Mission Impossible

Well, I finally did it.

Today, I tried to fit into my pre-pregnancy jeans.

I was hopeful at first. Everyone I see comments on how I lost my pregnancy weight so fast. So I figured hey, it's been two months. Time to break out the old wardrobe. I can do this. Piece of cake.

So I lay them out on the bed and eyeball them. Never before had they looked so tiny.

Alright, I say to myself. Let's do this.

Feet go in. Pause. I grab the waist of those sons of bitchs and begin the shimmy dance.

You all know the shimmy dance, don't you? The side to side wiggle as you inch those bastards up your legs? You know.

I hit the thighs. Pause. Deep breath.

Shimmy, shimmy.

Pause.

What the hell?

SHIMMY SHIMMY SHIMMY.

I-shimmy-can-shimmy-do-shimmyshimmy-THIS!

Pant, pant.

Yank-shimmy-pull-yank-shimmyshimmyshimmy.

And they're up.

Ha! Victory is mine! screams the voice of Stewie Griffin in my brain.

Uh oh. I have to button these bastards, don't I?

Pause. Stare. Firmly grasp both sides and pull. Pull.

Pull, woman, pull! Suck it in! SUCK IT IN!

Pant, pant.

Faintly realize that your hips are just not the same size as they were and probably never will be again. One last futile tug.

Sigh. Admit defeat.

Shimmy dance in reverse.

Grumble to self as you put your Fatty McFatass sweatpants back on.

Plan depressing shopping trip tomorrow as you ponder the trauma of trying to figure out what the hell jeans size you wear now.

File this away in the "No one told me this part" portion of your brain.

Sigh.

I'd Like To Thank The Academy....

Woot! I got my first blog award! Bestowed upon me by the wonderful and gracious Cyndi.

Thank you, awesome lady! I'll try to control my giddiness so I can post the rules:


The directions I was given are these: 1. If, and only if, you get tagged, write a post with links to 5 blogs that make you think, 2. Link to this post so that people can easily find the exact origin of the meme, 3. Optional: Proudly display the 'Thinking Blogger Award' with a link to the post that you wrote.


My nominees are all wonderful women. They will make you think, make you ponder your own life, leave you nodding your head in agreement on a daily basis, and are just all around awesome chics. All are a daily read of mine (when I can get to the net) and all are well worth the time. Go! Read them!

1. Memoirs Of A Dysfunctional Housewife


2. Dancing Through


3. Motherhood Uncensored


4. A Girl And A Boy


5. Mommies Are People, Too

Rant-O-Rama

Nothing like browsing through Craig's List for about an hour to make you want to BITCH your head off. Some days, I don't feel like making the effort to be nice. I get sick and tired of telling everyone that I'm doing ok. Today was one of those days where I woke up with my bitch switch (ha ha ha, I rhyme) flipped on high.

To the lady who SPEARED MY CHILD:

Yes, I know she had to have her shots. But this ain't the fuckin' Olympics and it is not the javelin throw. All that was missing was a running start. Soup up your technique a bit, yea? Because if you give her a shot that way again, I'll give into my mommy urge and punch you in your over sized nose.

To Ex's Whore:

What on God's green earth makes you think I want to be friends with you?! Hello, we tried that, and you FUCKED AROUND WITH MY HUSBAND. I do believe that takes you out of the potential friend runnings. No, I do not want to be civil, either. I do not want to lay eyes on your stupid slut face ever again, because I may well remove it. No, my child cannot come visit you. In your sad, strange, pathetic little world, this may fulfill your fantasies of you and Ex being a family, but I do not want my daughter in your presence. Grow up. I hate you. I am not a Buddhist and I lack Zen, but I do hold grudges. For-ev-er. That's the way it will be, and if you really are dumb enough to come to my house in an effort to "work things out", I will give you precisely five seconds to vacate the area, and then I will proceed to take you apart. I wouldn't risk it if I were you. And by the way, he doesn't give a shit about you. Sorry about that. Wait, no I'm not. It's called karma, bitch.

To Ex:

What is the matter with your brain? You do NOT love me. That was made abundantly clear. Getting cold feet now that you have ruined any chance we had of making it, are you? Well, too damn bad. I was the best thing that ever happened to you, and you fucked me over. I will never trust you again. I do not want to be with you. Thinking of you and what you did makes me ill. I am sorry that you didn't realize how much I meant to you when we were still together, when there was time to fix what was wrong, but that is not my fault. I spent three years giving you second chances. That time is over. Stop doing this so I can move on with my life.

To Ex's Male Friends:

Jesus, why am I suddenly such a prime piece of ass?! What makes you think I want to date/sleep with you now that I'm single? Leave me alone! You are not suddenly irresistible to me now that he is out of the picture! Argh! No I will not do you to get revenge on him! What kind of friends are you anyway?



Wow, I feel better. Cleansed, really. Some days, you just have to be a bitch. The only good part of today was when I watched Anchorman and laughed like a loon whenever Will Ferrel goes, "Why don't you go back to your home on Whore Island!" That man is a laugh riot.

Well, I thought it was funny.

This Is Why I Hate Cats.

Today was just great. What with my house nearly burning down and all.

I went out to go grocery shopping earlier, taking Little One with me. My grandmother was still here at the house. So I go, get the shopping done, swing by and check the mail, and then head home. On the way up the stairs I thought to myself, "Something smells like burning."

Sure enough I open the front door and smoke billows out at me. My grandmother is sitting on the couch, oblivious.

"What the hell is burning?!" I shriek.
"Burning? Nothing's burning." says Grandma.

So I bundle Little One out onto the patio and go rampaging around the house. Stove? No. Toaster? No. Microwave? Nope. Cigarette burning on the floor? Don't see one.

Finally I get to my room and spot the source of the problem. Turns out while I was gone that damn idiot of a cat had decided it would be fun to play with the heat light on top of my snake's cage. He had knocked it off onto the floor. Now these lights aren't like regular light bulbs. They get HOT. You know how hot those halogen lights they use in shops or for fishing get? Comparable to that. And the motherfucker's sitting right on the floor.

So, I kick it away, run into the kitchen and fill up a pitcher with water, run back down the hall, douse the smoldering ruin of carpet, and survey the damage. It had burned a hole six inches across through the carpet, the padding, and was charring the wood underneath. How on God's green earth the floor didn't burst into flames I'll never know. I suspect it would have if I'd been gone any longer.

And grandma didn't realize anything was wrong.

This is why she lives with me know. This isn't the first fire incident she's had. She's been known to leave pots of food burning to death on the stove and light ashtrays on fire when putting out a cigarette on the paper towel she inexplicably had in it.

So, I've spent the last three hours sitting outside with the kiddo while the house airs out. And it smells like motherfucking burned carpet in my room now. And I have a huge, charred hole in the floor that I do not know how to explain to the apartment manager. And the cat wisely refuses to emerge from beneath the bed because he knows I have it in for him.

What a life.

I Was A Teenage Idiot

Oh, my. The memories this post brings back.

I think I might have mentioned somewhere before that I went through a phase for about a year when I was teenager where I was drunk or stoned pretty much any time I wasn't in school. I had a group of friends that I had started hanging out with that, while good friends, weren't exactly the best influence. Now I was never really one to cave into peer pressure, it's just that being around it all the time made me curious. So I fell into the same habits they did.

Getting stoned? Sure. BAD experiences. First time I did it, I stumbled around feeling nauseous and as though I was going to die for 2 hours before eating three toast sandwiches (just toast...nothing else. No butter, no nothing.) and a bowl of potato salad and falling asleep after shrieking at my then-boyfriend NOT TO TOUCH ME EVER AGAIN OR I'D DIE. Another time (having not learned from my first experience, evidently) my friend and I managed, WITHOUT EITHER OF US KNOWING, to get hold of weed that had been laced with CRYSTAL METH. I shit you not. I was totally out of it for 12 fuckin' hours, during which I nearly put my eye out when I broke a string on my guitar after trying to play Stairway To Heaven (because , you know, I was a guitar MASTER suddenly) squinted at the radio for half an hour trying to figure out why all the music was playing too fast, and annoyed the large group of friends who were babysitting us both by repeatedly asking when this shit would wear off. About nine million times a minute.

After that, I quit smoking. I was a bit reckless but not a complete idiot.

But drinking? Yea. Drinking was still fair game. I'm sure I don't remember most of the very dumbest things I did while drunk, as I got the black out experience more than once. There is nothing quite so embarrassing as waking up in your bed and hearing stories about how your friends had to carry you home and clean up vomit from various places. The first time I kissed Ex? Yea, I was blacked out. Can't remember it to save my life. As a matter of fact I woke up the next day wondering why I suddenly had a crush on him. I suppose I should have realized this boded ill for the rest of the relationship, but alas, I did not. Another time I decided I just HAD to walk home and sleep in my own bed (at 3 AM, when everyone else was asleep) so I set off. I do not remember anything about walking home, but when I woke up the next day I was in my bed, covered in mud and with a hole in my shirt. Turns out I somehow managed to cross a six lane highway, scale a six foot board fence, fall into a ditch and most amazingly of all, get home without being arrested.

Luckily for me I was always around a group of friends who took care of me if they had to and watched out for me. They interfered more than once on my behalf with scuzzy boyfriends trying to take advantage of my inebriated state. For that I am very thankful.

Whenever I look back at all this I cringe. Oh, how I cringe. The times I should have gotten arrested or hospitalized defy the imagination. I cannot believe how dumb I was. And considering my parents were dead and I lived with my grandmother, who was blissfully clueless to all this and let me come and go as I pleased...I'm honestly amazed I didn't come to more harm.

Thankfully I had a streak of common sense just big enough to prevent myself from going totally over the edge. And eventually I realized I was wasting my time and acting like an idiot, and I got a job and quit doing quite as many stupid things.

And now I have a daughter. And while her teenage days are still a comfortable distance away, I still get nervous. Because when it comes down to it, it is the kid that has to make their own decisions. Unless I keep her locked away in a closet, odds are she will run into some of the same situations I did. And while I can impart to her my suggestions and thoughts and advice and rules, in the end it's up to her. If she wants to do something, she'll find a way to do it. I'm not naive enough to think she won't. Teenagers are devious that way. I just hope she inherits less of my teen recklessness and a bit more of my common sense and self preservation.

And my luck, because lord knows I must have had quite a bit of it.