Like two hormonal teenagers with no regard for consequences.

I know several people that have gotten pregnant very shortly after having a baby. I always have the same question:

Do you NOT know what causes this?!

Most recently, an acquaintance of mine was already pregnant at her 6 week postpartum check up. Oh.My.God. She now has two girls just shy of 12 months apart.

I will write to her when she checks herself into the loony bin.

Maybe it's karma but now I am having the same scare.

Yikes.

At least Mady-Lou is 6 months but still. FUCK, SHIT, DAMN, and all other explicits! I would totally be screwed. I don't even want to start calculating the costs but lets just say that I probably would pay more for daycare for 3 kids (monkey only does after-school care now but the summer he needs full-time) than I bring in after taxes.

Fuck.

Cross your fingers, say a Hail Mary, whatever your superstitions require. I need all the help I can get.

What I Want Wednesday

Dyson ball. Now if I could only get my house to vacuum itself...


















Schwinn roadster bike. Now that I'm getting old, it's all about comfort. And, seriously, how cute is this? MKH would have to get the matching one in blue, of course.











Kindle























Coach bag (to be used as a diaper bag)
















Britax Boulevard car seat in Shannon. So pricey but a breeze to switch from one car to another, thus eliminating the need for more than one.



And so I don't sound so selfish, I also would like world peace, the end of world hunger, and all that jazz.

Could it get any worse?

Today has been the worst day ever. It's not easy to make me cry but today I let someone make me cry like a school girl. I'm not mad at the guy (a customer) who did it because I'd be fucking pissed, too. I fucked up. Big time. I feel like complete scum. Nothing I can do can fix it. It doesn't matter how much free stuff I offer or money out of my own pocket, it can not be undone. It's a pretty crappy feeling. On the other hand, life will go on. I may or may not hear about it from my bosses. I may or may not have a job (okay I will probably just get yelled at). On the plus side, this is my very first negative experience so I guess my percentage is good...

I was going to write about how annoying my boss is today but I don't think that's the greatest idea. I'm only going to think nice thoughts about everyone and everything today in hopes of good Karma.

What I Want

I realize that this is going to sound totally materialistic.
Oh well. Here is a minimized list of some of the things I am going to beg and plead for my husband to buy for me REALLY want:

Nike Air Max Plus in Metallic Gold, Perfect Pink, and It Chocolate (could there be a more perfect color combination?)



























Wii Fit

Nikon D80 camera. I'm tired of my pictures looking like shit. My 4 year old 3.2 megapixel camera is ancient technology.

KitchenAid Artisan stand mixer.



























Chi 2" hair straightener (I really need to trade in my cheap-o for a higher quality to tame my mess).


If anyone has extra cash that they would like to contribute to my shopping fund, let me know. I have a Paypal account.

today is the day

Today is the day where I become slightly less republican. Today is a day that I will remember for the rest of my life. America has elected a new president. I happened to have voted for the obvious republican canidate but I'm SO glad "I" lost. This may be the only time I will be proud to stand behind a democrat but that's okay. I am PROUD. I am proud that my children will never know what discrimination is. They will never know a time where people were referred to by the color of their skin. Yes, I grew up in a 100% white community. I didn't have my first encounter with a person of a different race until I entered the working world. I have never suffered nor seen first-hand the pain of segregation but I can be almost certain that my children will never even have to hear about it other than in history books. Many people in history have fought to get this country to this day. With the exception of the days following 9-11, I have never felt as proud to be an American as I do today.

Not Me Monday

I did NOT spend 50% of my Saturday sleeping. Nope, that would be lazy and lazy I am not. I also did not spend half the night after said nap playing Lego Star Wars. Only nerds do that.
I also did not get desperate enough for a drink that I mixed Ten High with Diet Dr. Pepper. Definitely not because that would be pathetic. At my son's basketball practice, I did not make him stop and pose 10,000 times so I could get a good shot. Nope, definitely not because that would be a trait of a crazy, obsessive mother. Nor did I wear my pajamas every minute of the weekend (except for Monkey's basketball practice). The last thing that I am positive that I did not do was have sex in the bathroom with my husband mid-day (because I am NOT a slut) during the kids' nap time.

Whew, I feel better now that I have confessed to all of the things I haven't done! Now I feel better about all of the things I DID do:

*folded 20 baskets of clean laundry that my husband I spent all day washing
*cleaned off my desk like I promised myself I would
*cooked nice, wholesome meals for my family

I kissed a boy and I liked it

This is definitely not one of those sappy "oh how I love him" posts. It's not. I swear.
I just wanted to mention how fabulous MKH is and some of the many reasons why
I love him so


*His ability to make light of any situation. His complete lack of worriedness balances
out my constant and neurotic worriedness (yes, I am totally aware that worriedness is
not an actual word).

*He knows how to change my oil and other vehicular necessities.

*He is totally and completely in love with our children. Watching someone you love love
someone is one of life's most precious gifts.

*He still tells me he loves me and wishes me a good day EVERY single day.

*He doesn't mind that I sing constantly even though I make dogs howl.

*He gets up at 5 am, works for 12 hours and then takes care of our kids until
I get home from work.

*If I am in the mood for a late-night quickie, I can wake him up and he'll happily
satisfy my urge even though he's been up since 5 am, worked for 12 hrs and
then taken care of our kids until I got home from work.

*Being the princess that I am, I cannot be bothered with pesky little things link
 time and alarm clocks and such. MKH provides me with a wake up call
(or two or ten...its like a snooze feature) on a daily basis. Even if he is in a
room full of men, he will raise his voice into the phone and say things like
 "pookey, you have to get up right now. You want to have plenty of time to do
 your beautiful hair, don't you?". Okay, the last part is totally fictional. Its more
like "you need to get your ass up now or you are going to be late." If he EVER
called me pookey I would divorce him.

I could really go on for ever but I don't want to make you ladies too jealous!

If you show up wearing a pink shirt, you will surely die.

MKH found this add during one of his Craig's List shopping excursions (this is a nightly event that lasts for HOURS). He's always saying "Hey honey, come look at this" and I usually groan and quickly glimpse at whatever it is he wants to show me (usually some dumb car or motorcycle that I couldn't give a rat's ass about). This one was actually worth the time to read (I have highlighted my favorite points):

"OK, let me start off by saying this truck is only available for purchase by the manliest of men (or women). If it was possible for a vehicle to sprout chest hair and a five o'clock shadow, this truck would look like Tom Selleck. It is just that manly.

It was never intended to drive to the mall so you can pick up that adorable shirt at Abercrombie & Fitch that you had your eye on. It wasn't meant to transport you to yoga class or Linens & Things. No, that's what your Prius is for (coincidentally you can likely haul a Prisus with this truck). If that's the kind of car you're looking for, then just do us all a favor and stop reading right now. I mean it. Just stop because I won't sell it to you.

This car was engineered by 3rd degree ninja super-warriors in the highest mountains of Japan to serve the needs of the man that cheats death on a daily basis. It was originally bought my my grandfatehr who went to china town in search of mogwais like from the movies "gremlins". He didn't listen to us that they don;t exist so thats why we don;t let grandpa drive anymore.

This truck does not have superfluous nancy boy amenities like navigation systems (real men don't get lost), heated leather seats (a real man doesn't let anything warm his butt), or On Star (real men don't even know what the hell On Star is). However it does have a killer CD player, for rocking out to heavy metal music while you are wake boarind.

No, this brute comes with the things us testosterone-fueled super action junkies need. It has a 305 V8 to outrun the cops and tow giant boats to the lake that chicks dig. It's got special blood/gore resistant upholstery (for after a hard day of lumber jacking in case you cut your leg off and you need to drive to the bar). The truck also has an 350 TH automatic transmission so if you're being chased by Libyan terrorists, you'll still be able to shoot your machine gun out the window and drive at the same time. It's saved my bacon more than once.

It has room for you and the two hotties you picked up on the way to the gym to blast your pecs and hammer your glutes. There's a tow hitch to pull your 50 caliber anti-Taliban, self cooling machine gun. I also just put in a new windshield to replace the one that got shot out by friendly fire when I got down range of Toby Keith.

My price on this bad boy is an incredibly low $1,350 but I'll entertain reasonable offers. And by reasonable, I mean don't walk up and tell me you'll give me your old bass boat for it. That's liable to earn you a Burmese-roundhouse-sphincter-kick with a follow up three fingered eye-jab. Would it hurt? Hell yeah. Let's just say you won't be the prettiest guy at the Coldplay concert anymore.

There's only 138,000 miles on this four-wheeled hellcat from Planet Kickass. Trust me, it will outlive you and the offspring that will carry your name. It will live on as a monument to your machismo.

I personally have added alot of upgrades to this truck. I have replaced alot of parts and trust me that this thing is ready to go. George Bush once asked me to go drive it around Iraq to scare the insurgents into giving up, but I was too busy drinking gasoline and surfing while rocking out on a double guitar.

Now, go look in the mirror and tell me what you see. If it's a rugged, no holds barred, super brute he-man macho Chuck Norris stunt double, then contact me. I might be out hang-gliding or BASE jumping or just chilling with my ladies, but I'll get back to you. And when I do, we'll talk about a price over a nice glass of Schmidt while we listen to Johnny Cash.

To sweeten the deal a little, I'm also throwing in a herculiner roll on bed liner for the bed. Also included is a shop manual (even though the manliest of men don't read manuals, pretending to read it is a good way to ignore your wife or girlfriend.

Rock on. "



I really could have just highlighted the whole thing because every bit of it is ridiculously funny. I didn't want to bog down my pretty blog with pictures of ugly trucks so I'll just tell you that the vehicle for sale is an old, rusted-out, 80-something Chevy. Oh, yeah, and it had this picture at the very end:

Happy Birthday, Monkey!

Tomorrow is Monkey's 6th birthday and I have been scrambling to come up with a fabulous gift for him. He may have gotten gypped by having a birthday so close after Christmas but I totally score on clearance toys! So since MKH had today off, I sent him out (with Mady-Lou in tow) in hunt for presents. This is pretty scary in itself because A) MKH is completely incapable of making a decision on his own and B) He can barely shop by himself, let alone with a 5 month old. I had urged him to go to Toy's R Us becuase of their bigger selection but he didn't think he can handle it (I can just imagine him having a nervous break-down halfway through the store) so he opted for a simpler place: Wal-Mart. I'm thinking "Great, he's going to get cheap-ass toys that will break in a month." Not that Toys R Us is too much better but we don't have an overwhelming selection around here. I was waiting for THE phone call saying he'd bought our 6 year old a .22 or some other inappropriate item BUT...he picked out the perfect thing. I couldn't believe it. He got Rock Band!

This is going to be per.fect. Monkey is a music fanatic and is constantly singing, playing air guitar, break-dancing, or doing the robot. He's going to LOVE it! And, I think MKH has officially taken over roll as gift-buyer.

Chances are, I will be on mic, MKH will be on drums, and Monkey will be on guitar. It's going to be fabulous!

Über embarrassing pictures to come...

I think I have Schizofrania

It seems like every month, after the dreaded 7-day blood feast (sorry for the morbidness but that's my mood today), I am an emotional wreck. I don't get the traditional PMS. I am a little bitchy during and absolutely insane after. I suppose my hormones are still coming into check after cooking a human being inside my womb but DAMN! I hate this! I tend to be a teensy bit critical of myself as it is but it's always at its worst this time of the month. I hate being such a bitch. I hate the feeling of imminent water works. Seriously. Can't I just be a normal girl?

Oh wait, I guess this is the exact result of BEING a normal girl. *Sigh*

I know it's never a good idea to blog about your job. Luckily, I don't give a shit. This dude, we'll call him Shoes, that I work with (he's actually my b-o-s-s but I can't bring myself to call him that due to my complete lack of respect for him) drives me insane. I have referred to him before as the one that speak english no good. Shoes is the epitome of douchbaggery. My current gripe with him: his over-use of the word "actually." 4 out of 5 sentences begin with it, appropriate or not. I seriously have to restrain myself from hopping off my stupid stool, running over and bitch-slapping him.

Okay, so I'm not only over-critical of myself, but apparently others too. Sue me.

Maybe I should check into getting some Prozac.

Temporary solution: I'm buying a 6-pack on my way home for work. Hopefully that'll tide me over until next month.