Prunes, Stretch Pants and Doggie Eye Conversations

Well, I started this blog as the tales of a childless mommy blogger, and have since found myself with child – thanks a lot, Husband Dearest! Not that I’m not excited. I am. And terrified, in denial, in expectation – wait. What was I saying again?

Which brings me to my main point today. The joys of the first trimester. Allow me to list them: Nausea, forgetfulness, impromptu nap-taking in public places, number one-ing all the time (and wanting to even when there’s nothing there) and not going that other number all the time, without help.

I knew about morning sickness, which has mostly passed. I could guess that you may be tired, you know, growing a person and all that. However, being stopped up in the (eyebrow raise – eyebrow raise) region is a pregnancy side effect not as highly publicized. Maybe because people don’t like to say words like “constipated.” However, if the World Wide Web is any indication, words like “placenta,” “womb” and “birth” are just fine to say. Anyone else think these words are grosser than Rush Limbaugh’s sex tape? Ugh.

Now, pregnancy brain is something I have seen first hand and believe in. I just can’t believe it starts this early. It does, Internet, it does. I cannot count the times I have walked into the room knowing I had a mission, doing an eye-lock with the dog – willing the beast to tell me just what I was doing in this room.

Sometimes they answer. Don’t judge me.

I think they’re just going off of a bank of sure-fire answers in the hopes they’re right:

  1. “Well, Mama, you are here to get me a treat. It’s right there in that cabinet next to where you’re standing. I am also standing right here, and it would be incredibly efficient if you were to just go ahead and give it to me now.”
  2. “Well, Mama, you are here to pee. I don’t know how in the life of me you manage to balance yourself up there and do that, but I have resigned myself to the fact that I can’t explain why you do the voodoo that you do. Just don’t forget to flush.”
  3. “Well, Mama, you are here to eat something. Probably something sweet with extra fiber added to it, because of the you know what. Try prunes. I don’t like them, but the old folks swear they’re like magic. You aren’t fooling anyone with those Fiber One bars – you know they’re practically cookies.”

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Answer? Nixon.

Question: Who is current the president?

No? Not right? How long was I held hostage in there anyway?

Regardless, I’m back Internet, recently freed from the prison that was my shirt. Or I suppose shirts. In an effort to keep warm while attending an Anytime Fitness training conference today, I wore three layers – built-in-bra-tank, long sleeve shirt, t-shirt. Yesterday, it was so cold I was beginning to wonder if we were the subjects of a new bio-experiment on how frostbite effects resting metabolic rate…

Anywho. If you ever start to feel like you’re losing touch with the little people, try taking off a built-in-bra-tank, long sleeve shirt and t-shirt like you would a normal top. That is, all at once.

While many of you may find disrobing layer by layer a walk in the park (be careful, it can get chilly when topless), the bulk of you (aka: Yours Truly) will find taking all layers off at once the garment equivalent of a Chinese finger trap.

Pair that with a husband who is conveniently AWOL at yet another bachelor party, and a recorded episode of NCIS beginning a commercial break, and you can imagine my dilemma. This brings up another fantastic point – where have all the good valets gone?

And no, my Dallas friends. I’m not talking about those people who take your car so you don’t have to park then walk 15 blocks to make your dinner reservation. I mean those smartly-garbed assistants whose sole purpose was to assist you with your daily needs, including dressing (and undressing).

“But, but!,” my valet stammered, making even these dull noises fanciful in his British accent.

“Never mind that valet’s typically assist gentlemen, Jeeves,” says I. “You can press my cravat any day.”

Because Fat Looks Better When It’s Neon and Comes with a Soundtrack.

Hi Internet,

It’s me, Guilty Pete. The holiday season got the best of me, and like any Santa-drunk lover of Christmas, I ignored all else until now. I call this period the Christmas Blues Hangover, where you realize that the world didn’t actually stop turning because it was the week of Christmas…okay, for me, month of Christmas.

I hope Santa was good to you all this year. There were many events in our country around the holidays that were cause for moments of silence. My heart goes out to everyone who had reason to mourn this season.

As for myself, I was waiting for the other shoe to drop too. The Thanksgiving to Christmas span has historically been not so great for our family – car accidents, illness, funerals. As a lover of Christmas, it was especially irritating to feel my anxiety level spike as we neared the one day I look forward to all year. Thank goodness this year we were spared. My dad did get a cold, but that was our only casualty of the season.

This year, I felt like I had more Christmases than I have ever had before. Husband Dearest is still lucky enough to have both sets of grandparents, which means a grand total of FIVE Christmases – Husband Dearest’s Mom’s Family, Husband Dearest’s Dad’s Family, My Immediate Family, My Extended Family and last but not least, Husband Dearest’s Immediate Family.

I completely came back to our apartment having put the jolly back in the holidays – most of it traveling back home in and over my jeans. Ugh. At any moment, I expect Jack Hannah to show up with a video camera and crew to film me as I go into hibernation. Husband Dearest ran into a sale at the J. Crew outlet stores near us when shopping for my Christmas gift this year and decided that the sale was so good, I couldn’t miss stocking up on essentials.

So what does this Jolly, Chunky, Christmas Treat Junkie do?
She goes to the J. Crew store with him yesterday and buys turquoise corduroy pants…because fat looks better when its neon and comes with a soundtrack.

Sale Soldiers – Black Friday Boredom Busters

Some of you more motivated then Yours Truly will be in line at any number of favorite stores this week, starting Thanksgiving night and heading on through the morning. Despite Turkey Coma and Ham Hangover, your endorphins will get you through at least the first hour.

But what then? How long can you look at Facebook, Twitter or play Bejeweled on your phone before you have to weigh the battery to entertainment ratio?

Here are some suggestions for people watching games. Most of them work really well if your coffee is spiked:

  1. Hair. Real or Not Real? This can also be played with a few other things (Boobs or Foobs?)
  2. Name Game – Just start calling out random names. If someone turns around – your buddy takes a little nipsy-poo of the coffee. Try not to get beat up in line – this one is not a friend-maker.
  3. Slug a Sunglasses – Most Black Friday Sales are in the dark of night or morning. If you see someone still wearing sunglasses, they are a douche. Slug them and then both you and your buddy can drink. Word of warning – make sure they are not blind first. That’s not okay.

Best of luck to you Sale Soldiers. I hope you all get what you want for your family and friends and that you all live to tell about it.

…and because I would be remiss if I didn’t…check out your nearby Central Texas Anytime Fitness for their awesome pie-buster Black Friday specials!!

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Self-flagellation and P.S. I Love You

Back in the day, when Husband Dearest would be away – business, bachelor party..whatever – I would take my chance to watch scary movies with my friends or all the random ghost shows that come on after dark on the weekend. I would do this knowing full well that I would watch just enough to start believing there are ghosts in my own house, friendly or not.

Wouldn’t be too long before I would be sure they weren’t friendly, and every time my dogs barked at nothing, I would be more and more sure I was right. Those nights were probably the bulk of that month’s electricity bill, because every light, and sometimes more than one television would be on the whole night. From the street, my house very likely looked like Thomas Edison’s field lab.

Knowing I was choosing to scare myself witless was literally like cutting my own switch and grabbing for my ankles.

As I near my thirties, my choice of punishment has evolved. I seem more and more prone to the sappy, woman movie. Yes. It’s true. When normally I can’t sit still for longer than an hour show, I keep finding myself in the middle of these wonderful, horrible, sometimes Lifetime-related, woman-targeted movies like “P.S. I Love You” or “My Sister’s Keeper.”

These movies seem designed to make you weep. Not cry, weep…seep? Whatever crying it is when your eyes drip of their own accord, long after you have told them to cut it out. These story lines are fantastic, sad and moving. You know what you’re getting into and just can’t help but watch anyway.

Guys, I know you don’t get it. We don’t get it either. I will sign off by trying to explain it with Man Language:

  1. Imagine you are offered two choices: A) a massage or B) a massage with a happy ending
  2. What if they told you that the massage would be great, the happy ending even better, but at the end the session, the massage bimbo would take your money and kick you in the nuts.
  3. You know there are plenty of you out there that are still thinking B is looking pretty good…

The Curious Case of the Midnight Pooper

I have two dogs, a Goldendoodle (pretty girl) and a Maltipoo (manly man).

Guess which one Husband Dearest refuses to walk in public?

Hazel, the Golden, is four years old, the younger of our furry children. She loves water and has the same birthday as Husband Dearest. Hazel has food allergies and this and that and the other – all of which amounts to a canine money pit. That’s why we think she was made to be as sweet as she is…because somehow she had to be worth it. And she is. Thanks to her Golden side, she is loyal, playful and a good cuddler.

Thanks to what we can only imagine is her Poodle side, you could also drop a piano on her foot before she would ever scream as loudly as she does if, should the holy gates of Hell open, and a child walks by.

At that point, she will grab her own leash and drag you back home to hoard water and prepare for the apocalypse.

Scout, the Maltipoo, is the best birthday present I have ever gotten and also the dog voted “Most Likely to Apologize While Biting You at the Same Time.” He has several aliases: Scooie, Little Man or The Wizard. As with anyone who holds several forms of ID and is known by many names, this 12 lb, 6-year-old ninja brainiac is the one you think twice about leaving a ball point pen around – because there is a small chance he will use it to create a lock pick and be in Cabo before you get out of the bathroom.

He is also the one that got new dog food yesterday. And also the one that really liked his new food yesterday. And also the one who woke me up at 2 in the morning to show the lawn how much he liked his new food yester – well, I guess today.

Anyway, meet the Fur Babies:

Scout and Hazel
Scout and Hazel, fresh from the creek.
Scout supervises his minions.

Hazel Flying off the Swim Dock