already ready already

It's back. I've finally received that most precious of gifts. That gift that signifies that I'm a woman and am fertile. The gift that makes it possible for us to get busy baby-makin' on Christmas like we'd planned. I only have one thing to say about this:

Let the Procreation Commence*!



*Results may vary. Pregnancy often results in an infant.

blue traveler

Last night I dreamed I was being held hostage in a car full of salesmen. They were used car salesmen, the kind who wear polyester pants with short sleeved shirts covered in sweat stains in the underarms region. They also thought they were involved in espionage. They had promised me overtime pay if I would just stick with them long enough to get to Idaho (yeah, I know, right?) and deliver the “package” they had been given. After something like 17 hours in the car, I’d had enough. I yelled at them for about 5 miles, finally got them to pull over and let me out in the middle of nowhere; where it just so happened that a girl I knew from high school lived. I convinced the girl’s mom to let me borrow a car, which she thoughtfully stocked full of blueberry muffins, and I finally headed home.

I wonder if this means I’m not looking forward to the 10 hour drive ahead of us tomorrow?

promises, promises

Jason and I have been struggling the past few weeks with who could give the other the most contagious disease. First, I hit him with a nasty cold that I’d been suffering through for about a month. He snored his way through that one with enough snot to choke a horse. A-ha, thought I, take that. Then he returned fire with a flu bug for the ages. I tried to comfort him while he was battling a low grade fever and swollen tonsils, all the while trying to keep a safe 40 foot distance. All to no avail. I left work early yesterday with a temp of 100.00. I don’t think I’ve had a fever in over 10 years. My body operates at a steady -5 degrees. If I’m running at “normal” something is wrong. If it actually makes it to a fever, I’m definitely sick.

All I could do was curl up on the couch and bemoan how ill I was. I couldn’t let 5 minutes pass without reminding Jason that I was sick, sick, sick. So sick. Do you remember how sick I am? I’m really sick. So sick that at 7:45pm I was asking whether or not it was time for bed. Now? How about now? Please? Jason knows that if I go to bed before 9pm I’ll wake up sometime around 4:30 and not be able to fall back asleep. So he appeased me with promises of back rubs if I would just sit with him and watch 30 more minutes of Total Recall. Just 30 more minutes, that’s all, then I’ll rub your back for you, I promise. If not for the assurance of seeing the alien lady with three boobs, I probably would have called it a night.

one sesame street

As I sit here looking at the clock, wondering when it will FINALLY be time to punch out, I remind myself: One Sesame Street.

Clocks held little meaning to me as a child. Time was something abstract that adults worried there was too little of. If I had to ask "how long" the answer always meant too long. Instead, I started asking in relation to something that I knew very well....how many Sesame Street's was it? Was it a Sesame Street and a Mr. Roger's Neighborhood or just one Mr. Roger's? Time was broken into little fragmented units that I was able to wrap my brain around.

I still use this method to convince myself that something isn't really that far away. Just a few Big Birds and it'll be time for dinner. A few more and it'll be the weekend. A hell of a lot more and it'll be Christmas.

See? When broken down, it's a lot less daunting to count Snuffleupaguses than to think of the days and weeks ahead. And who wouldn't rather count Snuffleupaguses?

what dreams may come

I have been having crazy dreams lately. Dreams that leave my gut wrenching as I shoot upright in bed. Mainly they have to do with school. However, I am not in school. I haven’t even come close to a text book in almost 5 years. At first I thought it was because Jason’s sisters are in college and I frequently ask for updates on their mental state. Having to go to college and be a well functioning adult at the same time can be quite a process in futility. Especially at “the Lord’s University.” That kind of pressure could give anyone nightmares.

My first instinct is to shout, "But it’s THEIR pressure. THEIR stress. THEIR finals. Not MINE." There is no plausible reason as to why I’m experiencing dreams of the sort where I enter a classroom that I’ve never seen before, where there is being taught a subject I’ve never heard of, taught by people like Emma Thompson and Michael Cera. No reason whatsoever for me to be having these terrifying dreams of not having studied for a final of a subject that doesn’t exist. No reason for me to feel embarrassed that I’d forgotten that there would be a test in that class and I hadn’t studied.

And absolutely no reason for my extreme relief that the teacher granted me a C when I really, really deserved the D.

why i love you

For using "emu" because you couldn't bring yourself to type out "emotional" while we're discussing my feelings. You have standards.

wash trying to be jayne

He'll be in his bunk.

jamie the lou and the blustery day

Yep, that's right. That's snow.

why i love you

I decided to wear your cologne today and I'm really glad I did. It's what I think a man should smell like, it smells like YOU and every time I move, it drifts up and I feel better.

better than prozac

I recently realized I had yet to properly introduce the newest member of our family.



This is Hoban Washburne, Wash for short.

He is the most wonderful cat ever to grace the earth with his presence. I mean it. He’s quiet (except when he wants that turkey sandwich you’re eating), he’s cuddly and he sleeps as much as I wish I could. He knows his name and will come running if you offer him a lap upon which to lounge.

And he loves his Mama. I don’t know what Jason did - maybe it was his big hiking boots tromping around, maybe it was his smell after having cleaned out the garage, or maybe it was just that his heart was two sizes too small - but last week Wash developed an aversion to him. Wash could be sound asleep in my lap and Jason would walk into the room and it was like a gunshot went off - he’s up and under our bed faster than a 20 lb cat should be able to move.

I'm pretty sure it has something to do with all the company we had for the last 3 WEEKS IN A ROW. Poor cat didn’t have a chance what with the constant stream of people roaming about the house; enough people to start a baseball team with. I think it was too much for his delicate sensibilities to handle. So for now he only likes me. Which is completely fine by me. I would hide that cat in my pocket and take him with me everywhere if he didn’t weigh so much.

Is that a 20 lb cat in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?

He really has been a personal mini-lifesaver over the past month. With my struggling through the depression and anxiety, the knowledge that when I get home there will be a husband, a bunny and an amorous cat waiting for me has made a world of difference. And at night, he lies between Jason and I and runs his little motor. I rest my hand on his side and drift off to sleep. Who needs Valium when you have a cat that sounds like a classic ‘67 Camaro?

the source of my sushi power

Last night Jason and I went out for a sushi mini-bration and something happened that has never happened before.

I had to use my fingers to eat my sushi!



It was the strangest thing. I've never had a problem using chopsticks. EVER. I can even show you the proper way to hold them. But nothing was staying put. Sometime during the 8 tries it took me to get a spicy crab roll from the plate to my mouth it hit me. Oh no, what had I done? I looked at Jason, with the shredded remains of a smoked eel hanging off the end of my chopstick -"Did I just get rid of the source of my chopstick power?"

Jason got me hooked on sushi after we were married and I have craved it ever since, becoming more and more adventurous about what I'm willing to try. I've contemplated what it would cost to move to Japan so that I could have sushi everyday. But now something was horribly wrong. I couldn't use the chopsticks except to stab ridiculously at the fish. If a rabid gunman had run into the restaurant and shouted that he would kill everyone unless I could prove I could use them properly, before Jason took him out (obviously), I would have had to let everyone there know how sorry I was that I couldn't save them.

Then the correlations started running through my sushi-induced coma brain. Our mini-bration was to celebrate having my IUD removed. Since we'd decided to start down the long road to parenthood we had to do away with the birth control. But what if, just what if, that was the source of all my power? Had I freely given up the power source to the only thing that allowed me to look like a civilized person while eating raw fish?

I now have no other choice. From now on, when sushi is involved, I'll have to use my fingers. There are only so many shirts I can stain by having soy sauce splashed down the front of them when a California roll is not constrained by my unweildly chopsticks.

And if this is the price of us bringing a child into the world, then maybe I should just give in and ask for some adult-sized bibs for Christmas.

gobbla gobbla turkey with cranenboochers*

I can't let this holiday pass by without telling the interwebs what I am thankful for.

I am most thankful for my husband. He really is the light of my life and the twinkle in my eye. I love him much more than three.
I'm grateful for all of my family and how much love they are capable of.
I'm thankful for wonderful friends, pets and acquaintances that make holidays like these so much fun to celebrate.
I'm very thankful for my health - especially the mental part of that. I'm thankful that people smarter than me decided to make medications so I can feel sane.
I'm grateful to have a job when the economy is in such a crisis.
I really am blessed. We both have jobs, a house that we can afford, not too much debt, family close by and the emotional (finally!) stability to try and bring a child into our family.

I wish everyone could feel as lucky as I do.

*Click here for the whole clip.

maybe it's because of her, ahem, assets

This weekend was spent snorgling, kissing, nuzzling, biting and generally eating all the little bits and bobs associated with the baby. Heather was up from Dallas for the express purpose of eating her fill of baby. She wasn’t the only one fulfilling their quota of baby cheeks and ears, though. We passed poor Owen around like a bong at a frat party, each trying to get a hit that would last until the next go-round. And he was pretty accepting of his fate. He saw us coming and did what only a 3 week old baby can do.....he looked as cute as baby-ly possible so that we would be consumed with guilt and only munch one of his ears instead of both.

While not dining on fingers and toes, we had a very full weekend. There were games, car trips, dinners and even some naps. Owen handled them all famously. And when he did become upset, his crying was calmed by none other than Dolly Parton. It worked so well, every time, that we had to wonder if it was just her soothing voice or maybe, instinctively, all babies know what Dolly has to offer.

Owen while listening to Here You Come Again. Just look at the calm! Not even meeping!

prepare for total domination

Heather's here! And we all know what that means children....prepare for the Scrabble ass-whooping of your life.

Don't doubt her mad skills. She will eat your words for breakfast! Game on!

happy are those who dream

I had a very weird but awesome dream last night.

I was at a swap meet, trying to filter through the crap to find the treasures, when someone's hand shoots out and grabs the EXACT thing I was grabbing for. It was on my lips to shout "Bitch, step off!" when I realized who the hand and arm belonged to. I looked at her and said "Holy shit, you're Dooce." She laughed and I turned to Jason to explain who she was and he wasn’t there. Looked around and there he was, off to one side talking Geek to Jon, Dooce’s husband. She and I laughed because we knew that when two geeky men get together to speak their native language it could be a while. So we went and got pie. And I swear, it was the freaking best pie I've ever had! And she and I talked FOREVER about nothing in particular. It was fun and nice and, dude, now I really really want that pie!

you, me and my medication

I came home screaming F***! at the top of my lungs. I was extremely, extremely annoyed and couldn’t stop breathing fire out my nose long enough to tell Jason what was wrong. I had just stood in line for 45 minutes to buy 2 yards worth of an on-sale fabric, behind a woman who had no idea that the children pulling on her overalls and talking to her a mile a minute where her own offspring. The woman working the register was a least as old as God and couldn’t have worked the register correctly if I had pointed a gun at her head. Which if I had had a gun, I might have considered doing. Next to me stood a couple of Emus (our word for all "emotionals") trying to suck the other’s face off while the male Emu pretended that his skinny jeans were not creeping lower and lower down his arse. More than once I was on the verge of screaming “Hurry the F*** Up!” and “Pull up your stupid-ass pants! You look like an idiot!” But I restrained myself. Mainly because I was afraid they would kick me out of the store before I could purchase my $6.95 worth of stuff.

I got home and was still fuming. I banged through the door, still screaming obscenities, while the cat ran for cover and Jason looked at me like he was wondering who he needed to shoot. I ranted for a few more minutes, told him about the Amassed Display of Stupidity at the store and about my Complete Restraint in not telling them exactly what I thought of their skinny jeans and Methuselah employees.

By the time I had set all my stuff down, shown the Most Wonderful Man in the World what I had purchased at the expense of 45 minutes of my life and coaxed the cat out from under our bed, I was fine. The medicine I had taken on the way home from the store had kicked in and I was so calm it was spooky. But that’s how it is around our house right now. I either feel too much of everything, or absolutely nothing. And I’m still not sure which is the better of the two.

I am so grateful that I found a man that loves me so much that he is willing to put up with me screaming "What the F*** kind of hillbilly place do we live in?" when coming through the door.

god's game

It's no use praying for that final 4 in Yahtzee. I think God's more of a Scrabble man.

apropos of the husband

I'm writing this post because I woke up at 6-freakin'-30 AM with the hiccups. Who wakes up with hiccups? Especially when Saturday is the day for sleeping in. So on with the nothings.

I love my husband. He is exactly what I would have ordered could I have placed an order with Sears & Roebuck, Co. But instead of a leg lamp in a box marked fra-gee-lay, I got something better.
I knew I could spend the rest of my life with him when, on the trip to meet my parents, we spent 10 hours together in the car, 3 straight days together, then another 10 hours back and I still hadn't had enough. I get sick and tired of EVERYONE....except him.
I really lucked out when I found him. Or he found me. Or we found each other. Whichever it was.

And last night in bed, after I had taken my meds and was starting to tell him how soft his hair was, like the fuzz on the belly of our cat, I knew I'd found the ONLY person for me.
"How long ago did you take your pill?"
All I could do was smile at his sweet face and whisper, "So soft."
Laughing outright: "Apparently long enough."

re: the last post

My mother emailed me after she read my last post. She was a little worried because she said it sounded like a eulogy. I assured her it was not. I was just informing the internet of the things I had learned at her knee.

She also wanted me to know that she definitely does not remember telling me to "melt my husbands face off with my eyebrows" when we're fighting. I assured her that was for comedic effect and that next time I would stick to funny "Mom stories" (as we called them in our house).

Like the time she wasn't quite paying attention to a conversation and someone used the phrase "cheese with his whine." She quickly turned around, appalled, wanting to know if the supervisor knew that someone was drinking on the job.

That's my mom and I love her. But just remember - I can make fun of her. If you do, I will melt your face off with my eyebrows of displeasure!

passed down from mother to child

I was standing in front of the freezer, getting myself a giant microwavable frozen pretzel, praising myself for my forethought on putting pieces of saran wrap in between each pretzel so that they don’t stick together, when I realized something. That’s not my trick. That’s my mother’s! She did that for everything she froze. You say you have extra flour tortillas that you want to freeze?? Stick some plastic wrap in between each and you won’t have to break them apart once they become solid inch-thick frisbees! And that’s not all folks! She has taught me many tricks over the years:

- You should always wear a new pair of shoes around the house before you spend a whole day at work suffering from the pinched little toe syndrome.
- Never flush a tampon down the toilet because you’re just asking for trouble. (Even if the box says you can!).
- Change out of your bathing suit when you’re done in the water because that’s just a yeast infection waiting to happen.
- Take the time to be together because once you have kids, it’s not jsut the two of you for another 20 years.
- Always take your makeup off before bed, because no matter how tired you are, your skin will thank you. And do you really want to deal with the mess it’ll make on your pillowcase?
- Take time to be a kid. You have the rest of your life to work. Don’t be so anxious to grow up. (Man, don’t I wish I’d listened to that one a little more carefully.)
- Remember your neck when you apply moisturizer - our family women are prone to turkey neck.
- Don’t lie. Some where, some time, someone will find out and you’ll regret it.
- Snakes are evil, slithering creatures that should be avoided, and if seen, you should jump up and down on it until it stops moving. Or shot it. But under no circumstances should it EVER be allowed in the house.
- Sometimes store-bought is better than homemade. Sometimes.
- Hold hands with your husband. It’s the little things that keep the magic alive.
- Painted toe nails can make any feet look cute.
- Try to tell your husband everyday how much he means to you. Even if you’re so mad at him right then you could sear the flesh from his face with a raise of your eyebrow.
- Never be afraid to ask for help.

These are just some of the many, many things that I’ve learned from my mother. But the most important thing I have learned, and that I’m just starting to realize is the most important one, is that I will be incredibly lucky if I grow up to be just like her.

today's PSA

I can't handle today anymore. You have been warned.

realizing

That when you're depressed, every day seems like the longest day of your life. Especially when you're at work and not curled up at home on the couch with a book and the cat.

why i love you

You don't just read my mind. You take the exact freakin' words out of my mouth before I can say them!

apropos of nothing

I have a resounding love for mail that bears my name and includes presents and/or well wishes. The Gas Company should think about that.

not enough kitty treats

Today is the day we take MY CAT to be groomed. He's mellow but opinionated. Wish us luck.

why i'm not allowed to play with scissors anymore

Boredom and depression are not good moods for me to have together. Things happen when I’m bored and depressed - things that would otherwise have never have been imaginable. But the combination of these two states might possibly be what finally brings about the demise of the Space Time Continuum.

As a child, my mother never had to worry about me and scissors. I knew they were for cutting designated paper products and not for other things like carpet, furniture or hair. Well, my hair anyway. I had no qualms about chopping off Barbie’s luscious locks in favor of a much more stylish mohawk. But I never had the urge to play barbershop with my own hair. Unlike my brother, who at age 6, clipped out a nice fat triangle right in the middle of his bangs. (Yeah, bangs, I know. But it was the 70s. Everyone had a bowl cut back then.) I knew back then that I should leave the cutting of MY hair to professionals. Or at least people who were over the age of 5.

One night last weekend I was bored. I was still upset by having lost the battle with my husband about adopting MY CAT (that situation was later remedied) and I thought a shower might do the trick.

I love showers! The hot water, the steam, the SMELL of clean. It gets me every time. Once the lovely shower had ended I started on my normal routine of trying to slather my entire body in lotion whilst balancing a towel turban of wet hair on top of my head. During the Dance of the Lotioning an idea popped into my head. I needed bangs! Right now! I needed them like I needed oxygen. I couldn’t possibly wait another minute to realize my dream of the bangs that were pictured in my head. The lotion and the towel forgotten, standing naked in the bathroom, I grabbed some nail scissors, wiped the steam off the mirror and started snipping. I didn’t even bother to measure or comb. I knew in my heart of hearts that what I was doing would give me the most beautiful hair in the WORLD!

Once the bulk of the cutting was done I pulled out the blow dryer so I could see my masterpiece in it’s full glory.

And oh, the horror. In the process of trying to give myself lovely side swept bangs that flowed seamlessly into face framing layers, I had somehow missed the mark. It looked like I had bangs that wound all around my head. It was the beginnings of a Kentucky Waterfall; of Business in the Front, Party in the Back; of a rednecked MULLET! I threw the scissors in a drawer, walked out of the bathroom and informed my husband I wasn’t allowed to play with scissors anymore.

Then I called my stylist. She deserves a medal because she didn’t even hesitate or laugh. She just fixed it. And gave me a bright new shiny color to go with it.

jason explained it best

The life and times of having a baby while having crappy health insurance.

maybe alanis will add a verse for me

Oh the irony! - that I started my period like 5 minutes before we went to purchase baby insurance. Mother Nature's little way of reminding me that we can't start all the fun stuff for 2 more months (to make sure the insurance kicks in).

because

Because you knew, that I knew, it wasn't the answer. Because you knew, that I knew, it wasn't going to fix me. Because you still wanted me to be happy. Because you love me and would do anything to help me feel better.

And because he's just the f***ing coolest cat ever!




I love you, Jason.

the one where i use the words "squishy", "baby" and "mustard" all in the same sentence

Introducing, the newest addition to our family, our nephew Owen! I told his Mama that she needs to get to feeding him because his cheeks just aren't up to my eating standards yet. Look at them! They're hardly a snack! I like my baby cheeks chubby, squishy and with mustard. The same goes for the legs.

He may just be the cutest thing this side of the Grand Canyon.





And this is what he said when I told him I was going to post him on the Interwebs.

the face behind the cage

Sunday was bad. The kind of bad that makes you want to throw the plates out the window and burn down the house just for good measure. The kind of day that makes even the thought of tomorrow unbearable.

It started because of a cat. I know, a silly reason to have a bad day but I can’t help that it’s silly. When you’re depressed, it doesn’t matter the reasons.

Saturday we went out to lunch followed by a trip to the pet store to look at the bunnies. The pet stores always have bunnies, and when you love bunnies like I do, you want to see as many of them as you can all in one place - even when you already have a snuggly one waiting for you at home. So off to the pet store we went. But it wasn’t the bunnies that had my full and undivided attention. It was a cat. A cat! For hell’s bells! I am not normally a cat person but this one had me captivated. He instantly mushed his face against the cage so I could squeeze my fingers in to pet him - and I was in LOVE. Total and complete love. I wanted to rip open those wire bars with my bare hands like the Hulk in a frenzy so I could rescue this adorable and patient bag of fur! If there hadn’t been children present I probably would have tried to pick the lock to free the cutest cat I’d ever seen.

But as it is, we don’t need a cat.

So my husband very gently took me by the hand and led me away from the mushed face still pressed against the cage. I started to get angry. Couldn’t he see that this cat wanted me? That he needed me to take him home and love him and feed him treats while he languished on a cushion made of silk? What was Jason thinking? This cat made me happy! Dammit, I couldn’t possibly be happy EVER AGAIN without this adorable creature splayed out over my lap every second of every day!

The next day I was still thinking about my cat. MY CAT. All caps are needed. The thought that he couldn’t come home with us left me inconsolable. Quite literally. I cried for 3 hours, took a nap, and cried some more. Jason just held me and then announced, that if I REALLY needed him, we could go get the cat. That stopped me in my tracks. I had been all ready to accept but I hesitated. Did I really want the cat? Or did I believe the cat could fix me? Did I think the answer to my depression was wrapped up in a white and orange ball of fur?

Yes. I did. I had to admit that I thought the cat could fix what’s wrong with me. And I know that it wouldn’t.

So then I cried some more.

wondering

Are my Cocoa Puffs supposed to look like bunny poops?

8 hours and counting

I made it back to work today. Dragging my depressed body out of bed this morning was perhaps the hardest thing I've had to do in the last six months. And that includes the knee surgery and physical therapy that followed.

I knew all the arguments for getting out of bed and getting myself dressed. "Going to work gives you purpose!" "Normal routines will help you feel normal!" "Shower because no one wants to smell you!" And yet I still was on the verge of tears while brushing my hair. And while eating breakfast. And while trying to find my socks. But it was my husband's kiss that almost undid me. He kissed me goodbye and said "You'll be fine. Call me if you need me" and I almost broke down. All I could do was nod and rush out the door before I lost it. He has that affect on me. When I feel like this, I can be coping just fine, holding my shit together, and all he has to do is ask what's wrong and I lose it. And I mean lose it. The shit hit-eth the fan-eth and all I can do is curl into his arms while he tells me it's alright. He's my hero and my security blanket. Most days I wish I could fold him up and keep him in my pocket as I go about my daily tasks.

But today I've made it 8 hours without crying. So far, so good.

why i love you

You rubbed my feet even though I didn't ask you to......even when you knew I hadn't showered yet.

today's PSA

If you don't watch what you're doing while making a tasty treat you may wind up with Jell-O fingers......and they are quite delicious.

broken

It began about two years ago. We had just arrived home from our honeymoon that very day when I received a call. It was work and they weren't happy. No, that's not right. They were fine, I was the one who wouldn't be happy. They fired me - over the phone! On the day back from my honeymoon! I won't go into the reasons here but needless to say I felt ambushed. The world stopped and I saw triple. All I could think to say was "Thank you." I hung up the phone and bawled. It too a good three minutes for my husband to finally understand what I was saying through the tears and sobs.

Fired. Me. I'd never been fired from anything in my life. That was September. By January, I knew something else wasn't right.

I was still unemployed but I was working on it. I was sending out resumes and filling out applications. I even had interviews. The problems came when they asked about previous employment. I couldn't lie, so I told the truth. Then they never called back.

Unemployment can be hard on newlyweds. But the depression was even worse.

I didn't know it was depression at first. I thought I was just upset because no one would hire me. And I was worried a lot. OK, I was worried all the time. I worried about everything. Money mostly but that wasn't all. I worried every time Jason left the house. I became co-dependent. If he wasn't at my side, I was not alright.

Then all of the shit hit the fan one night. I had just been hired as a temp receptionist at an agency in town. I had completed my first day although my lunch break consisted of crying in the car then trying to fix what the tears had wrecked. My mantra all day was "I can do this. I can do this." I kept telling myself this was a good job. I could handle it. I had jobs much worse than this. It was good money too - more than I'd been making at my previous job even. But that night all hell broke loose. I couldn't sleep so I crept into the closet in our other bedroom and cried all night. The next morning I was exhausted and my face was so swollen I could hardly see out of either eye. And I was still crying.

That did it for Jason. He called my day-old job and told them thank you, but no thank you and then he took me to the doctor. I was depressed with an acute form of anxiety attached.
Through a great doctor, medication and my wonderful, sweet and handsome husband, I finally began to feel better.

Until recently.

I have known something was building lately. I felt like a bulldog snapping at the wind. Everything irritates me. I couldn't sit still at my desk for more than a few minutes at a time. I want to scream at everyone around me to stop being idiots so I can work. But I don't even want to go to work. I have been forcing myself to start getting ready before I'm even fully awake so that I'm out the door and on my way before I realize it. Because if I lay in bed for even a few minutes longer, I'll have talked myself out of going. And the tears, Oh Hell, the tears. I can't stop crying. It's like the world is ending and I have to save it with my tears.

I left work early on Friday after my third trip to the restroom to cry. I knew I had to leave or there would eventually be a scene. The doctor's office was willing to work me in and, thankfully, the doctor decided to put me back on the meds.

But that doesn't mean everything is Super Dooper today. Oh no! My anxiety was crippling this morning. I made to from the bathroom back to bed and I was done. Work was not even going to be an option today. After a nap (which I can't really call a nap since it consisted of me lying there listing in my head all of the people I need to buy Christmas presents for) I had to make a decision about lunch and that about set me over the edge. Should I make something here? Should I go out? What if I choose poorly? The world might stop spinning if I decided on peanut butter and jelly when really I should have chosen the Quarter Pounder. Then I remembered I had to go to the bank sometime this week. Ha ha! I could do both - make one errand into two - because that would lessen the probability of one being wrong. Ha! They can't both be wrong! In your face, Anxiety!

But while I was sitting in line at the bank it came to me - what if they were both wrong? I hurried and got my lunch hoping that fate wouldn't smite me if I was quick about it.

So here I sit, with my super sized lunch, thoughts of Stephen King, British accents and that calculus class I took in college running through my head. Because those are the things you think about when you're broken.

oh the humanity!

I didn't plan it, and I never in my life expected it to happen, but somehow it did. I have been sucked into the Twilight books.

I know, I know! Please don't judge me. Like I said, I never wanted this to happen. But somewhere between the second and fourth horribly written chapters of the first book I became intrigued. I even became, gasp!, emotionally involved! It is poorly written, with the author telling you over and over again how clutzy her poor protagonist is, instead of just providing examples like a normal storyteller would. It's full of sentence structures that would make a 5th grader wince. AND I CAN'T STOP READING! I can feel it. And I want to know how it ends! And I want to throttle the author every time she uses the phrase "I gulped"! Heaven restrain me! It causes me physical pain when I read that. And she uses that phrase A LOT! Like once every three pages.

I'm disgusted with myself. My husband is disgusted with me. I feel the whole world is judging me. DON'T JUDGE ME!

I may have no choice but to throw myself out a window.

But not before I read Every. Last. F***ing. Page!

conversations from dallas

I just received an email from my sister-in-law who was recently laid off. She and about 14 of her co-workers went into work last week and were notified that they were being let go. She was optimistic in the face of disaster and started doing all she could to obtain new employment. She had a promising interview earlier this week in which they told her she was exactly what they were looking for.

Today she was told they would be hiring internally.

Sometimes I don’t understand how businesses can function on a day to day basis. My sister-in-law is an intelligent, creative and brilliant woman with a college degree! And experience! And talent! And fantastic hair! Why is she having to look for work? Why aren’t all the businesses in Dallas running down the street after her, chasing her car like overeager puppies? How are these businesses operating without her?

All I can think to say is I’m sorry. I’m here if you want to talk. And I’d be willing to fly to Dallas to help egg any company you want.

grounds for divorce

- eating the last of the peanut butter

- stealing all the covers

- calling our bunny a “rodent”, even in the most technical of terms

- teasing me when I’m entirely too tired to realize you’re teasing

- looking anything other than shocked when I’ve walked into the wall for the 3rd time that night

- telling me, no, we can't watch The Goonies every time it rains

- not just picking a damn place to eat when I’m about to faint from hunger

- continuing to talk to me from the other room when I’ve already said “I can’t hear you!”

- insinuating that the bunny would choose you if we ever divorced

wascally wabbit

After my wonderful husband and I had been married for about a year and a half we decided that three might be better than two. Now, most couples would have immediately began a fun-filled stimulating activity that allows two people to bring a third, albeit much smaller, person into their lives. Not us. We got ourselves a bunny.

We reasoned that if we were capable of keeping a small, helpless, adorable little creature alive, we might be capable of having a child. So we adopted Zoe Washburne (That's her complete geek name. It's Zoe for those who don't live in the Firefly universe.), our Holland Lop, who has the most munchable ears you could imagine. And trust me, I munch on them obsessively!

We consulted the online ads in the local paper and I must have emailed a dozen people over the course of 3 weeks. There seemed to be as many obstacles as there were rabbits. The most common problems were that the babies in the litter weren’t old enough to be away from their mother or the ones available had already found homes.

Finally I found a very nice lady who still had 3 out of 4 sisters available for adoption. Not wanting this opportunity to elude us, though not convinced we would end up with one that night, Jason and I set out. The trip was short and to the point. I only had to see the enormous yet somehow dainty feet on the only Siamese-colored bunny to know that she was meant to be ours. Forget that she had a THOUSAND TIMES more fur that I thought my allergies could handle or that there were two other equally cute bunnies nestled beside her. I held her in my arms and stroked her feet and was utterly twitterpated. When Jason realized I wasn’t going to allow her to be put back in the cage, he kindly paid the nice lady who orchestrated her existence into this world so that I might have a pet.

Then we left - with a bunny.

today's PSA

If you don’t stop laughing like a hyena right now, SO HELP ME, I will come over there and give you something to.....laugh about?

Wait, that doesn't work as well as I thought it would.

rather than a double d

Some days I am ever so glad that I have a bigger brain instead of bigger boobs.

wondering

Exactly how many mini Snickers I can fit in my mouth at the same time.

irritating

Stop answering when someone asks ME a question. If they wanted the answer from YOU they would have asked you.

apropos of nothing

I'm completely water-logged. Maybe trying to drink my weight in water wasn't such a good idea.

green-eyed monster?

I’ve had a certain topic on my mind for quite awhile now. It’s a normal enough topic for a girl my age and situation to have. I’m seven and twenty (as Austen would say) and have been married for two years now. It has never been a great topic of concern or relevance until recently. Somehow this subject slipped in between the cracks of my mind a few months ago and now I am unable to rid myself of it. I honestly don’t know if it’s caused by envy or desire.

I have babies on the brain. Hello, my name is Jamie and I want a baby.

It’s not just the thought that I’d like to have a family someday. No, it’s a constant driving force. It’s almost the first thing I think about when I wake up in the morning - after killing the alarm and using the bathroom. I even start thinking about it before I make my way over to kiss my husband. It’s persistent and constant. And annoying. Mainly because I don’t know if these thoughts are motivated by an actual desire to have a baby or by some secret hidden jealousy over those around me who got knocked-up before I decided to join the club.

I have two sisters-in-law who are currently pregnant. One is due the beginning of November. The other, the end of January. One is having her first child. The other, her third. There has been a steady stream of baby related talk and topics swirling around my domain lately. I have never believed in the so-called “biological clock” but lately I’m beginning to wonder. Could it be possible that my body knows I want to have children before my brain does? Or am I just envious that these women are accomplishing something before I could? Or am I just hormonal?

It better be my biological clock, because if I get pregnant out of jealousy, I’ll never forgive my hormones.

irritating

Stand there, blaming the fax machine when it doesn’t work. It’s not the fax machine, lady, that has the problem.

why i love you

Start saying everything with a British accent just because we’ve been watching all of the UK version of The Office.

Twat. Wanker.

missing moments

My day so far has been made up of a thousand little moments where I’ve been (surfing the web) hard at work and, suddenly, I forget what it was I was doing. My mind becomes a complete and utter blank as I stare confusedly at the scribbled on Post-its stuck around my computer.

Was it important? Was it urgent?

I hope not because, like Keyser Söze, poof, it's gone.

Maybe it's time to lay off the decongestant.

you're my snack pack

Dear Hubby,

Thank you for the tasty and nutritious lunch you made me. You may choose a cookie or sex as your thank you.

Choose wisely.

how apropos

I was scanning this list and have decided my favorite word isn't used nearly enough. It's only #54297 on a list of 86800. I mean, come on. Apropos is way cooler than Overtly (#16960) or Combines (#9708). And my second favorite, Plethora at #19558, has to be more widely used than the list would have you believe.

Check the list and see where your favorites fall.

speak up sonny

I found out yesterday that I have a perforated ear drum. Now some of my co-workers are walking around whispering on purpose. Just because I can't hear you doesn't mean I won't kick your ass!

That's right! Who's laughing now!

No, seriously, who's laughing?

desserts spelled backwards....

I despise being stressed. The way it works it's way into my shoulders, crawls up my neck and settles into my jaw. I don't even know I've been grinding and clenching my jaw until I go home and finally unclench. It's like I've been chewing a wad of Double Bubble for 10 hours.

The stress then proceeds to invade every aspect of my life.

Shopping would make me feel better but when money is the stress, that's counterproductive. Sweets could work. But then I notice that I'm 5 lbs more than last week and, ding, stress 462 arrives by the service elevator. Sleep could do the trick. Then my brain decides it needs to review every to-do on tomorrow's list as soon as my head hits the pillow. A book, a movie, a hot bath. All seem like relaxing choices. Until I've re-read the same page twice and still don't have a clue what's been read.

Maybe the only solution is a lobotomy. It's true that if you can't remember what you were stressed about, it can't stress you out?
Right?

thoughts of a friday

I’m done with this day. I sit at my desk staring blankly at the screen, faking work. It’s 3 pm Friday and I’ve already mentally checked out. But the pretense goes on.

I open a Word document. That’s safe. Looks like work. The gibberish unfolds. You know what they say about monkeys and Shakespeare.

today's PSA

That thing making all that noise next to your hand. That pesky object that keeps lighting up and emitting strange ringing noises. That is your phone. Stop pretending you don’t hear it and ANSWER THE DAMN THING!

That is all.

irritating

Ask me a question, then question my answer.

amusing

Believe that I give a flying farfignewton what you think.

monk moments

I recently started taking some diet pills that include caffeine among their myriad of ingredients. They claim that one pill only equals two cups of coffee. I think that’s crap. I’m so jittery I can hardly type. Actually, I can’t type. Every word entered requires auto-spell check. It’s like I’ve downed three Red Bulls in 10 minutes.

These pills have made me OCD since breakfast. I’ve turned into Monk. Everything around me requires fixing, moving, touching. Nothing can be left alone. I’ve rearranged my pen drawer three times this morning. It would be funny except my brain won’t stop long enough for the funny to register.

accent-ed morning

Me: I think my head might actually explode.
Him: It's not a tumor.
Me: It could be a tumor. Wait, did I tell you I watched part of that movie last night? Or are you just ESP-ing or something?
Him: Must be ESP.
Me: Thought so. From the tumor.

the course of true love....gathers no moss

It started with a blind date arranged by a mutual friend.

Our friend happened past my desk at work one day and noticed a cd lying near the computer. “Oh, I have a friend that loves *{insert name of popular band}! You guys would totally hit it off. Do you care if I give him your number?”

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single woman in possession of a certain disposition must want to be set up by all of her married friends. How could I not want to be as blissfully happy as they are? Unthinkable.

We talked and made a date for that Friday night. Friday the 13th. How apropos, thought I.

I no longer scoff. We celebrated our two year anniversary on Tuesday.

*Side note: He hates the band mentioned above. I don't know what possessed our friend to think he did, but I'm grateful nonetheless.

amusing

Look surprised that I’m ignoring you.

between the "d" and "b"

The word is “supposedly." Not “supposebly”. Supposebly isn’t a word, in any context, so stop using it!

Also, you did not “seen” it. You “saw” it. And somehow I doubt you even did that.

nuts!

I was just gifted with a box of Milk! Chocolate! Covered! Macadamia! Nuts!

Oh how I love presents, especially the surprise chocolate kind.

baby blues

“It’s a girl!”

For the last 6 weeks or so I’ve been waiting to hear what my brother and sister-in-law would be having. Let it be a boy, a boy, let it be a boy became my inner mantra anytime the pregnancy was discussed. Please let it be a boy was my plea.

They already have 3 boys. One more would fit right in, I thought, all because sometime after I got married I decided I should be the one to have the first girl. Between my brother and I (there being only the two of us) I’m the baby and the only girl. It was clear. I should undeniably have dibs on being the first to accomplish this feat, right? Of course! The first girl would be mine! {insert maniacal laughter here}

The email saying that the newest addition to the den of testosterone would be a girl came unexpectedly. My breath caught somewhere between my feet and throat. I was dizzy. Three little words. It’s a girl.

And suddenly, it didn’t matter. The jealousy and misplaced ownership disappeared. All I could think of was the day their second son was born. And how I sobbed like a child while looking at him, all pink and wrinkled, through the glass of the nursery. Nurses actually asked if I was OK. Yes, I was. More than OK. He belonged to us.

Now she will too.

Welcome to the family. I’m the crazy one.

no bounce, no play

Me: Are you sure you’re not going to shoot your balls off?
Him: Yes!
Me: Cuz I wouldn’t love you without balls.
Him: Well, you couldn’t love me without balls.
Me: Exactly.

life without subtitles

This is my blog. A mere attempt at organizing the chaos in my brain into something coherent and rational. Or at least aesthetically composed. I will write of what I know and what I feel. There will probably be moments of brutal honesty and honest feeling. I will withstand the urge to write about my job (except in the broadest of terms) and my families, unless someone really pisses me off. Then they're fair game. But I don't feel I should have to apologize for how this could make you feel.

Life does not come equipped with subtitles. Sometimes you just have to guess at what the Pikey is saying.