Items that I want for Christmas:
1. A book light
2. Another pair of True Religions- or, the opportunity to get to the mall kiddo-free to pick out my own pair of TRs that I will gladly pay for. Just getting there and taking the time to do this is no joke.
3. A cleaning lady
4. A heavier set of hand weights
5. New running shoes
6. For our bedroom to be redone- new end table for J, painted walls. Or, in the alternative, the opportunity to paint the walls myself kid-free.
7. New bras. I've been rocking the same ones for too long.
8. A new pair of dark brown heels from Ann Taylor
9. A few movies, including Grizzly Man and Christmas Vacation
10. And since this is a list that I will never give to J or my mom, I might as well go crazy- a new car (our lease is up this summer, so I have to pick a new car). I'm thinking a Tahoe or an Acadia. Black with tinted windows. They discontinued the larger Subaru SUV, which sucks because I love me a Subaru. My first car was a Subaru, and I'll never forget it. If that car somehow still worked and I could buy it, I would do so in a second. You know this commercial? So true.
Thursday, November 10, 2011
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
Basal Cell Carcinoma
Forewarning: Depressing Entry. Feel free to come back later for my regularly scheduled programming and a good old fashioned rant about my MIL.
So the biopsy for the weird brush burn with freckles on my side boob totally came back positive for basal cell carcinoma, which, in case you were unaware, is the most common type of cancer. Luckily, it spreads like really slowly, if at all, so the way they get rid of it is to just scrape it off. The medical assistant on the phone yesterday said to me, 'We don't biopsy what we scrape off.' Which begs the question- how do you know it didn't spread any farther and that you got it all? She was like, 'This type of cancer doesn't spread' or something like that. I knew I was talking to someone who probably couldn't answer these questions and, oddly, I didn't want to stump her and be a jerk, but, like, I had questions. So I immediately took to Dr. Google to answer my questions. To be honest, I still don't know why they wouldn't biopsy more "just in case." Maybe when she took the biopsy she dug down deep enough and there was only cancer in the top layer? She did mention the word "surface" something. And I found her description on Google, but I'm not going to go back and look for it because I learned that the "types" of basal cell carcinoma are, like, basically the same.
I immediately was like, 'I should not have gone tanning all those years!' But a few hours later I realized that, even ass-naked, my side boob has never really been exposed to the sun. This is in an unusual spot. If it was on my shoulders, on my stomach, on my nose- I would blame childhood sunburns and the tanning beds. A large part of me wishes I would have steered clear of tanning beds, but the truth is- I'm so. effing. pale. Like, when I don't put on some sort of sunless tanner or have some sort of tan, people come up to me and ask me if I'm okay. I always looked at my black college roommate's skin and thought, 'What would it be like... to not have a pasty white a$$... for there to actually be foundation out there that MATCHES your skin.... to have a zit and not have it look like the world's reddest freaking pimple... to have multiple pimples and to not have it look like a rash...' You know how the lightest color you can get in foundation is "Ivory"? When I wear ivory and have no tan at all, I actually get a make up line. So.. I mean, maybe God gave me really pale skin because he wanted me to die of skin cancer. Or maybe he was like, 'You are too vain. You will die because you are too vain. And people will learn not to be so vain- because they will see how vain you were and you died.' Ugh, it would suck to be that example. Because, if I'm going to die as an example of vanity, couldn't I be hotter? Like have an awesome rack and perfect - albeit tan- skin and good hair and a nice a$$? Not small - and now sagging- boobs, sometimes tannish skin with pimples and bad hair and an a$$ with cellulite? Man.. I don't want to die. Not yet. Hopefully they scrape these cells off and I can be done with skin cancer.
This lead me to think of a lot of things last night - until I ultimately caved and took a very small dosage of Xanax to help me fall asleep - in between bouts of watching Pippa Middle*ton's Bio on TV and thinking about dying.
For starters, it's amazing how separate "you" are from your body. Your body will betray you and start to produce evil cells that will ultimately be your demise and you have no idea. You are just merrily living your life until you find out that this body you need to continue living your merry life decided to go bananas on you and can no longer sustain itself on this earth. Pregnancy felt somewhat this way (but on the opposite end of the spectrum). They tell you all this crap to do during your pregnancy and while I followed most of the rules, I got the very distinct impression that my body was going to do what it was going to do whether or not I got enough sleep, took my multi-vitamin. Sometimes I wonder if we make up all these rules for health and follow them to trick ourselves into thinking that we have more control over our life and death than we really do. I know that when I hear about someone fighting a terminal illness, my first instinct is to differentiate them from myself. "Well X happened to Joe. And Joe and I are different for the following reasons and therefore I will not get X." My second instinct is to not listen to what happened to Joe because it is too upsetting and I know the truth: What Joe got, I could get. And I could die too. And we all will anyway.
This lead me to think of my grandpa who died when I was 6. I do remember him, but not that much. But I remember vividly receiving the phone call that he had died- my aunt was crying too hard for me to understand her, so I gave the phone to my mom. My mom started screaming "No!" He was only 56 years old- so she was probably around 32. I asked my mom what was wrong and she said, 'Grandpa died' through her tears. We had just spent the day before with him. He died completely out of the blue one Monday on his lunch break from work while eating his sandwich. My grandma came home later that day and found him on the floor in the living room with his half eaten sandwich on the end table beside him. Learning this news and watching everyone else learn this news was the fucking saddest moment of my entire life. My little brother was 4 at the time and had spent the day "playing" in the basement with his friend, Kyle. They had completely destroyed the basement so my mom sent him down there to clean it up after Kyle left. I went down and told him the news. I am happy that I do not remember his reaction.
Anyway, my grandma just turned 80 this year. So it's been about 25 years since he died. She has lived at this point as much life without him as with him. I wonder how often she thinks of him- and if she ever feels terribly sad at the idea that she can't say to him, 'Can you believe how much X grandchild looks like our son?' or laugh with him about an inside joke they had. She notes- in a non-depressing way- that she may not have many years left. I wonder if she is at all excited about seeing him again. My grandma is religious, so I believe that she believes that they will be able to communicate once more at some point in the future. I believe in all of those Christian ideas as well, so I also believe that she will be able to talk to him again. I can't fathom what it would be like- would she be like, 'Oh my god! Have you been able to see everything? What are your thoughts? Are you upset that I started dating someone else?' If J started dating someone else after I died, I would greet him in the afterlife with a big punch in the face and then make him swear that he always liked me better. I know this is immature, but it is the way I feel.
So last night I also thought about that stuff.
And one last final train of thought that passed through my mind was how lonely it must be to receive a very bad cancer diagnosis. Please don't think I am thinking that this is what I received, but I had to think about all this stuff because I was just so shocked that any kind of cancer at all could possibly be on or in my body. I recognize that statistically speaking, I will be fine- they will scrape the cancer cells off and I will live my merry life. But, I couldn't help but think about my step-father's mom. She died of that cancer that you get from asbestos- mesothelioma (sp? I'm too lazy to Google this). I don't know if they didn't have good health insurance or if all deaths are this way, but it was a very messy and terrible end and my step-dad and his sister were having to change her diapers and she was having diarrhea, etc.. I wonder what her thoughts were- was she just clinging to hope the entire time? Was she wondering where she was going? Did the doctor prescribe her enough morphine so she plain old just didn't have to think about this stuff? Because that would be my preference, frankly.
Alright, well, I'm going to let you go. Hopefully you took heed of my warning at the beginning of this entry and moved on to funnier blogs. But, anyway, please don't take away from this that I am geeking out over my basal cell carcinoma. Last night I was super emo about it, but today I'm done freaking out. It just got me thinking about a bunch of crap I hope I don't have to think about for another 20 years.
On another note, I'm very much looking forward to the results of Justin Bieber's paternity test and hoping and praying that the baby is his. Not because I care, but because it would make for interesting news for me to read at 330 am on my iphone while feeding the baby.
So the biopsy for the weird brush burn with freckles on my side boob totally came back positive for basal cell carcinoma, which, in case you were unaware, is the most common type of cancer. Luckily, it spreads like really slowly, if at all, so the way they get rid of it is to just scrape it off. The medical assistant on the phone yesterday said to me, 'We don't biopsy what we scrape off.' Which begs the question- how do you know it didn't spread any farther and that you got it all? She was like, 'This type of cancer doesn't spread' or something like that. I knew I was talking to someone who probably couldn't answer these questions and, oddly, I didn't want to stump her and be a jerk, but, like, I had questions. So I immediately took to Dr. Google to answer my questions. To be honest, I still don't know why they wouldn't biopsy more "just in case." Maybe when she took the biopsy she dug down deep enough and there was only cancer in the top layer? She did mention the word "surface" something. And I found her description on Google, but I'm not going to go back and look for it because I learned that the "types" of basal cell carcinoma are, like, basically the same.
I immediately was like, 'I should not have gone tanning all those years!' But a few hours later I realized that, even ass-naked, my side boob has never really been exposed to the sun. This is in an unusual spot. If it was on my shoulders, on my stomach, on my nose- I would blame childhood sunburns and the tanning beds. A large part of me wishes I would have steered clear of tanning beds, but the truth is- I'm so. effing. pale. Like, when I don't put on some sort of sunless tanner or have some sort of tan, people come up to me and ask me if I'm okay. I always looked at my black college roommate's skin and thought, 'What would it be like... to not have a pasty white a$$... for there to actually be foundation out there that MATCHES your skin.... to have a zit and not have it look like the world's reddest freaking pimple... to have multiple pimples and to not have it look like a rash...' You know how the lightest color you can get in foundation is "Ivory"? When I wear ivory and have no tan at all, I actually get a make up line. So.. I mean, maybe God gave me really pale skin because he wanted me to die of skin cancer. Or maybe he was like, 'You are too vain. You will die because you are too vain. And people will learn not to be so vain- because they will see how vain you were and you died.' Ugh, it would suck to be that example. Because, if I'm going to die as an example of vanity, couldn't I be hotter? Like have an awesome rack and perfect - albeit tan- skin and good hair and a nice a$$? Not small - and now sagging- boobs, sometimes tannish skin with pimples and bad hair and an a$$ with cellulite? Man.. I don't want to die. Not yet. Hopefully they scrape these cells off and I can be done with skin cancer.
This lead me to think of a lot of things last night - until I ultimately caved and took a very small dosage of Xanax to help me fall asleep - in between bouts of watching Pippa Middle*ton's Bio on TV and thinking about dying.
For starters, it's amazing how separate "you" are from your body. Your body will betray you and start to produce evil cells that will ultimately be your demise and you have no idea. You are just merrily living your life until you find out that this body you need to continue living your merry life decided to go bananas on you and can no longer sustain itself on this earth. Pregnancy felt somewhat this way (but on the opposite end of the spectrum). They tell you all this crap to do during your pregnancy and while I followed most of the rules, I got the very distinct impression that my body was going to do what it was going to do whether or not I got enough sleep, took my multi-vitamin. Sometimes I wonder if we make up all these rules for health and follow them to trick ourselves into thinking that we have more control over our life and death than we really do. I know that when I hear about someone fighting a terminal illness, my first instinct is to differentiate them from myself. "Well X happened to Joe. And Joe and I are different for the following reasons and therefore I will not get X." My second instinct is to not listen to what happened to Joe because it is too upsetting and I know the truth: What Joe got, I could get. And I could die too. And we all will anyway.
This lead me to think of my grandpa who died when I was 6. I do remember him, but not that much. But I remember vividly receiving the phone call that he had died- my aunt was crying too hard for me to understand her, so I gave the phone to my mom. My mom started screaming "No!" He was only 56 years old- so she was probably around 32. I asked my mom what was wrong and she said, 'Grandpa died' through her tears. We had just spent the day before with him. He died completely out of the blue one Monday on his lunch break from work while eating his sandwich. My grandma came home later that day and found him on the floor in the living room with his half eaten sandwich on the end table beside him. Learning this news and watching everyone else learn this news was the fucking saddest moment of my entire life. My little brother was 4 at the time and had spent the day "playing" in the basement with his friend, Kyle. They had completely destroyed the basement so my mom sent him down there to clean it up after Kyle left. I went down and told him the news. I am happy that I do not remember his reaction.
Anyway, my grandma just turned 80 this year. So it's been about 25 years since he died. She has lived at this point as much life without him as with him. I wonder how often she thinks of him- and if she ever feels terribly sad at the idea that she can't say to him, 'Can you believe how much X grandchild looks like our son?' or laugh with him about an inside joke they had. She notes- in a non-depressing way- that she may not have many years left. I wonder if she is at all excited about seeing him again. My grandma is religious, so I believe that she believes that they will be able to communicate once more at some point in the future. I believe in all of those Christian ideas as well, so I also believe that she will be able to talk to him again. I can't fathom what it would be like- would she be like, 'Oh my god! Have you been able to see everything? What are your thoughts? Are you upset that I started dating someone else?' If J started dating someone else after I died, I would greet him in the afterlife with a big punch in the face and then make him swear that he always liked me better. I know this is immature, but it is the way I feel.
So last night I also thought about that stuff.
And one last final train of thought that passed through my mind was how lonely it must be to receive a very bad cancer diagnosis. Please don't think I am thinking that this is what I received, but I had to think about all this stuff because I was just so shocked that any kind of cancer at all could possibly be on or in my body. I recognize that statistically speaking, I will be fine- they will scrape the cancer cells off and I will live my merry life. But, I couldn't help but think about my step-father's mom. She died of that cancer that you get from asbestos- mesothelioma (sp? I'm too lazy to Google this). I don't know if they didn't have good health insurance or if all deaths are this way, but it was a very messy and terrible end and my step-dad and his sister were having to change her diapers and she was having diarrhea, etc.. I wonder what her thoughts were- was she just clinging to hope the entire time? Was she wondering where she was going? Did the doctor prescribe her enough morphine so she plain old just didn't have to think about this stuff? Because that would be my preference, frankly.
Alright, well, I'm going to let you go. Hopefully you took heed of my warning at the beginning of this entry and moved on to funnier blogs. But, anyway, please don't take away from this that I am geeking out over my basal cell carcinoma. Last night I was super emo about it, but today I'm done freaking out. It just got me thinking about a bunch of crap I hope I don't have to think about for another 20 years.
On another note, I'm very much looking forward to the results of Justin Bieber's paternity test and hoping and praying that the baby is his. Not because I care, but because it would make for interesting news for me to read at 330 am on my iphone while feeding the baby.
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Christmastime
So I can't recall what I've told you thus far about our Xmas plans and who knows how much time the baby will allow me to blog, so I'll just spew it all out and see what sticks... which will be everything because, as you might have noticed, there isn't much proofreading and editing on this site.
Xmas plans: We are again going to Good SIL's. The rest of the in-law clan are also heading to NYC to spend T-giving there which, thankfully- heh, we have gotten out of. J wrote Good SIL an email that was like, 'You all can go to the country club for Xmas eve dinner, but we're just going to hang at home since the baby will only be 4 months, blah blah blah.' And she's like, 'No! No problem- we'll all stay at home.' I truly hope we didn't ruin their tradition. In any event, I'm still dreading the 2.5 hour Xmas eve drive on I-95 to NYC. What Good SIL also said to J on the phone was, 'Why don't we just do presents for kids this year and nix the adult presents?'
Backstory: I think I've mentioned this before, but to remind you- my in-laws spend OBSCENE amounts of money on gifts for each other. They are decidedly more wealthy than my family and can certainly afford it... J and I are considered the "poor" wing of this family - while in my family, we are considered the "rich" ones- just to give you an idea of how freaking relative wealth is, in case you didn't already know. So for my fam, we'd get each nephew a gift for like $25/ea and then my parents/grandparents totaling about $175 (step-parents add more people). So like $225 total? For his fam, we'd do $25 for 3 kids, and spend on average between $100 and $125 per person on everyone, including MIL, FIL, Good SIL, BIL, and Evil SIL. This is between $575 and $700 each year. DUDE. But I never said anything because I didn't want to kill Xmas. But when J brought up the fact that Good SIL said "let's nix adult presents" I almost crapped myself with delight- I mean, I won't be receiving a paycheck at that time and that covers part-time daycare for the month (remember, we are keeping Monk in part-time so her transition back upon my return to work isn't as traumatic for her as it will be for me). I told J I thought this was a wonderful idea that he should immediately float it to the rest of the fam (under the guise of "Good SIL suggested that... "). And, more than money, the freaking stress of deciding what people want. Nobody in that family will tell you what they want and they don't like to give gift cards because "not enough thought goes into it." I'm telling you- it is a family filled with oversensitive females. If my 2 daughters become this sensitive, they are grounded. I don't have time for this sh*t. I wish I could throw a hundred dollar bill at everyone and call it a day. The best part is- we will agree on gifts for everyone- approximately $100 each and then last minute J starts panicking that he hasn't gotten everyone "enough" so he starts buying more random sh*t.
The thing about these gifts. I usually get bank. I have gotten awesome stuff- like really nice make-up bags and a gift card (Ahem... J, I categorize this as "awesome") to a spa. But I have also gotten items that I never ended up using- a Coach bag that just wasn't my style, a few shirts that I returned for store credit because they weren't my style, etc. I appreciate the sentiment but I'd rather we all just keep our own dollars or stick a $25 limit on it and get stuff that you don't feel guilty NOT using. Like, I feel like you can't go wrong with bath gel. I know it's a generic gift, but I absolutely rely on receiving this each Xmas. I also feel like gift cards are the bomb. Or like, a little picture frame. Or even an inexpensive t-shirt they thought you'd like. The odds of someone picking out a t-shirt you like are way higher than the odds of someone picking out a $300 sweater you will like. They always buy me shirts with really high necklines. Do you think they're telling me to put my pathetic and now sagging looking cleavage away?
Anyway, sorry for the rant. So I pressured J to "hurry up and email Evil SIL" because she spends more on gifts than anyone- and I knew she probably already started shopping. J was like, 'She might be upset.' And I responded, 'Dude. It's even harder to get by financially when you are single. Before I was married, I was literally overdrafting my bank account to buy my mom a gift. She will be happy.' Turns out, Evil SIL and I are nothing alike...
Sunday morning: J emailed her, pointing out it was NOT his idea and, instead, was their sister's idea.
The response was evil, angry and scary. It was something like, 'It freaking sucks. It won't even feel like Xmas. Everyone else has their own families and I am left behind. I cried myself to sleep last night realizing that I will never have a family of my own. Nobody loves me. I am a worthless piece of sh*t.'
J read it and got really upset. The entire family spends about 90% of their waking hours pitying and worrying about Evil SIL. This email didn't really help matters. Needless to say, we are buying everybody Xmas gifts this year. J responded by like spinning this intricate and false backstory about how nobody meant it the way she is taking it, blah blah blah. Which isn't entirely untrue- it's just that it gets really $$$$ and, do you really like what you get anyway?? It's not like we're buying our own children $600 worth of Xmas gifts and therefore cannot afford it. The kids have nothing to do with it.
I admit I felt freaking terrible too. But, dude, I have single friends. Granted, they are 6 years younger than Evil SIL, but they are dating. And at the VERY least they are making out with strangers in bars - I hope. She doesn't even make out. She doesn't even TRY to make out. Or date. I just feel like you can't make the "I am single and alone so pity me" argument if you are locking yourself in your apartment and not even, at the very least, trying to cyber-bang or whatever. No attempt to date anyone whatsoever. It would be different if, like, her husband just died. Or she tried to date regularly but no guy would even look at her, let alone go on a date with her. THEN you can say, 'Guys. I am alone. I am sad. I am lonely. I am really pitying myself right now.' I would pity her more even if her boyfriend just broke up with her. But... to not even try? That's like the people on welfare not even LOOKING for a job. Nobody wants them to be on welfare- those are the people that are ruining the system for everybody else!
So we are back to the drawing board. In fact, we are even back FURTHER than we were before. I want her to find a man (or woman) so badly. This girl doesn't even have FRIENDS. Nobody to call and b*tch about her life to. Nobody to call and say, "I am officially stalking you. Call me back, biotch." I actually did this to my maid of honor, N, last week. She didn't return my call so I called her like 4 times in one day shamelessly until she sent me a text explaining where she was and why she wasn't calling me back. Aren't I a dream friend?
I don't know. A few weeks ago I decided I had melanoma again. Right where my underwire hits my boob a small group of freckles appeared that looked to me like a cut that never healed. It arrived when I was preg w Monkey because I didn't want to prematurely get a bigger bra (newsflash: when your side-boob starts bleeding, it is time for a bigger bra). So post- H*llary pregnancy, I diagnosed myself with malignant me*lanoma. I had it biopsied 2 wks ago and this week I'm hearing back. The doctor was like, 'Don't lose sleep over it. I don't think it's melanoma.' But we all know how mentally stable I am after having a baby... so I'm pretty certain I will be dying this year.
Which is why J's timing to bust out our will sucks. This morning I had to name my beneficiaries. It was terrible. He, of course, named Evil SIL. OF COURSE (after Monkey and H, that is). She could be a multi-multi millionaire, be immune from every disease ever and have every wish come true and would yell to the far corners of the earth, 'WAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!! PITY ME!!!!' And her whole family would gather around with worried eyes, pitying her with all of their being.
I pretty much decided to leave everything- all of my millions and millions of dollars, that is- to my nephew (that is, if something should happen to Monk and H). Which is kind of f*cked up because I have 2 blood nephews. So I should have broken it down evenly at the very least, so as not to play favorites. But the truth is that while I love my little brother's son who is 2 years old, I am madly in love with my older brother's son who is 11. And I think the older nephew got a raw deal in life and I worry about him more. The other messed up thing about the will is that it's like a "form" - it had only 3 slots for beneficiaries. wtf? What if I want to leave more things to more people? So what I've decided is that if my cancer results come back positive, I will write a paper will that is more detailed. I am way too lazy and mentally unstable to do this if my results come back negative, even though I am terrified of driving and fairly certain that if cancer doesn't kill me this year, a car accident will. If you want something of mine, like the Country Christmas CD I just bought at Target for $9.99 yesterday, please don't hesitate to let me know. Keep in mind there is a beagle and a golden up for grabs as well. I know everybody will be fighting over Lou. She cleans up after herself- eats her own sh*t and everything! How's that for efficiency?
Xmas plans: We are again going to Good SIL's. The rest of the in-law clan are also heading to NYC to spend T-giving there which, thankfully- heh, we have gotten out of. J wrote Good SIL an email that was like, 'You all can go to the country club for Xmas eve dinner, but we're just going to hang at home since the baby will only be 4 months, blah blah blah.' And she's like, 'No! No problem- we'll all stay at home.' I truly hope we didn't ruin their tradition. In any event, I'm still dreading the 2.5 hour Xmas eve drive on I-95 to NYC. What Good SIL also said to J on the phone was, 'Why don't we just do presents for kids this year and nix the adult presents?'
Backstory: I think I've mentioned this before, but to remind you- my in-laws spend OBSCENE amounts of money on gifts for each other. They are decidedly more wealthy than my family and can certainly afford it... J and I are considered the "poor" wing of this family - while in my family, we are considered the "rich" ones- just to give you an idea of how freaking relative wealth is, in case you didn't already know. So for my fam, we'd get each nephew a gift for like $25/ea and then my parents/grandparents totaling about $175 (step-parents add more people). So like $225 total? For his fam, we'd do $25 for 3 kids, and spend on average between $100 and $125 per person on everyone, including MIL, FIL, Good SIL, BIL, and Evil SIL. This is between $575 and $700 each year. DUDE. But I never said anything because I didn't want to kill Xmas. But when J brought up the fact that Good SIL said "let's nix adult presents" I almost crapped myself with delight- I mean, I won't be receiving a paycheck at that time and that covers part-time daycare for the month (remember, we are keeping Monk in part-time so her transition back upon my return to work isn't as traumatic for her as it will be for me). I told J I thought this was a wonderful idea that he should immediately float it to the rest of the fam (under the guise of "Good SIL suggested that... "). And, more than money, the freaking stress of deciding what people want. Nobody in that family will tell you what they want and they don't like to give gift cards because "not enough thought goes into it." I'm telling you- it is a family filled with oversensitive females. If my 2 daughters become this sensitive, they are grounded. I don't have time for this sh*t. I wish I could throw a hundred dollar bill at everyone and call it a day. The best part is- we will agree on gifts for everyone- approximately $100 each and then last minute J starts panicking that he hasn't gotten everyone "enough" so he starts buying more random sh*t.
The thing about these gifts. I usually get bank. I have gotten awesome stuff- like really nice make-up bags and a gift card (Ahem... J, I categorize this as "awesome") to a spa. But I have also gotten items that I never ended up using- a Coach bag that just wasn't my style, a few shirts that I returned for store credit because they weren't my style, etc. I appreciate the sentiment but I'd rather we all just keep our own dollars or stick a $25 limit on it and get stuff that you don't feel guilty NOT using. Like, I feel like you can't go wrong with bath gel. I know it's a generic gift, but I absolutely rely on receiving this each Xmas. I also feel like gift cards are the bomb. Or like, a little picture frame. Or even an inexpensive t-shirt they thought you'd like. The odds of someone picking out a t-shirt you like are way higher than the odds of someone picking out a $300 sweater you will like. They always buy me shirts with really high necklines. Do you think they're telling me to put my pathetic and now sagging looking cleavage away?
Anyway, sorry for the rant. So I pressured J to "hurry up and email Evil SIL" because she spends more on gifts than anyone- and I knew she probably already started shopping. J was like, 'She might be upset.' And I responded, 'Dude. It's even harder to get by financially when you are single. Before I was married, I was literally overdrafting my bank account to buy my mom a gift. She will be happy.' Turns out, Evil SIL and I are nothing alike...
Sunday morning: J emailed her, pointing out it was NOT his idea and, instead, was their sister's idea.
The response was evil, angry and scary. It was something like, 'It freaking sucks. It won't even feel like Xmas. Everyone else has their own families and I am left behind. I cried myself to sleep last night realizing that I will never have a family of my own. Nobody loves me. I am a worthless piece of sh*t.'
J read it and got really upset. The entire family spends about 90% of their waking hours pitying and worrying about Evil SIL. This email didn't really help matters. Needless to say, we are buying everybody Xmas gifts this year. J responded by like spinning this intricate and false backstory about how nobody meant it the way she is taking it, blah blah blah. Which isn't entirely untrue- it's just that it gets really $$$$ and, do you really like what you get anyway?? It's not like we're buying our own children $600 worth of Xmas gifts and therefore cannot afford it. The kids have nothing to do with it.
I admit I felt freaking terrible too. But, dude, I have single friends. Granted, they are 6 years younger than Evil SIL, but they are dating. And at the VERY least they are making out with strangers in bars - I hope. She doesn't even make out. She doesn't even TRY to make out. Or date. I just feel like you can't make the "I am single and alone so pity me" argument if you are locking yourself in your apartment and not even, at the very least, trying to cyber-bang or whatever. No attempt to date anyone whatsoever. It would be different if, like, her husband just died. Or she tried to date regularly but no guy would even look at her, let alone go on a date with her. THEN you can say, 'Guys. I am alone. I am sad. I am lonely. I am really pitying myself right now.' I would pity her more even if her boyfriend just broke up with her. But... to not even try? That's like the people on welfare not even LOOKING for a job. Nobody wants them to be on welfare- those are the people that are ruining the system for everybody else!
So we are back to the drawing board. In fact, we are even back FURTHER than we were before. I want her to find a man (or woman) so badly. This girl doesn't even have FRIENDS. Nobody to call and b*tch about her life to. Nobody to call and say, "I am officially stalking you. Call me back, biotch." I actually did this to my maid of honor, N, last week. She didn't return my call so I called her like 4 times in one day shamelessly until she sent me a text explaining where she was and why she wasn't calling me back. Aren't I a dream friend?
I don't know. A few weeks ago I decided I had melanoma again. Right where my underwire hits my boob a small group of freckles appeared that looked to me like a cut that never healed. It arrived when I was preg w Monkey because I didn't want to prematurely get a bigger bra (newsflash: when your side-boob starts bleeding, it is time for a bigger bra). So post- H*llary pregnancy, I diagnosed myself with malignant me*lanoma. I had it biopsied 2 wks ago and this week I'm hearing back. The doctor was like, 'Don't lose sleep over it. I don't think it's melanoma.' But we all know how mentally stable I am after having a baby... so I'm pretty certain I will be dying this year.
Which is why J's timing to bust out our will sucks. This morning I had to name my beneficiaries. It was terrible. He, of course, named Evil SIL. OF COURSE (after Monkey and H, that is). She could be a multi-multi millionaire, be immune from every disease ever and have every wish come true and would yell to the far corners of the earth, 'WAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!! PITY ME!!!!' And her whole family would gather around with worried eyes, pitying her with all of their being.
I pretty much decided to leave everything- all of my millions and millions of dollars, that is- to my nephew (that is, if something should happen to Monk and H). Which is kind of f*cked up because I have 2 blood nephews. So I should have broken it down evenly at the very least, so as not to play favorites. But the truth is that while I love my little brother's son who is 2 years old, I am madly in love with my older brother's son who is 11. And I think the older nephew got a raw deal in life and I worry about him more. The other messed up thing about the will is that it's like a "form" - it had only 3 slots for beneficiaries. wtf? What if I want to leave more things to more people? So what I've decided is that if my cancer results come back positive, I will write a paper will that is more detailed. I am way too lazy and mentally unstable to do this if my results come back negative, even though I am terrified of driving and fairly certain that if cancer doesn't kill me this year, a car accident will. If you want something of mine, like the Country Christmas CD I just bought at Target for $9.99 yesterday, please don't hesitate to let me know. Keep in mind there is a beagle and a golden up for grabs as well. I know everybody will be fighting over Lou. She cleans up after herself- eats her own sh*t and everything! How's that for efficiency?
Friday, November 4, 2011
I Owe You One
Thanks, dudes. Turns out I had my comments "set" to "embedded," and it is documented online somewhere that blogger is having issues with this. So I changed it and voila. You have the option of commenting/not commenting/what have you.
Yesterday when I was feeling more awake- actually, I was driving home from Target drinking a salted caramel mocha.... dude. I told J about this drink and he was like "Gross." Yeah effing right- you know inside he was like, 'Holy crap, I'm getting one today at lunch.' He has a tendency to do that- he says "Gross" prematurely and then he will become obsessed with whatever he initially declared "gross" and spend oodles of money on it and do all sorts of online research on it and basically become it's biggest advocate. He did this with chocolate. He kept telling me he "just wasn't into chocolate." I, frankly, always have been. Anyway, he goes to Target to buy Halloween candy, buys a variety of chocolate candy, and proceeds to eat the entire huge bag in like a week. Not into chocolate, eh? I digress. Yesterday when I was feeling more awake I had this great blob post idea but then I picked up Monkey and H was all bent up over her 2 month vaccines so she was crying and Monkey got upset because she wanted some love and Monkey went to bed and H fell asleep earlier than usual and J was working late- so by the time 9pm rolled around, I didn't wake H and force her to drink more but instead put on an old Kardashian episode from OnDemand and then watched some Real Housewives of Atlanta, took a Xanax and passed out. The doctor recommended I take Xanax at night instead of the daytime because I tend to sit up at night and worry about everything. It works like a charm because it makes me sleepy and not give a sh*t, but last night it backfired. Because nobody got any sleep.
Because H didn't get her one last huge meal before bedtime, she woke up 3 hours later. Once she wakes up the first time, your night is basically shot - because she can only force herself to stay awake enough to drink mini-meals and then wakes up every hour after that. 2 hours MAX. So she woke up at like midnight and then woke up at like 1:30, 2:30, 3:45- catch my drift? J came home at like 1am and woke us up with the house alarm, which was fine because I was happy he was home. In between one of these solitary hours of solid sleep, the beagle decided that she needed water. I KNEW I should've double checked the water bowl before bed but I didn't realize that J wouldn't take care of them when he got home- he didn't put them in their "area," nor did he let them out one final time, nor did he fill their water bowl. Sonofagun. So anyway, Lou was pissed and started barking. Then the golden started panicking, as if she were the one about to get skinned alive. J and I sort of both laid there in silence before I bounced up declaring that I was going to kill that dog. I steadfastly refused to get her water. Why? Because she was FINE. I know her. She just gets angry when she doesn't have the option of getting a drink. So f*ck her. When she used to sleep in our bed every night, do you think that she woke up for a drink of water even once? Hell no. That dog is the laziest person in the house and was just being a biotch. I went to the hallway and yelled, "LUCY. NO! BAD DOG!!!!" My statement was met with silence and a sheepish looking golden. But that silence remained for the rest of the night- at least from the dogs. Because 20 minutes later I was up again with a hungry baby. At around 4:30am- baby was sleeping, dogs presumably sleeping- there is a BANG coming from what sounded like upstairs (the dogs were downstairs). A ghost or an intruder sounded like the most logical explanations to me at that time. I look up at the house alarm and immediately become annoyed at J that he forgot to re-set it. I didn't consider the fact that he worked basically 20 hours straight yesterday- are you crazy? I felt wronged. I had the sense not to open my mouth, though, and just said, 'What was that?' He said, 'I don't know.' Neither of us could determine where it came from or what it was.
He said, 'It sounded like a bottle insert.'
I responded, 'Like plastic?'
He said, 'No, like a bottle insert.'
I was becoming increasingly frustrated at his clearly sleepy logic. 'A bottle insert is plastic.'
He said, 'Oh.'
He has a tendency to sleep-talk/laugh/joke-tell, etc.. it's so annoying because he doesn't just talk or joke to himself- he wants to engage me in his sleep and when I am sleeping, I ain't trying to bond with a sleeping dude. Particularly when my "sleep" is peppered with feeding a baby all night long. Anyway, J was a saint and got up to investigate and never returned to bed. I briefly thought, 'I wonder if he was attacked down there.' But fell back to sleep. When the baby woke up about 45 minutes later, I fed her and walked downstairs. He had decided to just call it quits on trying to get some sleep and do work. We both agreed that it was the worst night's sleep either of us have had... maybe ever. J said he felt like he had been at a church lock-in all night. He said the golden retriever was so beside herself that her routine was messed up- she didn't go out at night and wasn't put to bed in the dog area- that she had been up all night pacing.
Anyway, J had a very early conference call and it was Monkey's school picture day. She decided she didn't want to wear tights or the adorable jumper that Evil SIL sent her. I decided that not only would she be wearing tights and the jumper, I would also be clipping her nails. She recovered fully from the trauma once I let her have her pacifier. She will be 8 and I will still let her have her pacifier because, unlike most parents, it really doesn't bother me. It bothers my mom, but she will get over it. So H is now upstairs sleeping. I feel like I should work out at some point today but I really really don't want to. What I should do is this: run the dishwasher, exercise for a half hour and nap.
What will happen: I will run the dishwasher, shower and watch TV.
Yesterday when I was feeling more awake- actually, I was driving home from Target drinking a salted caramel mocha.... dude. I told J about this drink and he was like "Gross." Yeah effing right- you know inside he was like, 'Holy crap, I'm getting one today at lunch.' He has a tendency to do that- he says "Gross" prematurely and then he will become obsessed with whatever he initially declared "gross" and spend oodles of money on it and do all sorts of online research on it and basically become it's biggest advocate. He did this with chocolate. He kept telling me he "just wasn't into chocolate." I, frankly, always have been. Anyway, he goes to Target to buy Halloween candy, buys a variety of chocolate candy, and proceeds to eat the entire huge bag in like a week. Not into chocolate, eh? I digress. Yesterday when I was feeling more awake I had this great blob post idea but then I picked up Monkey and H was all bent up over her 2 month vaccines so she was crying and Monkey got upset because she wanted some love and Monkey went to bed and H fell asleep earlier than usual and J was working late- so by the time 9pm rolled around, I didn't wake H and force her to drink more but instead put on an old Kardashian episode from OnDemand and then watched some Real Housewives of Atlanta, took a Xanax and passed out. The doctor recommended I take Xanax at night instead of the daytime because I tend to sit up at night and worry about everything. It works like a charm because it makes me sleepy and not give a sh*t, but last night it backfired. Because nobody got any sleep.
Because H didn't get her one last huge meal before bedtime, she woke up 3 hours later. Once she wakes up the first time, your night is basically shot - because she can only force herself to stay awake enough to drink mini-meals and then wakes up every hour after that. 2 hours MAX. So she woke up at like midnight and then woke up at like 1:30, 2:30, 3:45- catch my drift? J came home at like 1am and woke us up with the house alarm, which was fine because I was happy he was home. In between one of these solitary hours of solid sleep, the beagle decided that she needed water. I KNEW I should've double checked the water bowl before bed but I didn't realize that J wouldn't take care of them when he got home- he didn't put them in their "area," nor did he let them out one final time, nor did he fill their water bowl. Sonofagun. So anyway, Lou was pissed and started barking. Then the golden started panicking, as if she were the one about to get skinned alive. J and I sort of both laid there in silence before I bounced up declaring that I was going to kill that dog. I steadfastly refused to get her water. Why? Because she was FINE. I know her. She just gets angry when she doesn't have the option of getting a drink. So f*ck her. When she used to sleep in our bed every night, do you think that she woke up for a drink of water even once? Hell no. That dog is the laziest person in the house and was just being a biotch. I went to the hallway and yelled, "LUCY. NO! BAD DOG!!!!" My statement was met with silence and a sheepish looking golden. But that silence remained for the rest of the night- at least from the dogs. Because 20 minutes later I was up again with a hungry baby. At around 4:30am- baby was sleeping, dogs presumably sleeping- there is a BANG coming from what sounded like upstairs (the dogs were downstairs). A ghost or an intruder sounded like the most logical explanations to me at that time. I look up at the house alarm and immediately become annoyed at J that he forgot to re-set it. I didn't consider the fact that he worked basically 20 hours straight yesterday- are you crazy? I felt wronged. I had the sense not to open my mouth, though, and just said, 'What was that?' He said, 'I don't know.' Neither of us could determine where it came from or what it was.
He said, 'It sounded like a bottle insert.'
I responded, 'Like plastic?'
He said, 'No, like a bottle insert.'
I was becoming increasingly frustrated at his clearly sleepy logic. 'A bottle insert is plastic.'
He said, 'Oh.'
He has a tendency to sleep-talk/laugh/joke-tell, etc.. it's so annoying because he doesn't just talk or joke to himself- he wants to engage me in his sleep and when I am sleeping, I ain't trying to bond with a sleeping dude. Particularly when my "sleep" is peppered with feeding a baby all night long. Anyway, J was a saint and got up to investigate and never returned to bed. I briefly thought, 'I wonder if he was attacked down there.' But fell back to sleep. When the baby woke up about 45 minutes later, I fed her and walked downstairs. He had decided to just call it quits on trying to get some sleep and do work. We both agreed that it was the worst night's sleep either of us have had... maybe ever. J said he felt like he had been at a church lock-in all night. He said the golden retriever was so beside herself that her routine was messed up- she didn't go out at night and wasn't put to bed in the dog area- that she had been up all night pacing.
Anyway, J had a very early conference call and it was Monkey's school picture day. She decided she didn't want to wear tights or the adorable jumper that Evil SIL sent her. I decided that not only would she be wearing tights and the jumper, I would also be clipping her nails. She recovered fully from the trauma once I let her have her pacifier. She will be 8 and I will still let her have her pacifier because, unlike most parents, it really doesn't bother me. It bothers my mom, but she will get over it. So H is now upstairs sleeping. I feel like I should work out at some point today but I really really don't want to. What I should do is this: run the dishwasher, exercise for a half hour and nap.
What will happen: I will run the dishwasher, shower and watch TV.
Thursday, November 3, 2011
PSA: Comments
My friend, TheBlind, informed me that comments haven't been working for months.
TheBlind- will you be so kind as to comment on this to see if it works?
I'm recovering from the recent Kardashian-Humpreys divorce announcement. I was actually leaving an extended voicemail to my friend in CA today- who I hope visited the Dash store in Calabasses- about how watching the full million hour wedding special without interruption from either a baby or toddler is impossible. I wish this was available in the movie theater- I'd get my mom to babysit, pay $10 and go alone. I would want to go alone because I'd be afraid someone would ruin the experience for me with snide comments- or any comments for that matter. J always does this. He can't shut his piehole during something we both know is ridiculous but that I love nonetheless. Example: old Grey's Anatomy episodes, SATC movies, Kardashian marathons, etc..But - gotta give credit where credit is due- he totally watches these things with me... but I wish he'd keep his comments during the show/movie to himself.
Okay, gotta go. Both a toddler and baby are screaming right now. The toddler is carrying a bottle of water around upside down and it's dripping everywhere. The baby is upstairs screaming.
TheBlind- will you be so kind as to comment on this to see if it works?
I'm recovering from the recent Kardashian-Humpreys divorce announcement. I was actually leaving an extended voicemail to my friend in CA today- who I hope visited the Dash store in Calabasses- about how watching the full million hour wedding special without interruption from either a baby or toddler is impossible. I wish this was available in the movie theater- I'd get my mom to babysit, pay $10 and go alone. I would want to go alone because I'd be afraid someone would ruin the experience for me with snide comments- or any comments for that matter. J always does this. He can't shut his piehole during something we both know is ridiculous but that I love nonetheless. Example: old Grey's Anatomy episodes, SATC movies, Kardashian marathons, etc..But - gotta give credit where credit is due- he totally watches these things with me... but I wish he'd keep his comments during the show/movie to himself.
Okay, gotta go. Both a toddler and baby are screaming right now. The toddler is carrying a bottle of water around upside down and it's dripping everywhere. The baby is upstairs screaming.
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
Rites of Passage
Having bambinos and certain documentaries have got me thinking about rites of passage- particularly those surrounding childhood: First days of school, high school bullsh*t, you catch my drift.
I decided they are bullsh*t. I feel like a lot of this stuff has only been this way for- what- 70 years? This isn't enough time to make it a rite of passage. Maybe, like, your parent dying or something- that's a legit rite of passage. But not watching high school football games or taking a school bus.
On that note, I am going to shower and I'm going to bathe the baby. The only person clean in this house is Monkey- and that is an absolute first.
I decided they are bullsh*t. I feel like a lot of this stuff has only been this way for- what- 70 years? This isn't enough time to make it a rite of passage. Maybe, like, your parent dying or something- that's a legit rite of passage. But not watching high school football games or taking a school bus.
On that note, I am going to shower and I'm going to bathe the baby. The only person clean in this house is Monkey- and that is an absolute first.
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