Friday, May. 25, 2007 - 5:05 p.m.

buh bye!

I'm in the process of archiving this blog to my shiny, new, hardly-broken-in address at blogspot.

I've become spam paranoid, and won't post a link for a the spambots to find me at, but I trust _your_ intellect; you'll find me . . .




Monday, May. 14, 2007 - 2:35 p.m.

Mother's Day - and the kid won't be here for 6 months!

Schnickies I got spoiled this weekend!

Quick(ish) rundown:
Last weekend was Mr. Hubby's 39th birthday, which we spent at my parent's house and HIS parents drove nearly 4 hours to join us for dinner. Our parents haven't spent time together since October 2003 when we got married, and I think everyone was relieved with how mellow the evening was.

I felt that Mr. Hubby needed to have some sort of not-parent-related celebration of his birthday, but knew I couldn't host said celebration since I turn into a nauseated cranky bitch at approximately 9pm every night. SO, I decided to do the next best thing and made plans to go to my parent's house over the weekend, so Mr. Hubby could have people over and be as noisy as late into the evening as he liked.

As it turned out, he had three friends over and grilled out copious amounts of meat, drank beer, and played card games. Much tamer than I expected, but at least he didn't have to worry about taking care of me for over 24 hours. If you've ever taken care of a first-time first-trimester pregnant woman, you'd know that being off the hook is quite a treat.

On Saturday, my Mom took me to a FANTASTIC deli in "Capitol City" where we split the largest reuben sandwich known to man. Then we nosed around Big Lots, because regardless of income level, I love going to Big Lots - it's GhettoFantastic. Then off to WalFart to pick up a few odds and ends and to snear at their abused garden center plants. My mom bought me a very cute peasant-looking shirt and khaki shorts from the maternity section. I knew that pregnancy would change my life for ever - I didn't think that would extend to being happy to own clothes from WalFart.

A mere two hours after eating a ton of corned beef (gee - remember my nearly meat-free days?) I was ready for more food, so we headed for McDonald's for a snack. (Again, Mom paid). THEN, we went to Meijer, which is a little like a super-Target, but has better sale sections; I purchased THREE maternity tops and a pair of (ugly) maternity slacks for a total $20. Big thumbs up to the retail gal who told us about the clearance section when we asked where maternity clothes were located!! Mom bought a pair of Dr. Scholl's sandals for herself, and bought a pair for ME; the excuse being that I'll need comfortable, adjustable sandals to accommodate my swelling feet later on.

See what I mean about being spoiled?

We then went to a nursery to pick up the rest of the bedding plants mom needed for her planters. This one was well ventilated and didn't smell like fertilizer so I was a very happy camper.

When we finally got home I (gasp) ate a snack then fell asleep on the couch for nearly an hour. I woke to the smell of meatloaf in the oven, and I got to watch "Addams Family Values" on satellite cable - bliss.

On Sunday, I slept in a bit and attended a 10:30 church service with my parents, followed by lounging on their back deck with their/my cat Samantha.

Then we were off to my favorite buffet restaurant off in a tiny little town; they serve the best fried chicken and mashed potatoes on the planet, the salad bar is great and full of church-lady concoctions, all the other veggies and meats are great (although who has time for roast beef or ham with chicken like that around?) but perhaps my favorite part is the dessert table. I'm convinced that they have a fleet of elderly church ladies selling pies and cakes to them, the sugar-cream pie is phenomenal but the crown jewels are rhubarb pie and gooseberry pie so tangy that you need a tiny blip of vanilla ice cream on top.

Mmmmm. Can you tell I'm just a wee bit obsessed with food these days? I've had to force myself to eat so much high-protein food lately that I was in seventh heaven to treat myself to a small slice of gooseberry pie . . . I need a gooseberry bush of my own!

When we got home I gave my mom a pedicure. Sounds a little strange, but I've been giving her pedicures since I was 13; I'm good at it, and nothing gets you off the hook for past infractions like granting someone pretty, well-pampered feet. I also seem to recall phrases like "well, it'd be okay for you to _______ if you can do my toes this afternoon . . ." Besides, I remember from my childhood that my Dad isn't particularly good with nail clippers.

While I was tending toes, my Dad was busy washing the outside of my ginormous old car. I caught up with him in time to vacuum the inside of my car while he tended to all those weird vehicular details that only Dads notice.

I returned home to Mr. Hubby before dark, and he helped me with a freelance project before helping me make rice krispie treats as a thank-you for my coworker who gave me a grocery bag full of maternity clothes.

I can't and won't use this weekend as the standard for all future Mother's Day celebrations because I'm all too aware that I was spoiled absolutely rotten by both Mr. Hubby and my parents. Obvious thanks to those who actively 'poiled me, and a big smooch to "the kid" who is making all of this possible.

Perhaps we can work out some sort of arrangement that involves less nausea and exhaustion on my part and serious 'poilage on your part after you're born?

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

In other news, Diaryland still sucks, I'm still moving someplace else, but don't know where. If you're happy with a spam-free blog, lemme know!



Friday, Apr. 13, 2007 - 12:46 p.m.

hello, hello again, shaboom and hopin' we'll meet again

With lots of help from Mr. Lee, a great portion of the universe has been told that I am pregnant. Fair enough, he was the third person I told - he would have been expecting me to be ready to go to watch a roller derby bout, and I needed to be told by a test that _didn't_ come from the dollar store that the "two-stripe" news was for real.

* Take note: Dollar store pregnancy tests _do_ work just fine, but are less sensitive than more expensive tests. If you want to know if you're harboring a hitch-hiker ASAP, plan on spending more than a buck to find out.

First, I called up Mr. Hubby, who was out of town, spending time with his family - I felt bad that he wasn't there the moment I found out; I was expecting a negative response! I just wanted clearance for a Saturday night of beer and roller derby spectatorship!!

Second, I called up my parents, who are estatic. I would have preferred to tell them in person, but I was home alone and understandably rattled - as if I could wait!

a side note: I should also mention that my status daughter has changed a bit, to my perception, I am now she who carries our first grandchild, and am forbidden to curse because "Sweet Baby doesn't need to hear that!".

Third, I called up Mr. Lee and said "I'm running late getting ready to leave, please go buy me a pregnancy test that costs more that $10." He sounded like he was gonna wet himself laughing at me. He quickly arrived with at $13 test that looked like it could diffuse a nuclear bomb, strawberries, and a fruit smoothie.

I decided to stick with my plans to attend the roller derby bout so I would have something to think about other than my entire life changing. I planned on telling my derby friends _after_ the bout was over, since it is important to watch other teams play in order to learn what to do and more importantly, what NOT to do in a bout situation. Mr. Lee was sitting at the opposite end of some bleachers and my friend Tony questioned our atypical tardiness "Oh, she's pregnant" was his reply, followed by a chorus of "what!?" and "Huh?!?". As I told my fellow derby girls who didn't over hear that blip of news, their faces vaccilated between shock, glee, and horror. "You can't skate!" was the most common response, followed by "ohmygawd, I completely slammed into you last week, I'm so sorry!"

So within a few hours, my family, my husband's family, and my derby friends knew - and I was desperate to stop the news from getting any further because I was convinced I'd jinx my hopeful future baby.

My logic? We'd been "not not trying" to concieve for quite a while and nothing was happening, so I was overjoyed to focus on being a derby girl instead, and gave little to no thought to conception. My ovaries were ingoring me, I could ignore them right back! As soon as I really got my skates under me, was well on my way to fufilling all WFTDA bouting requirements, and had all the equipment I needed . . . ta daa! Time to hang up the skates. In my mind, a logical extension was "as soon as everyone knows, I'll lose the poor kid and have to tell everyone about that".

I'm no longer afraid of miscarrying, although I know it is a very real possibility, first time through and all. Now I'm far too busy concentrating on trying to stay awake and keeping up my yakk-free streak. My new mantra is "13 weeks . . . . midwife says I'll feel better at 13 weeks . . . ." I hope the next four weeks fly by quickly, if it weren't for that pesky full-time job of mine I'd just attempt to sleep through the next month.

I broke the "official" news at my parent's church on Easter Sunday, I was walking around looking like death w/ inflated boobs anyway - I doubt I could have fooled anyone. In fact, I was called out by my kindergarten teacher; I abruptly sat down in the middle of the world's longest prayer, and hit my head on her hymnal behind me. Mr. Hubby and my mom both looked like they were going to leap out of their skin until I indicated that I was just tired, not fainting. After the service, I turned around and said "so . . . I've got some interesting news" and she just laughed at me "Oh, you're pregnant!"

I intended to send out a swarm of emails on Sunday night and on Monday, but instead spent all that time sleeping, sans quick trips to the kitchen and the bathroom. Ever slept for 15 hours in less than a day? It's wieeeeeeerd, and leaves you wanting only more sleep.

Short version: I hope I don't deliver early so I can be a pumpkin for Halloween. Kiddo will be here before Thanksgiving and I really hope I'm up for turkey, cranberries, and stuffing by then!

* - ~ - * - ~ - * - ~ - *

I despise the amount of spam I've been receiving here at diaryland, and want to move to a different venue ASAP. In a perfect world, I'd have a stand-alone, non-network badass blog. I know that getting a website name isn't impossible, but who do you suck up to for all the blogging code?

Anybody want to give an exhausted, emotional, nauseated-yet-hungry gal some advice? Puh-lease? Do it for the baby.

Assuming that I *do* figure out how to get the hell away from here, I'll post my new blog address here so you can follow me, you nutbars!



Wednesday, Mar. 21, 2007 - 9:02 a.m.

Elvis Wednesday: Tatoo procurement should be a sober decision

I don't know how I stumble into this stuff, but it would be cruel of me not to share . . . or is it curel of me to share this? Depends on how hard up you are for entertainment. I found the following image at Mardi Gras New Orleans which is a collection of photos someone was kind/cruel enough to post for those of us who have never made it to Louisianna.

At first glance, this is just another questionably executed Elvis tatoo.

Upon closer inspection . . .
Elvis looks less than thrilled to be there.
"Help Me! It's stinky here!!"

However, this guy looks thrilled to be close to her!

I think the photo above serves as a fantastic example of why tatoos can be a bad idea. If that gal had opted for a nosering or even a non-Elvis tatoo in the same location, that creepy Uncle Fester lookin' dude would have no explainable reason to touch her. She could kick his knobby shins and run! But noooooo, Mz. MargeritaMix decided that "The King" should reside on ButtCrack Alley and now any dude sporting an Elvis wig feels entitled to pose with her posterior. Yeah . . . . perhaps she should have gone with flowers or butterflies instead . . . .



Tuesday, Mar. 13, 2007 - 9:22 a.m.

Elvis Wednesday: Tatoos (ummm . . better early than never?)

I'm am about to embark on a self-inflicted work binge; many of my coworkers are out of the office and rather than bond with the internet, I'm going to attempt to get as much work done as possible. This may involve consuming copious amounts of coffee/hot cocoa and occasionally pinching myself as a reminder to get some crap done!

So, gentle readers, I hope you do not mind getting your dose of Elvis a little early.

Last night, listened to Elvis for hours as I cooked
"Nikki's (fantastic) Homemade Mac & Cheese"
and cleaned my filthy house.
(Brief aside: Have I mentioned that Roller-Queen training does not make for a tidy house?)

And I started thinking about tatoos since on Sunday evening I was admiring a (recently colored) giant lion head on my teammate's (now sore) shoulder. I'm pretty sure I'd implode if I got a tatoo, I'm sobered by my body's ability to decide to have rash/hive reactions to anything from osteopathic adjustment to detergent to anger/stress to sunlight. Regardless, I like to look at tatoos, and was prompted to search for Elvis tatoos.

The internet did not dissapoint!

is from staircasetatoo.com

Stuffy nose?
is from www.blinddog.com/imperial/

And my favorite

is from http://orig.jacksonsun.com/photogallery/2005elvisweek/

There are many more out there that may comprise my next edition of "Elvis Wednesday", so brace yourself!



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