Bare or Hair?

Today's Cereal: Frosted Mini-Wheats
Current Mood: Icky

American Idol is one of my guilty pleasures.

Now that I've admitted that, I can also admit that I feel sad about Constantine getting voted off.

I didn't think I would care as much as I do... I used to be all about the Anwar. I thought he was a beautiful speciman of a man. But then he started wearing shirts that were open at the chest. It really creeped me out to discover that he has no chest hair! I didn't realize it until then, but apparently body hair is something that I require in a man. I'm not saying that I want them to be Planet of the Apes hairy, but there's gotta be something there or I will question whether they are truly a man. Same goes with facial hair. And I don't even require that they have facial hair; just that they have the ability to grow it.

And who's hairier than a Greek?

After Anwar, Constantine WAS my favorite; but not because I thought he was Hot Stuff. I liked that he was different; that he wasn't a "Pop Singer", and that he wasn't trying to sing like a black man despite his white-ness. Let's face it, he looks WAY too much like creepy, drugged-up, 1970's "Lt. Dan" from Forrest Gump. And the way he kept making eyes at the camera made me squirm-- at first it was from embarrassment for him, because he looked like a doofus doing that. But towards the end--and I can admit this now-- I would squirm with something that I think may have bordered on lust.

Must have been the hair.

So long, Constantine.

*hurk*

Today's Cereal: Cream of Wheat (if you can call that cereal)
Current Mood: ill

So, last night The Boy and I either got the flu or food poisoning. The both of us were barfing all night. Let me say that it is not fun trying to clean up barf when you're about to do it, too.

I'm not a big barfer. Just don't do it. This was the first time for me in about 5 years. Before that it had probably been 7 years. I forgot how unpleasant it was. The crowning moment of the evening was when I was heaving uncontrollably at the toilet, and I completely and utterly peed myself. Now when was the last time you did THAT?? Stupid pregnant bladder.

Weekend highlights

Today's Cereal: Crispix and Kix
Current Mood: Tired

1) Went to Leatherby's Friday night, and finally got the ice cream that I have been craving for nigh on 3 weeks now.

2) Got some. Awesome.

3) Did "Projects" with my brother and his wife Saturday night. (you pick your favorite craft/hobby/project and work on it while we listen to music or watch movies)

4) Laughed as my Boy, who was crawling on the floor at the time, got humped by the brother's dog-- am I a bad mother or what? My kid gets raped by a dog and I laugh.

5) Didn't go to church on Sunday. Stayed home and played Rise of Nations with the Hubby while the Boy napped.

6) The Boy slept through the night for 2 nights in a row (we had to drug him up, though. He's getting 4 molars all at once...)

7) Was woken up a little too early this morning by a monster MF leg cramp that has left my calf feeling like someone hit it with a basball bat. What a way to start a Monday.

As Britney says, "Oops I did it again!"

Today's cereal: Corn Chex
Current Mood: bored

Some of you might wonder about the title of my blog, "Accidentally insulting the world, one person at a time". You might be thinking, "What could this sweet little Mormon girl possibly do to insult anyone? She can barely even swear right."

It's time to tell you a few stories.

I have this really annoying habit of saying stuff without really thinking about what I'm saying. Generally, I end up offending someone. Take for instance my friend Sean. One day he was whining about how fat he was, how he's a tub of lard and is going to look like his dad one day. I, thinking I was doing him a favor by making him see how wrong he was, said "Oh Sean, you're not fat until you wear a 38-inch waist!" He visibly deflated. His shoulders hunched over, his head hung down, and he let out a noise somewhere between a whine and a moan. And he said, "Oh. I wear a 40..."

Then there was the time where Rob Whitworth-- a real self-righteous bastard, but I digress-- was complaining after he got his ACT scores back. He kept saying how stupid he was, and I was getting annoyed because I was sure he was just doing it for attention; and that his score was actually above-average and he was just saying he was stupid because he wanted people to know what his score was and that truthfully it was really high. (Did that make sense? Sorry for the run-on.) So I says to him, says I, "Rob, you're only stupid if you got less than a 20." I think you can see where this is going--I gotta stop saying stuff like this... Naturally his score was an 18. He looked pretty pissed, and I think he said something sarcastic in return. Needless to say, he wasn't as chummy with me after that. (But I can't feel too bad about that, because he was a tool. Still is, from what I understand.)

And then there was the time at a family party when I found out my cousin had named her [illegitimate] child 'Roy'. My response: "Roy!? What a stupid name! Why doesn't she just pin a 'kick me' sign to his onsie? What kind of a name is ROY?!?" This I said very loudly, just as his father, Roy Sr. walked in. Might I add that Roy Sr. was a scary looking gangsta-dude with a known criminal background? One day I will find "Roy was here" spelled out in bullet holes in the side of my house...

I have lots more stories like these. Some are more embarassing than others; some are more minor infractions-- but it seems to be my calling card nonetheless. If you are going to know me for an extended period of time, I am eventually going to insult you. Money-back guarantee.

I apologize in advance...

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEK!!!!!

Today's Cereal: Special K
Current Mood: Jumpy and nervous

I went to battle this morning. Nearly got myself killed. Wish my Xena-style leather armor* still fit me, 'cause I would have put it on. I might have at least felt braver then.

I had to face the biggest damn jumping spider I have ever seen inside a house.

And then I had to get CLOSE to it, close enough to poke it with a stick and make it move out from behind the kitchen sink so I could go in for the attack. I was shaking like chiuahua... I mean, it might have grabbed the stick I was poking it with and swung me around the room, cartoon-style. It might have jumped on me! (Jumping spiders can jump up to 20 feet, you know. I read it on the internet, so it must be true.) It certainly wanted to do something bad to me. I could tell by the look in it's eye. Eyes, I mean. All 30 of them, which I could see as plain as day BECAUSE THIS SPIDER WAS FRIKKIN' HUGE!!!

My attack mostly consisted of me screaming or yipping each time it moved, and then putting an empty Miricle Whip jar over it so's the husband can take care of it when he gets home. (He knows some people. Italians. He's gonna need their help.) And then I had a small panic attack when it was all over.

My skin has been crawling ever since. I seriously have to keep checking to see if there are spiders on me, or in my food, or in my hair, or on my chair everytime I sit down. And every black spot I see I scream at, until I can ascertain that it is just a pen lid or a nail sticking out of the wall. (People are starting to get nervous around me for this reason. Don't know why.)

It's a good thing I am in the office today and I left The Beast at home, a POW in a jar. Because if I were home I'd have to go check on it a zillion times to make sure that it hasn't blasted it's way out of the jar with the laser eye-beams that I'm sure it has and looked capable of using. And each time I have to look at it means one night of nightmares that my husband will have to suffer through with me (because I talk in my sleep).

I hate spiders. No, you don't understand-- I HATE spiders.

I feel proud of myself for being brave enough to face it like I did. And it's a good thing I did, too; because if I had just walked away from it, I would know that it was still in my house somewhere, but I wouldn't know where. It could end up in my bed one night. It could fall into something I'm eating (another huge phobia for me--and probably the root of why I have a hard time eating ground meat-- you just don't know what's been ground into it.) But I faced it, and now I have a war story that I can share.

*I don't really have Xena armor. But wouldn't it be cool if I did? I'd be the hottest mom on the block.

Fine Whine

Today's Cereal: the very last crumbs of Raisin Bran; also Corn Chex and Life
Current Mood: Tired

You might be tired of hearing about my pregnancy, but this is my life people. Suck it up and listen to my whining.

I am carrying this baby really low. I did with Aiden, too, but since my stomach and uterus muscles are all stretched out from doing this already only 16 months ago, I am a lot bigger than last time. Most pregnant women look nicely proportioned, with this cute hump that extends from their boobs to their lower abdomen. I however, am carrying this kid in my crotch. See the illustration (no, I don't wear doofy brown shoes like that):


Carrying Low

This not only wreaks havoc on my back, it creates all sorts of problems:

1) Bending over is nigh on impossible. This means I can't pick up Aiden's toys or the stuff he pulls off all the shelves (The house is a friggin' hell-hole), I can't put on socks or shoes (there's a reason for the term "barefoot and pregnant", I'm learning), I can't clip my toenails, I can't paint my toenails (which makes me panic because sandal season is upon us and I refuse to look like a hag by wearing sandals without painted toenails), I can't shave my legs, I can barely pull up my own pants... the list goes on and on. Next time you bend over for any reason, think sympathetically of me and how hard my life is.

2) Sitting in a straight-back chair is damn uncomfortable. My legs are starting to fall asleep when I do this because I've got a 20-pound lump the size of a small beach ball resting on my legs. It also makes my stomach--no, make that my crotch-- hurt from the pressure. *whine*!

3) Similarly, sitting in any chair with my legs closed in the lady-like fashion my Young Women's leader from when I was 12 taught me how to do, is out of the question. Church is a little mortifying if I have to sit on the front row. Sorry, can't close those legs. Nothin' doin'. Got a huge lump in the way. The problem I have that goes along with this is now I have to wear long skirts to church. And when you have short stubby legs like I do, long skirts make you look ridiculously shorter; and they make your legs look fat.

4) Maternity clothes were not designed for my special situation. Nowadays they have jumped on the low-rise jeans craze and they are making maternity pants that have a big thick band that is supposed to go under your belly. They are very cute indeed; but I can't wear them because then I have a huge thick band squeezing me right where I am the biggest around. Hurts like hell. Plus, I don't think the kid likes them either. I try to wear them, and she starts wiggling around like a baby crocodile on a feeding frenzy. (Imagine getting elbowed or knee-ed in the stomach. Now imagine that on the inside.)

No, I have to wear the granny-pants style of maternity pants. The kind that you pull up to your armpits; and they have this huge stretchy panel that goes over your tummy. However, Not many places have these anymore I am discovering. If they do, they are extra, extra large. (No one caters to the small pregnant woman!)

Please, designers-- I have to get fat. Do I have to look like a dork, too? Please come up with a workable solution. At least put some back pockets on the granny-pants. Do you know how big and stupid your butt looks in jeans that don't have back pockets?

Anyways, the other problem I have with the maternity pants--even the granny pants--is that the stretchy panel still starts too high for my low, low, low tummy. I seriously need it to start RIGHT AT THE CROTCH. The panel generally starts a good 3 or 4 inches above the inseam, and my tummy starts to bulge at about 2 inches. This means I am still getting squeezed. By the end of the day, the baby has sunk even lower (if you can imagine), and wearing pants is excrutiating. Generally I change into my jammies once the husband gets home because I can't take it anymore. And we're not talking cute pajamas. I mean my big 'ol green nightgown. I couldn't look like more of a beast.

I know that by this time next month the only thing I will be able to wear is a muu-muu. It'll be awesome.

5) I have other small problems, too- but this post is getting a little out of hand. The last one I will mention is the lack of lap. Makes it hard to read bedtime stories to The Boy. The cats aren't too happy either. They try to sit on top of my stomach, and their poke-y little paws hurt!


Gee, only 3 more months to go!

Oh. My. Gosh.

A g-g-g-ghost!

Today's cereal: Raisin Bran & Corn Pops
Current mood: Sleeeeeeepy

Okay, business first.
1) A good friend read my post from yesterday and recognized it as a cry for help. This morning she invited Aiden and I up to the zoo. So I went today and had a wonderful, relaxing time. Oh, and Aiden liked it too. His favorites were the golden lion tamerins, the tigers, and feeding the geese. (I’ve always liked the giraffes, the flying foxes, and the hippos—though the hippo was gone. I hope they will be getting a new one!) We went on the train, we ate a popsicle (Dippin' Dots weren't open yet- damn!), we were outside getting sun and exercise, and there were no tantrums. Thank you, good friend, very, very much for a lovely afternoon. I needed that.

2) I have a new link to Erik with a K’s blog. I was tired of going to Scott or Sarah’s pages to find the link to check his blog, so he has officially become a Bit of Interest. Welcome aboard, EriK.

Now for pleasure. Spooky pleasure.
I mentioned in my last post that I loved ghost stories. I’m talking about real live stories of people or places that have been visited by ghosts, not the cheesy stories you tell around the campfire at Girl Scout Camp. I am fascinated from a scientific and religious standpoint by this phenomenon (do-doo-do-do-doo!)

So when I came across the Utah Ghost Investigators Society, I was pretty excited. Every Halloween they are guests on the radio station I listen to, and they play some of the recordings they have made of ghosts. Pretty creepy. A few years back, this group was doing a Halloween Night presentation at Fort Douglas, which is said to be haunted. Since we didn’t have kids, it was a weeknight, and we weren’t cool enough to go to a party, we decided to go. They gave a little presentation on ghosts, how they do investigations, and what they found when they investigated the Fort. At one point, one of the speakers interrupted his colleague and said that one of the ways that you can tell a ghost is around is with a compass—they affect the magnetic field, and so a compass will point towards a ghost rather than to North. He said that he had been watching the compass on his watch, and the arrow had been moving around the room.

I was sitting on an aisle. A little bit later, I noticed my arm getting really, really cold. Just ONE arm- the one in the aisle. I pointed it out to Kitt, and he could definitely feel a difference in the temperatures of my arms. I was sitting next to a sudden cold spot-- another sign of a ghostly presence. So we looked over at the compass-guy to see if he was still watching his compass. He was. He looked up from his compass/watch STRAIGHT AT US!!

Yup, there was a ghost hanging out next to me. Probably thought I was hot or something. For a living chick, I mean.

We were all excited and freaked out. And when we left, we took the Ghost investigators’ advice. They said that whenever they leave a place they have investigated, they ask the ghosts not to follow them home (apparently it had happened before to one of them). So when we got in our car, we told “Clem” that it was nice meeting him, but we didn’t have room for him at our house.

Yawn.

Today's cereal: Corn Chex and Corn Pops
Current Mood: Boring

I’ve been struggling with things to post to my blog. Mostly because I have realized how very, very boring my life is. Here is my typical day:

1) Be woken up way too damn early by the Boy; watch Sesame Street until the hubby is out of the shower.
2) Eat breakfast, wave bye-bye to Da-Da.
3) Watch more PBS with the Boy while doing laundry/dishes/sweeping
4) Pick up all the videos and books that the Boy has thrown off the shelves, pick up all the things from the lowest drawers in every room that the Boy has thrown all over
5) Eat lunch, play with the Boy until naptime
6) Two glorious, blissful hours to myself! Which is taken up by finally getting a shower, returning any calls I might have to make for work, and then surfing the internet like a maniac in the little time left.
7) Snacks with the Boy, check the mail (sadly, one of the day’s highlights), waste time until the hubby comes home.
8) Lay on the couch, exhausted (from doing what, exactly???) while the Hubby wrestles with the Boy.
9) Fix/watch Kitt fix dinner, eat dinner, count the minutes until the Boy goes to bed
10) Read stories, sing a song, put the Boy in bed and hope he falls asleep.
11) Spend quality time with the hubby playing the computers until I am too tired to sit up straight (around 10:00)
12) Fall asleep listening to one of my hypnosis CD’s

Occasionally I will throw a trip to the park or a visit to a store into the routine. Sometimes I am so desperate to get out of the house and go anywhere that we will go to the Dollar Store. (If I go anywhere else I end up spending money we don’t have. If I go to the Dollar store, I can buy the Boy a new toy car and not feel bad because Hey! It’s a dollar!) But a trip to the Dollar store does not a good blog entry make.

I am thinking of going to the zoo again, maybe on Friday. More for me than the Boy. I freakin’ love the zoo. He is indifferent; though I think he really liked the train ride last time. (And I can’t wait until the Dippin’ Dots stand opens! I have an unnatural love for them. Have you seen these things? Have you tried them? They are crazy. Crazy good.) Then I can post about how bad my butt hurts afterwards from all the walking. I’m sure you’ll all love to hear about my butt.

On another note, we’ve been given free tickets anywhere JetBlue flies. Usually we’d go to Disneyland, especially for the 50th anniversary (does anyone else cry when they see Disneyland commercials?), but since I can’t freakin’ go on any of the good rides and Kitt would feel like a tool going on them without me, we’re thinking San Francisco. I haven’t been since I was like 11, and Kitt has never been. Any thoughts on cheap hotels (where we both won’t get raped)? Any suggestions on what to do? We are considering renting a car and heading to the Winchester Mystery House (we love ghosts! Remind me to tell you about our encounter at Fort Douglas…). Just how far is it from San Fran to San Jose? Any trip advice is appreciated.

The greatest dog ever? I don't think so.

Today's Cereal: Raisin Bran & Corn Pops
Current Mood: Energetic

So, the other day the Hubby and I were discussing the drawbacks of owning a big red dog. Besides the obvious one of where do you keep him, there are some other problems that the show never discusses. For instance, how does little Emily Elizabeth clean up after her ginormous pet? I give them a month before the little Birdwell Island landfill is full to the top with big red poo. And how do they feed that behemoth? I have a hard time believing that they can buy enough dog food just from the income of a little souvenir shop. And how did they neuter Clifford? (And if they didn't neuter him, how many people have died after he tried to hump their leg?) I can't imagine being licked by him, either. It looks all cute and lovey on the cartoon, but imagine the dry cleaning bills in real life.

I like dogs, but only little dogs. Nothing bigger than a beagle for me, thank you. My problem with big dogs is that they have big poo and big drool. A dog bigger than a house? Hmmmmm.....

A few things I would sell my soul for...

Today's Cereal: Vanilla Creme Frosted Min-Wheats
Current Mood: Snacky

...or at least rent it out for a while for.

1) Something else besides Spaghetti-O's for lunch
2) Curly hair
3) A cheesecake blizzard from Dairy Queen
4) Perfect pitch
5) A few more inches (5'6" sounds so nice! And I wouldn't have to hem EVERY SINGLE FREAKIN' pair of pants I buy...)
6) A Rumbi Island Grill within walking distance
7) A clone of myself
8) A few more hours of sleep every night
9) A cat that doesn't shed
10) A trip to St. Croix tomorrow

Go to hell, Blogger. You too, AOL.

Today's cereal: Golden Grahams and Tiger Power
Current Mood: Filled with murderous rage

After a week of no internet conection, I finally get online and try to update my blog. After two really cool and really long tries, I'm afraid this is all you get.

Here, let this appease you while you wait for my rage to subside.

I'm not sure I signed up for THIS!

Today's Cereal: Wheaties
Current Mood: Unsettled. Who am I really?

There has been a lot of talk lately about poo. From myself, on the blogs I read. There was poo talk here, and I made a comment about it here; John brought it up here, and Sarah continued it here. I am not sure why poo has been such a hot topic, but I think it's because the universe was preparing me--putting me in the right mindset, if you will--for what I had to deal with today.

I gave The Boy a bath today. He loves his bathtime, and he is so cute naked. When I get him undressed and carry him to the bathtub, he wraps his arms and legs around me and clings to me like a baby chimpanzee! It is so sweet, and for some reason, he only does this when he is naked. But anyways. His bath was nearing a close when suddenly he gets this really intense look on his face. I knew what was coming. I knew it! And I should have acted RIGHT THEN!! But I waited like a dumbass for the inevitable; and sure enough, HE POOED IN THE BATHTUB!!!

I know this is not an uncommon occurance, but in the 15 months we've had The Boy, this has never happened to us. We've had friends tell us about it happening to them. And it's always a funny story--"yeah, our kid crapped in the bathtub! Ha ha ha, isn't that sick?" But they never finish up the story. I mean, they don't ever tell you what they DID about it. And this was one of the many, many thoughts that flitted through my mind at mach 12 in the few seconds that followed: "What the hell was I supposed to do now?" I thought. "Here is my nice clean kid, and next to him, is some poo. AM I SUPPOSED TO GRAB IT?!?!? Think, Beck, think! What did all your friends do when this happened to them? Oh yeah, they never TELL you what they did. They might have EATEN IT for all I know!"

In my panic, I overlooked the obvious first step to take, but it soon came to me. I grabbed The Boy. Bathtime was officially over. But I still had a dilemma. The Boy was now out of the water, but he is standing there naked and cold, and I had to deal with the poo before he got mad about being taken out prematurely and started a tantrum. I didn't want to deal with a wet, naked tantrum.

Again, I thought, "Am I supposed to just reach in and grab this poo? It's not going to fit down the drain." And the realization that followed has left me a little unsettled all day. A while back, Kitt and I decided that a good way to gauge a little bit about someone's personality would be to ask them if they would hold someone else's poo in their bare hands for $100. Their response to this question tells you an awful lot. Most people really have to think about it, and you get even more of their personality by the things they say as they are debating it, or by the follow-up questions they ask (like, "how long do I have to hold it?"--30 seconds, BTW). Some people say yes, they would hold poo for $100. These are usually your laid-back people, people who are often described by others as "so cool". One of our wacky friends said, "Hell, I'd lick poo for $100!" (And that describes Ben SO WELL!). The type of people who said no were generally your type-A, anal-retentive people who we secretly made fun of.

When posed with The Question, always my answer would be, "Sure, I would hold poo for $100. It's $100!! And you can always just wash your hands afterwards." But here I was, face to face with the embodiment of my joke question, and I realized... I would NOT hold poo. Not for $100. Not for $100 and a life-time supply of Corn Pops. I am that anal-retentive person that I made fun of! I have been battling that beast for so long, and suddenly I am the beast. I am not sure how to handle this right now. I feel so wierd. I am not the person I thought I was; not the person I had been telling people I was. Does everyone else already know this?? When I used to say, "Sure I'll hold poo!" was everyone around me thinking, "Yeah, RIGHT Beck!" Does this come as a surprise to no one but me? Or is everybody going to be so disappointed in me?

To finish the story for you, so when it happens to you you'll know what to do, there happened to be a big plastic slotted spoon in the bathroom that The Boy had been playing with before (He likes to play with the big kitchen utensils. They are all over the house). When I saw it there, I immediately grabbed it, and started fishing out the poo (now in several chunks--didn't you just want to know that??) and throwing it in the toilet. Gagging the whole time, of course. The Boy is just watching in fascination. So for those of you who have small kids or ever plan on having small kids, get yourself a poo-spoon to keep in the bathroom for such an emergency.

I am not sure what to do with that spoon now. Do I throw it away? Because it could be blessed by the Pope (God rest him) and I still would not let it near my kitchen again. I guess I will leave it in the bathroom to be my Official Poo Spoon, for next time. (Please, don't let there be a next time. I don't think my psyche could take it.) I am also not sure I will ever be able to take a bath in that tub again. (Honey, when you get home tonight I need you to get out the Clorox and rinse out the tub with it...)

Did I do the right thing? Has anyone else had this happen? What did YOU do? When people are giving out parenting advice, they never give you really practical, everyday advice-- like what to do if your kid poos in the bath. And I have never, EVER seen this discussed in any parenting books. What to Expect the Toddler Years my ASS!