Someone Take Away the Post-Its Before I Eat Them

Has it really been almost a month since my last post? Time just flies by. Not too much has happened; I made it through the first trimester (I sure hope labor isn't that bad), survived a family RV trip (I sure hope labor isn't that bad) and ate a lot. Seriously, it's like I think someone is going to take away all food if I don't eat it, so get out of my way people, I'm trying to save us all!

So no one should take away my food, but someone should take away my post-it notes.

At work we use an instant messenger system to talk to each other. We are supposed to set our status when we are away from our desk like "At Lunch" or "In a Meeting" so people know where we are. However, today my messenger wasn't working and when I went to lunch, I decided to stick a little note on my computer to say that I was away, if anyone came looking for me.

It started out fine enough, but then I realized my first note could be open to interpretation. So I wrote another to clarify. But then that note didn't seem to really give the full picture, so I wrote another. And it just snowballed like that until this:



I know it seems like a lot, but really, each note contained important information.

Excessive? Nah, just thorough.

Despite What the Movies Say, There Was No Synchronized Dancing in High School

Reunions...

Does that word ever bring joy or feelings other than dread to anyone? Family reunions, high school reunions, Backstreet Boys reunions. All seemingly good ideas from the outside until you realize everybody is the same but older, grumpier and a little off-pitch.

This weekend was my 10-year high school reunion. I thought about going, but then I remembered what high school was like. I probably had an average, or slightly below average experience in high school. I wasn't popular, of course, and that makes for a difficult 4 years. I had some highs and lows. Highs included being part of the dance team and that one time the popular boy accidentally called me when he really meant to call my friend. Lows included getting stuffed in a locker (yes, that happened) and performing the duties of being the "look out" during make-out parties.

You know, I have been trying to recall my funniest high school memory but nothing comes to mind. It would really make for a better blog post, though. Sorry folks. Oh wait, except for that that time I had detention and the varied group of us became friends and then Judd Nelson turns out to be a sensitive guy despite his rough exterior.

But I'm not sure that really happened to me or if I saw it somewhere...

My memories are a wash of not bringing the right book to class, stressing over dances with wait-I-thought-we-were-going-as-a-group-of-girls-but-now-you-all-have-dates anxiety, losing the ability to form words in front of cute boys and not making the cheerleading squad....again.

I guess it's good to not remember specific, horrifying events. Because I'm sure I had lots of them. I'm sure I told my mom my life was absolutely over a bunch of times. It was not easy being the teacher's favorite in all the lame classes - like French, Religion and Peer Leadership. That's just not how you win friends (although I will tell my kids it is) (and Mike don't you tell them different, Mr. My Name Was Written On The Wall Of The Girls Bathroom).

Anyway, I'm sure at these reunions all the pretty, popular, mean girls will have gotten fat or ugly or become completely socially inept. And I don't want to go and make any of them feel bad. Revenge has never been my thing.

And on the off chance that they are even prettier, more successful and happier than ever...well, I can't drink. And no one can make me deal with that sober.

Aw, You Even Picked Up My Mail For Me

Whew! That was a long break. It's good to be back. I see you left my mug where I like it.

Did you move that picture? No? I did? I don't remember doing that, but if you say so...

*Note to self, lock the door next time I leave*

I'd like to say that I intentionally took a break from blogging. Like the real celebrities. Or that I entered rehab and had to wear an ankle monitor. But no. Alas, my absence was not as glamorous as that. Here's what really happened - I got knocked up. And I got sick from it. Probably not as bad as some women get sick, but bad enough that I was sure I was dying. And oh, Mike. Poor, sweet Mike continuously talking me down from ledges. Continuously convincing me that I do not have listeria poisoning or yellow fever or that the baby is not half chupacabra slowly clawing it's way out. And don't worry, that's normal. And don't google that..or that...or for the love of God, back away from the computer!

But I am slowly coming back to reality and society. I'm getting over my buyers remorse and am getting used to the idea that there are going to be three of us now (I mean me, Mike and baby. Not twins - I made the Dr. look twice because I thought there was no way I could be in this much agony for just one tiny human). But sometimes I still don't know if I'm old enough or ready enough to have a kid...good thing I'm going to start with a baby, right?

Being pregnant is a funny thing. Albeit sometimes frustrating because I have all the symptoms of being pregnant but I don't look like it yet. Therefore, it's hard to explain why I'm so tired and go to bed after the 6:00 news. But, as one of my favorite bloggers advised, if someone gives you a hard time about being tired all the time, just say "I made a person's inner ear canal today. Without my hands. What did you do, paperwork?"

Well, I had better get going. It's nearing 8:00 and I just can't keep my eyes open. I've got a nervous system to form. Thanks again for the flowers and the warm welcome back. It means a lot. I won't lie, it's bordering on creepy, but it's nice. Thank you.

Finding Allies

I step on the elevator at the end of the day. I am holding my uneaten apple. The apple that I took to work this morning. The apple that was going to instantly make me incredibly healthy. The apple that would positively change my life. The apple that would keep all doctors away. The apple that would bring world peace.

I am holding that apple as I step on the elevator.

I look at the guy already in the elevator. I look down at his hands. He is holding an uneaten banana.

I look back up at him.

He gestures politely with his banana-hand.

We nod.

We get each other. We are instantly friends.


And then?

And then my ally, my fruit-in-the-elevator friend actually peels his banana, raises it to his mouth and takes a bite.

The hell?

Instantly he switched teams and instantly I am making the walk of shame back to my car alone.

What was that nod all about anyway?

Apparently, 40 Days Is Too Much To Ask Of Me

Remember when I told you about giving up being an idiot for lent? Well, I almost made it. *Almost*

Today I was talking to a very conservative co-worker about her recent trip to Las Vegas. I asked her how it was and she said "It was good. But there's not much for me to do in Vegas though because I don't gamble, I don't drink and I'm not into the sex stuff." So I said "Yeah, I don't gamble either." And I left it at that.

Yes I did.

It didn't occur to me until a few seconds later that I may have implied to her that I am into the sex stuff. And by then enough time had passed so that I couldn't bring it up again and clarify.

So, now I'm the new girl who steals coffee and goes to Vegas for "sex stuff." Pretty good start to this job.

On another (yet related) note; I received an e-mail from a girl I went to grad school with. She has not graduated yet and was asking for advice on how to do her capstone research project. Cool, huh. Grad students are asking *me* for advice! So I wrote her back and said that it's best to do your project on something you are really passionate about. I said "since the research paper has to be 25 pages, you better be able to babble on about it for a while." I told her I did my project on sustainability in museums and I included lots of pictures and checklists. You know, standard college student page filler. Well, she wrote back and said she thinks she's going to write her paper on a project she and her husband are working on. Here it is:

"My husband and I are trying to get the city to donate the land for us (and corporate sponsor) to build a velodrome park. A velodrome park is like a racetrack but built for bikes. The center of the velodrome is usually green space. Many kids in the city do not know how to ride bikes anymore because there is no safe place to learn. So, my dream is to build a place where they can learn how to ride, even race bikes. If the next generation doesn't know how to ride a bike, how are they going to commute on it? My husband has already started sponsoring and training about a dozen kids. So, there is a need. Through mentors from his bike team, the kids get their own bike and gear, get driven to races (some of them have never left the city before) and help on college application, and whatever else they may need within reason."

Shit, can she see me through the internet?

I'm so embarrassed. Here she is doing something really noble and worthy and I'm playing Scrapbook USA with my paper.

Remember that Seinfeld episode where Jerry has to give a presentation to a school assembly so he asks George to help fill up time? George says he's "prepared some science experiments that will illuminate the mind and dazzle the eye." And Jerry says "I wrote a 20 minute bit about how homework stinks." I'm Jerry right now.

Thankfully I graduated before her. They can't rescind degrees, can they? Well, just in case, I have put mine in a lockbox guarded by killer bees. Because I like honey.

And "sex stuff," apparently.

I Had To Re-Take This Picture A Bunch Of Times Because People Kept Coming In. And No One Likes The Girl With The Camera In The Bathroom

First, a short ode to athletes who love reality shows girls.

Thank you.

Without your love and support, I wouldn’t be able to watch shows like “Keeping up with the Kardashians” or “Kendra.” At least not while Mike is awake. ..Or still not blind and deaf.

You see, it’s those rare athletes who, for some reason, choose to marry these “celebrities” and who make occasional appearances on their shows that allow me to watch without constant comments like “isn’t there anything else on?” or “I will poke my eye out if we have to watch this again” or “seriously, I’m getting a sharpened pencil…”

So, thank you.

Now, if only we can get one to fall in love with Tyra Banks…or one of the Bad Girls…

On another note, I noticed this sticker on the paper towel dispenser in the bathroom here at work.

You know what? If there’s an emergency in the bathroom that requires more paper towels and in-a-hurry; I promise you I won’t be hanging around long enough to utilize those emergency towels.

Valentine's Day Snakes

You know how Sunday is the best day to go to Home Depot because there are only a few other shoppers there? Well, I'll give you one better - if it's Sunday and also Valentine's Day, you will be the only shopper. Which is usually good. Unless you are looking for something embarrassing.

You see, our toilet is clogged. And the plunger aint cutting it. There, I said it.

Mike and I had been to two grocery stores today looking for something to unclog it and when we got home with the Dran-O we discovered that you are not supposed to use it on toilets. Since it's Valentine's day, I offered to let Mike relax while I went back to the store to return it and buy something else (since he would actually be doing the "dirty" work).

So I went back to Albertsons and read the backs of every drain unclogging product they had. And all the Dran-O and Liquid Plumber products say "do not use on toilet." The hell? I finally found two that didn't exactly say "use on toilet" but they didn't say not to either, so I bought them both.

I thought exchanging one unclogging product for two unclogging products would be the most embarrassing thing that happened to me today.

I was wrong.

I got home and talked to Mike and we thought since these products don't say safe for toilets, we should probably look for something else. So I decided to go to Home Depot, again by myself, to see what they had. The parking lot was empty. I went in and there were 3 guys waiting by the front door. They must have known I'm not a real handy person because right away they all asked what I needed.

Me: Something to unclog my toilet.
Guy 1: Like a plunger?
Me: No, something stronger, like a liquid cleaner?
Guy 2: So, it's really clogged?
Me: Um...yes
Guy 3: Well, you can't use liquid because it will eat the plastic ring on your toilet and make it start to leak eventually.
Me: Okay
Guy 2: Here, let's go to the plumbing section.

Guys 2 and 3 take me to the Plumbing aisle. Guy 3 calls over his walkie: "Plumbing assistance, aisle 8"

Guys 2 and 3 stay with me and start talking about something else when Guy 4 comes over.

Guy 2: Her toilet's clogged
Guy 4: Okay, what's clogging it?
Me: Uhhhh
Guy 2: A diaper?
Me: No
Guy 3: A sock?
Me: Ummm...nope.
Guy 4: A pill bottle?
Me: It's, uh, clogged with, um....normal stuff
Guy 4: Okay, you need a snake

All 3 guys then show me the various types of snakes. This one is manual, this one you attach to a drill, this one comes with a sno-cone maker. I choose one and thank the guys and turn to leave.

Guy 4: Good luck
Guy 3: Hope that works for you
Guy 2: Have a happy Valentine's Day!

I take the snake to the register and Guy 1 rings it up.

Guy 1: Wow, this is what you need?
Me: I guess so
Guy 1: Are you going to try this all by yourself?
Me: Oh no, my husband will take it from here
Guy 1: Alright, well, hope you have a better Valentine's Day

Thanks. Will do.