Science's Slackass Little Brother

You know what is cray cray?

 

That doctors can make babies in test tubes and do face transplants, but that in order for them to test a pregnant woman's glucose levels they make them drink pure liquid sugar than sit there for an hour to see how it effects them.

 

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Ain't nobody got time for that!

 

 

 

But seriously, they should make a pill for that.

Closet Go Boom

Last night, in an attempt to fix the teeny, tiny little loose screw in my closet, Grant broke the ever living shit out of the whole thing.  It was of the upmost hilarity. 

 

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I've mentioned before how some things set off this absolutely uncontrollable laughter deep within my soul.  This would be one of those times.  Good, but not nearly as good as this - I Have Risen.  There's nothing like a grown man wearing purple gloves to bed.

 

I didn't get a picture of the destruction because, well, getting up is hard these days and I just wanted to lay their giggling my ever-expanding ass off on the bed.

 

But picture this:

 

 

with every single item on the top left rack fallen on the floor.

 

It was actually a blessing in disguise.  Not only did he end up repairing the teeny, tiny loose screw (turned mangled screw, sheetrock, metal disaster), but I also randomly cleaned out my closet.  I ended up giving away over 30 shirts and sweaters to Goodwill.

 

FYI - If you are the type of person that likes to hold on to things "just in case they fit", try cleaning out your closet when you're almost 7 months pregnant.  Those cute shirts that normally look like they are totally going to fit well really soon, now look like the Mount Everest of casual wear.  Goodbye to you!

 

I also did something crazy that I've always kind of wanted to do.  Color coordinate my shirts!  Now it looks like this:

Not OCD color coordinated.  Just so that all the members of the ROYGBIV family get to hang out with those they have the most in common with.

 

Not Real Housewives of Beverly Hills material, but definitely fit for the Queen of my one story house and closet from a box. 

 

So Grant, I thank you for fixing my closet.  And the good people of the Goodwill Community Foundation thank you for breaking it.

 

Bonus good news - When I dropped off my donation this lady accepted it.  Her hair was no longer hot pink but she still called me "Sweatheart" a lot, so that was nice and weird.

Rosie Update

Since a few fellow dog obsessed people asked me about Rosie, I thought I'd give you an update.  I took her to the vet.  After a quick visit and some urine analysis, it turns out Ro Ro has some sort of infection of the lady bits. 

 

 

Did you know that, according to the vet's office, the easiest way to collect a sample of your pet's urine is to follow them around until they squat and quickly place a tray under their stream?  I did that yesterday.  It was fun running after a dog's 1/2 ounce of pee while pregnant in the freezing cold at 8am. 

(No really, it was.  I felt like a good mom.  And a scientist.)

 

Even though I inexplicably have to give her these antibiotics for 14 days, twice a day (?!?!), she already seems like her old, bladder-controlled self after just one day of them. 

 

Now, if we could just move to a no-fly-over zone than homegirl would quit barking at everything that passes in the sky and we could all sleep in peace.  But things are looking up!  Especially for our floors.

How to Un-House Train Your Dog

Step 1: Assume that since she is 11 months old and has rarely peed in the house, and that she is the cutest dog ever, that she is and will forever be perfect.

 

A lady likes nice things.  And lots and lots of blankets.

 

 

Step 2: Get her spayed.

 

Step 3: Give her a full day of surgery to be the saddest, most pitiful thing ever.

 

The sadness and confusion was palpable.

 

Step 4: Treat her like a gentle angel.  Give her a raw hide bone that was sent to her in the mail to show her she is special and deserves treats.

 

Step 5: Watch as she mauls the raw hide bone all day long and then subsequently drinks an ungodly amount of water. 

 

Step 6: Take her out the usual 10 times a day that seems pretty generous for any pet.

 

Step 7: Step in a big puddle of her pee.  Take her out again.

 

Step 8: Wait 15 minutes and find another puddle of pee on your rug. 

 

Step 9: Scratch your head and think, WTF, Rosie!?  I thought we had a deal.  Hello, see Step #1!

 

Melancholy and the infinite sadness.

 

 Step 10: Wake up around 3am to your husband cursing at the pee puddle by his feet in bed.  He he.  Laugh a little to yourself that she has only ever peed on his side.

 

Step 11: Enjoy this rare moment of sleeping alone while he moves to the couch, even though it means that you are sleeping with no covers because they are in the wash.

 

Step 12-15: Blame it on the raw hide, blame it on the surgery, blame it on the rain.  Something is not the same with your dog.  She officially thinks the office is her personal toilet and the bed is her own pee pad. 

 

Step 16: Be a little devastated because your angel baby is not, in fact perfect.  Even 2 weeks post-surgery.  Ask for help or tips on how to get back to Step 1.

 

Anyone!?  Tips?!  Suggestions!?  I want my perfect dog back.  Not just because I don't like stepping in pee.  I also am not a big fan of washing my sheets every other day and sleeping in fear of Rosie wetting the bed. 

 

She has a shoe fetish with only my shoes.  Some dogs like to eat shoes.  Rosie like to use them as pillows :)

 

 Hopefully with time her habits will go back to the ladylike manner in which I had become accustomed.  Until then, baby girl is going to be limited to a survival-only water supply.

Do Not Want

I heard these exact words on the radio this morning:

 

"Tyler Perry's A Madea Christmas movie comes out this weekend.  Larry the Cable Guy is in this one."

 

I would l'trally rather Glitter on repeat than participate in any of that heinousness listed above.  That sentence actually makes me feel car sick somehow.

 

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(The Opposite of) Fun Fact:  All of Tyler Perry's movies are depressing.  I tuned in one time to Tyler Perry's Madea's Family Reunion thinking it was going to be like a black version of the Griswold's Christmas.  WRONG!

 

The scene I saw was of a man beating his wife than mentally and physically forcing her to tell him she loved it. 

 

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Tyler Perry, you may be a bazillionaire but perhaps you didn't get the memo: When you put on a fat suit and talk in a fake voice, it's supposed to be hilarious.  Not scary and terrible.

 

Needless to say, you won't see me at the cinema this weekend.

Shhh...It's a Secret

Last night I watched the Victoria's Secret Fashion Show.  Well, I watched as much of it as I could before my dog went ape shit over the feather and wing creations and I had to turn it off.  This happens 100% of the time something resembles an animal on TV.  I have come to the sad realization that my children will never be able to watch the Little Mermaid or Homeward Bound, lest Rosie go barking ballistic on them and ruin their childhoods.

 

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I couldn't help but wonder during this "fashion show":  What, pray tell, is the point?  Besides the obvious: Making women feel bad about their normal bodies and giving men totally unrealistic expectations about how much space can truly exist between a woman's thighs.

 

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The models don't actually wear normal things you can buy in the store.  Thereby negating any logical reason I can see for this to be considering marketing for the Victoria's Secret brand.  If I was on the market for a $10,000,000 bra, sure this would be the perfect venue for me to see what's out there.  But the average viewer is probably sitting on her couch with in $20 sweat pants with the word PINK on her butt, with her husband- mouth agape.  Not your target market for 8-figure bedazzled bras and crotchless panties paired with angel wings.  But that's just my humble opinion.

 



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As I was flipping back between the Victoria's Secret show and the American Country Awards, which even the hosts seemed to understand isn't a real award show, I couldn't help but think of my dead ancestors.  If they just happened to be revived and caught a glimpse of these two shows at once, they would probably think the world had, indeed, come to an end.  Either that or look both ways to see if anyone is looking, pull an Irish exit, and head on back to the ground from whence they came. 

 

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Basically last night was a stupid night for America.  A hot, sexy, honky tonkin', stupid night.

 

Is This Real Life?

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I watched this unfold yesterday in disbelief during a football game.

 

 

I can't believe they actually continue to play in those circumstances.  If it rained that hard in North Carolina the state would be shut down until Christmas.

 

Remind me next time it's in the mid-40's in Wilmington, not to complain too much.

 

(But don't really do that, because if my body goes below 70 degrees I turn into a pumpkin.  Complaining is the only thing that keeps me warm).

'Tis the Season

I just got introduced and reacquainted with 2 holiday MUST HAVES.

 

The first one is this absolutely delicious smelling holiday candle:

 



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It would make the perfect gift for a woman who loves the smell of Christmas merriment.  It comes in an adorable red felt box that just screams MERRY MERRY!  Or you can do what I did and just selfishly gift it to yourself.  It's already paying me back in dividends as one of 2 measly Christmas decorations that I am doing this year and as the only candle ever that my husband has complimented or enjoyed. 

 

He's one of those types of guys that doesn't believe in things like paying for smells or decorations, much less decorative smells.  Which at first makes you feel like he doesn't appreciate the things you like, but then when you think about makes you glad he's a man and how highly alarmed you would be if he actually did care about candles.  Oh, you know one of those too?

 

This candle is available in Wilmington, fittingly, at Nest in the Forum.  Small candles are about $13 and large is $34.  My advice, get a couple smalls and spread them throughout the house.  That way you won't have one giant half used candle to deal with next year or to have to throw out. 

 

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Next up is the holiday cookie of the week, the month, the holiday, nay - THE YEAR!  If you love peppermint things like me, and I loooooooooove peppermint things, this is really just YOUR cookie:

 

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It's like if Oreo's, Santa, Trader Joe's, and a giant peppermint had a holiday orgy, this would be their love child. 

 

I had the blind luck of forgetting about these for a few  years and likely saving myself 10-15 holiday pounds.  But I was reintroduced last night and after tasting that glorious chocolaty minty crunch again I say, "Bring on the holiday pounds!  For you peppermint, I'll do anything!"  They are just so, so good. 

 

My friend gave me five.  I had 3 on my way home from dropping her off and 2 for breakfast.  If I learned anything from my former roommate who ate an entire box of Thin Mints in one sitting, it's that sometimes you just need to rip that edible band aid off, eat the shit out of something, and move on with your life.  And if you're really, really lucky, you'll find a good chocolaty chunk of surprise leftovers on your upper lip a little later that you can savor for just a moment longer.

 

Happy Holidays!   Enjoy these must haves before they are no longer available!

Snack Attack

I think there should be a rule that once you eat all your lunch and snacks at work, you get to go home.

 

 Once I eat my last banana or packet of nuts, I always feel like there is nothing to look forward to for the work day and I instantly check out mentally.

 

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Who's with me!?  They've already taken away our nap times.  Give us our freedom to snack and attack...the EXIT door.

 

This message brought to you by Lazy Fatties of America.

Spare Change is More than Just a Homeless Man Roaming Franklin Street

I've probably written about this before, but it continues to confound me so I must go on.

 

What is up with vendors/retailers assuming they can keep your small change!?  This happens to me all the time.  The total for a gas station drink is like $1.99.  I give the guy $2.  They say, "Have a nice day."

 

I walk to my car then say, "WTF, where is my penny bitch?"

 

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But the other day this happened to me with a 2 cent situation at Dunkin Donuts and that was just too much.  How can someone just assume I don't want my 2 cents?!

 

If this happens to me 10 times a year, which I think is a fair estimate, that's a possible $0.10-0.20 hard earned cents that I'm simply not being offered back.  I could buy a mini York Peppermint Patty from the impulse jar with that kind of money!

 

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I know this isn't big money, but the value of being offered back my own money is priceless.  Less is more, only when it doesn't apply to my change.  In which case I want that money back mother f*ckers!

Pregnancy:

The only thing worse than not being able to drink is not being able to tell drunk people that they are acting drunk.

 

You know?  Because that has gone over well exactly zero times in the history of alcohol.

 



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Wine, I miss you!  I'll see you soon old friend.  xoxo, Marilyn

Best Advice Ever

I just got a new pair of maternity pants for work and they are glorious.  They feel like pajamas and hopefully look just like regular black pants.  If you work with me and you disagree - keep it to yourself because they fit, therefore I love them.

 

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It's going to be so hard to get re-accustomed to the whole exhausting zipping up the pants and buttoning the pants ordeal again after having this baby.  This whole faux zipper/button situation that maternity pants has going on is on is the titties.

 

You know what else is the bomb.com?  This advice that I just found while investigating yoga moves that I should no longer do:

 

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" Don't hesitate to take breaks during class to rest in a Wide Child's Pose, or to even skip class altogether to take a nap."

 

Don't mind if I do!  This might just be my new words to live by.

 

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I definitely think people take the whole "eating for two" thing too seriously.  But the entire notion of having to take it easy while pregnant is right up my alley.  And not just out of laziness. 

 

It's pretty remarkable what things that used to be easy are now hard.  Like walking up stairs.  And walking the dog.  And getting out of bed to pee 400 times per night.  I'm getting a little winded just talking about it.  I better stop.

#TheoandBeau

In case you haven't already seen the cutest thing of all time, allow me to let you in the loop:

 

Wishes Granted: Theo and Beau

 

#TheoandBeau

 

Hashtag OMG CUTEST THING EVER

 

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A California blogger at http://www.mommasgonecity.com/ and her family just adopted a cute little puppy from an animal shelter.  And that cute little puppy started taking daily naps with their even cuter little son.  The rest is rapidly becoming history, on Good Morning America, CNN, Huffington Post, and more. 

And it's not hard to see why:

 

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I don't care if you are a new dog lover like me, or the OG dog fanatic like my mom.  You have to love this.  Hell, even if your heart is made of cold, cold stone (mmm now I want Cold Stone), this will melt you.

 

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I'm sure both of these cuties will grow to be much bigger.  And fast.  But does it make me a terrible person that I wish I could just stunt both of their growth and watch them be cuddly and adorable and that size forever?

 

Why are things that are petite so much cuter than things that are non-petite?  I'm allowed to ask that question because I am extremely NON-Petite.

 

Follow her on Instagram @mommasgonecity to see this cuteness daily.  It might just turn your frown upside down when you need it most.

And you think you and your husband go through ups and downs...

Linda Ducharme Gets Married To Ferris Wheel Named 'Bruce'

 

Linda sure knows how to pick 'em.  Bruce seems like good people.  Strong name, strong foundation (God willing).

 

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Love is blind, I suppose.  Which could explain her previous relationships with an airplane and a train.  No, really...I hope she's blind.  Otherwise bitch is freaking crazy.

40's Pain Solutions (i.e., Rectal Ether)

I'm not a "warrior" as some women like to think of themselves.  I am more of a total wuss and am scare do death of childbirth causing irreparable damage to some pretty crucial parts of my body.  So I guess I am a warrior of being terrified.  I have no intention of having a natural birth.  I will not have my baby in a bath.  I will not have my baby without pain medication.  I do not like green eggs and ham.

 

But I also am glad that my options, as least as far as I know it, just include an epidural. 

 

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Check out this list of pain options in the chapter titled "PAINLESS CHILDBIRTH" from this book from the 1940's.

 

"There are a group of drugs which can be administered either by hypodermic needle or by mouth, some of which alleviate pain and others of which, either alone or in combination, abolish the memory of pain.  Let us consider both the usefulness and the drawbacks of these drugs."

 

- Morphine: That just can't be safe for a baby.

 

- Twilight Sleep: "A woman under Twilight Sleep may shriek, make grimaces and show other evidences of pain, but upon awakening from the drug will remember nothing about her labor and will vow that she experienced no pain whatsoever."  This sounds like the unfathomably unattractive version of getting drunk and blacking out and having someone film you.

 

- Rectal Ether: Just no thanks.

 

- Barbiturates: See morphine. 

 

- Paraldehyde: Like they say about food ingredients, if you can't pronounce it, don't put it in your body.  Negative ghost rider.

 

- Spinal and Continuous Causal Anesthesia: This sounds like what they use today.  And after hearing from my friend about what the administering of that drug is like, I'm wishing I didn't have friends at all.  I thought it was just a shot.

 

 

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When it comes to child birth, I think ignorance is bliss.  So I'll try to learn as little more as I can about an epidural.  I also think having something shoved up your butt or putting yourself in a temporary comma sounds pretty rough too.  So I'm glad those options are in the past.  And if I'm wrong about all this,

 

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Wise Words from Ray Romano

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I saw Ray Romano come to the greatest realization on Wednesday night's Jimmy Kimmel Live.  This epiphany came after telling a story of his wife, who was asleep, getting mad at him for reading a book, because they were supposed to talk.  His defense was, rationally, that she was asleep. 

 

Her response: 

 

"Oooooh, so you just immediately pick up a book."

 

He said he realized this from the argument:

 

Women want you to focus on them...only every waking moment.  With laser focus.  Then, when they go to sleep, you should sketch them.

 

That way when they wake up, instead of being able to accuse you of not paying attention to them or slacking off, you can say, "Here, look at this beautiful picture I drew of you!"

 

Sounds simple enough!  Ray Romano you are a wise man.

40's Fertility Fodder...I kid you not

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How's this for a chapter opener:

 

"Clothing - The most important consideration in regard to the expectant mother's wardrobe is that it should be attractive.  This may sound like a superficial observation but it is profoundly true."

 

Ha. Ha. Ha.  Tell that to my sweat pants and t-shirt.  That I wear every night.  The exact second that I get home from work.

 

It goes on to blow my mind by saying, "Yes, more important than knowing the dangers of circular garters and high heels is the knowledge that you are well-groomed, because only then (if you are like most women) will you really enjoy entertaining your friends and meeting your husband's friends, and in turn visiting their homes."

 

"Pregnancy is no time to be a recluse."  Oh honey, no.  That's wrong.  Pregnancy is the perfect time to be a recluse.  Unless you count the company of a dog.  In which case I'm being social as shit.  Because she and I, well, we hang out a lot on my couch watching TV at night.  And we couldn't be happier.  Or more into peanut butter.

 

 

 

"To be sure, the abdominal rotundity is a handicap, but, for some reason, during the middle months of pregnancy women develop a special radiance which is most becoming and tends to offset this."

 

While I highly beg to differ about that special radiance (mine is more like a special form of adult acne), I so appreciate the new word for my "handicap" - abdominal rodtundity.  It has a really nice ring to it.

 

1940's, you so crazy.

Baked Woven Wheats Are Not Delicious

I picked these babies up from Whole Foods on Sunday.

 

 

 

And when I say babies I really mean the carb equivalent of a grumpy old man.  It turns out whatever they allow you to put in the Triscuits at Harris Teeter that doesn't make the cut at Whole Foods, is a very important and delicious ingredient.

 

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But what I really have an issue with about these crackers is the name.  In what world is this an appropriate name for a food - Baked Woven Wheats?  At least one that you are trying to sell, and not trick people into disregarding so you can keep for yourself.

 

It seems like maybe someone was so high on granola that they just got tickled by the alliteration and decided to go with it.  Kind of like this, but with no preservatives or joy:

 

 

 

Whatever is the opposite of OPI nail polish naming criteria, is the modus operandi at Whole Foods.  I mean really think about the name Baked Woven Wheats.  If I hadn't seen it in the store with my own eyes I would have guessed it was a reference to very earthy quilt made in the Arizona desert.

 

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This is just further proof that I need to save my money and my taste buds and always, always turn left to Harris Teeter.  Whole Foods you tricked me again!

Shut Up Sky Mall Magazine - One of a kind shirts, for one of a kind men

One of a Kind Shirt

 

Too expensive to be a joke, but too stupid to be real.

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The shirt option pictured above reminds me of Tom Hanks in the movie "Big".  It's like a man, who really isn't an adult, decided this shirt was appropriate just because it had a pocket and buttons.  Never mind the fact that it is made of patterns that include constellations, the pin stripes of a 1920's pimp, a race car driving collar, and neon swatches that look like they belong under the sea.

 

Just because you can exchange US Dollars for something, it doesn't mean it's a real thing.

 

Unless you are a quilt, 10 different fabrics is 8-9 fabrics too many.  I don't care if you are a mash up of pastels, neutrals, or Argentinian clubbing prints.  Less is more.

 

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Bonus: "Because these shirts are a piece of art, the color and pattern is not revealed until the package is opened."  

 

So that means you don't get to know if you are going to be a Grade A douche bag or just a mid-level one until your shirt arrives.  Oh, what fun!!

 

"A One Of A Kind shirt allows you to show that you're an individual, that you're a little different than everyone else and you want them to take notice of who you are."  Oh, and that you are a gullible idiot who just paid $129.99 for the biggest apparel eye sore since the Wolves Howling at the Moon shirts, which I still don't get.

 

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Gender Reveal Parties Reveal My Rage

On a scale of 1-10, gender reveal parties make me want to punch a hole in the wall a 10+.  I can't tell you why, because other people's box of blue balloons or pink icing filled cupcakes don't affect me in any way directly.  But I just hate them.  They are a prime example of how every aspect of life is too commercialized and cheesy and of the dramatic decline of the simple relaying of facts.

 

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I was going to have a gender party and invite you all.  That is to say, I was going to take a picture of a piece of asparagus and two meat balls I had for dinner last week and tell you I was having a boy.  But, like usual, I forgot about my task and ate all the food instead.  But anyway, I'm having a boy.

 

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I've never seen anyone get so excited upon hearing the words "scrotal sac" as my husband did when we found out.  All he talks about now is how he is going to take our son fishing all the time. 

 

I had to break it to him that he also has to parent the child in between canoe rides.  His response: "Oh I'll spank him some too".  So, to sum up, he thinks parenting involves fishing and spanking.  End of sentence.

 

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I'm still perusing through this Expectant Motherhood book from the 40's.  And the differences between then and now continue to astound me.  For instance, now to reveal what gender baby we are having we invite over a bunch of people to watch us litter dangerous colored balloons into the atmosphere.  Back in the 40's, this is what they had to say about determination of sex:

 

"Were we to examine a large number of ova just as the spermatozoon is about to enter it, we should find that each ovum contains exactly twenty-four chromosomes; but close study would reveal that one of these differs from all the rest in appearance and is known by scientists to be a carrier of sex."

 

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So to say we have dumbed things down a bit would be a gross understatement.  Also, I heart the word spermatozoon. 

 

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I can tell by Pinterest that I am the minority in disliking these cheese-tastic gender reveal parties and subsequent Facebook posts about said parties, but can't a girl just like a good old fashioned scientific test and relation of fact to her parents and close friends?

 

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