This has been around for awhile but it makes me laugh every time I watch it. It’s irreverant and stupid and so are you. So here is your Wordless Wednesday or Whatever for July 29, 2009. It’s safe for work but kinda long so skip your smoke break and watch this instead.
NOT! I’m totally a hot bitch!
Week two was not as successful in regards to eating but I think I ‘exercised’ more. By that I mean I left the house and walked. I had my mom group (B.Y.O.B. – Bring Your Own Baby) only one day this week but that’s better than nothing. We walked for about an hour and a half. Granted it’s more of a leisurely stroll than a power walk but I am wearing my 12 pound baby the entire time. How many calories do you burn babywearing? Someone look this up for me! NOW! I did some window shopping on my own too and that’s generally how I get my exercise. It’s too hot outside so I stick to shopping malls and Target (swoon).
I feel thinner this week and in my head I look like I’ve lost weight. I didn’t take any measurements so I have no hard data but who cares? I’m fucking sexy!
Starting weight – 216
End of week one – 211.5
Current weight – 209.8
Week two loss – 1.7 pounds
Total weight loss to date – 6.2 pounds
Not as stellar as last week but still pretty good. I made more bad food choices this week but I did stick to not eating after 9pm. I don’t think I drank more water so for week three I need to really focus on drinking water. Buckets of it.
For week three I’ll keep my goals from last week. And NO slip-ups except for Saturday. cannot and will not turn down birthday cake (not mine, my grandma’s).
How’d you do? Oh, and
Well, my baby can eat your baby’s books and then roundhouse kick you baby. So fuck you.
JuJu is the sole earner for our little family which puts an immense amount of pressure on him. I get it. HIS LIFE SUCKS. I’m a lucky bitch for getting to stay home and raise our Peanut. Very lucky. Daycare scares the shit out of me. I digress. Somehow we are successfully albeit conservatively living on his paycheck and his paycheck alone. Interestingly enough when I was working full time and bringing home a decent amount of income in addition to his we were always broke. We borrowed money from his parents a few times to pay bills. WHY? How is it that now we are more stable than before? Was my entire paycheck blow-off money? That’s fucking sad that we couldn’t budget properly with that much income (and it was a good amount, we weren’t a six-figure family but we weren’t far from it). JuJu was responsible for paying bills and managing our money because I hated doing that shit and I wasn’t very good at it. When we bought my Focus two years ago he put me in charge of paying that bill and I was late on my very first payment. Needless to say that was taken away from me.
I admit that I’m not great with money. My credit is botched. Probably forever damaged and it’s not even from credit cards. No one would approve me for a damn credit card. This is from charge-offs from a bank, an eviction from an apartment I lived in like five years ago (I owe those bastards $4,000), and some utilities from that same apartment that were not paid. BLAH BLAH BLAH so I’m bad with money. I want to change!
I need to prove to my weary husband that yes, he brings home the money and it goes to pay bills but the burden isn’t just his – it’s ours. Ya know, what’s yours is mine, babe! So I proposed to him that he let me manage the finances for awhile. Let’s see how I do now that I have a little more time to pay attention to where the money is going. I can budget and put money into savings so that in a year we can buy a house. I hate living in an apartment. Our place is nice but it’s no house. Not. Even. Close.
Our goal is to have a decent amount of money saved up so that by August 2010 we will be closing on a house of our very own! My parents have informed us that they will be gifting us some money to help with our down payment. We don’t think we’ll need anyone’s help but it’s one of those things where refusing the gift would be rude so just take the goddamned money! ANYWAY, we need to buy a house and I think that if I don’t step up and take charge that it just isn’t going to happen. Ever. And that’s unacceptable.
Now, if only I could remember the bank login password to actually pay these bills….. We’re so fucked.
In this episode of Stories About My Past That You Couldn’t Care Less About:
From what I remember my teen years were rough. I was awkward and ugly (was?). I had braces and glasses. I was heavier than pretty much all of the girls in my grade and several of the pubescent bitches made sure that they reminded me of that fact on a daily basis. I had friends, even best friends, but those girls were pretty and not socially retarded girls who tried too hard so they had boyfriends. They were ‘going out’ and I wasn’t. I had crushes. I remember Ryan, the sort of rocker-ish boy with rosacea. I wrote him a note and had a girlfriend give it to him between classes. He laughed when he read it, wadded up the piece of paper and threw it down the hall (I don’t know if anyone else picked it up and read it). Fine, asshole. He ended up dating this girl that had an intense underarm sweat problem. But she was thin.
In nineth grade it was Brandon. Finally I was in high school and I knew that an older boy would appreciate what I had to offer (What exactly did I have to offer? I was fourteen! My tits hadn’t shown up yet). Brandon was in my French I class. I loved him. He was a junior and in theatre and the dance company at our performing arts-dominant high school. Our French teacher found out that I had a crush on Brandon so he made sure that we were partners Every. Single. Time. It was Heaven and he was an angel. In the hall between classes if he saw me he’d wave or even give me a hug. I even had a fucking journal in which I documented every single time he hugged me or spoke to me outside of class. I kept track of what I was wearing in case that made a difference. One time when he hugged me I smiled into his chest and my fucking braces got caught in his sweater. Luckily the hug lasted long enough for me to stealthily free myself from his sweater before he ripped out an entire row of teeth connected by brackets and a wire. He was always reciting French to me and it was so cute because he was just not getting it. I would always dumb myself down for him during class so that we could laugh at how bad we both were at pronounciation.
I was also in the dance program at school but I was in the beginners’ class so Brandon and I never had dance classes together. I was pretty good and even though I was the fattest and shortest girl in my class I still had more grace than those skinny bitches. I am a quick learner and I knew that I rocked it even if I felt totally self conscious in that fucking shiny purple leotard we wore for our first performance. I digress.
One evening during the fall semester the local community college’s dance company was putting on a performance and we got to attend it for free since we were also involved in dance. I went with my best friend Stephanie and we sat next to, yes, you guessed it – Brandon. He went alone but he knew just about everyone in attendance. Stephanie sat next to him and I sat next to her. I wanted to switch seats with her. I didn’t. She got up to use the bathroom and Brandon scooted over and we chatted for a little while about godonlyknows what and then he point-blank asked me if I liked him. WTF! You can’t do that! I’m socially retarded! I don’t know how to handle myself in situations where I’m put on the spot! I’m nonconfrontational! Non! Con! So I said that I liked him as a friend. Fuck. I could have been honest. But honestly, what would that have accomplished? There was no way he was interested in me. He was sweet enough that he might have taken me on a pity date but I didn’t want that. Stephanie returned and reclaimed her seat. I guess if I had a chance I just blew it.
The next week Brandon starting dating this girl with a bird beak nose who walked like she had a piece of shit hanging out of her ass. I knew it was over. By the end of my freshman year of high school I knew my place – the fat weird girl of the pretty girls who had boyfriends. I had guy friends and they dated my girl friends. It didn’t look like I was missing out on much so I wasn’t too heartbroken but I still wanted someone to hold my hand and take me to the movies and other fairly innocent dating rituals. But I felt like if I couldn’t be honest about my feelings with Brandon then it may never happen for me because I would continue to put up that wall. Fear of rejection. Fear of no one ever getting past my appearance.
Luckily my appearance got over itself and vastly improved for my sophmore year but I was still the funny girl, the nice girl, the loud girl. I became HER because at least she had lots of friends and could pretend that having a boyfriend was a waste of time.
And maybe it was after all.
Avery is four months old today! Yesterday I was finally able to capture her rolling on camera so of course I am going to share it with my three readers.
According to Baby Center’s milestones chart at four months Peanut should be able to grasp toys, respond to the person who is talking to her by cooing, rolling over from tummy to back, smiling and laughing. The site says that some ‘advanced’ babies start imitating basic sounds like baba or dada but Avery hasn’t started that yet. Besides, her first word will be mama sohelpmegod. I spend all damn day with her so she better say mama! She doesn’t know that mama = me yet but I don’t care.
I don’t dwell on where she should be developmentally but it’s nice to see that she’s pretty much right on track with the average.
So there you go. Your gratuitous Peanut fix for the day. You’re welcome.
I think that my daughter is teething.
Her other growth spurts and developmental milestones happened without me helping them along. Sure, she got plenty of sitting up or tummy time so that she could develop good neck control. But teething? TEETHING? This is a growing pain that will actually be painful for my kiddo. Can I rub whiskey on her gums? Isn’t that what our parents did? I have some ‘teething drops’ that I gave her tonight which seemed to calm her down but shit, I don’t know if I’m ready for this yet. I barely get enough sleep as it is so let’s add waking up with mouth pain in addition to hunger. And what if she is really hungry? Is she going to just bite my nipple off? I need those. For breastfeeding, sure, I still have to feed the toothy monster. But for, you know, fun stuff too.
So before we get too deep into teething I just want to let you, darling Peanut, know that I love you and if you bite me while I’m feeding you I can’t promise that my defense reflex won’t want to throw you across the room.
Let’s talk about the last person I slept with before I met my husband. Or how I was robbed.
Two of my work friends and I went to this on-its-way-out club on a Thursday night since Thursday was the new Friday in this old college town. The three of us are relatively attractive but we could probably have gone all night without getting hit on if we weren’t perched at a high-visibility table. I love parking my ass and my drink in the middle of the action so I can people watch. The girls in their crotch-length miniskirts grinding on each other while their Abercrombie boyfriends stand by and watch while high fiving and taking shot after shot. This was courtesy of mom and dad, of course, for sending them money for school. Boomer Sooner!
So while drinking and chatting and dancing in our chairs two average-looking tools came up to our table. They joined us for some more drinking drinking drinking. Allegedly they were from Montana and in Oklahoma on business. The tall one showed me his driver’s license to prove it. It was too dark for me to read it but I tried looking for his last name and birthdate. I was curious because he looked older than what he had told us.
Once we shut the place down the five of us were still hyped up. I thrived on any attention that I got from men so I didn’t want it to end anytime soon. The tools were staying at the La Quinta in town which was close by so we all got in our respective vehicles and caravanned to the hotel. The tools were staying in separate rooms so we went up to the fat one’s room and he started showing us some card tricks. He could count cards or at least that’s what it looked like to me but I was drunk so I don’t quite recall that detail. Okay, I wasn’t drunk. At this point I was barely buzzed. My two friends settled in to play cards with the fat one and the tall one asked me if I wanted to go outside with him to smoke. OF COURSE! I loved smoking! And talking while smoking! We walked around the pool and started having an actual conversation instead of inane drunk dribble (which has its place!). He asked me if I wanted to go to his room with him and I told him that I did. My friends were ready to leave and I drove so I had to leave my new friend from Montana to take each girl home but I came back to the hotel. I lied to my friends telling them that I was going home since I was tired. Even I knew what I was doing was stupid.
He told me his room number before I left so I took the elevator to the second floor and found his door propped open with the sliding lock. I knocked and he welcomed me into his room. I don’t know why I came back. I was tired but I think my loneliness and the fact that I’d been drinking overpowered any amount of common sense I may have had otherwise. I put my purse on the dresser and went into the bathroom because alcohol causes me to have to pee incessantly.
He was sitting on one of the double beds flipping through the channels on the television. We talked, but this time something was different. This wasn’t our sincere and open conversation from earlier. He was more vulgar and crass. We talked about sex and he asked me if I wanted to sleep with him. He told me that he did not have a girlfriend and I told him that I did not have a boyfriend (this was true – I am not a cheater). Once all the T’s were crossed and the I’s were dotted (I guess you don’t dot a capital I. Whatevs.) We fornicated and it was marginally satisfying. Nothing about it was good enough to remember because as I write this I don’t remember the sex – just that it happened. Or did it? Now I honestly can’t remember if we even had sex.
We didn’t exchange numbers – my cell phone was dead and he claimed that he broke his phone earlier that day. We hugged, he said “See you around” and I responded with “Yeah, okay” as I walked out the door.
I got home, took a shower, and crawled into bed. The next afternoon I tagged along with my roommate while she did some errands and we decided to get some lunch while we were out. We sat at the drive-through window getting ready to pay and I looked into my wallet and found nothing. Nothing where four-hundred dollars was last night. Embarassed, I quietly dug around in my purse hoping to find some cash and I found a ten dollar bill in a side pocket so that I could buy my fucking sandwich.
Why did I have four hundred dollars in my wallet? I didn’t use a bank so when I got paid I cashed my check and kept it all in my wallet. That is, until I needed it to pay bills. Which I had not done yet.
Once I was alone, eating my sandwich, I panicked. Where did the money go? It was there yesterday. Last night I bought drinks and paid cash and I remember seeing four one-hundred dollar bills in my wallet. Where is it now? Retracing my steps…..
You’ve got to be shitting me. That asshole stole it out of my purse while I was in the bathroom! I felt sick. Like, I had bills to pay and no money to pay them with sick. I called the hotel. He had already checked out according to the front desk. I couldn’t even remember his name but I gave her the room number and kind of explained what happened. She said that there was nothing that she or the hotel could do. I couldn’t call the police. Rather, I wouldn’t. Can you even report stolen cash? I couldn’t prove that it was mine. Besides, if he was flying back to Montana today he was probably already gone. With my electric bill. And car insurance. And the money I needed for gas to get back home for Thanksgiving.
It was after this embarassing incident that I cried ‘uncle’ on the whole casual sex thing. I told myself that I wouldn’t do it ever again. I would never put myself at risk. Not just financially but emotionally and physically. I could have been in worse shape. I could have been raped. Or killed. Getting robbed was bad but it. Could. Have. Been. Very. Bad. I put my life in danger every time I went to a guy’s house or they came over to mine. Let’s face it – I didn’t know this guy from Montana. I barely made note of his name for fuck’s sake.
This was it. I was done. I was scared and broke. I had to call my dad and ask him to send me money so I could pay my bills and put gas in my car so I could come home for Thanksgiving. I don’t even remember what I told him happened to my money. I obviously couldn’t tell him the truth. I never told anyone.
The next Tuesday I met JuJu at a karaoke bar and I didn’t go home with him. I didn’t even kiss him. I knew this was it and I wasn’t going to fuck it up. Not this one.
Wordless Wednesday or Whatever. She is rockin’ the headbands. Don’t judge me – if you had a daughter you’d do it too.
One year ago today I took no less than four pregnancy tests and found out that JuJu and I were pregnant. The line was so faint that we could barely see it but as ‘they’ say – a line’s a line! I also took a digital test the next day and then went to my gynocologist who made me pee in a cup so she could do a pregnancy test for the official word on my status as a possible mom-to-be.
I found out that I was pregnant at three weeks gestation (hence the faint line) so I felt like I was pregnant forever.