Archives for July 2011

And this is why I love my job.

So this week I had to go have a mole on my chest looked at. The thing has kind of been freaking me out for a while. It popped up about 2 or 3 years ago out of nowhere and I remember the morning I discovered it and was like: What the hell is that?!

I’ve been watching it for a while now and it’s actually gotten a little bigger and developed a few little black spots. It hasn’t really changed much lately, but every time my mom looks at it she’s all “Ohhhhh my gosh you need to have that looked at.” Which of course makes me think:

OMG MELANOMA. PANIC ATTACK.

But that’s pretty much because I have paranoia and anxiety issues. I haven’t actually been DIAGNOSED with paranoia and anxiety issues, but I have a tendency to be somewhat high strung when it comes to health issues. Anyway, the other day I told the women in my office I was going to have to take off an hour for lunch to go to the hospital and have the thing looked at. I also hoisted up my shirt and asked a few folks to look at the thing and give me their unprofessional opinion. I’m obviously quite modest.

Anyway to make a long, strange story short, I went to the doctor, it was nothing and they took it off so I could stop obsessing over it. Today, the girls in my office presented me with a card, the front of it looked like this:

If you go here you’ll realize I’ve written something about this slogan before…however, I have to say that for this particular occasion it was quite appropriate. Inside the card were notes like “Glad everything turned out okay,” “One less thing to worry about,” “We should have a ceremony for the departed Moley McMolerton.”

I’m glad I have people in my life that GET me, quirks and all.

Also, in all seriousness, go get your moles looked at people. Especially if they show up out of nowhere and grow and change colors. Don’t wait two or three years like I did. My doctor told me he has had cases similar to mine than weren’t so lucky. So schedule your full body scan today, k?

Also, in all seriousness I love my job for other reasons besides the fact that my coworkers have accepted that I’m a nutcase and they just roll with it. But that IS quite helpful.

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You’ve got the wrong girl for this.

Jesus and I are officially engaged and planning a wedding. That happened a few weeks ago. The fact that we are now planning a wedding a little over 3 months from now is exciting and fun, but let me explain something: we’ve known we were going to get married for quite some time. This is not surprising news. I mean, we’ve known each other for 8 years now, we’ve been together for almost 5, we have a child together, we live together, WE WERE GONNA GET MARRIED. We just happen to have taken the time to actually do it. Some of this wedding stuff is turning out to be somewhat frustrating and probably not for the reasons most would think. The planning isn’t bad, that part is okay because:

I’m a pretty low maintenance chick. I’m not the MOST low maintenance but I’m very “Oh it’s okay,” or “Oh I don’t care,” or “Don’t worry I’ll make it work.” I don’t stress over much and I almost always find a way to make things work because I’m not picky. I am, however, pretty organized and pretty crafty and I like to have a plan. But, if the plan fails to run it’s course the way I intended, no problem! It’ll all work out one way or another. Things are coming together nicely because I’ve been able to move very quickly and get several things accomplished in the last 3 weeks because I’m a quick decision maker : “I want it, I’ll take it, done and done.” I also have some great folks helping me.

I do not want a big formal affair, I don’t want some big expensive designer dress, and I don’t need floral arrangements everywhere. I don’t even want to print programs. I will not be lighting a unity candle or pouring any sand into some vase, and I don’t even care if my groomsmen wear suits. Jesus kind of put his foot down on that one though and said, “I’m wearing a damn suit.” Alrighty then.

What is difficult is having to deal with other people in the “wedding planning” world. For example:

The other day I went dress shopping and the experience kind of jaded me. The sales consultant made me want to punch her in the face. I used to be in sales and nothing pisses me off more than a fake, pushy sales person. (This also might be why I did not excel at my sales career because I’m more of a: “You want it? No? Alright, whatever,” kind of girl.) ¬†She also kept winking at me. I hate compulsive winkers. She was a total control freak that made me try dresses on in the order SHE wanted; “No, we aren’t doing that one yet, you are trying on the one that I put in your room.”

………

She kept bringing me dresses that were over what I wanted to pay. I am not spending an astronomical amount on a dress because I am going to wear it for ONE day. I just want it to look good and be comfortable. I don’t even want to keep the thing. I mean what am I going to do with it? Keep it in storage? Save if for a daughter that is not going to wear it because by then it will be out of style? (I’ve run into this with my own mother and her old dress. I doubt I will end up wearing hers because it is quite 80’s and out of style, but can I just say it’s the most well made and the most flattering of any dress I’ve tried on? I think that says something about the dresses they make nowadays.) The consultant also told me a dress that showed up in my dressing room was one that my friend picked out, and it wasn’t. (Liar.) She also kind of tried to hide a dress we found on clearance, and had me try on a more expensive dress first. But all that is whatever, she’s a sales consultant, she was probably just trying to make a bigger commission check. I get that, like I said, I was in sales. But I also wasn’t a sneaky skank.

Moving on, my MOST FAVORITE, FAVORITE PART was that she kept putting veils on my head when I found a dress I liked. She would make me close my eyes until she got the veil situated so that I could “get the whole effect”. I did NOT like that. I don’t like to be told to close my eyes. Especially so I can be “surprised” about how some damn veil looks on my head.

Then, after she got the veil on, she made me walk to the front of the store to some full length mirror which I had to keep my back to, then she handed me a fake bouquet of white roses and had me close my eyes, AGAIN, and turn around and open them. Then she leaned in and whispered, “That’s what Jesus will see walking down the aisle.” I wanted to puke right then and there. This whole thing went on about 2 or 3 more times, every time she repeated herself, “Oh, imagine that this is what Jesus will see! Oh, imagine Daddy walking you down the aisle!” I had to get out of there or I was going to lose it. I am SO not about that cheesy crap. NOT AT ALL. This wedding is not about fairy tales and sunshine and being a princess. I wanted to just straight up tell her I’d already birthed this man’s child from my HOO HA as he watched. He has certainly already seen me at my best and my worse. I already know that this relationship is going to last and speaking of giving birth, he already looked at me more adoringly THAT day than he could any day I’m walking down an aisle in a white dress.

The sappy “he’s my one and only, my soulmate, I’m marrying my best friend” business has already fizzled out of my system folks. First of all, he is not “my best friend”. He’s my partner and the father of my child and my soon to be husband, but I also have a best friend. A best friend that I can bitch to ABOUT my partner. You know, when he splashes water all over the counter every time he’s in the bathroom, or throws his dirty clothes on the floor NEXT to the laundry basket.

I don’t know if that sales approach was something the consultant came up with on her own or if it’s something the store trains them to do, but I’ll tell you one thing: I’m not that kind of girl. Those kind of lines are useless on me. I’m totally not buying what they’re selling. I realize there are those kinds of girls out there, they’ve dreamed for years about their wedding and that’s 100% okay to want to be sucked up to and treated like a princess. But I don’t want to be, not one tiny bit. I’m a grown ass woman and I expect to be treated like one. I don’t want anyone telling me to close my eyes and whispering to me about Jesus or my father. The whole experience just made me nauseous. I don’t think I can adequately convey that anymore than I already have.

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Protected: I win at evasiveness.

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Head bashing, putty and bruises from my cat.

No Mommy Meets Daddy post today, just an update on whats been going on at my house, which hasn’t been much. Here are the highlights:

Bella has taken to throwing herself down on the floor dramatically when she doesn’t get her way. This usually pertains to situations where I have something that I won’t give her or I take something away from her. Anyway, once she plops down onto the floor she will begin to wail and will thrust her fists into the floor a couple of times. There is usually some kicking involved as well. But tonight the tantrums got even more severe. After dinner there was a fork on the table that she wanted. I wouldn’t give it to her because hell, I don’t want her running around the house with it, somehow managing to jam the thing into her eyeball. So I moved the fork out of her reach and put it away in the sink. I knew what was coming. She stuck out that bottom lip and dropped to the floor, and then the screaming started, and THEN something completely unexpected happened: she starting banging her head on the kitchen floor. Repeatedly. It really achieved the outcome she was hoping for though, I gave her the fork simply because I was afraid she was about to beat herself unconscious. I’ll take that Mother of the Year Award now, thank you.

Actually, I’m kind of questioning my parenting ability as of late. Why you ask? Oh I don’t know, maybe because I stuck a piece of silly putty in my ear the other day just to see what would happen. What happened was that it got stuck which sent me into a panic, I was pretty sure I was going to have putty in my ear canal for the rest of my life. I got it out, eventually. But seriously people? How am I supposed to keep Bella from getting cereal stuck up her nose or from swallowing nickels when her own mother puts silly putty in her ear? I guess I’ll just give her the whole “No you don’t want to do that, Mommy already tried it and let me tell you how well that worked out” speech.

I also got beat up by my cat the other night. I don’t mean he scratched me or bit me or anything, though he does that sometimes. (Asshole.) No, my frolicking feline lovingly referred to as Kitty was dashing about the house because he didn’t get enough play time outside. It was time for bed and he was bouncing off the walls of our bedroom so I was trying to coax him out so we could sleep. The little bastard darted at me and ran right into my shin. He hit me so hard I’m surprised it didn’t knock him out or break his neck. My leg was aching and stinging for the next 15 minutes and now a bruise has emerged and it’s been aching all day.

Between my child throwing tantrums and beating her brains out and my cat physically abusing me, I’d say my anxiety is pretty high right now. That might be why I’ve been shoving putty in my ears, I think I’ve gone a little bit looney.

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Protected: Late night driveway rendezvous.

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Bella and her loud a$$ toys.

When my child is awake, my house is loud all the time. She’s screaming and slamming and throwing and banging. Her toys are singing the alphabet in Spanish. Cartoons are on the television. If you plan on calling my cell phone and having a meaningful conversation while I’m at home with my child, I have this to tell you: Good Luck. Odds are you won’t be able to hear me over the background noise, I’ll only be half listening, and I will constantly be interrupting you to say things like “NO Bella, get the cat’s tail out of your mouth.” Or: “No Bella, we don’t put our bath toys in the toilet.” Or: “No Bella, stop licking the coffee table.” Each time I interrupt you to tell her no, be prepared to hear her shout back “No No No No No No No way No way No No No!!! No way!”” for at least the next two minutes. It’s a glamourous life I lead, but someone has to do it.

The newest addition to our household is a toy lawnmower that Bella’s grandmother gave her. At first I thought this was a great idea, it’s cute and fun and Bella just LOVES pushing it around the house. She’s absolutely adorable as she mows past you like a toddler on a mission, grinning from ear to ear. The only problem is that the thing sounds LIKE AN ACTUAL LAWNMOWER. INSIDE MY HOUSE. Tonight, as Bella tirelessly pushed it back and forth through the house over and over and over I started to lose my mind a little. I was trying to use the time she was so intensely preoccupied to send out some emails and do some online research but when theres a lawnmower in your living room, thats kind of hard to do. I finally decided to distract her with some string cheese and hid the mower in the laundry room. It might just stay there for a while and for a while, I mean indefinitely. Except for when she plays outside. That would be okay, I can break it out and let her use it in the yard and let her pretend she is actually mowing the lawn.

OR I could just teach her to use the real mower, I mean, Jesus has been slacking on the yard work. This could work out nicely.

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Protected: The First Date

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