Hey, shove it, would'ja?

This may be a kinda "had to be there" kinda story, but here goes anyway:

So I took the girls to the library this morning. M loves to go and pick out books, play on the computer, etc. etc. And P, well, P is 18 months old. She likes to tear shit up. That's her thang.

Anyway, we get there and commence to frolic among the books. I chased P around for awhile and finally got her cornered in an itty bitty area surrounded by 3 book shelves and a puppet show thingy. Ha! Contained. M and I started playing with the puppet show (putting on a stunning performance with a vulture and a zebra, I might add) while P did her own thing - mainly gleefully pulling books off the shelves. Every so often I would lean over (contained area, remember. Not hurting or offending anyone else's personal space, mind you.) and put the books back. After the FRICKTILLIONTH time of doing this, I just mellowed out and let her go at it and enjoyed the puppets with M.

Enter Mommyzilla. This woman looked like she had been sucking on lemons. Either that, or she had just stuck her nose in horse shit, one or the other. She stared at P with the hatred of a thousand devils, and, still staring at her, said to me, "Did you know she's....she's..." And I so kindly finished her sentence, "pulling the books of the shelves?"

Zilla: (Still glaring at P - WTF?) Yes.

Me: Yeah. I've already picked them up a hundred times.

Zilla: (Looks at me, FINALLY, then resumes her evil eye at P. She kept staring and staring AND STARING.)

Now I'm thinking maybe she's (P) really tearing it up. Because of the way the bookshelves were positioned, I couldn't actually see her, so by now I thought I was going to find EVERY SINGLE BOOK and EVERY SINGLE STUFFED ANIMAL and EVERY SINGLE OTHER LIBRARYISH KNICK-KNACKY THING all strew from here to yonder. So I got up (Zilla still staring) and walked around to find:

F.I.V.E. books on the floor. Yes, five. Oh the humanity! What shall we do? Call the authorities, we have a major fricking crisis on our hands.

I proceeded to pick up the books and put them away exactly from whence they came AND SHE WAS STILL STARING AT ME! WATCHING ME DO THIS AS IF TO MAKE DAMN SURE I DID IT CORRECTLY. Alright, enough caps, but jeez! Had this women NEVER (oops, sorry) been around an 18 month old before? (Obviously she had, her son that was with her was about 8.) Did she actually think I was not going to pick up after my own child? And what's with the staring, you weirdo?

I reserve the "C" word for those individuals who make it glaringly evident that they are idiots of the highest form. She doesn't even deserve the "C" word. She's not worthy of the "C" word. I'll just call her a good ol' fashion Beeyatch.

There. I feel much better.

Answer: Two sets of nakie buns, complete with dimples, spinning circles and laughing hysterically.

Question: What is the cutest thing in my world?

In Which Every Step Feels Like Lead

It was my own fault:

1. I went to bed very late last night. As a result, I was not well rested.
2. I didn't eat anything beforehand.
3. I didn't drink my usual amount of water beforehand.
4. I didn't set out my running clothes the night before.
5. I couldn't find my shoes.
6. I have a zit the size of a small country right between my eyes.

Some days running is easy. Others are anything but. Today was one of those days. Because of the above list, every single step I took felt like I was trying to run through cement. I got half way through and took a walk break. And (here it comes...) held onto the handrails. Yes. It was THAT bad.

But, I kept going and I found myself with only a few minutes left. I decided to kick it into gear, above list be damned. I flat out, balls to the wall, sprinted the last minute. This may be the runner's high talking, but

I fucking rock.

Ya Gotta Have Friends

Without sounding like a total snot, I'm the type of person who has always had a lot of friends. Ok, there's no way NOT to sound like a snot, but it's true. From the time I was able to speak (as my mom used to say) I was very social. I like lots of people, having fun and hanging out. On the other hand I tend to be a big homebody as well. I like my own space and doing things alone. Is it wierd to be both? I don't know. It doesn't feel wierd.

Anyway, I DO have a point here. When I married my husband we moved to the town he grew up in. I knew no one. He knew everyone - and I mean just about everyone. He's just that type of person. It wasn't a big deal at the time because I worked in the city that I grew up in and didn't HAVE to know anybody in my new "hometown".

When I became a stay at home mom about 18 months ago, I left my job that I'd been at for 7.5 years. It was not only a job that I had good friends at, it was a job that was a little over an hour away from where I currently live. I went from having friends (work friends as well as my girlfriends from high school that still worked and lived in the city) to no friends at all. It was quite a shock to say the least. I remember talking to my best friend and telling her how bizarre it was to actually try and make friends. I think the last time I actually had to TRY to make friends was in college. And that wasn't very hard because you're all thrown together in a dorm and friendships just kind of happen on their own in that kind of environment.

Now it's different. For the first 4 months I was home, we didn't go anywhere, I'm ashamed to say. Finally I had to bite the bullet and get us out of the house. I started taking the girls to an indoor playground and I have made some acquaintances, but nothing even approaching a friendship. I'll tell you what I want. I want all my best girlfriends to pack up their shit and move to where I live. Oh. Not gonna happen? Ok, then I want clones of my girlfriends to pack up their shit and move to where I live. Still no? Then I'll settle for a few (one?)nice mom friends who like to hang out, occasionally bitch about their crabby kids and dirty house, praise their children and husbands often, tell a few dirty jokes and drink some wine. Is that too much to ask?

Slave To The Scale

Did I mention I have around 30 pounds to lose? Yeah, I said 30. Twenty from my last pregnancy (that ended 18 months ago, *sigh*) and ten from grazing like a cow over the "holidays". Didn't you know that the holidays start on Halloween and end on Valentine's Day? Well, they do. Oh what fun I had. I'll share a little fitness tidbit with you - it turns out you CAN'T eat everything within your reach even if you are running six days a week. Who knew?

So, it's time. I've been hauling around this extra 30 pounds for awhile now, and I think it's finally worn out it's welcome. The half marathon I'm doing in June will be sooooo much easier when I'm able to flit and fly gracefully over the finish line 30 pounds lighter. Maybe I'll just prance. Nah, prance doesn't seem right. Truthfully, I'll probably be crawling across the finish line. Ok, so the plan is to crawl across the finish line, but do it 30 pounds lighter. At least my hands and knees will be thankful.

Wish me luck.

Got the sickies

Sick here. Insane sinus infection. The whole right side of my head about to explode. Watch out for flying brain matter and snot.

Gimme a B! (Go ahead. I'll wait.) Gimme an I! Gimme a P! Gimme a...oh screw it

B-I-P-O-L-A-R. Ok, so I'm probably not technically afflicted with this disorder, but damn, could someone please stop this roller coaster so that I could get the HELL off?! I wonder what the DSM (what is it up to now? IV, V, maybe VI? Back in the day it was DSM IIIR - D*iagnostic and St*atistical M*anual, 3rd edition, Revised - since it's been ELEVEN YEARS since I graduated from college, I'm sure they've updated once or twice.) defines bi*polar as these days? I guess I could look it up, but frankly I don't really care I guess. Ok, so I'll tell the truth, I'm SCARED to look because I will inevitably find that I am afflicted with EVERY SINGLE psychological disorder known to man listed in there. Yeah. I'm weird like that.

So anyway, I'll be going along living my life, tra la la, being busy, enjoying myself, etc. then BLAMO! I start down the slippery slope of doom. A slope covered in D*airy Q*ueen Blizzards, brownies, Mc*Donalds Mc*Chicken sandwiches (ewwww I don't even like these!) and REAL, fully cafeinated, fully sugared Coca*Cola. The slope is also covered in surly words directed toward the husband, and regretfully, the two sweet potatoes that are my kids. The house is a mess. The laundry is a mess. I am a mess.

Then, the sun starts to rise once again. I start coming out from the "valley" as I like to call it. Bright light fills my day once again and the food overload stops. The surliness stops. The messiness...well, gets less messy. I suppose there may be a pattern to the valleys. I don't know. I've never paid attention. Does it happen the same time every month? Don't know. I guess I'm hesitant to look for a pattern because that would require paying attention to the valley. The valley I'm coming out of - and when I'm coming out of it, I don't like to dwell on it. The valley represents all that I don't want to be. Darkness. Unhappiness. The hill represents brightness and the person I love to be. Valley = bad. Hill = good. Dwelling on valley = bad. Enjoying Hill = good. Me like good. I'd really like to find a way to shorten the valleys and, in turn, lengthen the hills. Maybe I'll work on that. Could be interesting. This has gotten very long and somewhat serious. Hmmm. I guess that's ok.

Here's to Hills.

Don't even ask if there's any brownines left.

Brownies - The New Food Group

I'm pretty sure the new food pyramid guidelines included copius amounts of chocolate. More specifically, chocolate found in fudgy, rich, luscious, decadent brownies that I made last night on a whim. A whim at 9:00 PM. Well, a whim cleverly disguised as a period induced food binge. What the HELL is going on with me? It's like I cannot function without a constant stream of food going into my mouth. Until I had my daughters, I never had a cramp, never had flu*id rete*ntion, and never had hom*icidal tend*ancies. Maybe it has nothing to do with the process of having children. Maybe it has to do with **gasp** getting older. I don't know. But I do know that I don't like it.