Random Musings

1. I had pharmacology orientation Monday night. Everyone that takes pharm. is going into, or already in, the medical profession, so about half of the students were in scrubs. I was looking around the room, because I'm nosy like that, and I saw a girl sitting in the last row that looked rather....hmmm....white trash-ish? Do you know what she was wearing? NASCAR scrubs. I shit you not. I didn't even know there was such a thing. Could you imagine this chick coming into your room to do God-knows-what to you? I have a feeling she smells like colt 45 and marlboro reds. She probably has an "I heart Junior" tattoo on her boob too. This is all just speculation of course.

2. I've seen a lot of weird shit driving in houston. Women putting on makeup, people working on their laptops, people reading the paper or a book. Yesterday I saw a big burly black biker (ha, say that three times fast!) cruising down I-45. He had a, (are you ready for this?), Louis Vuitton messenger bag strapped to the back of the motorcycle. The only way he can even hope to keep his street cred is if he just jacked it from some lady at the mall.

3. I wasn't even here for 10 minutes this morning when trumpet nose started in with his phlegm gargling. I'm this close to going chuck norris on his ass.

That is all for now.

In the Land of Don'ts

I realized recently that I say "don't" A LOT. I think I need to come up with a more constructive way of getting my point across to BB. Granted three year old boys are quite a challenge, and constantly into something. But I have to wonder if my overuse of "don't" is being lost in traslation. So, I'm going to list common "dont's" that are said on a daily basis in our house.....

Don't feed the dogs from your plate.
Don't pick your nose.
Don't pile drive the dog when he's sleeping. (or any other time for that matter)
Don't pull the dogs ears.
Don't take your clothes off.
Don't poke the dog in the eye.
Don't stick anything up the dogs nose. (are you feeling sorry for my dogs yet?)
Don't play on the computer.
DON'T STICK ANYTHING IN THE SOCKET!!!
Don't slap your penis, you'll want to use it later.
Don't pour water out of the tub.
Don't put on mommy's heels...you're going to give your father a heart attack.
Don't color on the walls.
Don't color on the carpet.
Don't color on yourself, I don't care if it looks like a tattoo.
Don't touch the scissors.
Don't spray febreeze on the dog, I don't care if he stinks.
Don't play with the blinds, you're going to choke yourself!
Don't open the front door.
Don't investigate what's under the dogs tail.
Don't throw your toys off the balcony, I don't care how cool the noise is.
Don't throw your toys down the stairs.
Don't talk to your penis, it doesn't understand you. (unless you're apologizing for the abuse you put it through)
Don't pee in the backyard, I don't care how good your aim is!
I know it is big enough to be a helmet, but don't put mommy's bra on your head.

That is all I can think of for now :)

Hockey McLoogerson

So there is this guy at work, we'll call him Hockey McLoogerson. He is becoming increasingly more annoying by the day. He moved to my group a couple of months ago. He is one of those "I know everything and if you've done something I've done it ten times better" people. Highly annoying in a meeting when he interjects his vast knowledge every five seconds. The other day I was in the middle of a presentation and Mr. I-know-everything kept on with the "did you know this and did you know that's". If looks could kill he would be a rotting carcass on the floor of the 4th floor conference room.

The one thing Hockey does that is like nails on a chalkboard to me is his incessant nose blowing, and loogie hocking. He either has one helluva coke problem or some allergies that need serious medical intervention. Trumpet nose blows so fucking hard I'm surprised he doesn't blow out gray matter. And apparently, that's not good enough because then he snorts louder than a baby elephant. The snorting is then followed by the hocking in his throat that seems to go on for ten good minutes. It literally makes me sick to my stomach, so I had no choice but to address it with the stupidvisor.

Me: "Do you hear trumpet nose in there? I don't think I can take much more of this!!" Stupidvisor: "I guess I never really noticed"
Me: **picking jaw up off floor** "You never NOTICED? It sounds like he's trying to mate with a lion in there! It seriously makes me want to vomit."
Stupidvisor: "I think he's been sick, maybe that's the problem"
Me: "Yeah, he's sick alright" **stomps back to office to devise revenge plan**

I am really thinking about leaving an anonymous note on his desk. I'm open to suggestions on how it should read.

Posting my new friend Crystal's suggestion:

Happy Birthday Baby Boy!

Today is BB's 3rd birthday. It seems so surreal. You always hear "older" people talk about how fast your life goes by, but you don't realize how true that is until you have children. I swear it seems like I was just pregnant. I remember taking the pregnancy test like it was yesterday. We had been trying to get pregnant for almost two years. BD was at the gym and I was about to take a shower. We had plans to go out with some friends, and I decided to take a test just in case. I knew it would be negative like the 25 before that. I peed on it and threw it on the back of the toilet. I took a shower and got ready, then walked over to the test to throw it away. I picked it up and cocked my head to the side. "Two lines…two lines….wait a minute, that can't be right!" I grabbed the box to make sure I was right, and I was. The test was positive.

I drove straight to the gym and ran in waving my test at BD like a crazy lady. I was crying and just kept saying, "we're pregnant, we're finally pregnant!" He had a stunned deer in the headlights look on his face, which I imagine all new dads-to-be to have when they hear the news of an impending birth.

The next nine months were unpleasant to say the least. I puked every hour on the hour, even in the middle of the night. I swelled up to the size of the Michelin Man. I wasn't nice to anyone. And I had hot flashes that would rival being on the inside of a volcano. But even after all that, I thanked God every day for giving us this little miracle. The moment we found out he was a boy BD threw his hands up in the air like he had just scored the game winning touchdown. I looked at him with tears rolling down my face and said, "We're going to have a son." We both cried, and the nurse cried along with us.

I went into labor in the middle of the night on August 18, 2005. Contractions were about ten minutes apart. I was uncomfortable, but told BD to go to work anyway. He kept calling to check on me. I plopped my fat ass on the couch and stayed there all day, only getting up for the incessant pee breaks.

Around 2pm I called and told him he needed to come home, that the labor was real. An hour later the contractions were three minutes apart, so we headed to the hospital. They kept making me walk around the hallways. I hadn't eaten all day, I couldn't have water, and the pain I was in was indescribable. Irritable is putting it lightly. At one point I told my poor husband that he could shove the ice chips up his ass, and if he didn't bring me some actual water to drink it would be the last mistake he ever made. No one ever brought me water, but they did back away from the bed.

Then came the epidural. God bless whoever invented this thing. I don't care how big that needle was, I would have shoved it in my back myself at that point. Ahhh, sweet relief. I told the anesthesiologist if I wasn't already married, I would marry him on the spot. Things progressed pretty quickly from there.

Sweet Baby Boy was born at 2:17am on August 20, 2005 after just a few pushes. He weighed 7lbs 2oz and was 20" long. Ten fingers, ten toes, bright blue eyes, and wispy strawberry blonde hair that had grown in a mohawk. He was beautiful and perfect in every way, and it was and still is the happiest day of my life.