Medium Half Coffee, Half French Vanilla Please. Now.

I’ve always been pretty proud of myself for not having an addiction. Even a little smug you might say. Certainly I enjoyed a lot of things, on occasion to the point of overindulgence but I never needed anything. For me, the experience of doing, eating or saying what I wanted at that moment was enough.

OK, except nail biting. That is a lifelong thing. But I kind of put this nasty habit into a different cubby hole since I never gained any high from chewing on my fingers. It was more of a “it’s there and I’m bored/nervous/anxious/something” behaviour and obviously once I had bitten my nails to negative cuticle space I had to stop. Now I can say that the habit’s under control… usually they’re left alone but once in awhile there is a fall into temptation but it’s never the massacre it used to be.

Anyway, so back to being smug about addictions. I blame the baby. Let me explain.

Coffee to me, for as long as I can remember has always been the nastiest and foulest thing on which people spend their money. The taste, the breath, sometimes even the smell made me think of dead things. Roadkill on a hot day all bloated, about to drip messy grossness everywhere. I never understood how my dad spent more time with his coffee thermos than anything else and was superbly happy, and smug when he was told to cut back before the rest of his insides rotted away.

When I became pregnant there weren’t any insane food cravings. Sure I’d be hungry all the time and once in awhile want to eat something really badly but nothing like the peanut butter on a sloppy joe with a side of relish kind of weirdness. But then Mr. Stinky started a new job. And his coffee habit. And I started stealing sips when he had a cup.

That is how me and coffee became best friends. I drank coffee and the baby rewarded me with powerful roundhouse kicks in utero. There wasn’t a need to drink a lot, just a few good sips to settle the cravings now and then.

And then I went back to work. Bug-bug was weaned and I didn’t have to worry about the effects of over-caffeinating her any longer. Coffee has since become my highlight of the day. So far I can live on one coffee a day but it’s a painful wait. I buy my coffee in the early afternoon so from the time I wake up to when I get my fix all I can think of is how much longer until my happy time.

I used to be content with tea but now when I try to substitute it just tastes like hot, dirty piss water. I’m writing more than I need to but it’s only because it’s kind of a slow day and I’m trying to put off the coffee run for a little while longer. I’ve got a headache. It will magically go away once I get my fix, it always does. This is so sad.

That’s enough, I gotta go down now.

To the Point

Hey yah, so I had a baby about a year ago. Don’t ask me what exercises I did to lose the weight and how to “keep fit”. It’s such an offensive question to ask a woman who underwent incredibly huge changes to create a life, whose body needs time to rest and in some cases heal itself.

I want to say so much more but this makes me so angry I can’t think clear enough to write coherently. Besides, it won’t change the minds of some backwards thinking, sexist assholio husbands out there who demand that on top of making and caring for a baby their wives need to “get back into shape”. Coz… I guess you can’t love her if she’s not visually acceptable in the eyes of you and/or your friends.

Please Adjust the Colour on Your TV

So I’ve been in a shoe-buying mindset lately. Everytime I pass by a shoe store there’s no resistance to drifting in and perusing the selection. I’d like something dressy yet comfy and with heels, please. Sometimes I feel, as a woman that I fall embarrassingly short when it comes to shoe ownership. While people like Amy manages to store a moving box full of shoes under her desk along with many more pairs living at home I think my total sum of footwear is less than what she’s got at work.

Anyway, recently at the mall I spotted a pair that might fit my criteria and I hurriedly grabbed it off the wall. Upon closer examination I thought that indeed it was my glass slipper equivalent except for the lingering nag that I couldn’t decide if it was black in colour, or brown. On its own it seemed pretty noir, but once held next to another shoe that was definitely black it seemed to cast a brownish glaze.

I decided that it must be brown, albeit a very dark brown. Since I was hoping for black, I turned to the lone sales rep in the store who was busy ringing in a customer. She looked up at me and said she’d be right there but I didn’t want to wait and said I just had one quick question. She accepted so I asked her if the shoe in my hand came in black.

The look I received was one in which I am crazy familiar. It’s the look I’ve given people on many occasion, the one where you’re not entirely sure how to react to the question, remark or action that was just presented. You know, that blank expression wondering “Is it just me or is it totally you?”.

“That.. is.. black.....”

I’m just going to buy those shoes online instead.

Tip Me

Mr. Stinky and I recently went out to dinner without Bug-bug. For that, we had H babysit which was a good thing because they always tire each other out.

We left her $20 to call for pizza or whatever delivery food she wanted and off we went. Dinner was nice, I didn't have to keep the Cheerio supply constant nor did I have to hoover in my food and tend to an impatient baby wanting mommy's fingers to help her walk up and down the universe.

Upon our return we got the rundown on what the girls did and how much fun they had. Then H turns to me and complained about the delivery guy ripping her off. Turns out her order for $14.something came and she handed the guy a $20 bill only to have him turn around and drive off without getting her any change.

Now you'd think he was only in the driveway and she could've chased him down but with a baby on her hip and the element of surprise sprung, delivery guy made a clean getaway. Almost.

I dialled head office and asked what's up with that kind of service. The operator lady was shocked by the situation and gave me two options: store credit which had to be used within 6 months or the guy comes back and we have a little face to face. I chose the latter. Oh me and delivery guy were gonna rumble!

No, not really. I just wanted my money back now as opposed to later when the possibility runs high that I forget about the store credit until 4 days after it expires.

After a short wait, delivery guy's car pulled up and he dumped a pile of change into my hands explaining in a contrite manner that he had a lot of deliveries. He didn't look at the bill and just assumed the $20 was a one-way exchange.

While I accepted his apology, I didn't tip him. If my butt and tip was on the line I'd be so apologetic you'd be writing me several blank checks and think that I was the victim instead of you. He might've been sincere but I'm also thinking that if the bill had been over $20 he sure as heck wouldn't have made the same assumption and taken off without checking the numbers over. Cynicism says he saw a busy, young mom too distracted by a wiggling baby to check the bill or do the math and tried to pull a fast one hoping by the time she found out it would've been too late. Guess I really do suffer from lack of faith in humanity.

Was I wrong? Should I have given delivery guy the benefit of the doubt and believed his story of forgetting to look and tipped him? Discuss amongst yourselves.

Sesame Street Love

This is what entertains me now. Bug and I absolutely love this video and watch it about 6 times a day.

Something Else

It's after lunch, I’d put in hours at my desk and needed a break. I think I’ll see what’s going on downstairs. Before I leave I make sure my wallet, cell phone, sunglasses and security pass are tucked neatly into my purse. I’m feeling good today and it shows.

Too impatient for the escalator today, the slow moving belt that never stops recycling itself I walk down and leave it behind. Today’s not a day to take things easy, I need to clear my mind of work and just let images and sounds flow through me without consequence. There's a need to move, do something.

A shove to my shoulder from behind and a sharp sensation as my purse is ripped away. A body moving quickly away from me, a running form carrying what is mine. Everything that’s me is disappearing fast, I have to move too if I want to catch up to me.

Never a fast runner and slower on heels today I’m feeling so good it shows. Superhero adrenaline picks up my legs and pumps my arms as I yell at the body taking my identity. I forget where I am, the images and sounds around vacuumed away and me and him, we’re in my superhero universe.

Anger surges me close enough to tackle him and we roll over and over until we stop. I’m glad I wore jeans today, my knees are protected but hate that we're pressed so close together we radiate the same heat. We’re screaming, words and sounds without meaning and then I climb on top. Knees on either side and hitting his temples, ears, nose, cheeks. Too fuelled to aim the fists are connecting with whatever. He’s hitting me too but lacks the anger and it means nothing.

I stop when arms from the vacuum pull me back. Vanity reminds me that his blood wouldn’t match my brand new, pretty top. The one that fits me perfect. I unstraddle - he’s done anyway, and reach for my purse still in his fist. Fingers still wrapped around the strap he refuses to relinquish until my heel grinds down on a pale, inner wrist. I twist my foot more than needed just to hear him moan. Those arms from the vacuum, Security. I let them take care of the rest, I got what I wanted.

I brush myself off, bottom to top and stand up straight into a frozen plateau of people staring. Just blinking, nothing else. I see CJ, Blondie and someone else I know but can’t name. My superhero universe blinks into reality and I feel naked. They all saw, watched as I became invincible and reclaimed myself. Who will make the next move?

In an instant the insecurity is gone and I know what to do. I’m feeling good so I show it, a sultry smirk on my face as I strut away in my blouse, jeans and heels. The plateau unfreezes and the scene moves again, security saying when I get back they want to talk to me. Behind me a familiar voice groans “That was fucking hot.”

TP On A Roll

Mr. Stinky and I recently attended a wedding for a few friends. It was lovely, namely because it was short and simple. It might be age, but now that I've been to a few and had my own, weddings have become kind of boring. Why doesn't anyone cartwheel down the aisle to "Highway to Hell"? Or release the doves (and a few hungry hawks!) inside the church so everyone's gotta dodge the screaming terror and hot, clumpy white-out bombs as the priest gives his exaltations, admonitions or whatever. It's always the same elaborate monkey show that is more according to the parents' demands than it is of the bride and groom's. On that note, even though I don't want to be one, I'm sure when it's my kids' turns to get married I'll be just as monsteriffic.

Anyway, it was a smaller wedding but we know I'm not here to talk about them. The story of the night belongs to me. It's all about me. Me, me, me.

I went to the washroom and a sweet Golden Girl... she looked like the short, little one entered as I was done and about to leave. She went into a stall and promptly came back out to tell me that it was out of toilet paper. I said OK, maybe she just wanted to let me know because nothing induces panic faster than realizing you're stuck without something to wipe. You sit and wonder if you can shake things off, if you'll have to wait for someone else to come in so that you can ask her to hand you a wad under the walls but then maybe no one needs to go so you could end up sitting on the can for way too long and raise peoples' suspicions that you had to take a dump and then you remember the little bit of tissue you have in your purse but of all the nights, this was the one time you left it in the care of your boyfriend or husband so you wouldn't have to wrangle peeing and holding on to it at the same time and so after about 5 minutes of thinking how you're going to Macgyer yourself out of this situation you just pull up your pants all the while wincing and hope someone doesn't come into the washroom and walk into your stall, realizing that you didn't wipe.

So I stood there and she became perplexed. Gesturing into the stall Golden Girl asked "Well aren't (pronounced ARE-ent) you going (GO-ingk) to change it?" My answer, full of elegance was a just as confused "Wha?" Apparently she thought that I worked for the restaurant and thus was responsible for supplying her cubicle with a fresh roll of 1-ply. Once I corrected her she became quite contrite and embarrassed. I graciously let her off the hook and returned to my table with a juicy story for everyone. Our table burst into laughter and before long everyone around knew what had happened and came by to ask me to check on the situation in the men's room. I also received quite a few apologies from the bride and groom but I'm not one to be offended, if anything I felt badly for the Golden Girl who would now be known for confusing the lone Asian guest dressed in a hot, cleavage baring top and stiletto heels as hired help.

Only if you slip a nice, crisp bill in my thong, baby!

Was she racist? Maybe, I don't know. Not used to the changing times? More likely. We both became part of the joke everyone will remember but for very different reasons.

Changes

Dude, pink!  Thought I'd change things up just for kicks.  Enjoy your summer, I'll be back at the end of it with lots of stories to rock your world!  In the meantime I'm relishing what little time left I've got with Bug-bug as she goes to get raised by other people in a few weeks.  Ain't life grand?

Hot Snow Day

When you see a pile of crushed ice on the grass outside of a grocery store do you go play in it?  Is it the same as playing in the pile of snow outside of a community centre with a skating rink?  Is the gross factor the same in both cases?  Let us explore.

Where in a grocery store would you find crushed ice?  Maybe in the produce section.  Maybe in the juice, salad and fruit section.  But usually in the seafood section.  The section that gets cleaned out every night as they put the "fresh" slabs of fish away and toss out the ice.  The same ice in which a bunch of kids were frolicking earlier tonight, happy that on a hot and humid day they happened upon this pleasantly cool surprise.

Zamoni-ed ice is full of sweat, spit, blood and snot.  If you're privy to the behind the scenes going ons as I once was, occasionally there would be fecal matter as well if the Zamboni driver wasn't feeling well.  Don't ask, just know that it happens.

Let's play in the snow that doesn't belong outside on a hot summer day!  Hey it tastes salty, yum!

I had nothing else to talk about but thought you might enjoy getting grossed out too.  Enjoy.

It's How I Roll

The title could just as easily be: Why I'm a Loser Reason #7792

We went shopping.  We needed groceries and just wanted to hang out at some other stores to look at what we most likely didn't need but might consider buying anyway.  99% of the time it's for the baby.  Going out now consists of so much more than just grabbing your keys and wallet before flying out the door.  With a kid in tow, every last detail must be planned, rechecked, initialled and government triple stamped before you can even think about leaving the house.  Usually halfway down the street you'll inevitably double back because you've forgotten something by the front door.  I've actually taken Bug-bug to grandma's and forgotten her diaper bag once.  Once.  Now an emergency diaper bag lives in the trunk of the car.

So after we'd been out for a few hours meandering public spaces and running errands it was time to go home.  Mr. Stinky carried in the stuff we bought and I brought in the baby.  It didn't dawn on me until I got one shoe off what I had been wearing the entire time we were out.  I didn't even feel the difference which I suppose is a good thing coz if I had known earlier, just the feel of two completely different shoes would have pissed me off to no end.  I don't know if anyone out there noticed, you probably laughed at me.  Just know that I'm a totally cutting edge style maven, one day it won't be so strange.  

Some Chimps Got Busy

So yesterday I finally found the time and will to book myself an appointment for a pedicure.  One thing about nail salons is that they are overwhelmingly run by asians.  I don't know why that is, nor do I care since they do a fine job but it is an imbalanced ratio that most everyone (female that is) I know has noticed.  And it's not Chinese kind of asians, no, those people all run the restaurants be it Japanese, Korean, Vietnamese, etc.  I'm thinking the nail people are more like Vietnamese, Thai, Cambodian, and I don't know what else since I suck at linguistics and correlating facial features to geography so when they talk amongst each other I just sit there and enjoy the strangely musical chirpings looking kind of dumb.  Which really, is pretty much my everyday expression anyway.

I suppose it's a stereotype but maybe it's just the niche that different asian groups do certain tasks better than others.  Who knows, I'm not about to anthropologize (hee!) the whys and whos.. although on a side note I took an anthropology/archaeology course in university once and my most vivid memories of that yearlong waste of time were: flirting with my friend's friend, watching other people sleeping to keep myself awake (I don't know why I cared that much) and laughing out loud when they showed us a video to draw comparisons between chimps, humans and other primates and the chimps had sex which lasted all of four thrusts or about three seconds... that's not even a quickie.  That's like, accidentally bumping into the next chimp without her knowing what was going on.  For all she knows, he just wanted to get around her but since she didn't feel like moving and he couldn't get around her big, fat butt, gave up after several attempts and found someone else to annoy.  

Anyway, instead of cigarettes after that erotic encounter they both went back to eating leaves and the whole class giggled like 12 year olds leafing through our first dirty magazine.  On the entertainment and monkey scale, it's comparable to the time my friends and I went to the zoo and watched an older orangutang with saggy boobs and belly swing around on his tire while surprising the young 'uns down below with a warm golden shower.  But I guess they were used to it since none of the little 'tangs ran away.. eeew!  Wow, I hope my parents don't read this coz they were pretty darn proud that I went to university and achieved higher learning.

Back to the beginning.  So yah, a lot of these salon... technicians? don't speak english very well and I don't understand accents very well either so that makes for some idiotic shrugging and smiling on my part.  All I wanted was a french manicure and told her so.  When they start talking to me about my feet or something else the reaction I usually fall back on is "Um, OK."  Sometimes they smile and go back to what they're doing and sometimes I get a WTF look in return.  I haven't been banned from any of these places yet so I assume I haven't offended anyone too badly so far.

To wrap up, my nails got done and I don't have to wear socks anymore to cover up my foot claws.  If you need your nails done, look for asian salons.  They're cheap, fast and usually the best in the business.  If you can score a male nail technician, super extra points because they are wizards in their own right.  And be glad that sex for humans is a longer and usually more pleasurable act than it is for chimps.  Except after marriage and kids.  So I've heard.  We also don't usually pee on each other unless you happen to get off on weirdo nasty stuff like that, I like to emerge from a shower smelling like clean and not a dirty urinal thank you very much.  You won't remember or care about my pedicure experience but you will remember my stupid primate stories.  And don't tell my parents what I remember from my post secondary education, they don't need to be reminded that the fruit of their loins is an idiot.

This post started off so completely different.  How do I come up with this crap? 

Naturally Woosh

I took Bug-bug downtown yesterday to visit people, friends, work, grandma and mommy's shopping haunts.  It turned out to be a fairly good trip as it was warm and sunny out and I got to do pretty much everything I wanted to do.  The baby wasn't too fussy, she acted up a little when she wanted to get out of the stroller... I don't blame her.  As comfortable as the thing is, I'd want to get up and work the blood back into my numb butt cheeks once in awhile too.  Nobody likes being strapped in for very long... like my friend Goose.  He tells of weird stories that don't make a whole lotta sense to me, something about pleather and spiky stuff but I don't ask for details and usually plug my ears when he starts coz I think maybe he's an odd little fellow and will stop talking if I don't listen.  Hey, what he does at those business "conventions"... 

Anyway, remember my stalker?  We've dubbed her Crazy Lady.  I haven't been bothered by her in a long time, mostly because everytime I saw her I'd look and walk the other way quickly.  I thought she had gotten the message that I didn't want to be her friend, or associate with her in any way.  I guess I was wrong.

Now that I travel with a stroller I have to use elevators.  They are such a pain in the neck because they take so long and then there are line ups and sometimes you've got stroller and walker bumper wars and now wherever I go I need to find out where they're located.  At my local mall, I've never had to know where these contraptions are which means that the first few times Oscar and I went shopping with the babies we milled around aimlessly until we hit jackpot.

My office is situated on the second floor of a high rise.  Good for fires and emergencies, I can still jump out the window if need be but at the same time high enough so that we've got a bird's eye view of the streets below.  I was on my way down to meet Stinky Grandma for lunch and good golly miss molly if I didn't get on the same elevator as the Crazy Lady.  My mind said "SHIT!" before I even registered it but luckily it was cool enough to keep that inside my head.

She immediately lit up like a kid on Christmas morning and greeted me like we were the bestest of best friends.  I started wheeling the stroller around so that I'd have my back turned to her for the purpose of a) physically telling her that I'm not interested and b) shielding my firstborn from this nutjob of a woman.  It didn't work.

Now there were a few other people in the elevator with us and they probably got the message I was projecting to her as I was not at all being subtle but she pushed them out of the way as I spun the stroller so that she could see (steal) and touch (eat) my kid.

C.L.:  HIIIII!!

Stinky T: (Tight smile) Hi.  

C.L:  IT'S BEEN SO LOOONG SINCE I SAW YOUU!!

Stinky T:  (Tight smile) Yah.

C.L.  THIS IS YOUR BABYY??

Stinky T: (Tight smile) Hm.  (No, she's a rental.  I like to do crazy stuff like take a baby that's not mine around town just for fun sometimes.)

C.L. SHE'S SO CUUUTE!!  (Touching and poking at my rental baby.)

Stinky T: (No more smiles) Thanks.

Ding!  We've landed.  Open up the damned doors.

C.L. DID YOU GO NATURAL? (As she says natural she uses her hand to mimic the down and up motion of a water slide.)

WTF?!?  What kind of question is that?

Stinky T: Excuse me??

C.L. DID YOU GO NATURAL?? (Once again, with the wooshing water slide motion.)

Stinky T: Um. NO.

At that, the doors were fully opened.  Well, opened enough for my stroller to get through so I took off.  Behind me I could hear more talking but I wasn't sticking around any longer.  I felt offended and caught off guard by how inappropriately nosy she was.  Who asks such personal questions like that to someone they don't even know?  What happened to "How old is she?", "How much does she weigh?", "Does she like to go for walks?"... normal questions.  And what's with the hand woosh?  What the hell is that??  I guess I could have explained that no, baby didn't go woosh but instead got yanked out of my uterus and show her by sticking a hand out of my shirt a la Aliens (except lower) if we knew each other and were joking around but I had given her enough of my time.  I don't know if she got the message that she needs to leave me alone but I've decided on my course of action should we meet again.  You can probably guess how far I will steer clear from C.L.  This lady can be amusing in a really creepy sort of way but I'd rather laugh at her from a distance.  And she can go woosh herself.

Don't Ask Don't Tell

My sister H recently informed me that one of my cousins is newly engaged and to that I say congratulations.  Then she excitedly asked if I wanted to know how he did it.  By "it", she meant how he proposed to the girl.  I said no.  She was surprised and asked how come I didn't want to know and my answer perplexed her even more; I just don't care.

It's not that I don't care that he asked her to be his life partner but the details don't interest me.  I'm not your typical sappy, romantic in that everytime we talk about your significant other I do that annoying "aaaaaw.." thing.  I get that he or she is special to you, after all I have my own special someone too.  OK, I have two special someones now that Bug-bug's arrived but I just don't really need to hear about you so much.

I get that some people like to clip clop up on a unicorn and have cooing doves gently sprinkle rose petals (or poo) about while the teapot and candlestick sing a ballad as the 7 dwarves present the princess with an exquisite rock.  I get too that others are more low-key and might toss the box over along with the bag of pork rinds during Satellite Hotstove (Hockey Night in Canada reference).  Whatev.  Either way, the important thing to me is that he asked the question without a shotgun in the ribs and she happily said yes.  Anything else is filler.

Maybe I'm just cynical but it seems to me within these last few years.. well, as long as I've been noticing, is that the act of proposing has become some melodramatic, over the top, mine is bigger than yours kind of thing.  I've heard of elaborate schemes involving scavenger hunts around the city, Amazing Race kind of dealios and just the kind of stuff you'd find in chick flicks where everything comes together perfectly after one implausible slapstick gag after another. 

There was this one time where I was hanging out with a group of friends and a couple took turns, took turns revealing to the rest of us their saccharine-dripping proposal story.  Everyone was listening intently and although I tried to sing loudly in my head to drown out the narration I heard it all.  As the couple finished I looked at another friend sitting near me who I knew shared my sentiment.  He quickly glanced at me and we shared a secret smile before he looked away.  We caught each others' eyes again and I could see that his nostrils were flaring ever so slightly, mouth twitching away and he averted his face from the rest of the group.  I took that moment to quickly pantomime throwing up by shrugging my shoulders and puffing out my cheeks.  We cackled away like idiots.  That was the best moment for me all night.

It doesn't matter to me how each guy decides to pop the question, there's no right or wrong way (no but there's the Stinky girl way and I am never wrong) so hey, if you want to go all out and make it super special for all time go nuts.  Just do it for the right reasons: yourselves.  Don't do it so you've got the best story this wedding season in which to amaze and impress the people around you coz it's really not a pissing contest.  The deed becomes cheapened when the events leading up to the question become more important than the answer.

Besides, you'll only feel bad when I gag and laugh and then I'll feel bad a little and think maybe I should do or say something to make you feel better.  But I'm a really bad liar so y'know, that might make things even more awkward for you.  I mean us.  No... you. 

Scent of a Poo

Why does everything in the Stinky universe always return to the topic of poo?  Well, that's just how the water flushes.  Poo is easy to talk about and if you don't like it that's too bad.  Life with a baby oftentimes lead to lots of poo talk; the smell, texture, frequency, the mishaps... Uh oh, did I say mishaps?

So now that Bug-bug is starting solids, her excrement have matured as well.  Whereas being on a completely liquid diet before, her poops were more akin to watery mucus, now that cereals are working their way through her intestinal tract it's much more like cake batter.  Yum.  I can't wait until she's on real real food.  Oh wait, yes I can.  The smell is much different too.  Milk poo is actually fairly innocuous, it smells like warm, sweet milk.  I like that smell.  Solid food poo on the other hand smells like, well, poo.  Without the benefit of the toilet water buffer.  Mr. Stinky and I must now gack our way through each Number 2 diaper change while Bug-bug kicks away joyfully.

Diapers are absorbent in nature, liquid waste is greedily sucked up and stored and when the Bug's poops were watery we had few problems with leakage.  Not so much now that she's churning batter... it tends to sit right on top of the diaper fabric, squishing around until someone mops it up.

Yesterday as I was enjoying my lunch I knew she had pooped, mommy noses detect everything.  As I was nearly done, I put her in her playpen and told her to wait a few minutes so that I could finish, as well as making sure she was too.  Those few minutes were my downfall.  You see, I've spawned a creature that almost never stops moving.  Even in her sleep she will swim around merrily in her crib.  So when I put her in the playpen and she wiggled about, an apoocalypse arrived.

Stripping her down to her diaper I got poo on my hands.  Having realized that there was a leakage somewhere I examined her closer and saw that there was actually poo everywhere: socks, change pad, clothes and even all the way up her back.  It was a massive poo, think brownie bomb explosion.  For a few seconds I wasn't sure what to do, mop up the leakage, take off her clothes or change her diaper.  You know in the cartoons when the character runs back and forth aimlessly while flapping his/her hands about uselessly?  I was totally doing that inside my head.  I managed to get down to business and get all three done with some success.  Wipe after wipe was expended to staunch the damage, next destination: kitchen sink.

Just when I thought the crisis was over, she let loose and peed all over herself.  I watched helplessly as residual poo bits swam around in the lake of piss and moaned this new development.  It was bigger than the kitchen sink, we were headed to the bath, and that's just what we did with me holding a dirty, naked baby at arms' length sprinting upstairs all the while hoping there would be no more surprises.

Somehow we made it.  It was touch and go for awhile but we pulled through.  I dread to think of the next outburst.

True Story

Bou Bou Bou...

Another one bought the desk!

Bou Bou Bou...

Another one bought the desk!

And another one gone, and another one gone, another one bought the desk.  Hey!

Yah, you're gonna get one too, another one bought the desk!

As a kid, I thought those were the words.  Made sense to me, that singer must really like buying desks.  Besides, if you had told me what the real lyrics were I would have scoffed; why would you bite dust anyway??  So I'd sing it loud and proud over and over again coz words aside, it really is a cool tune.

Years later when I learned the real words and their meaning I blushed furiously to myself over the mistake.  "Man, I'm so stoopid!  Buying desks?!  Tchh!"  But I'm over it now and can enjoy the memories of youthful innocence.  Sometimes when the song comes on I'll sing my version of it to Mr. Stinky who, of course, finds it amusing.

Yah I'm a loser but you know you wanna sing it my way.  Go enjoy your weekend and maybe buy a desk.

Honky Tonk Lovin'

We ventured down to Syracuse, NY for an easy 3 day roadtrip.  Not a whole lot to report on other than the fact I spent more than a few dimes on stuff for the Bug.  But we accidentally found one super happening place in the downtown area.  If you're ever in New York City, Rochester or Syracuse you must check it out:  Dinosaur Bar-B-Que.  The fact that this skeevy looking, biker dive was packed on a Monday night speaks volumes.  So too does the lack of parking space in the nearby area as we watched many a customer walking from blocks away, gravitating to this joint.  If I still was pregnant Mr. Stinky would be driving down everyday to pick me up some take out.  If any of you are planning a trip to the area let me know, bring me back some food. 

Cable Guy!

*Ring*

Hello? Hello?

*Click*

That's usually how I deal with telemarketers. I know they have the automated voice recognition doohickeys working for them on their end, and I was under the impression that those things are illegal but anyway, so when I hear the dead air followed by their own click and lucky cubicle drone connecting to sell me something I don't want, I hang up on them. Sometimes they'll catch me before I hang up so then the prize is speed talking their sales pitch before I tell them that I ain't interested and hang up. Mr. Stinky, however, will stay on the line hello-ing into the phone until someone starts talking. Then he might say something snarky to them. Sometimes he just keeps hello-ing until I get irritated and tell him to hang up the damned phone.

Anyway, now that I'm home during the day I receive many of these useless phone calls. Seeing's how we don't have call display I can't screen calls. I feel compelled to share a very recent, yet unusual experience with you dear readers, and I hope it leaves you as incredulous as it did me. Let's begin.

It was a Wednesday, just another Wednesday. Me and the Bug-bug (I know, I keep changing her name. Let's return to a slightly changed version of the original Stinkerbug OK?) were hanging around, doing our thing when the phone rang. I picked up and gave my customary dual hellos and was about to hang up when I heard a male voice on the other end. It turned out to be a bad connection but it led me to believe that it might've been Mr. Stinky on his cell phone just seeing if the house was still standing.

So bad connection guy turned out to be from a local cable company offering the latest promotion to better our service. These people annoy me so much, and this guy already had several strikes against him. Let's list them.

> Telemarketer

> Bad connection

> Heavy accent of some sort

> Enunciation.. didn't do, didn't care...

I only picked out a few words here and there but obviously I got the important ones. After his rushed introduction my response was polite yet firm. Here it is verbatim.

Stinky T: No thanks, this isn't a good time. (Haven't figured out how to put babies on hold yet.)

Bad Connection Guy: *Loud huff of irritation* This? Is not? A good time. For you??

Stinky T: (Brrr?!?) Yah... no, it isn't.

BCG: *Something something unintelligible something* Fine! *Click*

Oh dude, I just got told off and hung up on! What the hell just transpired? I could've been pissed off by the horrible customer service but all I did was look at Bug-bug and laugh. Of all the telemarketing calls I've ever received, and especially from a major cable company I've never had an experience like this. Like, he was totally pissed off that I was probably at home doing nothing besides picking my nose because obviously if I had something to do, like a job, I'd be out of my home doing it. Right? And if I was just sitting at home picking my nose then I should have a few minutes to at least listen to the latest promotion he had to offer and accept it. Sheeesh! I am such. a disappointment. How do I live with myself?

BCG must totally be a new guy too, coz I know that company and I know that they carefully monitor every single call and grade (I swear!) their employees at specific times of the year to list all their transgressions and here's your grade loser, bring those statistics up by the next term or you're getting written up and it'll go into your file. Dun dun dun!!

And no, I didn't better my service. We distinctly chose the shittiest yet most expensive package the company had because that's how we roll. Fight the power!

Old Faithful

Nursing pads are not expensive but the cost does add up when you use them on a regular basis.  Ever since the Fusspot arrived I've been utilizing their absorbent nature daily to prevent any embarrassing leakage.  My friend told me she only uses them when she leaves the house to cut down on costs, and today I decided that I would give the girls some breathing space and go without pads and bra.

That lasted 1 hour.  Then I felt the familiar tightening in my chest.  Following that, I completely soaked my shirt (are you grossed out yet?) and ran upstairs to change into something dry.  Upon locating a clean shirt I had to wait in the bathroom until my chest ceased to drip before changing.  Sorry girls, no more freeboobing it.  Not for awhile anyway.

I know, I'm way too open with my topics of discussion.  What're you gonna do?

Funniest Comment This Weekend

We were at a wings place, just Mr. Stinky and I, enjoying a romantical meal of sucking meat from little avian arm bones and smearing honey garlic and barbeque sauce all across our cheeks.

"Gotta go pee... I better wash my hands first so I don't burn my dick off."

That guy must've been handling some spicy fare.  But yah, made me giggle anyway.

Bye Bye, 2007

So this is the final 2007 post, it's been a good year.  Had a great pregnancy, not such a fun birthing experience and sometimes the Fusspot made me want to build a time machine to go back to the past and change a few things.  On the upside, mommy can go back to dealing with her issues with the occasional drink that always puts a smile right back on her face.  Oh how I've missed my wine while pregnant, it's such a joy to be able to enjoy alcohol again even if it's in small amounts.  A memorable night was had recently at Oscar's when there was the chance to sample from several bottles due to the number of people in attendance.

Anyway, so the holidays were good.  The baby was mostly well behaved, except for a few times when we saw family and she was overwhelmed, swarmed, tossed around like a hot potato and yelled at (Asians are especially loud and excitable).  But then, I can't really blame her for being upset when she was just obviously scared.  Of note, one of the grandmas (my mom) should never drink when the Fusspot is around.  A few drops of the fun juice revs up her loud and excitability factor exponentially.  Hot potato turned into a rugby scrum and I had to step in several times to rescue my screaming baby lest she become many baby parts before the night's end.

Fusspot is all ready for the New Year celebration tonight, within the last week she has discovered screeching.  At first very cute, it has now become a nails on chalkboard kind of scream she incessantly enjoys making.

So there you go, I gotta get back to my New Year's party.  It's all about video games, snacks and Jell-o shots.  I just had my first... never was a big fan of vodka but it'll do.  See you all in the new year.