say. There is only one Bobby and he is different from every other person on this earth. He is special by God, and he will be raised knowing he is special. And now, little Bobby has been standing there with his little index finger in his little mouth, staring at all the choices for the last FULL minute. But you aren't the type of parent to acknowledge the fact that many people are waiting for little Bobby to make up his little mind. You don't say something like "Hurry and choose something or I will choose for you" or even better “Other people are waiting, make up your mind” - Not you. Instead, you turn to the sea of humanity that has formed a marginally cohesive line behind you and look at them with an 'I'm sure you all understand' look. FUCK YOU. You are the same people that just can't put their cell phone conversation on hold for 20 seconds while you order your venti no-whip-half-caff almond latte and spinach croissant - Instead you make eye contact with the waiter and raise that index finger. The index finger which happens to be the international signal for 'I am a socially retarded fuckhead.'
One time I saw an interview with Hootie (of the Blowfish), with his wife. It was a lovely 'What does Hootie and his wife do when he's at home and not packing fans into concerts at 20 or 30% of capacity' piece on some lame ass afternoon news biopic show. Anyway Hootie’s wife starts talking about kids and how they are such a miracle and (now she is actually tearing up) and she just can't understand how anyone wouldn't want to have children and HOW SHE JUST FEELS SORRY FOR THOSE PEOPLE. Oh yes honey, feel sorry for us. Obviously we are emotionally fractured because we don't share the same fervent desire to add our particular goo to this world's collective semen cesspool...
I don't hate children. I hate the parents that think they are entitled because they have children...
Enjoy...Oh, and if you are sensitive about foul language...close blog now!!
Yeah, we get it - You're pregnant. BIG FUCKING DEAL. It's not like you went to school for three years and had to take some excruciating multi-day certification. It's not like you saved a Golden Retriever puppy from getting run over by a bus load of Norwegian tourists. It's not like you cured macular degeneration. YOU SPREAD YOUR LEGS AND TOOK A MAN-MUSTARD INJECTION... Wow. Way to go. I am amazed you made it through such a mentally and physically demanding challenge that probably lasted all of 45 seconds (either natural or lab-grown.)
And now we are suppose to fawn all over you. We are suppose to act like it's so incredibly difficult to get pregnant, and that you are now this pristine chalice of life -Something that deserves to be worshiped and adored.
Feel sick in the mornings? Do your feet hurt cause they are swelling? Gotta buy new clothes because you are 12 weeks along and have already put on 19 pounds? NOT MY PROBLEM. Do your job like you are suppose to and shut the hell up already.
…Oh btw - Quit using your pregnancy as an excuse to stuff your gullet each and every chance you get. When you proudly stand up at the staff party and announce that "The baby wants" an entire pint of Ben & Jerry's Super Fudge Chunk, a liter of Dr. Pepper, some curly fries THEN TELL THE BABY TO SHUT THE FUCK UP.
Now what exactly do I have to look forward to for the next two or three years..? A constant stream of verbal diarrhea such as "little Bobby went to the toilet and pooped all by himself - But he forgot to wipe and then sat on the floor to pull his pants up! It was so precious, but there was poop everywhere!" or “I'm sorry I'm 40 minutes late, you see I have a four-year-old in potty training and we had an accident." or "I don't feel comfortable doing the speed limit, my baby is only two months old - You can go around." FUCK YOU.
Two years after that and now I'm stuck behind you at the concession stand - And guess what? You feel it's important to empower your child. It doesn't matter that there are nine people behind you, you want little Bobby to make his own choice when it comes to artificially flavored processed movie snacks. By God, Bobby is special. He must be because that’s what all the Nike commercials say. There is only one Bobby and he is different from every other person on this earth. He is special by God, and he will be raised knowing he is special. And now, little Bobby has been standing there with his little index finger in his little mouth, staring at all the choices for the last FULL minute. But you aren't the type of parent to acknowledge the fact that many people are waiting for little Bobby to make up his little mind. You don't say something like "Hurry and choose something or I will choose for you" or even better “Other people are waiting, make up your mind” - Not you. Instead, you turn to the sea of humanity that has formed a marginally cohesive line behind you and look at them with an 'I'm sure you all understand' look. FUCK YOU. You are the same people that just can't put their cell phone conversation on hold for 20 seconds while you order your venti no-whip-half-caff almond latte and spinach croissant - Instead you make eye contact with the waiter and raise that index finger. The index finger which happens to be the international signal for 'I am a socially retarded fuckhead.'
One time I saw an interview with Hootie (of the Blowfish), with his wife. It was a lovely 'What does Hootie and his wife do when he's at home and not packing fans into concerts at 20 or 30% of capacity' piece on some lame ass afternoon news biopic show. Anyway Hootie’s wife starts talking about kids and how they are such a miracle and (now she is actually tearing up) and she just can't understand how anyone wouldn't want to have children and HOW SHE JUST FEELS SORRY FOR THOSE PEOPLE. Oh yes honey, feel sorry for us. Obviously we are emotionally fractured because we don't share the same fervent desire to add our particular goo to this world's collective semen cesspool...
I don't hate children. I hate the parents that think they are entitled because they have children...
1.06.2009
i'd like to thank the academy
As anyone who knows me knows, I love receiving fabulous things. Gifts, compliments, all things wonderful, etc. Well, I've been under the weather the last few days and I received something that made me feel better. An award! My very first blog award.
Ooooo ahhh...isn't it amazing?!
Ooooo ahhh...isn't it amazing?!Apparently in the world of blogging fellow bloggers can give out awards to other blogs they love. This 'Honest Scrap' award was presented to me by my lifelong pal Kim. (Thanks K!!)
Along with this award come a set of rules. By accepting this award I'm supposed to spill the beans on 10 honest details of my life (the good, bad or ugly) and then pass this along to other blogs that I'd like to honor.
Well, I think I can pull 10 facts out of my hat but as far as the passing of the award, I'm afraid the only blog I read is K's. So...if I find other friends that have blogs hiding in the shadows, I'll pass it along.
10. I am OBSESSED with Bravo. Terrible reality television, Real Housewives of anywhere, Top this and Runway that. I. Love. It. All. I've also convinced myself that if I meet any of the contestants we'd be best of friends in real life. Well, except that awful woman on the last season of Shear Genius.
9. I might have a shopping addiction. Okay, I do. A really bad one. Living by the most amazing mall in the world (according to moi) is very difficult and I hear the purses at Neiman Marcus calling my name every time I drive by. I feel like they are practically begging me to live in my closet.
8. In my rebel teenage years I was forbidden by my parents to get a tattoo or something really bad would happen (no idea now what that threat was). So what is the first thing I did when I moved away from home? Yep. Got my tat. Well, okay, not the first thing that I did but about a month and a half later.
Now I have two and one was even bought with book buy-back money.
(I can hear my mother's heart breaking as I type this)
7. As a child I had secretly hoped that Paula Abdul was my biological mother. I loved her and wanted to be just like her. (Thank goodness that didn't turn out to be true!...what a nut job!)
6. There is a good chance that I'm the only person I know that doesn't want children. Ever. (Even though everyone keeps trying to convince me that this is just a phase and once I become pregnant I will think it is the most amazing thing in the world). I think those people are crazy.
5. I'm completely addicted to my Blackberry. If given an ultimatum between anything and my Blackberry, the Blackberry would win every time.
4. Every morning I sing as loudly as possible in my car. It is like my own private concert on my commute. However, I'm not a fan when people laugh at me when they see me singing at stoplights.
3. I have met, loved and lost my soul mate. We also have matching tattoos (see #8).
(And it was not the one bought with buy-back money.)
2. Bi-weekly pedicures are a standard. Weekly in the summer. (Seriously, for a girl who wears flip flops year round it just can't be neglected)
1. I love dirty martinis. They might be my favorite thing. Ever. Blue cheese stuffed olives are must. (Fruity, frozen, umbrella wearing drinks can stay far, far away!!)
And apparently, when I drink them, I stick out my pinky finger like some snobby elitist.
(Or when I drink anything I do. K likes to point this out for me.)
Well, that's it. 10 things about me. They might not be Watergate quality but I'm sure as my blogging continues, people who don't know me will have a chance to learn more than they ever wanted to.
Along with this award come a set of rules. By accepting this award I'm supposed to spill the beans on 10 honest details of my life (the good, bad or ugly) and then pass this along to other blogs that I'd like to honor.
Well, I think I can pull 10 facts out of my hat but as far as the passing of the award, I'm afraid the only blog I read is K's. So...if I find other friends that have blogs hiding in the shadows, I'll pass it along.
10. I am OBSESSED with Bravo. Terrible reality television, Real Housewives of anywhere, Top this and Runway that. I. Love. It. All. I've also convinced myself that if I meet any of the contestants we'd be best of friends in real life. Well, except that awful woman on the last season of Shear Genius.
9. I might have a shopping addiction. Okay, I do. A really bad one. Living by the most amazing mall in the world (according to moi) is very difficult and I hear the purses at Neiman Marcus calling my name every time I drive by. I feel like they are practically begging me to live in my closet.
8. In my rebel teenage years I was forbidden by my parents to get a tattoo or something really bad would happen (no idea now what that threat was). So what is the first thing I did when I moved away from home? Yep. Got my tat. Well, okay, not the first thing that I did but about a month and a half later.
Now I have two and one was even bought with book buy-back money.
(I can hear my mother's heart breaking as I type this)
7. As a child I had secretly hoped that Paula Abdul was my biological mother. I loved her and wanted to be just like her. (Thank goodness that didn't turn out to be true!...what a nut job!)
6. There is a good chance that I'm the only person I know that doesn't want children. Ever. (Even though everyone keeps trying to convince me that this is just a phase and once I become pregnant I will think it is the most amazing thing in the world). I think those people are crazy.
5. I'm completely addicted to my Blackberry. If given an ultimatum between anything and my Blackberry, the Blackberry would win every time.
4. Every morning I sing as loudly as possible in my car. It is like my own private concert on my commute. However, I'm not a fan when people laugh at me when they see me singing at stoplights.
3. I have met, loved and lost my soul mate. We also have matching tattoos (see #8).
(And it was not the one bought with buy-back money.)
2. Bi-weekly pedicures are a standard. Weekly in the summer. (Seriously, for a girl who wears flip flops year round it just can't be neglected)
1. I love dirty martinis. They might be my favorite thing. Ever. Blue cheese stuffed olives are must. (Fruity, frozen, umbrella wearing drinks can stay far, far away!!)
And apparently, when I drink them, I stick out my pinky finger like some snobby elitist.
(Or when I drink anything I do. K likes to point this out for me.)
Well, that's it. 10 things about me. They might not be Watergate quality but I'm sure as my blogging continues, people who don't know me will have a chance to learn more than they ever wanted to.
1.04.2009
E's Birthday
2009 has started out with a bang, or at least a fitting finale to E's birthday month. (Birthday months are so much cooler than just one day)
Friday night a group of our friends joined us to help celebrate E's big 3-2. In my family, every birthday deserves a birthday dinner. So, following in the tradition E made his restaurant selection and as any good Kansan would choose, it included all you can eat meat. Yes, all you can eat. Our destination...Fogo de Chao.
Fogo de Chao is a traditional Brazilian churrascaria with a mile long salad bar and 15 different types of meats that are offered to guests in an almost speed dating fashion. Now, this concept sounds exciting, but I think now more than ever I'm confident my resolution of becoming a vegetarian will stick without fail. I mean, really, there is only so much dead carcass one can be around before the whole thing is just overwhelming and the only thing you can smell is steak.
Don't get me wrong the restaurant was amazing, but just make sure you aren't trying to eliminate meat from your daily diet. E was more than pleased with his experience...
I'm not sure he said no to any of the choices....Management says that each patron (on average) eats 2.5 lbs. of meat. E met his quota.
mmmm...Meat!
and his favorite...Key Lime Pie :)
The dinner was a great success and everyone walked (or waddled) away full. I'm not sure we'll need to eat for the next few days but E is already plotting his dinner for next year.
Happy Birthday E!! Now if we can just track down that Blackberry for you...
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