So the other day while Dave and I waited to be called in for my ultrasound, we heard the announcement that Sonia Sotomayor had been chosen as Obama's nominee for the open position on the SCOTUS. I didn't think much of it since I was reading this totally lame and yet unbelievably engaging article on Pat Boone in some random magazine I'd picked up from the stack in the shared radiology/cardiology waiting area. As I was reading all about Pat Boone's favorite desserts, I suddenly heard Tucker Carlson start shouting wildly, "But she's a racist!"
Wha-?
I glanced up to see Tucker Carlson loosing his ever-loving mind on Fox News. I mean a straight up meltdown over Sonia Sotomayor's alleged racism. I sort of a laughed it off and headed into my ultrasound. By that evening, the entire far right wing of the GOP was in an apopleptic fit over Sotomayor. And I have to say, I find it hilarious.
First of all, it's quite apparent very few of these people screaming "RACISM" have criticial thinking skills. If you read the full context of the essay in question, Sotomayor simply states that a Latina woman with a life experience similar to hers would likely make different choices than a white male. I can't disagree with that. Our life experiences, whether we're born into wealth or poverty, the majority or minority, color our judgments and ideologies. To argue any differently seems a bit ridiculous.
Example? My dad went to school during the sixties. Because he was Latino, he was shoved into this little shithole of a classroom with all the other brown kids and treated as if he were mentally retarded because he spoke mainly Spanish. Was my dad slow? Um, no. Did he really need to be segregated from the rest of his kindergarten class? Hell no. If anything, Dad was lightyears ahead of the other non-Latino students because he could communicate in two languages. Now, all these years later, my dad is a huge proponent of ESL education within the main classroom. He knows first hand what a nightmare it is to be sent away to some dark corner of the school. Most of Dad's Caucasian classmates, however, (many of them his friends) are totally against having those kids in the classroom. If they'd been segregated as if they bore some hideous disease, they'd likely feel differently.
Secondly, where does G. Gordon Liddy get off calling Spanish "illegal alien?" As in, Maria is a polyglot who speaks English, German, Russian, Arabic, and illegal alien. What. The. Fuck. Because, apparently, all people who speak Spanish are illegal aliens? Um, sure. OK. Liddy. And don't even get me started on his sexist comments about Sotomayor.
Behold in all its bullshit misogynistic glory: "Let’s hope that the key conferences aren’t when she’s menstruating or something, or just before she’s going to menstruate. That would really be bad. Lord knows what we would get then."
What? WHAT?! Did he really just go there? Since when does the shedding of the lining of a woman's uterus have anything to do with becoming a Supreme Court Justice?
Finally, what kind of crazy fruit does Tom Tancredo feed through his Jack LaLanne juicer every morning? I mean, really, Tom? Really? The National Council of La Raza is "...a Latino KKK without the nooses or hoods." I can't even wrap my head around that one. So apparently every group that exists to further the civil rights of a specific, historically underrepresented and/or discriminated subset of people is racist? Like, oh, the NAACP? Do you think Tancredo would dare make that comment if we were talking about an African American woman? I'd like to think not, but he's obviously a bit slow so who knows.
Look. Yes, La Raza literally means "the race," but to most Spanish speakers of Central America and Mexico it's used more as a way to describe a community of people. I guess you have to understand where the term comes from to really understand the idea behind La Raza. In the twenties, Jose Vasconcelos* wrote an essay called "La Raza Cosmica" or "The Cosmic Race." Vasconcelos wasn't a huge fan of Darwinism since he viewed it as a way to explain and justify the subjugation of various non-white peoples. He believed that if you looked at what was happening in Mexico, at the continuing melding of European, indigenous Mexican, African, and Native American bloodlines, one could reasonably expect that in the future a new race, a blended race, a Cosmic race if you will, would arise.
Through this blending of culture, ethnicity, and race, Vasconcelos believed we, as humans, could transcend the ugliness of racism and prejudice. Mexicans, in particular, identified and accepted this idea. They adopted the term La Raza as a means of describing their shared heritage with pride and dignity. That's it. There's nothing sinister about it.
Are there a handful of folks in La Raza who likely talk big about taking down The Man and other ridiculousness? Probably. Every group has their fringe supremacist nutters. *Cough* David Duke. *Cough* Republican. *Cough* I try not to judge an entire group based on one or two batshit crazy folks though.
Anywho. I have to say the funniest--like fall out of my chair hilarious--thing I've seen during this entire brouhaha was a comment addressing Tancredo's likening of La Raza to the KKK.
"Just last week La Raza burned an Aztec Calendar** on my front lawn."
LMFAO.
*I can't be bothered to get up and dig through my boxes of books still in the garage for the book containing the actual essay so I'm just giving a brief synopsis of what I remember after reading it a decade ago. I could be wrong. You'll have to Google if you're really interested.
**See when you go to an old skool panaderia to pick up a box of totally scrumptious pastries and cookies, they'll sometimes give you a promotional calendar. Without fail, these calendars always have these drop dead sexy half-naked Aztecs cradling buxom Latinas, shoulders bared and dresses fluttering in the wind, against their bronzed mantitties. George Lopez does a funny bit about his grandma and the Aztec calendar and her memories of a rather tawdry affair with a--well--never mind. That's a bit too risque for even this blog, lol.
Friday, May 29, 2009
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Huh?
Have you ever been skimming an article and a quote jumps out at you that's so OMGWTFBBQ you have to reread it again and again just to wrap your mind around it? Happened to me the other day, and I've yet to shake the quote from my thoughts. Behold the quote in all it's OMGWTFBBQ glory.
"I know people who have spent so much on pageants they lost their trailers."
Yeah. Process that for a second. If that quote doesn't encapsulate the what-the-fuckedness of little girl beauty pageants, I don't know what else possibly could.
Dave and I have been discussing the absolute hell-no's on our list of acceptable/unacceptable future activities Zaphod might undertake. At the top of that list are those ridiculous pageants where they dress up little girls like drag queens and parade them out in front of a panel of (usually) fat old man judges. Who in their right mind thinks it's okay to spray tan their five year old daughter, stuff a pair of fake teeth into her mouth, force her into baby-sized Spanx, and shellack her face with enough makeup to make a prostitute blush? And don't even get me started on the little booty and booby shaking dance moves meant to--what?--entice those old farts sitting on the judging panel. What kind of men sign up to judge these travesties? I'll give you a hint. The word starts with a "p" and ends with "edophile."
I became a little curious as to how parents justify tarting up their preschool-aged daughters and set out to investigate. Most parents seem to think they're teaching their daughters to be self-confident and poised. Right. Explain to me again how showing an extremely impressionable young girl that she needs to preen and fawn and dress like a hooker for awards is teaching her self-confidence.
I found some truly shocking articles and research papers. I was really surprised to find most participants fall into one of two categories: low income and undereducated. I couldn't for the life of me figure out how people in lower income brackets can afford $2000 pageant dresses, fake tans, makeup jobs and such. Then I read that quote about people losing their trailers. I guess it's all about priorities. Nice to know it's more important to teach a little girl to value her looks over, you know, something like fiscal responsibility.
Ay yay yay! Moms! Quit living vicariously through your four-year-olds!
"I know people who have spent so much on pageants they lost their trailers."
Yeah. Process that for a second. If that quote doesn't encapsulate the what-the-fuckedness of little girl beauty pageants, I don't know what else possibly could.
Dave and I have been discussing the absolute hell-no's on our list of acceptable/unacceptable future activities Zaphod might undertake. At the top of that list are those ridiculous pageants where they dress up little girls like drag queens and parade them out in front of a panel of (usually) fat old man judges. Who in their right mind thinks it's okay to spray tan their five year old daughter, stuff a pair of fake teeth into her mouth, force her into baby-sized Spanx, and shellack her face with enough makeup to make a prostitute blush? And don't even get me started on the little booty and booby shaking dance moves meant to--what?--entice those old farts sitting on the judging panel. What kind of men sign up to judge these travesties? I'll give you a hint. The word starts with a "p" and ends with "edophile."
I became a little curious as to how parents justify tarting up their preschool-aged daughters and set out to investigate. Most parents seem to think they're teaching their daughters to be self-confident and poised. Right. Explain to me again how showing an extremely impressionable young girl that she needs to preen and fawn and dress like a hooker for awards is teaching her self-confidence.
I found some truly shocking articles and research papers. I was really surprised to find most participants fall into one of two categories: low income and undereducated. I couldn't for the life of me figure out how people in lower income brackets can afford $2000 pageant dresses, fake tans, makeup jobs and such. Then I read that quote about people losing their trailers. I guess it's all about priorities. Nice to know it's more important to teach a little girl to value her looks over, you know, something like fiscal responsibility.
Ay yay yay! Moms! Quit living vicariously through your four-year-olds!
Monday, May 25, 2009
25
So we hit 25 weeks today. I'm so much less nervous now that we've reached the stage of preemie viability. Since there hasn't been a single full-term birth on my side of the family in this generation of cousins, it was definitely a huge worry for me. The pregnancy has been incredibly normal and--shockingly--easy. Other than loose hips and some back problems because of that stupid disc I bulged/slipped a few years ago, I've had no complaints. I mean, I'm totally sad that I can't run anymore. I miss pounding pavement and sidewalks so badly. There's nothing like the high of finishing a 3.5 mile run when you're chubby! But my hips just can't take the beating anymore. I'm so wobbly I look like Elvis in the mornings!
Weight gain is finally creeping up on me. I think I've put on maybe 3 or so pounds. Most of it seems to be in my tatas and belly/baby weight. I've sort of been keeping an eye on my thighs. If they start getting all flabby huge then I know I'm packing on excess fat which is useless. If they stay normal, all the weight I'm gaining is good weight. My carb cravings are coming back and most days I just give into them. Unless I fail my GTT (sometime next week,) there's really no reason to restrict my carb intake while I'm pregnant. I mean, really, a handful of Oreos or a scoop of Fruity Pebbles while I write isn't going to kill me.
Tomorrow we head in for another ultrasound. They want to take a peek at Zaphod's heart again just to make sure everything's exactly as it should be. I'm not overly concerned but understand why my docs want to be cautious. With all the heart problems we've had in my family, you just never know. As of yet, there's no indication she has any issues whatsoever. Her heartbeat is incredibly strong. Actually, at my last visit, Dave and I both busted out laughing because Zaphod's heartbeat sounded like the "galloping horses" in Monty Python and the Holy Grail. And by galloping horses, I mean smacking coconut halves together.
Yeah. The staff at our OB/midwife's office think we're nuts, I'm sure.
Other than that, it's same old, same old around here. We're finally starting the nursery--and by starting, I mean I've finally chosen a paint color. My parents are buying our crib sometime in the next week or so which gives us a little time to get the room painted. Oh, and my sister and brother are getting us the travel system/stroller/carseat. Yayness! I'll be ordering my cloth diaper stash sometime this week too. For a procrastinator, I've done more than I'd expected in preparation for the baby's arrival. Shocking, actually...
Oh yeah! Zaphod likes music. I was bored last night and she was doing her yoga poses in my uterus (at least, that's what it feels like) so I thought, "Self! Let's see if Zaphod likes music." I slipped my headphones around Das Bump and scrolled through iTunes. Eventually I settled on the Superman Theme (Planet Krypton) by John Williams. She sort of stilled when the lone trumpet began. As the other brass instruments joined, she wiggled and squirmed. At the climax of the intro, she punched me right in the belly button and kicked my bladder.
I figured that was enough music time, lol.
Next time, I think I'll try Also Sprach Zarathrustra...
Weight gain is finally creeping up on me. I think I've put on maybe 3 or so pounds. Most of it seems to be in my tatas and belly/baby weight. I've sort of been keeping an eye on my thighs. If they start getting all flabby huge then I know I'm packing on excess fat which is useless. If they stay normal, all the weight I'm gaining is good weight. My carb cravings are coming back and most days I just give into them. Unless I fail my GTT (sometime next week,) there's really no reason to restrict my carb intake while I'm pregnant. I mean, really, a handful of Oreos or a scoop of Fruity Pebbles while I write isn't going to kill me.
Tomorrow we head in for another ultrasound. They want to take a peek at Zaphod's heart again just to make sure everything's exactly as it should be. I'm not overly concerned but understand why my docs want to be cautious. With all the heart problems we've had in my family, you just never know. As of yet, there's no indication she has any issues whatsoever. Her heartbeat is incredibly strong. Actually, at my last visit, Dave and I both busted out laughing because Zaphod's heartbeat sounded like the "galloping horses" in Monty Python and the Holy Grail. And by galloping horses, I mean smacking coconut halves together.
Yeah. The staff at our OB/midwife's office think we're nuts, I'm sure.
Other than that, it's same old, same old around here. We're finally starting the nursery--and by starting, I mean I've finally chosen a paint color. My parents are buying our crib sometime in the next week or so which gives us a little time to get the room painted. Oh, and my sister and brother are getting us the travel system/stroller/carseat. Yayness! I'll be ordering my cloth diaper stash sometime this week too. For a procrastinator, I've done more than I'd expected in preparation for the baby's arrival. Shocking, actually...
Oh yeah! Zaphod likes music. I was bored last night and she was doing her yoga poses in my uterus (at least, that's what it feels like) so I thought, "Self! Let's see if Zaphod likes music." I slipped my headphones around Das Bump and scrolled through iTunes. Eventually I settled on the Superman Theme (Planet Krypton) by John Williams. She sort of stilled when the lone trumpet began. As the other brass instruments joined, she wiggled and squirmed. At the climax of the intro, she punched me right in the belly button and kicked my bladder.
I figured that was enough music time, lol.
Next time, I think I'll try Also Sprach Zarathrustra...
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Ruckus
So this morning while Dave was getting ready to head out to work he left the front door open while loading his bags (sleeping stuff, extra uniform, lunch box) into the truck. I was in that weird sleep space where you're sort of aware but mostly in a dream haze when all of a sudden I hear Bosley start barking. Dave started shouting, "No, Bosley! No!"
And then I heard what sounded like flapping wings.
Hmmm. Curious, no? So I rolled over in bed and listened to the circus unfolding downstairs. From what I could tell, Bosley was all worked up over some sort of winged invader while Dave was trying to coax said interloper out of the house. My first thought was a bat. Why? Because we have a shat load of bats in the woods behind our house. Like bajillions of them. I see their beady little eyes staring at me from the treetops at night. They sort of creep me out but they cut down on the West Nile carrying mosquitoes so they're cool in my book. We're actually about to put up a bat house on the back of the house to encourage them to hang around. Yeah. We're weird like that.
Anywho. When Dave came up to give me my early morning smooch before heading out the door he explained a bird had flown into the house. Bosley immediately decided the invader needed to be chased around the living room. The bird, apparently, refused to fly out of the open door so Dave had to scoop him up and launch him out of the house. Sadly this is par for the course around here. It's like we have a poltergeist with a wicked sense of humor.
The early morning excitement had Bosley all riled up so he spent half an hour honking his pheasant and running up and down the stairs while I tried to fall back asleep. Sweet of him, huh?
And then I heard what sounded like flapping wings.
Hmmm. Curious, no? So I rolled over in bed and listened to the circus unfolding downstairs. From what I could tell, Bosley was all worked up over some sort of winged invader while Dave was trying to coax said interloper out of the house. My first thought was a bat. Why? Because we have a shat load of bats in the woods behind our house. Like bajillions of them. I see their beady little eyes staring at me from the treetops at night. They sort of creep me out but they cut down on the West Nile carrying mosquitoes so they're cool in my book. We're actually about to put up a bat house on the back of the house to encourage them to hang around. Yeah. We're weird like that.
Anywho. When Dave came up to give me my early morning smooch before heading out the door he explained a bird had flown into the house. Bosley immediately decided the invader needed to be chased around the living room. The bird, apparently, refused to fly out of the open door so Dave had to scoop him up and launch him out of the house. Sadly this is par for the course around here. It's like we have a poltergeist with a wicked sense of humor.
The early morning excitement had Bosley all riled up so he spent half an hour honking his pheasant and running up and down the stairs while I tried to fall back asleep. Sweet of him, huh?
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Star Trek
OMG! You have to see Star Trek! It's amazing. The visual imagery is simply stunning and so believable. The CGI effects meld seamlessly with the live action shots. I really enjoyed the tight plot (necessary for someone who isn't a dedicated Trekkie) and the well-rounded characters. Oh, and the hot men in tight pants. Kirk/Spock sandwich, anyone?
But, seriously, what's with the ladies in mini-skirts and go-go boots? Really? How are you supposed to kick space ass and takes names when you have to worry about flashing your hoohoo with every roundhouse? Just a thought, Starfleet.
Oh yeah. We had to take Bosley in to have his kidney functions checked yesterday since he's on meloxicam for his funky hips. Let's just say he wasn't pleased with the muzzling or the huge needle they jabbed into his jugular vein. He's been milking it for all it's worth. No, really. We stopped by Petco for treats, and he kept eyeing the stuffed squeaky toy aisle. He had this "Hey! You let them stab me in my neck!" look so we caved and let him pick out a new pheasant with an annoying honker.
Right now, he's staring at my donut. He's doing the weepy eyes. I can almost hear his thoughts. "Jeez, my neck sure hurts where you let them STAB me!" Sigh. Looks like Mama's only having half a donut this morning...
But, seriously, what's with the ladies in mini-skirts and go-go boots? Really? How are you supposed to kick space ass and takes names when you have to worry about flashing your hoohoo with every roundhouse? Just a thought, Starfleet.
Oh yeah. We had to take Bosley in to have his kidney functions checked yesterday since he's on meloxicam for his funky hips. Let's just say he wasn't pleased with the muzzling or the huge needle they jabbed into his jugular vein. He's been milking it for all it's worth. No, really. We stopped by Petco for treats, and he kept eyeing the stuffed squeaky toy aisle. He had this "Hey! You let them stab me in my neck!" look so we caved and let him pick out a new pheasant with an annoying honker.
Right now, he's staring at my donut. He's doing the weepy eyes. I can almost hear his thoughts. "Jeez, my neck sure hurts where you let them STAB me!" Sigh. Looks like Mama's only having half a donut this morning...
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Natural Selection
So I'm something of a weenie when it comes to watching wildlife programs like Nature, National Geographic, and Planet Earth. I can't stand getting all attached to some cute little fuzzy baby that eventually gets chomped on by some big snarling brute of a predator. Well guess what? National Geographic played out on our porch yesterday, and I'm just devastated.
We have these birds who built a nest on our porch right after we finished building the house. Every year, they've come back to their nest to make new baby birdies. I love watching them fluff up the nest, guard the eggs, and feed the babies. Even Bosley enjoys watching them from the window. Yesterday morning, a little after five, there was a hellacious racket out front. By the time I got to the window, I couldn't see anything and the birds had quieted down. Bosley, however, continued growling. And that's when I spotted it--that fat ass Persian cat from across the street.
Yes, you can guess what happened next. Total effing massacre. One birdie was flattened on the sidewalk. The two other babies survived and hid in my flowers. Bosley kept barking at them in his high-pitched concern bark as if trying to tell them to get airborn before the cat returned. But, of course, they were too young. The mommy and daddy bird tried to protect them and get them to fly but it was no use.
This morning the mommy bird is nowhere to be seen. I'm convinced she's offed herself. Dave tells me birds don't get post-partum depression or grieve but I don't buy it. Even the daddy bird looked rather bereaved this morning when I went out to water my plants. So sad...
I'm all hormonal and anything baby-related turns on the water works so I wept like a little girl. I'm so angry at that filthy bastard cat. First it digs up my flower beds and craps in them. Now it killed my baby birds. I'm tempted to let Bosley loose on it the next time it scampers into my yard.
We have these birds who built a nest on our porch right after we finished building the house. Every year, they've come back to their nest to make new baby birdies. I love watching them fluff up the nest, guard the eggs, and feed the babies. Even Bosley enjoys watching them from the window. Yesterday morning, a little after five, there was a hellacious racket out front. By the time I got to the window, I couldn't see anything and the birds had quieted down. Bosley, however, continued growling. And that's when I spotted it--that fat ass Persian cat from across the street.
Yes, you can guess what happened next. Total effing massacre. One birdie was flattened on the sidewalk. The two other babies survived and hid in my flowers. Bosley kept barking at them in his high-pitched concern bark as if trying to tell them to get airborn before the cat returned. But, of course, they were too young. The mommy and daddy bird tried to protect them and get them to fly but it was no use.
This morning the mommy bird is nowhere to be seen. I'm convinced she's offed herself. Dave tells me birds don't get post-partum depression or grieve but I don't buy it. Even the daddy bird looked rather bereaved this morning when I went out to water my plants. So sad...
I'm all hormonal and anything baby-related turns on the water works so I wept like a little girl. I'm so angry at that filthy bastard cat. First it digs up my flower beds and craps in them. Now it killed my baby birds. I'm tempted to let Bosley loose on it the next time it scampers into my yard.
Monday, May 11, 2009
Motherlover
Friday, May 08, 2009
Stay Classy Houston
Just when I think I can't be shocked by the incompetence of the justice system in this country, I read shit like this: Rape Victims Forced to Pay for Evidence.
Oh. My. God.
Yes, let's bill rape victims for their rape kits! Let's continue to victimize them by forcing them to relive those memories every time the phone rings or the mail arrives. I'm sure a rape victim is just going to love seeing that delinquent entry on her mortgage application, years after she's moved forward with her life.
What jackass thought this was a good idea? I mean, seriously, am I the only person wondering why the hell rape kits cost anything at all? Shouldn't a rape kit be billed automatically to the police or sheriff's department's evidence gathering department? Why are we billing women (and men) for the privilege (sarcasm) of such a humiliating and traumatizing experience?
Just reading this makes me so sad. And disgusted. WTF, Houston? WTF!
Oh. My. God.
Yes, let's bill rape victims for their rape kits! Let's continue to victimize them by forcing them to relive those memories every time the phone rings or the mail arrives. I'm sure a rape victim is just going to love seeing that delinquent entry on her mortgage application, years after she's moved forward with her life.
What jackass thought this was a good idea? I mean, seriously, am I the only person wondering why the hell rape kits cost anything at all? Shouldn't a rape kit be billed automatically to the police or sheriff's department's evidence gathering department? Why are we billing women (and men) for the privilege (sarcasm) of such a humiliating and traumatizing experience?
Just reading this makes me so sad. And disgusted. WTF, Houston? WTF!
Wednesday, May 06, 2009
Peep Show
So my short story, Indecent, was chosen for the upcoming Peep Show: Tales of Voyeurs and Exhibitionists anthology for Cleis Press edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel. Cleis Press publishes some of the naughtiest, wildest and most brilliant anthologies, novels, and nonfiction works of erotica and sexuality out there. I've been a huge fan of their Best series (Best Women's Erotica, Best Lesbian Erotica, Best Gay Romance) and Ultimate Guide to series for quite a while now. I'm totally stoked to have a piece published by them.
As the release date nears, I'll post a bit more on this anthology. Until then take a look at the Peep Show blog for snippets from the book and more.
As the release date nears, I'll post a bit more on this anthology. Until then take a look at the Peep Show blog for snippets from the book and more.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Smug Preggos & Baby Making
So my super fabulous editor sent this video link to me yesterday. Let the hilarity ensue.
This instructional vid titled Como Hacer Un Bebe comes from Dave. Jeez! If only someone had told us we've been doing it wrong all these years! At least we know what to do next time.
This instructional vid titled Como Hacer Un Bebe comes from Dave. Jeez! If only someone had told us we've been doing it wrong all these years! At least we know what to do next time.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Hamaggedon
Oh, Craig Ferguson, how I love thee! His bit on the swine flu last night, complete with pig puppet, was hilarious. I particularly enjoyed the Pig-pocalypse and zombie bacon jokes.
In all seriousness, I'm just not that concerned about swine flu. I probably should be since I'm pregnant and my husband spends 24-48 hours at a time crammed into the back of an ambulance with puking, bleeding, coughing, pooing folks. Dave's hand washing habits verge on obsessive when he's at work, and I spend most of my time indoors with the occasional trip to the grocery store or Barnes & Noble or whatever.
I'll take the usual precautions and if I get a temp or a cough or flu-like symptom, I'll head straight into see my doc for some Tamiflu or Relenza. Beyond that, I'm not changing my routines. Sure, swine flu is serious, but really it's the paranoia that'll get you.
In all seriousness, I'm just not that concerned about swine flu. I probably should be since I'm pregnant and my husband spends 24-48 hours at a time crammed into the back of an ambulance with puking, bleeding, coughing, pooing folks. Dave's hand washing habits verge on obsessive when he's at work, and I spend most of my time indoors with the occasional trip to the grocery store or Barnes & Noble or whatever.
I'll take the usual precautions and if I get a temp or a cough or flu-like symptom, I'll head straight into see my doc for some Tamiflu or Relenza. Beyond that, I'm not changing my routines. Sure, swine flu is serious, but really it's the paranoia that'll get you.
Monday, April 27, 2009
Bea Arthur
So Bea Arthur passed away over the weekend. I'm so sad. I'm seriously obsessed with the Golden Girls. I have almost every season on DVD and watch them, like, every week. I'm running my own Golden Girls marathon right now. I'm up to Season Three, Disc Three and laughing my ass off.
Since it's a rainy Monday, I'm not really motivated to do much else than curl up on the couch with the dog and watch TV. Every now and then I have to get up and grab the umbrella to escort Bosley outside. You'd think a 150 plus pound Great Dane wouldn't be afraid of a little rain, but he's a big blubbery baby about it. He'll do the pee-pee dance until his legs are shaking rather than go out into the rain so Dave or I have to get out the big umbrella and hop puddles while he looks for the perfect spot.
Yes. It looks as ridiculous as it sounds.
RIP Dorothy Zbornak.
Since it's a rainy Monday, I'm not really motivated to do much else than curl up on the couch with the dog and watch TV. Every now and then I have to get up and grab the umbrella to escort Bosley outside. You'd think a 150 plus pound Great Dane wouldn't be afraid of a little rain, but he's a big blubbery baby about it. He'll do the pee-pee dance until his legs are shaking rather than go out into the rain so Dave or I have to get out the big umbrella and hop puddles while he looks for the perfect spot.
Yes. It looks as ridiculous as it sounds.
RIP Dorothy Zbornak.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
My Fence! She Burns!
So Dave and I came home from the grocery store to find a portion of our fence charred and smoldering. Yeah. Can you say holy shit? Like I need that kind of stress, right?
How did our fence catch fire you ask? Well, you see, we have neighbors who smoke and who have friends who smoke. It seems someone just dropped a cigarette butt and--whoosh!--the whole thing went up. It was windy as hell here today, and our neighbors don't exactly take the best care of their back lawn. Like a fucking tinder box...
Look, I'm fairly open about the fact that I think smoking is a filthy habit, but I'm super tolerant of smokers so long as they're responsible. Don't blow smoke in the faces of non-smokers, kids, or pregnant women. Be safe with your butts and ashes. That's all I ask. What you do with your lungs is your business.
But this is ridiculous. I've already got anxiety problems. Now, every time I leave the house, I've got to worry about whether or not our neighbors are going to burn down our damn house with the dog inside. Or catch our house on fire when I'm asleep.
We left them a note because they weren't at home. They called, apologized and promised it won't happen again. Of course, they blamed it on their cleaning lady. Maybe it was. Maybe it wasn't. I'd be more inclined to believe them, if they hadn't lied about *not* knowing any smokers. Huge untruth. During March Madness, that backyard was chock-o-block full of smoking and drinking men.
So anywho. Be wary of your neighbors, folks. You just never know when you're going to come home to a blazing fence!
How did our fence catch fire you ask? Well, you see, we have neighbors who smoke and who have friends who smoke. It seems someone just dropped a cigarette butt and--whoosh!--the whole thing went up. It was windy as hell here today, and our neighbors don't exactly take the best care of their back lawn. Like a fucking tinder box...
Look, I'm fairly open about the fact that I think smoking is a filthy habit, but I'm super tolerant of smokers so long as they're responsible. Don't blow smoke in the faces of non-smokers, kids, or pregnant women. Be safe with your butts and ashes. That's all I ask. What you do with your lungs is your business.
But this is ridiculous. I've already got anxiety problems. Now, every time I leave the house, I've got to worry about whether or not our neighbors are going to burn down our damn house with the dog inside. Or catch our house on fire when I'm asleep.
We left them a note because they weren't at home. They called, apologized and promised it won't happen again. Of course, they blamed it on their cleaning lady. Maybe it was. Maybe it wasn't. I'd be more inclined to believe them, if they hadn't lied about *not* knowing any smokers. Huge untruth. During March Madness, that backyard was chock-o-block full of smoking and drinking men.
So anywho. Be wary of your neighbors, folks. You just never know when you're going to come home to a blazing fence!
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Halfsies
So we reached 20 weeks a few days ago which means we're officially halfway through this pregnancy. I'm also 6 months now. I know. Time flies and all that. Zaphod's doing well. She moves. A lot. I've finally figured out her schedule and can sort of try to get into bed a little early so I'm fully asleep before she starts doing her calisthenics.
And, yes, we have a name picked out. We've had one picked out for a while but we're just not ready to share. This our little secret for the time being. Also I'm terrified of having our own ass hamster moment. You know, George and Angie, right?
*crickets*
Right. So on Scrubs, when Turk and Carla finally get pregnant, they choose their baby names. Carla chooses Angie and Turk chooses Fukwan. Obviously, Carla puts the kibosh on that and suggests George instead. Once they've agreed on their names, Carla forbids Turk from telling anyone. He, of course, can't keep his trap shut and spills the beans to JD. Fast forward to JD in the pediatric ward playing with a group of kids. When they ask for a name for the hamster, JD suggests Angie. Not long after, Carla and Turk pass by and overhear the kids referring to the hamster as Angie. A hamster that had been found in the ass of a dead patient earlier that morning.
So, yeah, ridicule me for being overly cautious, but I'll just die if someone names their ass hamster after my baby.
And, yes, we have a name picked out. We've had one picked out for a while but we're just not ready to share. This our little secret for the time being. Also I'm terrified of having our own ass hamster moment. You know, George and Angie, right?
*crickets*
Right. So on Scrubs, when Turk and Carla finally get pregnant, they choose their baby names. Carla chooses Angie and Turk chooses Fukwan. Obviously, Carla puts the kibosh on that and suggests George instead. Once they've agreed on their names, Carla forbids Turk from telling anyone. He, of course, can't keep his trap shut and spills the beans to JD. Fast forward to JD in the pediatric ward playing with a group of kids. When they ask for a name for the hamster, JD suggests Angie. Not long after, Carla and Turk pass by and overhear the kids referring to the hamster as Angie. A hamster that had been found in the ass of a dead patient earlier that morning.
So, yeah, ridicule me for being overly cautious, but I'll just die if someone names their ass hamster after my baby.
Friday, April 17, 2009
Susan Boyle
*Fixed Link*
Isn't Susan Boyle just fabulous? Seriously, I cried like a little girl when watching her perform. I felt so bad for her when the crowd was so rude as she talked to the judges at the beginning of her audition. When she opened her mouth and all that brilliance flowed forth, I felt like jumping up and down and screaming, "Vindication!"
Isn't it sad how so many of us view women of a certain age or women without cover model looks as inferior or deserving of our derision? I think I relate to Susan Boyle so much because I was Susan Boyle. As a teenager I was very involved in choir and musical theater. I won all sorts of competitions and more--but I never received the lead in a musical.
Well, there was that one time I was a lead character---but I had to dress up like a man in a fat suit and alter my natural soprano to fit the part. Thank goodness my voice is versatile! I'll never forget being called back in after the audition and told I was the natural choice for the female lead but I just didn't look the part.
After that production, I never auditioned again. I accepted that a slightly chubby girl with some of the unfortunate side effects of PCOS wasn't cut out for the world of musical theater and focused all of my attention on my real passion: writing. Maybe that embarassing experience was a blessing in disguise. After all, I'm getting paid to do what I love now!
So huge-o kudos to you, Susan Boyle, for never letting the bastards get you down!!!
Isn't Susan Boyle just fabulous? Seriously, I cried like a little girl when watching her perform. I felt so bad for her when the crowd was so rude as she talked to the judges at the beginning of her audition. When she opened her mouth and all that brilliance flowed forth, I felt like jumping up and down and screaming, "Vindication!"
Isn't it sad how so many of us view women of a certain age or women without cover model looks as inferior or deserving of our derision? I think I relate to Susan Boyle so much because I was Susan Boyle. As a teenager I was very involved in choir and musical theater. I won all sorts of competitions and more--but I never received the lead in a musical.
Well, there was that one time I was a lead character---but I had to dress up like a man in a fat suit and alter my natural soprano to fit the part. Thank goodness my voice is versatile! I'll never forget being called back in after the audition and told I was the natural choice for the female lead but I just didn't look the part.
After that production, I never auditioned again. I accepted that a slightly chubby girl with some of the unfortunate side effects of PCOS wasn't cut out for the world of musical theater and focused all of my attention on my real passion: writing. Maybe that embarassing experience was a blessing in disguise. After all, I'm getting paid to do what I love now!
So huge-o kudos to you, Susan Boyle, for never letting the bastards get you down!!!
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Dos Equis
No, not the totally delicious beer. The chromosomes. As in, our baby has two--count 'em--two X chromosomes. That's right! I'm currently incubating the very first baby girl grandchild on either side of our families. Can you say future Miss Priss? Oh, yes. I'm quite sure she's going to be quite spoiled.
She's right on track for growth and measures one day ahead of my due date so no biggie. The weight estimate is eleven ounces which is right on target for 19.5 weeks. My placenta looks like it's almost in the "right" place too so I'm not as worried about problems during delivery.
During the ultrasound, she was a smidge ornery. She seems to like the far left side of my uterus where she curls up into a little ball. She'd move around just enough to allow the tech to get the pics she needed of various organs and bones, but as far as the money shot was concerned, she kept those little ankles crossed like a tea cozy knitting prude until the last two minutes of the ultrasound study. Oh, and we saw more jazz hands and a whole helluva lot of "talking." I had the distinct feeling she was telling us to eff off so she could nap.
The best part of the ultrasound? Dave. Seriously. Huge nerd pants over here. Enjoy this gem.
Dave, staring at u/s screen: I don't know. It just looks like George Washington to me.
Me: Dude, this isn't a Rorschach test!
She's right on track for growth and measures one day ahead of my due date so no biggie. The weight estimate is eleven ounces which is right on target for 19.5 weeks. My placenta looks like it's almost in the "right" place too so I'm not as worried about problems during delivery.
During the ultrasound, she was a smidge ornery. She seems to like the far left side of my uterus where she curls up into a little ball. She'd move around just enough to allow the tech to get the pics she needed of various organs and bones, but as far as the money shot was concerned, she kept those little ankles crossed like a tea cozy knitting prude until the last two minutes of the ultrasound study. Oh, and we saw more jazz hands and a whole helluva lot of "talking." I had the distinct feeling she was telling us to eff off so she could nap.
The best part of the ultrasound? Dave. Seriously. Huge nerd pants over here. Enjoy this gem.
Dave, staring at u/s screen: I don't know. It just looks like George Washington to me.
Me: Dude, this isn't a Rorschach test!
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Amazon = Morality Police?
Update the First: So it's not not just books with sex in them. Anything labeled GLBT has gotten the axe. Young adult novels with gay or lesbian protagonists and no sex anywhere in the text have been pulled from the rankings and search functions. Classics written by DH Lawrence are gone, baby, gone. Oh, and even Well of Loneliness, a Victorian era lesbian novel is gone. That novel's offensive and adult sex scene? Oh, yeah, it consists of this one line: And that night they were not divided. Oh my god! Such filth! Get the eye bleach!
Hey, but you can search for Playboy and get an eyeful of the raunchiest big-boobed ho-bags hosed down with baby oil but Heather Has Two Mommies, a children's book for crying out loud, is verboten. Vibrators and anal dildos? Oh, yeah, totally available. Foucault's History of Sex? Nein! Alan Moore's Lost Girls (aka kiddie-porn esque graphic novel)? A-OKAY!
Really, Amazon? Really?
Petition
Amazon Rank
***
So some fucknut at Amazon has made the decision to pull all sales ranking of any book with dirty sex or gay/lesbian/bisexual/transgendered themes. These "adult" books will no longer appear on bestseller lists even if they're number one in fiction or nonfiction. They've even made it impossible to find the latest releases of some of the hottest erotic romance authors like Maya Banks, Jaci Burton, and Larissa Ione/Stephanie Tyler writing as Sydney Croft. What. The. Fuck.
This mindfuckery is off the chain. Who appointed Amazon the morality police of what books should be easily searchable and purchased? This kind of censorship seriously chaps my ass. Why is that the people who object so loudly to books with sex or the gays (oh noes!) have to ruin it for the rest of us? Jeez, get a life!
If you'd like to see what authors are affected by this check out Dear Author's post which includes links and comments from many people in the business.
Hey, but you can search for Playboy and get an eyeful of the raunchiest big-boobed ho-bags hosed down with baby oil but Heather Has Two Mommies, a children's book for crying out loud, is verboten. Vibrators and anal dildos? Oh, yeah, totally available. Foucault's History of Sex? Nein! Alan Moore's Lost Girls (aka kiddie-porn esque graphic novel)? A-OKAY!
Really, Amazon? Really?
Petition
Amazon Rank
***
So some fucknut at Amazon has made the decision to pull all sales ranking of any book with dirty sex or gay/lesbian/bisexual/transgendered themes. These "adult" books will no longer appear on bestseller lists even if they're number one in fiction or nonfiction. They've even made it impossible to find the latest releases of some of the hottest erotic romance authors like Maya Banks, Jaci Burton, and Larissa Ione/Stephanie Tyler writing as Sydney Croft. What. The. Fuck.
This mindfuckery is off the chain. Who appointed Amazon the morality police of what books should be easily searchable and purchased? This kind of censorship seriously chaps my ass. Why is that the people who object so loudly to books with sex or the gays (oh noes!) have to ruin it for the rest of us? Jeez, get a life!
If you'd like to see what authors are affected by this check out Dear Author's post which includes links and comments from many people in the business.
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Final Countdown
So we're in the final countdown to discovering whether Zaphod's naughty bits are dangly or not. We've been getting a lot of phone calls and texts over the last day or two asking curious questions about Zaphod. Are you carrying high or low? Hey, what's the baby's heart rate? Er, any names picked out yet?
I'm sort of wondering if my brothers or sister aren't running a hot dog or cheeseburger pool. It wouldn't surprise me. There's nothing my siblings like more than a little gambling. Football squares, craps, poker--baby gender and due date pools?
We have the anatomy scan on Tuesday afternoon. I have no idea what to expect on that grainy screen. The morning I had my positive pregnancy test, I thought, "Yep. This is our little girl." But then we had the first ultrasound and I had the distinct feeling it was a boy. Most days I lean toward girl but some days I feel like it's a boy. Some days I wonder if maybe my son is going to have an inclination toward My Little Pony or my daughter an affinity for power tools and softball. That would explain Mommy's mixed feelings....
At this point, I don't really give a poo about gender. Would it be fun to have the first little girl born on either side of our families? Oh, hell yes! But, seriously, I'm just so happy to be having a baby at all, I'll be overjoyed with ten fingers and ten toes. Then again who knows if Zaphod will cooperate with the ultrasound tech. (S)he likes to get all scrunched up in the left side of my uterus. I'm hoping a little prodding and pressure will coax a flash or two but I'm not going to hold my breath. Zaphod has already shown (s)he's not a fan of ultrasound or doppler waves. It took Dr. A a minute or so to find Zaphod yesterday during my prenatal visit. Of course (s)he was way down on the left side of my belly--and kicking and punching like a mofo at the doppler waves. Uncomfortable much? Oh, yeah...
And am I the only preggo chick who is terrifed of peeing during the ultrasound? Seriously, asking a pregnant woman to drink, like, 8 glasses of water, hold it for two plus hours and then not do the peepee squirmy dance on top of the exam table while the tech smashes around on her belly is just obnoxious. I've already told Dave I'm packing an extra set of jeans and skivvies and a towel. I'm also practicing my "Nothing to see her, folks!" scuttle since you have to cross a waiting room between radiology and the restrooms.
Anywho. Must get back to work. The smut, she beckons!
I'm sort of wondering if my brothers or sister aren't running a hot dog or cheeseburger pool. It wouldn't surprise me. There's nothing my siblings like more than a little gambling. Football squares, craps, poker--baby gender and due date pools?
We have the anatomy scan on Tuesday afternoon. I have no idea what to expect on that grainy screen. The morning I had my positive pregnancy test, I thought, "Yep. This is our little girl." But then we had the first ultrasound and I had the distinct feeling it was a boy. Most days I lean toward girl but some days I feel like it's a boy. Some days I wonder if maybe my son is going to have an inclination toward My Little Pony or my daughter an affinity for power tools and softball. That would explain Mommy's mixed feelings....
At this point, I don't really give a poo about gender. Would it be fun to have the first little girl born on either side of our families? Oh, hell yes! But, seriously, I'm just so happy to be having a baby at all, I'll be overjoyed with ten fingers and ten toes. Then again who knows if Zaphod will cooperate with the ultrasound tech. (S)he likes to get all scrunched up in the left side of my uterus. I'm hoping a little prodding and pressure will coax a flash or two but I'm not going to hold my breath. Zaphod has already shown (s)he's not a fan of ultrasound or doppler waves. It took Dr. A a minute or so to find Zaphod yesterday during my prenatal visit. Of course (s)he was way down on the left side of my belly--and kicking and punching like a mofo at the doppler waves. Uncomfortable much? Oh, yeah...
And am I the only preggo chick who is terrifed of peeing during the ultrasound? Seriously, asking a pregnant woman to drink, like, 8 glasses of water, hold it for two plus hours and then not do the peepee squirmy dance on top of the exam table while the tech smashes around on her belly is just obnoxious. I've already told Dave I'm packing an extra set of jeans and skivvies and a towel. I'm also practicing my "Nothing to see her, folks!" scuttle since you have to cross a waiting room between radiology and the restrooms.
Anywho. Must get back to work. The smut, she beckons!
Thursday, April 09, 2009
The Talk
*Fair warning. This is probably going to ruffle some feathers.*
So it turns out Dave and I have pretty good instincts when it comes to kids and sex. I'm watching Oprah and having all of my instincts confirmed. What is with these uptight parents who can't tell their kids about masturbation? Seriously, I look at these parents and think, "Holy shit! You're the reason so many girls in my generation are ashamed of their bodies and can't have orgasms!" What a crock! Quit pushing your hangups onto your kids!
Dave and I have agreed that nothing will ever be off limits with Zaphod. I'm incredibly comfortable talking about sex and the human body, and I want my kid(s) to be empowered and proud of his/her body too. I don't ever want Zaphod to be ashamed of his penis or her vagina or think it's something dirty. Plus if you make something secret or forbidden, kids are going to get curious. Curiosity without proper information could be a death sentence! HIV is not a joke. I want Zaphod to know about condoms, dental dams, diaphragms, the IUD, and the pros and cons of hormonal birth control so (s)he can make the smartest sexual decisions. Sure, I'm going to talk to my kids about abstinence, but I live in reality and in reality teenagers have sex. A lot.
More importantly, I want my kid(s) to grow up to have amazing, fulfilling and responsible sex lives. That means telling my kids about masturbation (oh noes!) so they can figure out how their naughty bits work before they jump into bed with someone they love. Also, teaching my daughter/son to own their sexuality and embrace the pleasure of sex will help incorporate the idea of emotion and respect being such an important part of the sexual experience. I'd rather my kid take matters into his/her own hands than rely on a partner for his/her satisfaction.
I never want my daughter to feel like she's broken or a failure just because she can't hit the Big O with a little thrusting. (I'm looking at you old skool romance novels with your misleading man-titty covers and sex scenes!) I don't want my son to feel like he's failing either because his "mad skills" aren't getting the job done. If Zaphod is gay or a lesbian or transgendered then Dave and I will make sure we're plugged into the proper channels to get our kid the information (s)he needs to have a healthy, fulfilling relationship.
Obviously, I think information needs to be tailored to the age of the kid, but I think waiting too long is dangerous. If parents think their twelve-year-old girls aren't sitting around talking about giving head, they're so out of touch. Dudes, they're talking about things far beyond oral sex. You should look at the self-reporting statistics of teen girls engaging in anal sex. They're shocking! But, hey, you can't get pregnant if it's in the backdoor, right? Uh, not quite. And that's my problem with abstinence only education. It breeds shame and really dangerous behaviors. How can you make safe choices about your health if you've only been told Don't Do It?
But that's another topic for another time.
When my sister was in 7th grade, there were pregnant girls in her class. Am I naive enough to think my sister didn't sit around and talk about sex with her friends? Hell no! I have it on very good authority they were discussing the pros and cons of the pullout method. Can you imagine what would have happened if Tricia hadn't had me or Mom to ask about the mechanics of sex? She'd be getting all of her sexual information from her peers. Yeah, that's safe. I was so glad Mom and Dad put Tricia into a comprehensive sex-ed course that year. She learned about abstinence, safer sex, and even dating violence and rape. That's a great thing!
Look, my mom was pretty open with me. A friend told me about sex when I was maybe seven. At eight, I started menstruating (yay for premature menopause!) but wasn't that shocked because Mom had explained my period when she told me about sex a year earlier. She didn't give me all the down and dirty details but she gave me enough information to prepare me to make the right choices.
Most importantly, she kept the channels of communication open. I'm sure she hated some of the frank questions I asked but she always managed to give me a satisfying answer. I am so effing grateful for that because I never felt the need to cave to peer pressure. I waited until I found the right guy (turned out to be the only guy) and--omg--it was amazing. And safe. Maybe I hit the jackpot with Dave-O or maybe my mother's version of The Talk which stressed love and respect was key. I don't know. Maybe it's a bit of both. Either way, I'm determined to give our kids the same chance.
So it turns out Dave and I have pretty good instincts when it comes to kids and sex. I'm watching Oprah and having all of my instincts confirmed. What is with these uptight parents who can't tell their kids about masturbation? Seriously, I look at these parents and think, "Holy shit! You're the reason so many girls in my generation are ashamed of their bodies and can't have orgasms!" What a crock! Quit pushing your hangups onto your kids!
Dave and I have agreed that nothing will ever be off limits with Zaphod. I'm incredibly comfortable talking about sex and the human body, and I want my kid(s) to be empowered and proud of his/her body too. I don't ever want Zaphod to be ashamed of his penis or her vagina or think it's something dirty. Plus if you make something secret or forbidden, kids are going to get curious. Curiosity without proper information could be a death sentence! HIV is not a joke. I want Zaphod to know about condoms, dental dams, diaphragms, the IUD, and the pros and cons of hormonal birth control so (s)he can make the smartest sexual decisions. Sure, I'm going to talk to my kids about abstinence, but I live in reality and in reality teenagers have sex. A lot.
More importantly, I want my kid(s) to grow up to have amazing, fulfilling and responsible sex lives. That means telling my kids about masturbation (oh noes!) so they can figure out how their naughty bits work before they jump into bed with someone they love. Also, teaching my daughter/son to own their sexuality and embrace the pleasure of sex will help incorporate the idea of emotion and respect being such an important part of the sexual experience. I'd rather my kid take matters into his/her own hands than rely on a partner for his/her satisfaction.
I never want my daughter to feel like she's broken or a failure just because she can't hit the Big O with a little thrusting. (I'm looking at you old skool romance novels with your misleading man-titty covers and sex scenes!) I don't want my son to feel like he's failing either because his "mad skills" aren't getting the job done. If Zaphod is gay or a lesbian or transgendered then Dave and I will make sure we're plugged into the proper channels to get our kid the information (s)he needs to have a healthy, fulfilling relationship.
Obviously, I think information needs to be tailored to the age of the kid, but I think waiting too long is dangerous. If parents think their twelve-year-old girls aren't sitting around talking about giving head, they're so out of touch. Dudes, they're talking about things far beyond oral sex. You should look at the self-reporting statistics of teen girls engaging in anal sex. They're shocking! But, hey, you can't get pregnant if it's in the backdoor, right? Uh, not quite. And that's my problem with abstinence only education. It breeds shame and really dangerous behaviors. How can you make safe choices about your health if you've only been told Don't Do It?
But that's another topic for another time.
When my sister was in 7th grade, there were pregnant girls in her class. Am I naive enough to think my sister didn't sit around and talk about sex with her friends? Hell no! I have it on very good authority they were discussing the pros and cons of the pullout method. Can you imagine what would have happened if Tricia hadn't had me or Mom to ask about the mechanics of sex? She'd be getting all of her sexual information from her peers. Yeah, that's safe. I was so glad Mom and Dad put Tricia into a comprehensive sex-ed course that year. She learned about abstinence, safer sex, and even dating violence and rape. That's a great thing!
Look, my mom was pretty open with me. A friend told me about sex when I was maybe seven. At eight, I started menstruating (yay for premature menopause!) but wasn't that shocked because Mom had explained my period when she told me about sex a year earlier. She didn't give me all the down and dirty details but she gave me enough information to prepare me to make the right choices.
Most importantly, she kept the channels of communication open. I'm sure she hated some of the frank questions I asked but she always managed to give me a satisfying answer. I am so effing grateful for that because I never felt the need to cave to peer pressure. I waited until I found the right guy (turned out to be the only guy) and--omg--it was amazing. And safe. Maybe I hit the jackpot with Dave-O or maybe my mother's version of The Talk which stressed love and respect was key. I don't know. Maybe it's a bit of both. Either way, I'm determined to give our kids the same chance.
Wednesday, April 08, 2009
Crafty
So I'm not sure what's going on with my new and improved Mommy Brain (now with more organizational skills!) but I'm jonesing to craft. Today, I spent most of the afternoon planning out my Cinco De Mayo projects and am already looking ahead to Halloween and Dia de Los Muertos. Since Zaphod is due on Labor Day (ironic, yes?) I won't have much time to decorate in late September/early October. My goal is to have all my nifty new coasters, lanterns, curtains, and table cloths ready to go by late July. I've even started a little decorating plan for Dave to follow because I doubt I'll be able to climb up and down on a step ladder with a baby attached to my booby.
Sigh. Hang on. Must run upstairs and get Bosley off the bed in the guest room!
Back. Where was I? Oh yes. Crafting. I'm also looking into making Dave a luchador mask. If it goes well, I might make a couple for my brothers. Or Zaphod. OMG! Can you imagine how cute that would be? Me, Dave, and Zaphod in stretchy pants and luchador masks for Halloween 2010!
Must find tiny luchador mask...
Sigh. Hang on. Must run upstairs and get Bosley off the bed in the guest room!
Back. Where was I? Oh yes. Crafting. I'm also looking into making Dave a luchador mask. If it goes well, I might make a couple for my brothers. Or Zaphod. OMG! Can you imagine how cute that would be? Me, Dave, and Zaphod in stretchy pants and luchador masks for Halloween 2010!
Must find tiny luchador mask...
Monday, April 06, 2009
Mommy Pissing Contest
Seriously, what's with Mommies Groups and the pissing contests? I've had to leave my September Mommies Group because the women there are such hags. I'd always heard mommies could be vicious but this is just insane. What is it about motherhood that some women feel gives them the right to criticize and preen? How nuts are these women? Let's see...
For starters, I admitted to eating summer sausage straight from the fridge when I was about, oh, eleven weeks pregnant. I thought these women were going to blow their pupils. Apparently, I'm a horrendously bad mommy-to-be because I've exposed Zaphod to listeria and nitrates. Oh, noes! Seriously, I'm not going to avoid hot dogs, sausage, deli meat and pepperoni just because there's the teeniest, tiniest chance I might eat something festering with listeria. I probably shouldn't tell them about the tuna sandwiches, Diet Dr. Peppers and occasional Pepsis I have. My OB and midwife gave me the guidelines of the absolute no-nos but their practice is really big on all things in moderation.
Secondly, I'm losing weight. I'm not doing it on purpose! Yes, I'm working out regularly but not nearly as hard as I was before I became pregnant. I watch what I eat and strive for balance. I'm not, you know, starving myself or anything. These women, however, think I'm obsessed with my weight or something. Am I concerned about my weight gain during the pregnancy? Uh, yeah. I know the statistics of overweight women and complications from gestational diabetes and high blood pressure and c-sections. But there's a huge difference in being obsessed and being smart about the foods I put in my mouth.
Third, cloth diapering. Yeah, we're going to cloth diaper. What's it to you? Apparently, it's everyone's business that Dave and I have chosen the cloth diapering route. If I hear one more person tell me we won't stick with it because it's so hard and they're so dirty and it's so much work, I swear to god I'm going to pull out the Five Point Palm Exploding Heart Technique. How can someone who has never used a cloth diaper know anything about cloth diapering? I mean, seriously, folks. We're not stupid. We've been researching cloth diapering since we started this trying to make a baby business. I know dozens of women who use cloth diapering and have taken the time to give me all their tips and tricks. I'm not going into this all naive and granola or something.
Same goes for breastfeeding. Yeah, I'm going to try my damndest to breastfeed. I'm already signed up for La Leche League classes and have a lactaction consultant/midwife at my OB's practice and a list of LLL members who will make home calls for women trying to establish breastfeeding 24/7. Again, I'm not naive. I know fully well the first 3-4 weeks of breastfeeding are terrible, but I'm putting together a support system to enable me to focus on getting Zaphod hooked on the booby. Now, obviously, if I can't make enough milk (PCOS is notorious for causing low or no milk supply) then I'll happily move to formula and that's that. But I'm going to give breastfeeding my all before I throw in the towel.
Finally, I'm really sick and tired of being criticized for my desire for the most natural birth I can get. You know, I'm not ignorant of what's involved in the birthing process. I'm fully aware it's going to hurt like a motherfucker, but you know what, I'm preparing for that reality now. Look, I've got nothing against women who choose to utilize pain relief in labor. Good for you! We all have to make the choices that are right for our unique situation. But quit giving me that patronizing smile or laughing at me just because I want something different.
I'm in the childbirth-isn't-an-illness camp and will refuse most intervention during labor. The research is painfully clear that every intervention (epidural, breaking of waters, pitocin augmentation, internal fetal monitoring) increases the risk of c-section. Dave is completely supportive of my no-intervention choice as is Dr. A. She's in the no c-section unless it's an emergency camp. The only non-emergency c-sections she does are those for women who choose not to try a VBAC and want a second or third c-section. All of the other docs in the practice are very laid back and encourage vaginal births because they have the best outcomes for mommy and baby.
Even though I want a natural birth, I'm already making backup c-section plans. Why? Because I know shit can go wrong. There's no guarantee I won't develop pre-eclampsia or gestational diabetes or worse. Also my placenta may not move. If it doesn't, I'll likely have to have a c-section to avoid placental abruption. Yeah, I'd really like to not bleed to death if my placenta rips free from my uterus during a hard contraction. But I'm funny like that...
So yes we've talked about the realities of a c-section and made some tentative plans. I think it's totally healthy to envision my birth going both ways. I'm not inflexible when it comes to my birthing plan. I understand that sometimes things happen and plans change and that's okay.
Meh, I just wish all mommies could get along. I sometimes feel like so many of these women lash out at those of us not towing the traditional line because they have insecurities of their own. As for me, I've got bigger things to worry about than whether or not the mommy sitting next to me has her kid in Huggies or FuzziBunz.
For starters, I admitted to eating summer sausage straight from the fridge when I was about, oh, eleven weeks pregnant. I thought these women were going to blow their pupils. Apparently, I'm a horrendously bad mommy-to-be because I've exposed Zaphod to listeria and nitrates. Oh, noes! Seriously, I'm not going to avoid hot dogs, sausage, deli meat and pepperoni just because there's the teeniest, tiniest chance I might eat something festering with listeria. I probably shouldn't tell them about the tuna sandwiches, Diet Dr. Peppers and occasional Pepsis I have. My OB and midwife gave me the guidelines of the absolute no-nos but their practice is really big on all things in moderation.
Secondly, I'm losing weight. I'm not doing it on purpose! Yes, I'm working out regularly but not nearly as hard as I was before I became pregnant. I watch what I eat and strive for balance. I'm not, you know, starving myself or anything. These women, however, think I'm obsessed with my weight or something. Am I concerned about my weight gain during the pregnancy? Uh, yeah. I know the statistics of overweight women and complications from gestational diabetes and high blood pressure and c-sections. But there's a huge difference in being obsessed and being smart about the foods I put in my mouth.
Third, cloth diapering. Yeah, we're going to cloth diaper. What's it to you? Apparently, it's everyone's business that Dave and I have chosen the cloth diapering route. If I hear one more person tell me we won't stick with it because it's so hard and they're so dirty and it's so much work, I swear to god I'm going to pull out the Five Point Palm Exploding Heart Technique. How can someone who has never used a cloth diaper know anything about cloth diapering? I mean, seriously, folks. We're not stupid. We've been researching cloth diapering since we started this trying to make a baby business. I know dozens of women who use cloth diapering and have taken the time to give me all their tips and tricks. I'm not going into this all naive and granola or something.
Same goes for breastfeeding. Yeah, I'm going to try my damndest to breastfeed. I'm already signed up for La Leche League classes and have a lactaction consultant/midwife at my OB's practice and a list of LLL members who will make home calls for women trying to establish breastfeeding 24/7. Again, I'm not naive. I know fully well the first 3-4 weeks of breastfeeding are terrible, but I'm putting together a support system to enable me to focus on getting Zaphod hooked on the booby. Now, obviously, if I can't make enough milk (PCOS is notorious for causing low or no milk supply) then I'll happily move to formula and that's that. But I'm going to give breastfeeding my all before I throw in the towel.
Finally, I'm really sick and tired of being criticized for my desire for the most natural birth I can get. You know, I'm not ignorant of what's involved in the birthing process. I'm fully aware it's going to hurt like a motherfucker, but you know what, I'm preparing for that reality now. Look, I've got nothing against women who choose to utilize pain relief in labor. Good for you! We all have to make the choices that are right for our unique situation. But quit giving me that patronizing smile or laughing at me just because I want something different.
I'm in the childbirth-isn't-an-illness camp and will refuse most intervention during labor. The research is painfully clear that every intervention (epidural, breaking of waters, pitocin augmentation, internal fetal monitoring) increases the risk of c-section. Dave is completely supportive of my no-intervention choice as is Dr. A. She's in the no c-section unless it's an emergency camp. The only non-emergency c-sections she does are those for women who choose not to try a VBAC and want a second or third c-section. All of the other docs in the practice are very laid back and encourage vaginal births because they have the best outcomes for mommy and baby.
Even though I want a natural birth, I'm already making backup c-section plans. Why? Because I know shit can go wrong. There's no guarantee I won't develop pre-eclampsia or gestational diabetes or worse. Also my placenta may not move. If it doesn't, I'll likely have to have a c-section to avoid placental abruption. Yeah, I'd really like to not bleed to death if my placenta rips free from my uterus during a hard contraction. But I'm funny like that...
So yes we've talked about the realities of a c-section and made some tentative plans. I think it's totally healthy to envision my birth going both ways. I'm not inflexible when it comes to my birthing plan. I understand that sometimes things happen and plans change and that's okay.
Meh, I just wish all mommies could get along. I sometimes feel like so many of these women lash out at those of us not towing the traditional line because they have insecurities of their own. As for me, I've got bigger things to worry about than whether or not the mommy sitting next to me has her kid in Huggies or FuzziBunz.
Hilarity
I'm still laughing about this and it happened four hours ago. Dave had been upstairs with Bosley doing something or other in the Man Cave. I heard them barreling downstairs and looked up as they came into the living room. The first words out of Dave's mouth were, "Did you pull out my sausage?"
Oh. My. God. I almost died. I laughed so hard Zaphod went nuts and started his/her Karate Kid routine. Dave was totally oblivious as I guffawed and fought to breathe. When I repeated it to him, his ears went red. In all fairness, he was asking about some sausage he'd put in the oven--and forgotten about while messing around in the Man Cave.
And, yes, I did in fact pull out his sausage.
Oh. My. God. I almost died. I laughed so hard Zaphod went nuts and started his/her Karate Kid routine. Dave was totally oblivious as I guffawed and fought to breathe. When I repeated it to him, his ears went red. In all fairness, he was asking about some sausage he'd put in the oven--and forgotten about while messing around in the Man Cave.
And, yes, I did in fact pull out his sausage.
Wednesday, April 01, 2009
One Year
So today (April 1) is the one year anniversary of my get fit and healthy challenge. To date, I've lost 46-49 pounds. There's a bit of a question there because my weights the last few mornings have been all over the place. (Zaphod related, I'm sure.) Without the pregnancy, I'm fairly confident I would have hit my first 63 pound goal, but whatever. I got a baby instead!
My weight control has been surprisingly excellent despite the pregnancy. I'm eating better than ever, getting in workouts (though not as many as I'd like,) and have lost another three-five pounds. I'm almost at the halfway mark of this gestation game, and I'm thrilled (and secretly shocked) I've been able to keep it together this long. My OB and midwife have set 26-28 weeks as target for my first weight gain. I think I'll make it!
A low (but healthy) weight gain in pregnancy means my post-natal bounce back will be fabulous. I'm determined to get the rest of this weight (fifty-five pounds or so) off by the time Zaphod's 18 months old. Hell, I even plan to run a 10K charity race to celebrate. Am I nuts? Oh, hell yes. But I refuse to let Zaphod (or any of our other kids) suffer from bad eating and exercise habits. Good habits start at home, and I'm going to be that role model for my kiddos. With the craptastic genes they'll likely inherit, they're going to need all the preventative help they can get!
My weight control has been surprisingly excellent despite the pregnancy. I'm eating better than ever, getting in workouts (though not as many as I'd like,) and have lost another three-five pounds. I'm almost at the halfway mark of this gestation game, and I'm thrilled (and secretly shocked) I've been able to keep it together this long. My OB and midwife have set 26-28 weeks as target for my first weight gain. I think I'll make it!
A low (but healthy) weight gain in pregnancy means my post-natal bounce back will be fabulous. I'm determined to get the rest of this weight (fifty-five pounds or so) off by the time Zaphod's 18 months old. Hell, I even plan to run a 10K charity race to celebrate. Am I nuts? Oh, hell yes. But I refuse to let Zaphod (or any of our other kids) suffer from bad eating and exercise habits. Good habits start at home, and I'm going to be that role model for my kiddos. With the craptastic genes they'll likely inherit, they're going to need all the preventative help they can get!
Monday, March 30, 2009
YFZ
Holy crap! Oprah in my hometown of Eldorado! At the YFZ ranch. Wow, I'm so proud. (Insert heavy sarcasm.) Seriously, how embarrassing to have the town I've loved my entire life seen as a backdrop to this clusterfuck of nutters.
Saturday, March 28, 2009
Baby Guilt
I know this is going to sound really odd to those who have never dealt with infertility but I'm fairly certain those of us who have will get it. I feel guilty about my surprise pregnancy and the ease with which it's progressed. I miraculously ovulated without meds and managed to make it through my entire first trimester without progesterone supplementation. Yes, I had some spotting in early pregnancy but because I wasn't aware I was pregnant, I didn't worry about it. I thought it was a super short period and left it at that. That I've made it this far without any complications is virtually unheard of--and I'm so thankful. And yet...
After the initial excitement and elation of the positive pregnancy test, I was consumed with guilt. "How the hell am I going to tell so-and-so about this?" Yes, I realize that women suffering through infertility aren't made of glass. Honestly, we're probably more emotionally strong than most women. We learn to steel those expressions and suck it up and deal with all the babies and pregnancies of our friends and family members. We grin and accept all the patronizing and often insulting "advice" from friends and family. We learn to deal with the natural feelings of worthlessness and jealousy and depression. We push through life despite the emptiness we feel every time we see a stroller or a baby bump or our husbands playing with this niece or that nephew all the while knowing we're the reason he can't have a child of his own.
And yet when we finally get that one thing we've wanted more than anything in the world, we're instantly consumed with immense guilt. Every time I feel Zaphod move or see his/her little face on the ultrasound screen, I rejoice but that happiness is always tempered with sadness. I feel so badly for all those women in my life who have lost their babies to miscarriages or who can't even get a single positive ovulation cycle. When these women are snippy with me or make snide remarks, I let them go. I remember what it felt like to bite my tongue and feign happiness for others even though I was dying inside. They're in pain, and if sniping makes them feel better for just the tiniest of moments, then so be it. I'll be your punching bag.
Of course there are women like my cousin, Suzie, who is so genuinely loving and caring and supportive despite the hell she's been through time and again. The woman has the brightest and warmest maternal and nurturing instinct I've ever seen. Even as she's struggled with infertility and lost babies, she's always been there for everyone else--even going so far as to provide fulltime care and support and nurturing to her four nieces and nephews. Hell, she even came over to visit during my trip to E-town and talked about my nursery plans and my health and the baby--all while she's still waiting for a birth mother match for their adoption. Seriously, she's just amazing. We'd all do well to take a page out of her playbook and learn something of graciousness and goodness.
After the initial excitement and elation of the positive pregnancy test, I was consumed with guilt. "How the hell am I going to tell so-and-so about this?" Yes, I realize that women suffering through infertility aren't made of glass. Honestly, we're probably more emotionally strong than most women. We learn to steel those expressions and suck it up and deal with all the babies and pregnancies of our friends and family members. We grin and accept all the patronizing and often insulting "advice" from friends and family. We learn to deal with the natural feelings of worthlessness and jealousy and depression. We push through life despite the emptiness we feel every time we see a stroller or a baby bump or our husbands playing with this niece or that nephew all the while knowing we're the reason he can't have a child of his own.
And yet when we finally get that one thing we've wanted more than anything in the world, we're instantly consumed with immense guilt. Every time I feel Zaphod move or see his/her little face on the ultrasound screen, I rejoice but that happiness is always tempered with sadness. I feel so badly for all those women in my life who have lost their babies to miscarriages or who can't even get a single positive ovulation cycle. When these women are snippy with me or make snide remarks, I let them go. I remember what it felt like to bite my tongue and feign happiness for others even though I was dying inside. They're in pain, and if sniping makes them feel better for just the tiniest of moments, then so be it. I'll be your punching bag.
Of course there are women like my cousin, Suzie, who is so genuinely loving and caring and supportive despite the hell she's been through time and again. The woman has the brightest and warmest maternal and nurturing instinct I've ever seen. Even as she's struggled with infertility and lost babies, she's always been there for everyone else--even going so far as to provide fulltime care and support and nurturing to her four nieces and nephews. Hell, she even came over to visit during my trip to E-town and talked about my nursery plans and my health and the baby--all while she's still waiting for a birth mother match for their adoption. Seriously, she's just amazing. We'd all do well to take a page out of her playbook and learn something of graciousness and goodness.
Friday, March 27, 2009
To Grandmother's House We Go
So Dave, Bosley, and I made the six hour trek to Eldorado to visit family. It was one of those vacations that's sort of more stressful than relaxing because you have such a short amount of time to pack in everything.
We watched Garret's little league game (too funny, folks) and had dinner with Dave's grandfather, brothers and their spouses. Penny wasn't in town but we'll see her and Dave's Aunt Carolyn in a few weeks when they come down for a china painting convention. Bob is persnickety as ever and just as curmudgeonly, lol. Here's a snippet from the what-to-do-for-dinner conversation.
Bob: Well, you women are welcome to head into the kitchen and pull something out of the freezer.
Me, Amy, and Stephanie exchanged amused WTF glances while Dave, Todd, and Lee looked like they were going to choke on their laughter.
Bob: Or we could go out.
Me, Amy, and Stephanie: Go out!
Mom, Tricia, and I drove to San Angelo for dinner and baby shopping. We chose the pattern for the nursery and picked out tons of fabric for the crib, window, accessories, and swaddling blankets. My brothers barbecued and avoided Bosley at all costs. No, seriously. Bosley isn't very fond of the boys so they actually pitched a tent and air matress in Dad's shop and slept out there!
Dad was a smidge grumpy because he had to lay off more people. He's at the end of his rope, and it really worries me. On top of all his diabetes complications, the man just had serious cardiac problems and stents put in place. The day after Dad returned to work after taking off a few weeks to recover from his surgeries, he had to deal with a massive brouhaha over an employee threatening to sue. Every day, it's something else, you know? I really, really worry about him blowing a pupil.
Lately, it seems like everyone I know is dealing with some serious illness or other. Dave's grandfather is undergoing chemo for Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma. Mom just had skin cancer removed from her face and is waiting to hear back from the pathologist as to whether or not she'll need to undergo radiation or worse. As concerned as I am for them, I'm most concerned for my lil bro Marcos.
Marcos has been having problems with high blood pressure, elevated liver enzymes, and a spiking white cell count. The morning Dave and I left for home, he went to the doctor for a follow-up to intense testing. Right before we took off, he called Mom to let her know the doctor's want to take a bone marrow sample because they're concerned he may have cancer. CANCER! He's just a kid. I'm just sick with worry. God forbid it's the worst but even if it is Marcos has three siblings and a niece/nephew on the way who might potentially match should he need some sort of bone marrow or cord blood product. And I'm already in the registry so that helps a little.
Oy veh! When it rains it pours and all that...
Anywho. I hate to end my posts on a downer so I'll leave you with this gem from my parents.
Mom: Maria, if you or Dave need to use the bathroom during the night just use the one attached to our bedroom. And don't worry. We sleep in our jammies.
Dad: Not me. I just sleep in my cowboy boots.
We watched Garret's little league game (too funny, folks) and had dinner with Dave's grandfather, brothers and their spouses. Penny wasn't in town but we'll see her and Dave's Aunt Carolyn in a few weeks when they come down for a china painting convention. Bob is persnickety as ever and just as curmudgeonly, lol. Here's a snippet from the what-to-do-for-dinner conversation.
Bob: Well, you women are welcome to head into the kitchen and pull something out of the freezer.
Me, Amy, and Stephanie exchanged amused WTF glances while Dave, Todd, and Lee looked like they were going to choke on their laughter.
Bob: Or we could go out.
Me, Amy, and Stephanie: Go out!
Mom, Tricia, and I drove to San Angelo for dinner and baby shopping. We chose the pattern for the nursery and picked out tons of fabric for the crib, window, accessories, and swaddling blankets. My brothers barbecued and avoided Bosley at all costs. No, seriously. Bosley isn't very fond of the boys so they actually pitched a tent and air matress in Dad's shop and slept out there!
Dad was a smidge grumpy because he had to lay off more people. He's at the end of his rope, and it really worries me. On top of all his diabetes complications, the man just had serious cardiac problems and stents put in place. The day after Dad returned to work after taking off a few weeks to recover from his surgeries, he had to deal with a massive brouhaha over an employee threatening to sue. Every day, it's something else, you know? I really, really worry about him blowing a pupil.
Lately, it seems like everyone I know is dealing with some serious illness or other. Dave's grandfather is undergoing chemo for Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma. Mom just had skin cancer removed from her face and is waiting to hear back from the pathologist as to whether or not she'll need to undergo radiation or worse. As concerned as I am for them, I'm most concerned for my lil bro Marcos.
Marcos has been having problems with high blood pressure, elevated liver enzymes, and a spiking white cell count. The morning Dave and I left for home, he went to the doctor for a follow-up to intense testing. Right before we took off, he called Mom to let her know the doctor's want to take a bone marrow sample because they're concerned he may have cancer. CANCER! He's just a kid. I'm just sick with worry. God forbid it's the worst but even if it is Marcos has three siblings and a niece/nephew on the way who might potentially match should he need some sort of bone marrow or cord blood product. And I'm already in the registry so that helps a little.
Oy veh! When it rains it pours and all that...
Anywho. I hate to end my posts on a downer so I'll leave you with this gem from my parents.
Mom: Maria, if you or Dave need to use the bathroom during the night just use the one attached to our bedroom. And don't worry. We sleep in our jammies.
Dad: Not me. I just sleep in my cowboy boots.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
15
So I'm 15 weeks and change pregnant now. I've been able to feel Zaphod banging around in there for the last two weeks or so. First, it felt like bubbles popping in my uterus. Now it feels like tiny little pings. (S)he seems to get really active after my workouts or hot monkey sex. Yeah. The last one's a bit odd. Makes me feel sort of pervy--even more than usual!
Still haven't gained a single pound. I'm still 6-8 pounds down from my pre-pregnancy weight. My body shape, however, has changed a lot. My cargo pants and a few pairs of jeans still sorta fit but I'm going to have to resort to my Bella Band pretty soon. Most days I'm in a Nacho Libre mood--stretchy pants but not the Luchador mask. Although...
Oh, and my tatas are off the effing chain. All of my t-shirts look like they've shrunk. At 13 weeks, I had to move from a D to a DD. Two weeks later and I'm already eyeing the E's. At this rate, I'll be in those big mamma-jamma bras they sell at Lane Bryant by the end of the pregnancy. You know the ones. You can stick your whole head inside the cup and still have room for snacks. I don't even want to think about what's going to happen when my milk comes in! I'll need one of those back support belts weight lifters use.
Dave, of course, is like a kid with new toys. The other morning we were hopping into the shower. Dave had been away for a few days so he hadn't been around to behold the glory that is my new boobies. His eyes lit up like Christmas as he exclaimed, "WHOA!"
Much hand smacking ensued.
Other than that life is same old, same old. I'm writing my butt off because I've got deadlines out the wazoo. I'm not planning on doing any work from late-August until late October. I might write for fun but definitely not for profit. I seriously doubt late night feedings and general exhaustion will be conducive to entertaining the muse.
Still haven't gained a single pound. I'm still 6-8 pounds down from my pre-pregnancy weight. My body shape, however, has changed a lot. My cargo pants and a few pairs of jeans still sorta fit but I'm going to have to resort to my Bella Band pretty soon. Most days I'm in a Nacho Libre mood--stretchy pants but not the Luchador mask. Although...
Oh, and my tatas are off the effing chain. All of my t-shirts look like they've shrunk. At 13 weeks, I had to move from a D to a DD. Two weeks later and I'm already eyeing the E's. At this rate, I'll be in those big mamma-jamma bras they sell at Lane Bryant by the end of the pregnancy. You know the ones. You can stick your whole head inside the cup and still have room for snacks. I don't even want to think about what's going to happen when my milk comes in! I'll need one of those back support belts weight lifters use.
Dave, of course, is like a kid with new toys. The other morning we were hopping into the shower. Dave had been away for a few days so he hadn't been around to behold the glory that is my new boobies. His eyes lit up like Christmas as he exclaimed, "WHOA!"
Much hand smacking ensued.
Other than that life is same old, same old. I'm writing my butt off because I've got deadlines out the wazoo. I'm not planning on doing any work from late-August until late October. I might write for fun but definitely not for profit. I seriously doubt late night feedings and general exhaustion will be conducive to entertaining the muse.
Monday, March 16, 2009
Bust
Booms and busts--I've been thinking about them quite a bit. Anyone who grew up with a parent in the oil field knows the realities of booms and busts all too well. I think it's part of what shaped my attitudes toward money and saving and my desperate need for security.
Daddy's worked in the oil field for, oh, thirty years or so. In west Texas, there really isn't any other option for earning a decent wage. He went to college and then came back and went to work for Western (now BJ) as a mechanic. With a lot of hard work and tenacity, he climbed the ranks from mechanic to lead mechanic to the head of the entire mechanic and fleet department. Each of those promotions brought newer and greater responsibilities, but Daddy's always risen to the occasion.
For the last decade or so, his shop has been the highest ranked in the entire company for cleanliness, safety, and productivity. The entire global company, folks. He's a hard ass but he keeps people safe and working. That's all that matters, really.
A few weeks ago, Daddy was informed he'd have to let half of his mechanic team go. That's 8 mechanics plus office staff. He was devastated. I can't even describe how heartbreaking it was for me to listen to Mom recount the day of the layoffs. Instead of sending the guys over to the main office by themselves, Daddy walked with them and told them the truth even though the district bigwigs wanted him to do otherwise. (Basically, they wanted Dad to just throw them under the bus.) One of the guys became violently ill. Another begged for reconsideration because he had kids and a house and a wife. It was gut wrenching.
You have to understand that in that area of Texas almost all families have one sole source of support: the husband. Wives stay at home and care for children and homes. To lose their entire source of income is devastating to them. And it's more than that. It's health insurance too. Who the hell can afford $1500 a month or more in COBRA?
At any rate, Daddy stayed with them and helped them adjust to their new realities. I'm sure he gave them lots of fatherly advice since he's a man who's survived two huge oilfield busts--once with a new baby one the way. God, I remember that year like it was yesterday. It was 1988-89, I was five-ish and Mom was expecting Marcos. Dad went to work one day, and the entire place had been boarded up. He ended up finding work in San Angleo at Gandy's as a mechanic.
Even though money was super tight, I remember that year as the one I ate so much ice cream I never wanted to see it again. See, Gandy's is a dairy company. Anytime they'd have a refrigerated truck break down, Daddy (and the other mechanics) would load up ice chests with cottage cheese and milk and ice cream. Seriously, almost all of my memories from that year are of me and Joey chowing down on dairy goodness.
Another thing I remember from that year is Daddy driving it into my head that you don't buy things you can't afford during the booms. This was a message he'd repeat over and over and over. When Joey went to work on the rigs, Dad shook his head at all the young kids running out and buying new trucks and houses and other shit they couldn't afford on loans and credit cards. Joey smartly listened and didn't get himself in hock with any of the banks. He also left the oil field which was an even smarter move. Now most of Joey's friends are laid off and facing forceclosures and repossessions and worse.
Of course, Joey's found the upside to the recession. The other night he joked about the fact that he's having no problem finding girls now. He's got a job, after all. I pointed out that maybe those aren't the sorts of lady friends he wants. He seemed scandalized at the idea he'd want something different. Boys. What can you do?
Anyways. I don't know if there's a point to this post. I just felt like blogging about booms and busts and other economic woes. Texas seems to have been largely spared from the economic crisis so far but I don't think we'll be lucky much longer. Oil and gas companies are cutting back on expenses across the board which means less demand for all those welders and those bulk chemical orders and parts and so on and so forth. Think about all the people involved in the energy sector here who have been put on 40 hour work weeks. Yeah. You can't go out and buy anything if you're barely scraping by. Businesses depend on us to spend money so they can employ people. It's just a vicious cycle I don't see ending any time soon.
Sad. Just really sad.
Daddy's worked in the oil field for, oh, thirty years or so. In west Texas, there really isn't any other option for earning a decent wage. He went to college and then came back and went to work for Western (now BJ) as a mechanic. With a lot of hard work and tenacity, he climbed the ranks from mechanic to lead mechanic to the head of the entire mechanic and fleet department. Each of those promotions brought newer and greater responsibilities, but Daddy's always risen to the occasion.
For the last decade or so, his shop has been the highest ranked in the entire company for cleanliness, safety, and productivity. The entire global company, folks. He's a hard ass but he keeps people safe and working. That's all that matters, really.
A few weeks ago, Daddy was informed he'd have to let half of his mechanic team go. That's 8 mechanics plus office staff. He was devastated. I can't even describe how heartbreaking it was for me to listen to Mom recount the day of the layoffs. Instead of sending the guys over to the main office by themselves, Daddy walked with them and told them the truth even though the district bigwigs wanted him to do otherwise. (Basically, they wanted Dad to just throw them under the bus.) One of the guys became violently ill. Another begged for reconsideration because he had kids and a house and a wife. It was gut wrenching.
You have to understand that in that area of Texas almost all families have one sole source of support: the husband. Wives stay at home and care for children and homes. To lose their entire source of income is devastating to them. And it's more than that. It's health insurance too. Who the hell can afford $1500 a month or more in COBRA?
At any rate, Daddy stayed with them and helped them adjust to their new realities. I'm sure he gave them lots of fatherly advice since he's a man who's survived two huge oilfield busts--once with a new baby one the way. God, I remember that year like it was yesterday. It was 1988-89, I was five-ish and Mom was expecting Marcos. Dad went to work one day, and the entire place had been boarded up. He ended up finding work in San Angleo at Gandy's as a mechanic.
Even though money was super tight, I remember that year as the one I ate so much ice cream I never wanted to see it again. See, Gandy's is a dairy company. Anytime they'd have a refrigerated truck break down, Daddy (and the other mechanics) would load up ice chests with cottage cheese and milk and ice cream. Seriously, almost all of my memories from that year are of me and Joey chowing down on dairy goodness.
Another thing I remember from that year is Daddy driving it into my head that you don't buy things you can't afford during the booms. This was a message he'd repeat over and over and over. When Joey went to work on the rigs, Dad shook his head at all the young kids running out and buying new trucks and houses and other shit they couldn't afford on loans and credit cards. Joey smartly listened and didn't get himself in hock with any of the banks. He also left the oil field which was an even smarter move. Now most of Joey's friends are laid off and facing forceclosures and repossessions and worse.
Of course, Joey's found the upside to the recession. The other night he joked about the fact that he's having no problem finding girls now. He's got a job, after all. I pointed out that maybe those aren't the sorts of lady friends he wants. He seemed scandalized at the idea he'd want something different. Boys. What can you do?
Anyways. I don't know if there's a point to this post. I just felt like blogging about booms and busts and other economic woes. Texas seems to have been largely spared from the economic crisis so far but I don't think we'll be lucky much longer. Oil and gas companies are cutting back on expenses across the board which means less demand for all those welders and those bulk chemical orders and parts and so on and so forth. Think about all the people involved in the energy sector here who have been put on 40 hour work weeks. Yeah. You can't go out and buy anything if you're barely scraping by. Businesses depend on us to spend money so they can employ people. It's just a vicious cycle I don't see ending any time soon.
Sad. Just really sad.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
DA BWAHA
For those of us who know sweet fuck all about basketball but love us some romance novels (and prizes!) behold the awesomeness of DA BWAHA. The Smart Bitches and Dear Author are hosting their second annual Dear Author Bitchery Writing Award for Hellagood Authors. It's the Big Dance for a field a 64 reader nominated novels in a variety of genres.
Just like that other March Madness and its basketball-aholics, DA BWAHA allows romance writers and readers to fill out and submit brackets based on their personal hunches and (dare I say) research and statistics. You can bet your sweet buns I'm all over Amazon and B&N and review sites for comparisons within the various genres. There's a Sony Reader 505 at stake here, folks! Ruthless. I shall be ruthless!
Oh, and the Smart Bitches and Dear Author Ja(y)nes have put together some amazing discounts with Harlequin for all of their nominated books. Fictionwise has put all the e-book versions of DA BWAHA nominees on easy to navigate page.
Will the book of the year belong to the perennial favoriteNora Roberts? (La Nora! I prostrate myself before your greatness!) Or will it be a Cinderella story for a YA author like Suzanne Collins? The suspense it slays!
So get your brackets inand browse the nominees for some hellagood reads!
Just like that other March Madness and its basketball-aholics, DA BWAHA allows romance writers and readers to fill out and submit brackets based on their personal hunches and (dare I say) research and statistics. You can bet your sweet buns I'm all over Amazon and B&N and review sites for comparisons within the various genres. There's a Sony Reader 505 at stake here, folks! Ruthless. I shall be ruthless!
Oh, and the Smart Bitches and Dear Author Ja(y)nes have put together some amazing discounts with Harlequin for all of their nominated books. Fictionwise has put all the e-book versions of DA BWAHA nominees on easy to navigate page.
Will the book of the year belong to the perennial favoriteNora Roberts? (La Nora! I prostrate myself before your greatness!) Or will it be a Cinderella story for a YA author like Suzanne Collins? The suspense it slays!
So get your brackets inand browse the nominees for some hellagood reads!
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Roundup
1) My new cardiologist rocks! My old cardiologist was a supremo jackass. Seriously, when I told Dr. L (new guy) my old guy at The Med was a jackass, he said, "Yeah. I know that guy." He even smirked a little.
Anywho. Heart is good. Mitral valve is more wobbly than prolapsed. Murmur is the same. If my PVC episodes increase, I go back for one of those 24 hour or 2 week monitors. If not, I'm good.
2) OB appointment went well. Dr. A couldn't find Zaphod's heartbeat with the doppler but you could hear my heartbeat through the placenta. I thought Dave was going to blow a pupil there for a sec. I probably should have warned him beforehand that it's totally normal not to be able to hear the baby's heartbeat with the doppler in early pregnancy.
Dr. A wheeled in a portable ultrasound just to be sure though. Zaphod is perfectly fine. Still incredibly active too. The only small problem is that my placenta is really low and right over the baby. Dr. A thinks the placenta issue will resolve itself so I'm not worried.
3) Mr. Rogers would not approve of our neighbors. He'd tie them to Trolley and evict their asses straight outta Make-Believe. First of all, our next door neighbor decided to build a pergola. Okay. Fine. Whatever. Build your pergola...just not at 6:45 in the friggin' morning! He seems to work a weird graveyard shift so when he gets home, he saunters right out into his back yard and starts sawing and hammering. It's open window weather so the noise is particularly deafening. It took every ounce of my willpower not to pull out the chicken bones and wax on this one.
Secondly, some random lady from down the street showed up on our doorstep at a few minutes past 7 a.m. frantically ringing our doorbell. This was a morning when Bob the Builder was fast asleep too. Bosley ran downstairs to sound the intruder alert. Dave pulled on a robe and hustled down after the dog.
Why was this woman ringing our doorbell so early you ask? Her backyard was flooding. Yes. Her backyard--four or five houses down--was flooding. What does that have to do with us? I still don't know. Oh, and thirty minutes after she left, guess who decided to pick up the saw? Yeah. So much for us getting any sleep. (This was the morning after Dave had worked one of those whacky noon to midnight shifts so by the time he got home it was after two in the morning. He needed his sleep.)
4) I've lost two more pounds. I'm sort of wigged out about it since it seems weird to lose weight while pregnant. I got this amazing new pregnancy fitness DVD with 60 minute workouts mixing pilates, cardio, toning, and yoga with a partner component too. I have a feeling I'll lose more weight once I start doing the workout 3 or 4 times a week. Dr. A doesn't seem at all concerned. As long as I'm not losing weight because of vomiting and malnutrition, I'm good.
5) Baby registries. Dave and I had time to kill between my OB appointment and my echocardiogram and cardiologist appointment so we waltzed into Target and did a little registering. We were looking at a baby swing and, well, here's what tranpsired to cause Grandma in the diaper aisle to give us the stink eye.
Me: Hmmm. Says it has six speeds.
Dave: Is one of them ludicrous?
Me, after much guffawing: Sweet zombie Moses!
Dave: I try...
Anywho. Heart is good. Mitral valve is more wobbly than prolapsed. Murmur is the same. If my PVC episodes increase, I go back for one of those 24 hour or 2 week monitors. If not, I'm good.
2) OB appointment went well. Dr. A couldn't find Zaphod's heartbeat with the doppler but you could hear my heartbeat through the placenta. I thought Dave was going to blow a pupil there for a sec. I probably should have warned him beforehand that it's totally normal not to be able to hear the baby's heartbeat with the doppler in early pregnancy.
Dr. A wheeled in a portable ultrasound just to be sure though. Zaphod is perfectly fine. Still incredibly active too. The only small problem is that my placenta is really low and right over the baby. Dr. A thinks the placenta issue will resolve itself so I'm not worried.
3) Mr. Rogers would not approve of our neighbors. He'd tie them to Trolley and evict their asses straight outta Make-Believe. First of all, our next door neighbor decided to build a pergola. Okay. Fine. Whatever. Build your pergola...just not at 6:45 in the friggin' morning! He seems to work a weird graveyard shift so when he gets home, he saunters right out into his back yard and starts sawing and hammering. It's open window weather so the noise is particularly deafening. It took every ounce of my willpower not to pull out the chicken bones and wax on this one.
Secondly, some random lady from down the street showed up on our doorstep at a few minutes past 7 a.m. frantically ringing our doorbell. This was a morning when Bob the Builder was fast asleep too. Bosley ran downstairs to sound the intruder alert. Dave pulled on a robe and hustled down after the dog.
Why was this woman ringing our doorbell so early you ask? Her backyard was flooding. Yes. Her backyard--four or five houses down--was flooding. What does that have to do with us? I still don't know. Oh, and thirty minutes after she left, guess who decided to pick up the saw? Yeah. So much for us getting any sleep. (This was the morning after Dave had worked one of those whacky noon to midnight shifts so by the time he got home it was after two in the morning. He needed his sleep.)
4) I've lost two more pounds. I'm sort of wigged out about it since it seems weird to lose weight while pregnant. I got this amazing new pregnancy fitness DVD with 60 minute workouts mixing pilates, cardio, toning, and yoga with a partner component too. I have a feeling I'll lose more weight once I start doing the workout 3 or 4 times a week. Dr. A doesn't seem at all concerned. As long as I'm not losing weight because of vomiting and malnutrition, I'm good.
5) Baby registries. Dave and I had time to kill between my OB appointment and my echocardiogram and cardiologist appointment so we waltzed into Target and did a little registering. We were looking at a baby swing and, well, here's what tranpsired to cause Grandma in the diaper aisle to give us the stink eye.
Me: Hmmm. Says it has six speeds.
Dave: Is one of them ludicrous?
Me, after much guffawing: Sweet zombie Moses!
Dave: I try...
Friday, March 06, 2009
Madness
Today, two young people I attended high school with were murdered in a subdivision maybe five minutes away from our house. Travis and Rachel Joiner were a few years younger than me, but in a high school of less than 200, you know everyone, especially when they're active in UIL, athletics, and band. I'm just stunned. Shocked. Disgusted.
It's so bizarre, but we have such a high rate of fatalities among the people I attended high school with. Mitzi, Thomas, Landon, Rachel, Travis... That's not counting people who have died who were in middle school when I was in high school. It's disconcerting to say the least.
These deaths feel different to me than the others. Now that I'm going to be a mother it's just, well, different. I can't imagine what it was like for the Joiners to get that phone call, to be told their children had been gunned down in their own home by some disgruntled asshole, had died so violently. What must that five and half hour drive have been like? With each passing mile knowing you're this much closer to the faces of your dead children? I just...I can't.
I know many of you reading this post won't give it a second thought since they weren't people you personally knew--and that's okay. It's normal even. Still, I want people to know society as a whole is poorer for the losses of these two young people. I can honestly say they were among some of the kindest, gentlest, most intelligent, and generous souls I've ever known. They will be greatly missed.
It's so bizarre, but we have such a high rate of fatalities among the people I attended high school with. Mitzi, Thomas, Landon, Rachel, Travis... That's not counting people who have died who were in middle school when I was in high school. It's disconcerting to say the least.
These deaths feel different to me than the others. Now that I'm going to be a mother it's just, well, different. I can't imagine what it was like for the Joiners to get that phone call, to be told their children had been gunned down in their own home by some disgruntled asshole, had died so violently. What must that five and half hour drive have been like? With each passing mile knowing you're this much closer to the faces of your dead children? I just...I can't.
I know many of you reading this post won't give it a second thought since they weren't people you personally knew--and that's okay. It's normal even. Still, I want people to know society as a whole is poorer for the losses of these two young people. I can honestly say they were among some of the kindest, gentlest, most intelligent, and generous souls I've ever known. They will be greatly missed.
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Cheapos
So most people know Dave and I are cheapo tightwads. Seriously. We're bad. Okay, we're not eyebrow raising bad. I mean, we don't reuse our paper towels or plastic baggies--yet. Dave did jokingly say he'd recycle toilet paper if he could. Then again, he might not have been jokin, considering what he did the other day...
We were loading up some bags from Wal-Mart when Dave spotted something in the distance. His eyes lit up like Christmas.
Dave: Hey, someone dropped a case of bottled water!
Me: And?
Dave: I'm going to get it!
And he freakin' did! LOL. I nearly died from laughter. He tossed the free water into the truck, and we took off. I was, like, ohmigod, you're such a cheapskate. We laughingly joked about making a weekly Wal Mart parking lot roundup drive. Who knows? We might be able to cut even more off our grocery bill!
Since I've become a coupon fanatic, I'm regularly saving $50-100 dollars per grocery trip with double/tripled coupons coupled with store coupons or sales. We hit up the farmer's market for unbelievably delicious and high quality produce at jaw dropping low prices.
We keep our thermostats high in the summer and low in the winter and use windows whenever possible. We have those curlicue light bulbs and unplug everything when it's not in use. It saves so much money. Our electricity bill last month was $32 bucks. I know! Our gas bill was only like $90, but I'm desperate to find ways to get it lower too. The water bill seems to be as low as it's going to go and it really irks me, lol.
We joined Freecycle and keep an eye out for useful postings. We're about to unload a garage full of crap we no longer needed. We'll be sorting out our Goodwill and Freecycle piles soon so if anyone out there needs some starter furniture or kitchen supplies let me know.
By the time Zaphod makes his/her appearance, we'll be almost completely out of debt. We were shocked when we realized how close we are to zero debt. Even though we really need a new vehicle, we're waiting until we have enough in savings to pay for most or all of the purchase. With the new baby coming, we'll have to put off the purchase for another six months or so than expected but whatever. That's life, you know?
We were loading up some bags from Wal-Mart when Dave spotted something in the distance. His eyes lit up like Christmas.
Dave: Hey, someone dropped a case of bottled water!
Me: And?
Dave: I'm going to get it!
And he freakin' did! LOL. I nearly died from laughter. He tossed the free water into the truck, and we took off. I was, like, ohmigod, you're such a cheapskate. We laughingly joked about making a weekly Wal Mart parking lot roundup drive. Who knows? We might be able to cut even more off our grocery bill!
Since I've become a coupon fanatic, I'm regularly saving $50-100 dollars per grocery trip with double/tripled coupons coupled with store coupons or sales. We hit up the farmer's market for unbelievably delicious and high quality produce at jaw dropping low prices.
We keep our thermostats high in the summer and low in the winter and use windows whenever possible. We have those curlicue light bulbs and unplug everything when it's not in use. It saves so much money. Our electricity bill last month was $32 bucks. I know! Our gas bill was only like $90, but I'm desperate to find ways to get it lower too. The water bill seems to be as low as it's going to go and it really irks me, lol.
We joined Freecycle and keep an eye out for useful postings. We're about to unload a garage full of crap we no longer needed. We'll be sorting out our Goodwill and Freecycle piles soon so if anyone out there needs some starter furniture or kitchen supplies let me know.
By the time Zaphod makes his/her appearance, we'll be almost completely out of debt. We were shocked when we realized how close we are to zero debt. Even though we really need a new vehicle, we're waiting until we have enough in savings to pay for most or all of the purchase. With the new baby coming, we'll have to put off the purchase for another six months or so than expected but whatever. That's life, you know?
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Weighty Subject
So now that my eggo is preggo I've sort of put the weight loss on hold. Between April and November of last year, I dropped 46 pounds. I gained five or six pounds in December mainly because I stopped running 4 times a week and started munching on all the holiday yummies. Luckily, I've dropped six pounds in my first trimester so I'm right back where I started as far as total weight loss goes.
Because I'm still chubtastic, I'm trying to keep the weight gain during this pregnancy to an absolute minimum, maybe 15 pounds or so. I'm going to start running regularly tomorrow and try to get in some long, brisk walks on the days I'm not running. The plan is to stay at my current weight until 26-28 weeks before I start to gain. Obviously, I'm not being fanatical or anything. I'm just being really diligent with the foods I choose. I'm low-carbing for the most part and trying to double my veggie and dairy intake. I've never had a problem with getting in enough fruit or protein but I'm trying to choose better fruits, those low in simple sugars and high in fiber.
It won't be easy to stay on track, but I just can't be one of those pregnant women who gains thirty or forty plus pounds. That's fine if you're normal weight when you get pregnant, but if you're overweight it's a nightmare situation. I've got to worry about my heart murmur and mitral valve prolapse and my family history of Type II Diabetes. The last thing I need is gestational diabetes and high blood pressure, you know? Eff that.
So if that means I have to say no to most of my ice cream and carrot cake cravings, then so be it. I figure this is just the first of many sacrifices I'll have to make as a mom. Might as well get started early, eh?
Because I'm still chubtastic, I'm trying to keep the weight gain during this pregnancy to an absolute minimum, maybe 15 pounds or so. I'm going to start running regularly tomorrow and try to get in some long, brisk walks on the days I'm not running. The plan is to stay at my current weight until 26-28 weeks before I start to gain. Obviously, I'm not being fanatical or anything. I'm just being really diligent with the foods I choose. I'm low-carbing for the most part and trying to double my veggie and dairy intake. I've never had a problem with getting in enough fruit or protein but I'm trying to choose better fruits, those low in simple sugars and high in fiber.
It won't be easy to stay on track, but I just can't be one of those pregnant women who gains thirty or forty plus pounds. That's fine if you're normal weight when you get pregnant, but if you're overweight it's a nightmare situation. I've got to worry about my heart murmur and mitral valve prolapse and my family history of Type II Diabetes. The last thing I need is gestational diabetes and high blood pressure, you know? Eff that.
So if that means I have to say no to most of my ice cream and carrot cake cravings, then so be it. I figure this is just the first of many sacrifices I'll have to make as a mom. Might as well get started early, eh?
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Jazz Hands
So we had the ultrasound yesterday and, uh, yeah I'm farther along than we thought. I'm 11 weeks and 2 days today. I was expecting one of those bizarre looking tadpole fetuses with the beluga whale head on the ultrasound screen but, no, it was a perfectly formed baby with a super strong heartbeat. The midwife doing our ultrasound exclaimed, "Holy buckets! That's not 9 weeks!" The new due date is September 7.
Also, I was shocked to see Zaphod moving around in there. (S)he kept doing jazz hands and little foot kicks. Dave is convinced it's show tunes central in my uterus right now. It wouldn't surprise me. I was a super bizarre kiddo so I would expect nothing less than Chicago or Cabaret renditions at 11 weeks. I'm expecting Sweeney Todd around the third trimester.
It's hard to explain but it feels so real now. Before it was sort of, I don't know, theoretical or something. And now that I've seen Zaphod's little baby face and heartbeat and watched him/her move it's just different. It's sort of surreal for me. I'd resigned myself to never being a biological mom and now I'm getting that chance. It's simply breathtaking.
I'll post some ultrasound pics once we get them scanned. Now, though, I've got to get back to work. I owe a certain police officer an edited grant application and proposal package. No naughty writing 'til I get that finished. Meh.
Also, I was shocked to see Zaphod moving around in there. (S)he kept doing jazz hands and little foot kicks. Dave is convinced it's show tunes central in my uterus right now. It wouldn't surprise me. I was a super bizarre kiddo so I would expect nothing less than Chicago or Cabaret renditions at 11 weeks. I'm expecting Sweeney Todd around the third trimester.
It's hard to explain but it feels so real now. Before it was sort of, I don't know, theoretical or something. And now that I've seen Zaphod's little baby face and heartbeat and watched him/her move it's just different. It's sort of surreal for me. I'd resigned myself to never being a biological mom and now I'm getting that chance. It's simply breathtaking.
I'll post some ultrasound pics once we get them scanned. Now, though, I've got to get back to work. I owe a certain police officer an edited grant application and proposal package. No naughty writing 'til I get that finished. Meh.
Monday, February 16, 2009
Experimental: An Anthology of Sex & Science
So my short story, Invisible Touch, was chosen for a sex and science themed anthology edited by Jamaica Layne for Ravenous Romance. Experimental released today at Ravenous Romance as an e-book anthology. 15 naughty tales for $4.99. Quite a bargain...
Blurb:
These fifteen stories will forever change your opinion of science. Science isn't just for boring nerds in a lab----it's for red-hot sexpots, too! This anthology includes stories from today's hottest erotic fiction authors, including Anna Black, Janine Ashbless, Lolita Lopez, C. Margery Kempe, L.A. Mistral, as well as many new voices. From virtual reality sex to robot sex to sex in the laboratory, this collection is sure to scorch better than any Bunsen burner ever could.
To read an excerpt or purchase...
Sunday, February 15, 2009
How Does My Garden Grow
First off, huge-o thanks to everyone for all the well-wishes and congrats. We have our first u/s on Tuesday so we'll have a better idea of due date and all that other fun stuff then. I'll be sure to keep everyone updated.
So as the reality of the pregnancy sets in, Dave and I are making changes to our plans for the remainder of the year. No new living and dining room furniture but we'll definitely do the painting and buy the freezer. I won't go back to school in the fall to finish my bachelor's because I'll likely deliver in mid-September. I'll have to bump those plans back to spring of 2010 but might look into some online courses through our local community college just to get back into the swing of things. There are other small changes such as vacation and travel and writer's conferences I won't be able to attend. I'm trying to write my ass off to get as many projects completed and out on submission as possible because--let's face it--there won't be any writing time once Zaphod debuts. But, seriously, it's worth it. I'm willing to make sacrifices.
That brings me to my gardening plans. I've got the spot picked out, and Dave's ready to build my boxes but I'm sort of waffling now. Will I have enough time and energy to devote to a fledgling garden? What about the maintenance and harvesting? Will I be able to crawl around and reach across the beds? What about the summer heat? Will I have time to learn how to can?* What about fertilizer exposure?
I really want the garden and I've been so excited to start gardening--but I'm still little hesitant to move forward. On the other hand, gardening and tending plants has always been a huge stress reliever for me. I love planting seeds and watching them sprout. Plus, eating homegrown produce is lovely.
I guess I have a few weeks to make up my mind. Well, not really. My planting calendar shows tasks for late February. Aw, hell, I think I'll just do it. I might just scale back a bit. That seems like a good compromise, right?
*Do any of my faithful readers know how to can? I haven't the slightest idea where to begin...
So as the reality of the pregnancy sets in, Dave and I are making changes to our plans for the remainder of the year. No new living and dining room furniture but we'll definitely do the painting and buy the freezer. I won't go back to school in the fall to finish my bachelor's because I'll likely deliver in mid-September. I'll have to bump those plans back to spring of 2010 but might look into some online courses through our local community college just to get back into the swing of things. There are other small changes such as vacation and travel and writer's conferences I won't be able to attend. I'm trying to write my ass off to get as many projects completed and out on submission as possible because--let's face it--there won't be any writing time once Zaphod debuts. But, seriously, it's worth it. I'm willing to make sacrifices.
That brings me to my gardening plans. I've got the spot picked out, and Dave's ready to build my boxes but I'm sort of waffling now. Will I have enough time and energy to devote to a fledgling garden? What about the maintenance and harvesting? Will I be able to crawl around and reach across the beds? What about the summer heat? Will I have time to learn how to can?* What about fertilizer exposure?
I really want the garden and I've been so excited to start gardening--but I'm still little hesitant to move forward. On the other hand, gardening and tending plants has always been a huge stress reliever for me. I love planting seeds and watching them sprout. Plus, eating homegrown produce is lovely.
I guess I have a few weeks to make up my mind. Well, not really. My planting calendar shows tasks for late February. Aw, hell, I think I'll just do it. I might just scale back a bit. That seems like a good compromise, right?
*Do any of my faithful readers know how to can? I haven't the slightest idea where to begin...
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Knocked Up
In the words of the ever-so-sarcastic and oh-so-witty Juno, I am for shizz up the spout. I know. Shocking. Seriously. On Saturday and Sunday, we filled out adoption paperwork, and on Monday morning, we found out I'm pregnant. I had an upcoming doctor's visit, and I hate when they ask you if you're pregnant when you're like, um, if I could get pregnant I wouldn't being subjecting myself to this fresh hell.
Anywho. So Dave was in the shower getting ready to work, and I had to pee so I thought I'd douse another stick just for giggles. Within seconds, a bright blue positive popped up in the window. In the last few months, I've peed on probably $500 worth of these damn sticks and had never seen that symbol. What did it mean? I kept comparing the stick to the box and the insert.
Me: I'm pregnant!
Dave (ripped back the curtain, spraying water and slinging shaving cream everywhere): What?!
Me sobbing: I'm fucking pregnant!
Dave: Lemme see. (compares box and stick) Holy. Shit.
Much disbelief and crying ensued. And, yeah, that was totally not how I envisioned the whole "We're Having a Baby!" going. I'll have to cute it up a bit for the scrapbook...
So I spent the rest of that morning looking at the calendar and conferencing with Holly, my doc's nurse. My cycles are seriously whacked without meds so there's some question as to how far along I am but our best guess based on symptoms is 9 weeks. I know! I feel so lame. I've been preggo since, like, New Year's and didn't know.
We actually had an appointment scheduled next week to discuss the next fertility medications we'd like to try. Now, I'm heading in on Tuesday morning for an ultrasound to see if my spotting dates (likely implantation) jibes with the baby's growth. If I am 9 weeks, I have had a seriously easy first trimester. I experienced bouts of nausea through most of January but chalked it up to stress, crazy hormones, and a possible tummy bug or the flu. My boobs are super sore but that's not unusal when you've got a body like mine reacting to the lack of meds. I've been exhausted too.
Most women with PCOS require progestrone supplementation to support a pregnancy, but apparently that wasn't the case with me. Hell, I've done just about everything wrong over the last few weeks. I fell down the stairs, moved furniture, cleaned carpets, inhaled a lungful of oven cleaner, skipped a few days of vitamins, had wild monkey sex, wrestled with the dog, ate tuna three times in one week, drank my weight in caffeine, and stood directly in front of our old ass microwave. Seriously, the only thing I haven't done is snort an eight ball or pickle myself in bum wine. Can you say miracle baby? (Really. I mean, the odds of someone with my crapped out ovaries having a 100% au naturel baby are one in prolly millions.)
So that's where we are right now. We're still planning to adopt but we'll likely put it off until Zaphod Beeblebrox* (that's what we're calling the fetus for now) is two or so. We'll definitely be doing a foster-to-adopt or straight adoption from DFPS since we're open to a toddler now. There are tons of cute munchkins who need good homes. I wanted to do this baby thing at least once which is why we were willing to throw down 30K for an infant adoption but circumstances have changed for the better.
I'll likely update on Zaphod every now and then on the blog but I'll try to refrain from making this one of those sappy ass baby journals, lol.
*It was Zaphod or Humma Kavula. Dave voted for Humma, I vetoed and won. I still reserve the right to refer to said fetus as Humma Kavula if it, say, kicks me in the spleen.
Anywho. So Dave was in the shower getting ready to work, and I had to pee so I thought I'd douse another stick just for giggles. Within seconds, a bright blue positive popped up in the window. In the last few months, I've peed on probably $500 worth of these damn sticks and had never seen that symbol. What did it mean? I kept comparing the stick to the box and the insert.
Me: I'm pregnant!
Dave (ripped back the curtain, spraying water and slinging shaving cream everywhere): What?!
Me sobbing: I'm fucking pregnant!
Dave: Lemme see. (compares box and stick) Holy. Shit.
Much disbelief and crying ensued. And, yeah, that was totally not how I envisioned the whole "We're Having a Baby!" going. I'll have to cute it up a bit for the scrapbook...
So I spent the rest of that morning looking at the calendar and conferencing with Holly, my doc's nurse. My cycles are seriously whacked without meds so there's some question as to how far along I am but our best guess based on symptoms is 9 weeks. I know! I feel so lame. I've been preggo since, like, New Year's and didn't know.
We actually had an appointment scheduled next week to discuss the next fertility medications we'd like to try. Now, I'm heading in on Tuesday morning for an ultrasound to see if my spotting dates (likely implantation) jibes with the baby's growth. If I am 9 weeks, I have had a seriously easy first trimester. I experienced bouts of nausea through most of January but chalked it up to stress, crazy hormones, and a possible tummy bug or the flu. My boobs are super sore but that's not unusal when you've got a body like mine reacting to the lack of meds. I've been exhausted too.
Most women with PCOS require progestrone supplementation to support a pregnancy, but apparently that wasn't the case with me. Hell, I've done just about everything wrong over the last few weeks. I fell down the stairs, moved furniture, cleaned carpets, inhaled a lungful of oven cleaner, skipped a few days of vitamins, had wild monkey sex, wrestled with the dog, ate tuna three times in one week, drank my weight in caffeine, and stood directly in front of our old ass microwave. Seriously, the only thing I haven't done is snort an eight ball or pickle myself in bum wine. Can you say miracle baby? (Really. I mean, the odds of someone with my crapped out ovaries having a 100% au naturel baby are one in prolly millions.)
So that's where we are right now. We're still planning to adopt but we'll likely put it off until Zaphod Beeblebrox* (that's what we're calling the fetus for now) is two or so. We'll definitely be doing a foster-to-adopt or straight adoption from DFPS since we're open to a toddler now. There are tons of cute munchkins who need good homes. I wanted to do this baby thing at least once which is why we were willing to throw down 30K for an infant adoption but circumstances have changed for the better.
I'll likely update on Zaphod every now and then on the blog but I'll try to refrain from making this one of those sappy ass baby journals, lol.
*It was Zaphod or Humma Kavula. Dave voted for Humma, I vetoed and won. I still reserve the right to refer to said fetus as Humma Kavula if it, say, kicks me in the spleen.
Thursday, February 05, 2009
99 Luftballons
So I've been on an 80's music kick lately. My shuffled iTunes kicked up 99 Luftballons earlier today, and I started singing along. Yeah. Apparently Bosley is deeply offended by German. He particularly doesn't enjoy the words "angemacht" or "Streichholz" or "Benzinkanister" or "soweit." So, of course, I've been speaking German to him all day, making sure to harshly annunciate. What can I say? I'm easily amused.
Bosley's weird like that. Harshly pronounced words piss him off to no end. One time, Dave and I were discussing crazy white power folks and one of us said KKK. Bosley lost his friggin' mind. He jumped up off the couch, barked, growled, snarled and tried to knock over furniture as he ran to the window. The really odd thing is he'll bark at our neighbor's house when we say KKK. Our neighbor with a distinctly, uh, white power look. Maybe he knows something we don't?
Anywho. I'm off to amuse myself further by serenading Bosley with the score of The Jungle Book--in German! Probiers mal mit Gemutlichkeit....
Bosley's weird like that. Harshly pronounced words piss him off to no end. One time, Dave and I were discussing crazy white power folks and one of us said KKK. Bosley lost his friggin' mind. He jumped up off the couch, barked, growled, snarled and tried to knock over furniture as he ran to the window. The really odd thing is he'll bark at our neighbor's house when we say KKK. Our neighbor with a distinctly, uh, white power look. Maybe he knows something we don't?
Anywho. I'm off to amuse myself further by serenading Bosley with the score of The Jungle Book--in German! Probiers mal mit Gemutlichkeit....
Monday, February 02, 2009
Teleflora: Epic Effing Fail
FUCK YOU! You sorry ass bunch of misogynist assholes....
And, for the record, this commercial is offensive on so many fucking levels. Not only do they insult romance readers and cat owners but "ugly" women too. What. The. Fuck. This was not funny or witty. It was flat out obnoxious and insulting. And stupid. Do men in advertising not realize how huge a market force romance readers are? Harlequin sold over 130 MILLION novels last year, folks. Romance is the largest and most profitable genre in publishing. So eat that, you lousy advertising jerkoffs.
Luckily, my man doesn't rely on a service to arrange and deliver my flowers. Once or twice a month, he visits the flower market, chooses the prettiest flowers and arranges them while I sleep. Coming downstairs to find a vase of gorgeous flowers on my desk is one of my favorite things in the whole world. (Yeah. That's right. Dave's a romantic sap. So what? He knows the combination to my lock.)
So lovers of the world take note: Buy and arrange yourself. Or go with ProFlowers. I hear they give out free vases.
And, Teleflora, go fuck yourselves.
Saturday, January 31, 2009
There Was a Californian Who Lived in a Shoe
So when I saw the story a few days ago about the woman giving birth to octuplets I was shocked and horrified. What kind of a doctor transfers that many embryos into a woman? Didn't someone explain to her the risk of packing that many fetuses into one uterus? How the hell is she going to support 8 babies? Children of such low birth weight face so many development challenges. Can you imagine the continuing cost of early childhood intervention therapy, etc?
As more details trickle out, the more angry and disgusted I've grown. She already had 6 kids--all from IVF and FET cycles--and lives with her parents. What. The. Fuck. This woman, Nadya Suleman, reminds me of those crazy ass people who hoard pets. She put her bizarre and selfish desire for more children ahead of their well-being and welfare. When you start adding special needs kids into the mix, things get extremely difficult. She has no spouse or partner to rely on and apparently no income since she is, by all accounts, a professional student.
How is she going to support these kids? Can you imagine the cost of feeding and clothing 14 people? How about 14 doctor's visits and 14 trips to the dentist? What about the love and attention children so desperately crave? How can one woman provide all the love and support and guidance for 14 kids?
More importantly, who was the quack that continued to get this woman knocked up? People who aren't familiar with ART (assisted reproductive technologies) might not know this, but there are guidelines for embryo transfer in IVF and FET cycles. The goal of fertility treatment is to ensure the healthiest pregnancy possible. This is why women on injection cycles and IUI/IVF protocol are so closely monitored.
In an IUI, the patient injects hormones to stimulate follicle (egg) growth. When a sufficient number of follicles develop, the patient injects a trigger shot to encourage the ovary to release the eggs (which bodies like mine don't do since we make cysts instead.) Twenty-four hours or so later, the woman's uterus is flooded with washed sperm via a catheter. By placing the sperm within the uterus, it gives the little spermies a better chance of reaching that egg. The odds of multiples is higher in an IUI cylce because if, say, you had four follicles on the day you triggered, you might drop all four eggs. Maybe two of those will fertilize. Depending on your luck, you might get a set of twins and a singleton (triplets) or two sets of twins (quadruplets.) Some patients would likely choose not continue with the cycle. They'd let the cycle end naturally and make use of barrier methods when having sex.
IVF (which this woman used) is much more controlled. All the magic happens in the lab so the doctor controls how many embryos are placed into the uterus. For a woman under 35, the number is usually one, maybe two. For a woman over 35, the number might go as high as four in some cases but I've never heard of anything higher than three among friends who have undergone the procedure. There are exceptions of course. Someone like me, for instance, might get three embryos since I'm racing against the clock here. Since my uterus is so hostile (it's like Russia and Ukraine in there, appparently,) the likelihood of even one embryo squatting would be a friggin' miracle.
I really worry about this woman's mental health. Struggling to care for 14 kids, eight of them infants likely to suffer developmental delays and physical debilities, could very well break her. Also what about the effect of all those hormones on her body? She went through at least six IVF/FET cycles (4 singleton pregnancies, 1 set of twins, 1 set of 8.) That's assuming she got pregnant on the first cycle of each attempted pregnancy.
If you're not familiar with IVF, you might not realize just how many injections a woman will take in one cycle. It goes something like this:
Day 1-8: Lupron Injections
Day 9-15: Lupron and Follistim injections
Day 16: Lupron, Follistim, and HCG trigger
Day 19-Day 31: Progestrone injections until negative pregnancy test, positive means you keep up the shots until your progesterone levels are high enough to sustain pregnancy (could be weeks)
Let's say her first IVF was gangbusters and they were able to retrieve all the eggs she needed for all of her subsequent pregnancies. All those embryos sat on ice between pregnancies. When she was ready to get pregnant again, she'd go through FET (frozen embryo transfer) protocol. It's basically the same thing as IVF with the Lupron and progesterone injections but with estrogen injections or oral meds instead of the follicle stimulating hormone. Still, though, it's a ton of hormones.
Another thing that bothers me about this case is how easily she became pregnant through IVF. Seriously, of all the hundreds of women I've met through my support group very few have been able to conceive twice through IVF/FET. Her infertility issue seemed to be fallopian tube blockage but that's usually an easy fix with surgery. I know loads of ladies who had an HSG and cleared up that problem right there on the table. They never had a problem again. So I'm sort of curious about this woman's infertility.
And the cost of IVF! How the hell did she afford (at the very least) six cycles of IVF/FET? We've looked into IVF and it's ungodly expensive. For one cycle of meds and monitoring and lab fees and procedures, we're looking at $15,000 at the low end of the spectrum because our insurance won't cover any of it. For $15,000 (or a little more,) we can adopt a baby through an ABC program or hop over to China, Ethiopia or a handful of Southeast Asian countries for a baby. Gee, let's see. Take a gamble that an IVF cycle would work or go with a sure thing?
I think that's what annoys me the most about this story. This woman professes to love children so much but she apparently never considered adoption. Then again, she's sounds like a complete nutjob so I can't imagine any social worker approving her homestudy. I don't know. It's just a sad, sick mess.
As more details trickle out, the more angry and disgusted I've grown. She already had 6 kids--all from IVF and FET cycles--and lives with her parents. What. The. Fuck. This woman, Nadya Suleman, reminds me of those crazy ass people who hoard pets. She put her bizarre and selfish desire for more children ahead of their well-being and welfare. When you start adding special needs kids into the mix, things get extremely difficult. She has no spouse or partner to rely on and apparently no income since she is, by all accounts, a professional student.
How is she going to support these kids? Can you imagine the cost of feeding and clothing 14 people? How about 14 doctor's visits and 14 trips to the dentist? What about the love and attention children so desperately crave? How can one woman provide all the love and support and guidance for 14 kids?
More importantly, who was the quack that continued to get this woman knocked up? People who aren't familiar with ART (assisted reproductive technologies) might not know this, but there are guidelines for embryo transfer in IVF and FET cycles. The goal of fertility treatment is to ensure the healthiest pregnancy possible. This is why women on injection cycles and IUI/IVF protocol are so closely monitored.
In an IUI, the patient injects hormones to stimulate follicle (egg) growth. When a sufficient number of follicles develop, the patient injects a trigger shot to encourage the ovary to release the eggs (which bodies like mine don't do since we make cysts instead.) Twenty-four hours or so later, the woman's uterus is flooded with washed sperm via a catheter. By placing the sperm within the uterus, it gives the little spermies a better chance of reaching that egg. The odds of multiples is higher in an IUI cylce because if, say, you had four follicles on the day you triggered, you might drop all four eggs. Maybe two of those will fertilize. Depending on your luck, you might get a set of twins and a singleton (triplets) or two sets of twins (quadruplets.) Some patients would likely choose not continue with the cycle. They'd let the cycle end naturally and make use of barrier methods when having sex.
IVF (which this woman used) is much more controlled. All the magic happens in the lab so the doctor controls how many embryos are placed into the uterus. For a woman under 35, the number is usually one, maybe two. For a woman over 35, the number might go as high as four in some cases but I've never heard of anything higher than three among friends who have undergone the procedure. There are exceptions of course. Someone like me, for instance, might get three embryos since I'm racing against the clock here. Since my uterus is so hostile (it's like Russia and Ukraine in there, appparently,) the likelihood of even one embryo squatting would be a friggin' miracle.
I really worry about this woman's mental health. Struggling to care for 14 kids, eight of them infants likely to suffer developmental delays and physical debilities, could very well break her. Also what about the effect of all those hormones on her body? She went through at least six IVF/FET cycles (4 singleton pregnancies, 1 set of twins, 1 set of 8.) That's assuming she got pregnant on the first cycle of each attempted pregnancy.
If you're not familiar with IVF, you might not realize just how many injections a woman will take in one cycle. It goes something like this:
Day 1-8: Lupron Injections
Day 9-15: Lupron and Follistim injections
Day 16: Lupron, Follistim, and HCG trigger
Day 19-Day 31: Progestrone injections until negative pregnancy test, positive means you keep up the shots until your progesterone levels are high enough to sustain pregnancy (could be weeks)
Let's say her first IVF was gangbusters and they were able to retrieve all the eggs she needed for all of her subsequent pregnancies. All those embryos sat on ice between pregnancies. When she was ready to get pregnant again, she'd go through FET (frozen embryo transfer) protocol. It's basically the same thing as IVF with the Lupron and progesterone injections but with estrogen injections or oral meds instead of the follicle stimulating hormone. Still, though, it's a ton of hormones.
Another thing that bothers me about this case is how easily she became pregnant through IVF. Seriously, of all the hundreds of women I've met through my support group very few have been able to conceive twice through IVF/FET. Her infertility issue seemed to be fallopian tube blockage but that's usually an easy fix with surgery. I know loads of ladies who had an HSG and cleared up that problem right there on the table. They never had a problem again. So I'm sort of curious about this woman's infertility.
And the cost of IVF! How the hell did she afford (at the very least) six cycles of IVF/FET? We've looked into IVF and it's ungodly expensive. For one cycle of meds and monitoring and lab fees and procedures, we're looking at $15,000 at the low end of the spectrum because our insurance won't cover any of it. For $15,000 (or a little more,) we can adopt a baby through an ABC program or hop over to China, Ethiopia or a handful of Southeast Asian countries for a baby. Gee, let's see. Take a gamble that an IVF cycle would work or go with a sure thing?
I think that's what annoys me the most about this story. This woman professes to love children so much but she apparently never considered adoption. Then again, she's sounds like a complete nutjob so I can't imagine any social worker approving her homestudy. I don't know. It's just a sad, sick mess.
3 Things
1) Like romance novels? Check out 16 FREE ebooks from Harlequin! They're available in various formats so whether you read ebooks on your Sony Reader, Kindle, iPhone, laptop, etc., you're covered. They're offering a wide selection of their titles so you'll likely find something you'll love!
2) Have 30 seconds and want to laugh so hard you'll fall out of your chair? Check out the video here. Oh, and this isn't safe for work. No drinks either. Believe me. Diet Dr. Pepper plus widescreen and keyboard equals huge-o mess.
3) Want to see two pictures that will probably blow your mind and piss you off? Clicky clicky. Seriously, though, the first pic illustrates exactly why women's rights are so fucked in this country. Here's a little shoutout to all the men out there who think they know what's best for me. Hey, dudes, keep your hands away from my uterus! I'm quite capable of making decisions for myself, thanks.
2) Have 30 seconds and want to laugh so hard you'll fall out of your chair? Check out the video here. Oh, and this isn't safe for work. No drinks either. Believe me. Diet Dr. Pepper plus widescreen and keyboard equals huge-o mess.
3) Want to see two pictures that will probably blow your mind and piss you off? Clicky clicky. Seriously, though, the first pic illustrates exactly why women's rights are so fucked in this country. Here's a little shoutout to all the men out there who think they know what's best for me. Hey, dudes, keep your hands away from my uterus! I'm quite capable of making decisions for myself, thanks.
Friday, January 30, 2009
Zombies!
So most people probably don't know this but I have a bizarre fascination with zombies and zombie defense preparations. Seriously. I know it's whacked and paranoid but I often stare up at the ceiling late at night and work out different scenarios. I'm not sure where this paranoia comes from but I have some theories. Namely, the petrifying La Llorona, cucuy and chamuco tales Ama used to tell us before putting us down for bed at night in the old ranchouse. In the cucuy room!*
I've learned to run long distance so if they're slow zombies I've got their asses whipped. If they're fast zombies ala 28 Days Later, then my home is my fortress. I've already scoped out our attic and configured the area for maximum efficiency of shotgun ammunition, baseball bat collection, shelves of machetes** and sharpening stones. I'm seriously considering building a radio and becoming a HAM operator. Ooh, and Morse code too. Gotta be able to map out those zombie movement reports. Our pantry is always fully stocked with at least 4 weeks of provisions. No, not because Homeland Security and FEMA suggest it but because I've read The Zombie Survival Guide. Ain't no living dead gonna gnaw on my neck.
All that said, you'll understand why this story made me laugh my ass off. Someone hacked into those flashing road signs along an Austin highway and changed the message to one that read: RUN! ZOMBIES AHEAD!
Watch the hilarity here.
*See George Lopez: America's Mexican here (Part 4/7 0-1:20) or here (Part 5/7 2:00-2:30).
**Machetes are widely accepted as the best weapon for zombie defense. Why? You don't have to reload a machete.
I've learned to run long distance so if they're slow zombies I've got their asses whipped. If they're fast zombies ala 28 Days Later, then my home is my fortress. I've already scoped out our attic and configured the area for maximum efficiency of shotgun ammunition, baseball bat collection, shelves of machetes** and sharpening stones. I'm seriously considering building a radio and becoming a HAM operator. Ooh, and Morse code too. Gotta be able to map out those zombie movement reports. Our pantry is always fully stocked with at least 4 weeks of provisions. No, not because Homeland Security and FEMA suggest it but because I've read The Zombie Survival Guide. Ain't no living dead gonna gnaw on my neck.
All that said, you'll understand why this story made me laugh my ass off. Someone hacked into those flashing road signs along an Austin highway and changed the message to one that read: RUN! ZOMBIES AHEAD!
Watch the hilarity here.
*See George Lopez: America's Mexican here (Part 4/7 0-1:20) or here (Part 5/7 2:00-2:30).
**Machetes are widely accepted as the best weapon for zombie defense. Why? You don't have to reload a machete.
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Ignorance
So Dave often comes home rather irritated and frustrated by some of the comments uttered by his colleagues. You'd think in the 21st century folks would have moved beyond racial epithets and sexist remarks, but yeah, not so much. Shockingly, the bullshit Dave has to listen to seems to be increasing in frequency and jaw-dropping what-the-fuckness. What kind of remarks, you might ask?
Well, how about this gem. One of Dave's coworkers was ranting about the N-word who worked for him or his family.
Dave: What is wrong with you? Man, you shouldn't say that.
Coworker: What's wrong? You married to a colored woman?
Dave: No, but my wife is Hispanic.
Coworker: Ah, that's all right. Nothing wrong with a little jalapeno in your diet.
What. The. Fuck. How is that acceptable? When Dave relayed that tidbit to me, I laughed at the utter dickishness of the remark but, seriously, it's upsetting. In my lifetime, I've heard more than my fair share of that sort of crap. It's just disgusting and so stupid.
Lately, a lot of the conversations at Dave's workplace have centered around Barack Obama and his race. If the asshats Dave works with aren't tossing around the N-word, they're calling Obama a terrorist or an Arab. I'm astounded by how fucking ignorant so many of these people are. I mean, seriously, do I need to go down there and show these bastards a map? These assholes think Obama's Kenyan father makes Obama a terrorist and an Arab. Uh, what? Last time I checked, Kenya is in Africa and Obama ain't a terrorist. Even if he were a Muslim that wouldn't make him a terrorist. Hell, I know more vile Christian extremists than Muslim extremists. It's always so amusing to me how many Christian folks spew such hateful rhetoric about Muslims without realizing *they* are just as horrible and spreading just as much fear and propaganda and terrorism.
But, really, the thing that upsets me the most about all this racist bullshit is how Dave and I will never be able to bring our child or children to the firestation to see all the nifty fire trucks and ambulances that kids love so much. Why, you ask? Because when Dave and I adopt later this year or early next spring, we'll be adopting an African American or biracial child. I refuse to have our kid exposed to that kind of disgusting ignorance. I just won't fucking have it. I always wonder if those dickheads ever stop to think about how their comments affect Dave or their other colleagues who feel outnumbered and are afraid to speak up. Will they understand how painful it will be for Dave to hear a black person referred to as a jigaboo or jungle bunny or N-word when our child is (or will be) African American?
Look, I'm not naive. I know that people say hurtful things. One of Dave's family members sent a a horrible text message to us the other night that was supposed to be a joke. We didn't find it funny. Do I think this person is a racist? No, but obviously, they didn't show very good judgment. Will I keep my kid away from them? No, but I'll probably always sort of wonder if they're really as accepting as they say they are.
My dad says things sometimes that make me cringe. I know a lot of it comes from growing up during super turbulent times but he's trying really hard to change. My cousin and her husband are also in the process of adopting a likely biracial or fully black child so Dad got the talk from Mom months ago when they started the paperwork. A few weeks ago, Dad referred to MLK day in a derogatory way but immediately apologized to me. I can't imagine that it's easy to change ingrained habits but he's trying. And that's enough for me. I don't doubt for one second that my dad will love our child just as much as if he or she were biological.
I guess I'm just frustrated with people who display such ignorance and hatred without ever considering the consequences. And I feel sad for them. They'll live their pathetic lives cloistered in their homogenous circles, never fully participating in the diverse wonders of their communities. They'll sit around eating the same old shit, reading the same old shit, watching the same old shit and never realize they're missing out on some of the most awesome and extraordinary foods, holidays, books, music, and films. And friendships that could change their lives.
Sad. Just so fucking sad.
Well, how about this gem. One of Dave's coworkers was ranting about the N-word who worked for him or his family.
Dave: What is wrong with you? Man, you shouldn't say that.
Coworker: What's wrong? You married to a colored woman?
Dave: No, but my wife is Hispanic.
Coworker: Ah, that's all right. Nothing wrong with a little jalapeno in your diet.
What. The. Fuck. How is that acceptable? When Dave relayed that tidbit to me, I laughed at the utter dickishness of the remark but, seriously, it's upsetting. In my lifetime, I've heard more than my fair share of that sort of crap. It's just disgusting and so stupid.
Lately, a lot of the conversations at Dave's workplace have centered around Barack Obama and his race. If the asshats Dave works with aren't tossing around the N-word, they're calling Obama a terrorist or an Arab. I'm astounded by how fucking ignorant so many of these people are. I mean, seriously, do I need to go down there and show these bastards a map? These assholes think Obama's Kenyan father makes Obama a terrorist and an Arab. Uh, what? Last time I checked, Kenya is in Africa and Obama ain't a terrorist. Even if he were a Muslim that wouldn't make him a terrorist. Hell, I know more vile Christian extremists than Muslim extremists. It's always so amusing to me how many Christian folks spew such hateful rhetoric about Muslims without realizing *they* are just as horrible and spreading just as much fear and propaganda and terrorism.
But, really, the thing that upsets me the most about all this racist bullshit is how Dave and I will never be able to bring our child or children to the firestation to see all the nifty fire trucks and ambulances that kids love so much. Why, you ask? Because when Dave and I adopt later this year or early next spring, we'll be adopting an African American or biracial child. I refuse to have our kid exposed to that kind of disgusting ignorance. I just won't fucking have it. I always wonder if those dickheads ever stop to think about how their comments affect Dave or their other colleagues who feel outnumbered and are afraid to speak up. Will they understand how painful it will be for Dave to hear a black person referred to as a jigaboo or jungle bunny or N-word when our child is (or will be) African American?
Look, I'm not naive. I know that people say hurtful things. One of Dave's family members sent a a horrible text message to us the other night that was supposed to be a joke. We didn't find it funny. Do I think this person is a racist? No, but obviously, they didn't show very good judgment. Will I keep my kid away from them? No, but I'll probably always sort of wonder if they're really as accepting as they say they are.
My dad says things sometimes that make me cringe. I know a lot of it comes from growing up during super turbulent times but he's trying really hard to change. My cousin and her husband are also in the process of adopting a likely biracial or fully black child so Dad got the talk from Mom months ago when they started the paperwork. A few weeks ago, Dad referred to MLK day in a derogatory way but immediately apologized to me. I can't imagine that it's easy to change ingrained habits but he's trying. And that's enough for me. I don't doubt for one second that my dad will love our child just as much as if he or she were biological.
I guess I'm just frustrated with people who display such ignorance and hatred without ever considering the consequences. And I feel sad for them. They'll live their pathetic lives cloistered in their homogenous circles, never fully participating in the diverse wonders of their communities. They'll sit around eating the same old shit, reading the same old shit, watching the same old shit and never realize they're missing out on some of the most awesome and extraordinary foods, holidays, books, music, and films. And friendships that could change their lives.
Sad. Just so fucking sad.
Friday, January 23, 2009
Miss Marple meets Tony Montana
So I've been watching a lot of Miss Marple BBC productions (Geraldine McEwan rocks!) and reading a cozy mystery series with a knitting them written by Maggie Sefton. I've never wanted to learn to knit until, oh, five or six days ago. I figured that if I can teach myself to run a 5K, I can figure out this knitting business. I persuaded Dave-O into taking me to Michael's (yarn sale!) and spent about $15 bucks on bamboo knitting needles and a sack full of yarn. I went home and watched about 2 hours worth of knitting demonstration videos online. Then I started crapping kittens because, holy shit, this knitting stuff is complicated.
Yesterday, I decided I needed to face my fear so I turned on Scarface, grabbed a ball of yarn and my needles and taught myself to knit. Yep, that's right. I learned to knit while watching Scarface. I'm big on balance, you know? Knitting fits in the sweet old lady with a bajillion cats and curious sherry sipping habit. What's the exact opposite? Bingo. Tony Montana.
Right about the time Tony takes his trip to Cochabamba and meets Alex Sosa I finally figured out the purl stitch. By the time Alex called Tony back to Bolivia to discuss his tax evasion charges and their, uh, problem, I'd managed a few nice looking stockinette and garter stitch rows! When Tony shouted his iconic line (Say hello to my little friend!), I'd knitted a third of one wonky-ass dishcloth.
The only real problem I've encountered is Bosley. He seems convinced that knitting is the devil's work. You should try knitting with a Great Dane hovering over your lap, salivating, barking and snapping at your needles. Not cool. I sort of wonder if he saw me looking at those Great Dane sweater patterns...
As much as it pains me to admit, I'm really loving this new knitting hobby. It's oddly relaxing. It's sort of like meditation, you know? Focus the front of the mind on a mundane task and all that. Still, it's sort of depressing. I mean, Dave and I spent Friday night reading and knitting side by side on the couch. Ohmigod! We're so LAME!
Yesterday, I decided I needed to face my fear so I turned on Scarface, grabbed a ball of yarn and my needles and taught myself to knit. Yep, that's right. I learned to knit while watching Scarface. I'm big on balance, you know? Knitting fits in the sweet old lady with a bajillion cats and curious sherry sipping habit. What's the exact opposite? Bingo. Tony Montana.
Right about the time Tony takes his trip to Cochabamba and meets Alex Sosa I finally figured out the purl stitch. By the time Alex called Tony back to Bolivia to discuss his tax evasion charges and their, uh, problem, I'd managed a few nice looking stockinette and garter stitch rows! When Tony shouted his iconic line (Say hello to my little friend!), I'd knitted a third of one wonky-ass dishcloth.
The only real problem I've encountered is Bosley. He seems convinced that knitting is the devil's work. You should try knitting with a Great Dane hovering over your lap, salivating, barking and snapping at your needles. Not cool. I sort of wonder if he saw me looking at those Great Dane sweater patterns...
As much as it pains me to admit, I'm really loving this new knitting hobby. It's oddly relaxing. It's sort of like meditation, you know? Focus the front of the mind on a mundane task and all that. Still, it's sort of depressing. I mean, Dave and I spent Friday night reading and knitting side by side on the couch. Ohmigod! We're so LAME!
Saturday, January 10, 2009
Guilty Pleasures
So it's no secret at Casa O that I am addicted to Harlequin novels. My favorite part of every month is choosing the next five or so books I'm going to buy. I devour these delicious little slices of romance the same way a fat kid attacks a box of Swiss Cake rolls. They are my weakness.
I'm quite fond of the old school Presents line with its fabulously wealthy alpha males and feisty but not so wealthy heroines entangled in marriages of convenience or secret baby plot lines. With titles like The Ruthless Magnate's Virgin Mistress and At the Sheihk's Bidding, how can you not gobble them up like literary crack? Oh, and I read both of those last week and loved 'em.
The Silhouette Desires line is sort of the American version of the Presents with equally as wealthy and arrogant heros. I love the Silhouette Nocturne line with its super sexy and intriguing paranormal romances. Ooh, and Spice books, their erotica line, is FABULOUS. Seriously. If you haven't read any of Megan Hart's erotic novels, you are missing out on some amazing books.
Anywho. The point of this post isn't to shill for Harlequin. The point is that I've finally realized that after all these years of supporting Harlequin and their lovely authors it's time I threw my hat in the ring and tried to join their ranks. I've got a few erotica projects I've got to get finished first (contracts and deadlines and all) but then I'm going to focus on a paranormal romance targeted to the Nocturne line. No guarantees or anything but it'll be damn fun to pen.
I'm quite fond of the old school Presents line with its fabulously wealthy alpha males and feisty but not so wealthy heroines entangled in marriages of convenience or secret baby plot lines. With titles like The Ruthless Magnate's Virgin Mistress and At the Sheihk's Bidding, how can you not gobble them up like literary crack? Oh, and I read both of those last week and loved 'em.
The Silhouette Desires line is sort of the American version of the Presents with equally as wealthy and arrogant heros. I love the Silhouette Nocturne line with its super sexy and intriguing paranormal romances. Ooh, and Spice books, their erotica line, is FABULOUS. Seriously. If you haven't read any of Megan Hart's erotic novels, you are missing out on some amazing books.
Anywho. The point of this post isn't to shill for Harlequin. The point is that I've finally realized that after all these years of supporting Harlequin and their lovely authors it's time I threw my hat in the ring and tried to join their ranks. I've got a few erotica projects I've got to get finished first (contracts and deadlines and all) but then I'm going to focus on a paranormal romance targeted to the Nocturne line. No guarantees or anything but it'll be damn fun to pen.
Sunday, January 04, 2009
New Year, New Goals
So 2009 is here and with it a new chance for accomplishing a new set of goals. Here are mine.
1) Finish losing the rest of this weight.
2) Run at least two 5K races.
3) Achieve a 5K pace of 45 minutes.
4) Increase my endurance to a 10K.
5) Increase my writing income.
6) Sell a book or books to Harlequin. (More on this tomorrow.)
7) Return to school and complete my BS or BA. Work on my PhD plans.
8) Save half of our adoption fund.
These are all extremely doable. I'm actually looking forward to crossing them all off my list!
1) Finish losing the rest of this weight.
2) Run at least two 5K races.
3) Achieve a 5K pace of 45 minutes.
4) Increase my endurance to a 10K.
5) Increase my writing income.
6) Sell a book or books to Harlequin. (More on this tomorrow.)
7) Return to school and complete my BS or BA. Work on my PhD plans.
8) Save half of our adoption fund.
These are all extremely doable. I'm actually looking forward to crossing them all off my list!
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