Mother's Day: I want a redo

Welcome to the 50,000th Mother's Day re-cap post on the World Wide Web!

I knew my hubby, and by extension, my little guy, would do something fantastic. Hubby is the best present giver in the history of the world. He always knocks gifts out of the park with his uncanny ability to figure out just what I want without ever asking.

I had this feeling on Saturday that something would go awry, but thought it was just based on last Saturday, when a combination of going to bed way to late and my child sleeping almost 0 hours all night left me completely exhausted on Sunday. And even knowing that might be the case, I stayed up late again on Saturday night because in my mind I'm still 25? Who knows.

Anyway.

Baby was up pretty much all night with a cold. Hubby took the first shift, I took the second, and then around 6:45 I decided just to park in the recliner in Baby Blogworthy's room. A couple hours later I woke up feeling pretty alright.

Hubby woke up and we decided I should open my presents right away since the baby was in a good mood.

First was a new charm for my charm bracelet.

It's the last charm on the right -- a pacifier -- and Hubby called it the "mute button". Before Baby Blogworthy was able to nurse really well, we used to just stick our finger in his mouth to quiet him down. Then the heavens opened and angels started singing when he discovered the mute button. Pretty cute and sweet.

The second gift was a really nice women's devotional Bible, which I've been asking for for awhile. Then he saved the best for last:

Click the picture for bigness.

And of course it made me do this:

That's the ugly cry face and Baby Blogworthy with his mute button saying, "eh."

After that the day went downhill. Baby B has a cold, so he was fussy and miserable all day. Hubby started feeling nauseous and ended up with a fever. Me? I became more and more exhausted. With only four hours of sleep, good will runs out pretty quickly. Every time I'd lay down for a nap while he was napping, he'd wake up 45 minutes later almost as soon as I'd really fall asleep.

By the end of the day I was spent, especially since he refused to fall asleep even though he was CLEARLY tired. Why babies refuse naps, I'll never know.

So that was my crappy Mother's Day. The gifts were awesome, the rest of the day not so much.

Honestly though? Even bad days seem a little bit better when you have this going on:

How was your Mother's Day? If you have furbabies, did they get you anything? If you're dad, did you spoil your wife?

See ID

Hubby and I went out on a lunch date yesterday to Fridays.

Remember back in the day when Fridays had super peppy servers with all the flair? Our server was a throwback to the golden days of Fridays flair. Flair = fun, right? That's what we learned from Office Space. What he lacked in actual flair (because Fridays is far to upscale for flair these days) he made up for in enthusiasm. Flair aura, if you will.

"Hey guys, I'm Todd, I'll be takin' care of ya today. Can I start you off with somethin' to drink? Perhaps one of our famous lemonade slushes [editors note: famous in what circles?]."

"Water for me." "Sweet tea, please."

"Good good! I'll be right out with those beverages, guys!" *knocks on the table with his fingertips*

You know. One of those guys. And if he was legally able to buy an adult beverage, I'd be shocked, is how young he looked. Clearly he took his Fridays training very seriously. He probably took notes. He probably keeps a training crib sheet tucked safely inside his notebook he uses to write down people's orders.

Anyway, we order, he brings our food, we eat, it's good and all. He checks on us 14 million times and refills our drink and does everything right, even if he's sort of driving me crazy with all the fake enthusiasm for the state of our lunch.

He brings the check and my hubby pulls out the Discover (card that pays you back).

This is where I need to tell you a critical piece of information about my husband. He has a name that has become popular as a girls name in the recent past. Often, if you do a search for his name, several young teenage girls will also show up in the results. He's used to it by now, but I still get real pissy about it the same way I do when someone calls me Allison or Amber instead of Amanda.

Todd the server comes back with the card and stands next to me while looking at my husband and says the following:

"So, does [insert my husband's name here] know she is paying for your lunch today?"

Silence.

Crickets.

You could hear a pin drop.

We weren't sure what to say. Was he suggesting we stole the credit card? Was he trying to be funny because my husband handed him the card with what he thought had my name?

Hubby said slowly, "well. That....is...me...."

The kid turned about 18 shades of red and asked to see my husband's ID, since the credit card does say "See ID" on the back. I'm not sure why he didn't just see ID to start out with. Maybe he was just trying to be personable. Maybe he knew I was getting the afternoon sleepies and I needed something to get my blood boiling. He definitely failed at the first and succeeded at the second.

Here is how I felt about it:

The take-away here? Use your context clues. If a man pulls a credit card with a basketball design on it out of his wallet, it's probably his. Sometimes men have girlie sounding names and always see ID first, just in case.

The magic dishwash fairy and other pet peeves

One pet peeve that shouldn't drive you crazy, but does.

 

I'm a confusing person. There are things I don't care about at all that I should care about, like the fact there are at least 10 empty Starbucks Frappuccino bottles bouncing around in my car or the Cheerio I dropped under my desk just out of reach that just chills there, making it look like a toddler lives in my cubicle. No, those things don't bother me at all.

Then there are those pet peeves that shouldn't bother me but instead turn me into a crazy person.

We have a dishwasher at my house. There are two of us and really, not many dishes, so we don't have to run it that often. It stays relatively empty -- empty enough that there is always room for an extra glass or small plate. Every few days we run it and the cycle starts again. The magic dishwasher fairy stops by, unloads the dishwasher, puts dirty dishes that are in the sink into the empty dishwasher and sprinkles magic fairy dust all over the kitchen so it stays spotless.

But there's a small problem. There is no such thing as the magic dishwasher fairy. That dishwasher fairy is me. I'm the one who loads and unloads. I'm the one who takes the dishes out of the sink. The dishwasher fairy is dead. 

The pet peeve here is that I can't STAND having dishes in the sink. I'd rather put the dishes on the counter beside the sink. Our sink is a little tiny baby sink. Not even, because its' so small a baby wouldn't even fit in it.  Two or three dishes? It's completely full. And then if you have to turn on the water, it just stops up in the sink because, oh look, there is a dish covering the drain. All that leftover food and  stale, room temperature water combine to make my life a living hell. In fact, that's what my version of hell would be: a sink with never-ending dirty dishes.

My other pet peeve drives my husband crazy. I'm very -- how do I say this nicely about myself? -- particular about my bed sheets. Actually, I'm completely crazy about everything that has to do with my sleeping arrangement. I need to have the sheets even and pulled up before I get in. I've been known to make the bed only to *unmake* the bed and get in. My pillow case has to be straight. The comforter has to be pulled down and folded just so at the end of the bed. EVERYTHING HAS TO BE TUCKED IN. If I know the corner of the fitted sheet has somehow slid off the mattress, I can't rest until it's fixed. It doesn't even have to be on my side of the bed for the anxiety to set in -- as long as I know there is a wee bit 'o mattress showing, my brain goes haywire.

The other day we watched a show where the host was staying in a hostel in Brazil. he was given a bed with a dirty, stained mattress and no sheets. That's my worst nightmare. I'd rather sleep on the floor with a blanket than on a stained mattress with no sheets.

Hub has a habit of eating in bed. I can't stand it because eating = crumbs. A little snack of cheese and crackers while he watches some TV before bed leads to 15 minutes of me with a lint roller wiping every minuscule crumb out of the area. "What's wrong with one or two crumbs? You wont' even feel them. It's no big deal," he says. What he doesn't understand is that I'm like the Princess and the Pea, but with crumbs. And I have the uncanny ability to find the tiniest crumb and get angsty about it.

You'd think after almost four years of marriage, he'd learn. Sometimes I think he just really enjoys watching me tug on the sheets maniacally and kicks them off on purpose.

I'm on to you, Hub.

What are your pet peeves? I bet they have something to do with your significant other. Discuss!

Trips to the doctor just get better and better

How was your day?

No, I want to know. Tell me. I'm all ears. *props head on hands, blinks lovingly*

I'm just asking because mine sucked.

Let me weave you a tale about how your bodily functions basically go haywire during pregnancy.

It started off with my regular OB appointment. NBD. Just head on in, pee in a cup, have my stomach measured and then listen to my little guy's heartbeat. Oh, and get my blood pressure read. Twice. And it was high. Twice.

So then my doctor is all, (in her sweetest southern voice), "Well when it's that high twice in a row, we need to send you to labor and delivery for monitoring." *too bad for you shrug* and I'm all, "Say what? Like right now?" and she's all, "yes, I'll call them and let them know you're on the way!" *smiley face*

Well good. Great. I'm so excited for this, because last time you sent me to labor and delivery for "high blood pressure", it was such a great use of my time. I got to lay in an uncomfortable bed with my work clothes on and drink "free" apple juice, only to be told an hour later that nothing is wrong and I should go home. Really glad I get that experience again.

Then I walk up to the desk and who knows where on God's green earth they got this woman working the check-out because she was the LEAST appropriate person to be checking out hormonal pregnant women. Our conversation  went AS SO:

Dumb lady: Can I help you?
Me: Just checking out. [I hand her my check-out paper.]
Dumb lady: [looks at the paper][looks at me][blinks][looks at paper] Do you owe us any money?
Me: I haven't owed any the last four weeks, so I'd say I'm paid up from my monthly payments.
Dumb lady: [looks at me][blinks] What kind of insurance do you have?
Me: The insurance that's listed on my paperwork right in front of you. That I've had for 9 months now.
Dumb lady: [sighs][types][looks at paper] Oh.....you have BASIC insurance? Not preferred?
Me: Yes, we've had this conversation before.
Dumb lady: But you switched over to preferred for January, right?
Me: No, and why would that matter? I'm not going to be pregnant in January.
Dumb lady: [stares at me]
Me: Listen, can you just tell me if I owe any money so I can get out of here?
Dumb lady: [looks at computer][looks at me] I'm not sure if you owe any money or not.
Me: Can you check, please.
Dumb lady: Well you might owe money, but my record here says you have a credit of $20 and a balance of 55 cents.
Me: That's not helpful.
Hubby: Please sit down and let me take over.

And by this time my high blood pressure is even higher because somebody forgot her Starbucks  McDonalds Kangaroo coffee this morning as well as her brain and can't figure out her own system.

Oh and then? She had forgotten to schedule my very last appointment and now my doctor doesn't have any slots open. ISN'T THAT THE BEE'S KNEES?

Then in L&D I get another "nap" in the triage room, some more apple juice and 2 hours with a contraction monitor and blood pressure cuff strapped by my body. GOOD! And then the nurse says, "Well your blood pressure wasn't that high. I'm not sure why they sent you over here." So that somebody, probably the dumb front desk lady, could bill my insurance and then somebody else can count all that beautiful green money coming in. GREAT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1111111

And after all that, I wasn't even able to take the rest of the day off because it's only 10:30 am.

But then I got some free sandwiches and pasta salad, and later tonight we're getting free ice cream.

So all in all, today is a draw.

Do free things really taste better? Do doctors offices make you feel like a crazy person? Are you tired of all these pregnancy blogs (I promise I wont' turn into a Mommy Blogger.)
BONUS QUESTION: When do you think Baby Blogworthy will be born?

My biggest fear has 6 legs

When I was younger, my biggest fear was failure.

I was always worried that I wouldn't be good enough, that I'd be broke, or fired, or dumped. All that equaled failure to me, and it was terrifying.

Then I got dumped. Then I graduated from college, and then graduated from college again with my Masters degree. Then I got married. Then I got laid off. So, once you've experienced a good amount of both successes and failures and realize that it's not the end of the world when you do fail and that you CAN succeed, it's time to get a new biggest fear.

Around that time we moved to Florida, and a terrifying new world opened to me: a world with lots of legs, antennae and pre-historic looking exoskeletons.

The world of roaches.

Now, nothing in this world frightens me as much as cockroaches. Lizards? Love em. Mice? I mean, not my favorite but whatever. Snakes? Please stay away, but I am only mildly scared.

When I see a cockroach, I scream like I'm being stabbed with a butter knife, and it's not just one scream, it's a long, drawn out, "there-is-a-serial-killing-clown-in-our-garage-please-someone-help" scream. I run and slam doors. I refuse to step foot in our garage where they love to chill near the trash can. Sometimes I scream at the thought of them being there. If they are in the house FOR-GET it. I will have a panic attack on your ass, TRUST ME.

Back in WV it seems like we had an ant problem every spring, and as much as they grossed me out, I always sort of felt sorry for them. They were just harmless babies of the insect world, trying to find a delicious meal of cereal or rice to take back to their queen. And good on them for picking up that giant piece of cat food that's 14 billion times their size and carrying it all the way back to their nest.

But cockroaches? To me, cockroaches are a sign of dirty-ness and living in squalor. Cockroaches are scavengers and harbingers of disease.

And they are also apparently all around and COMPLETELY NORMAL. One of my co-workers has them in her mailbox, so when she opens it they scatter and then she reaches in and gets her mail. OVER MY DEAD BODY would I EVER get the mail again. I'd be all, credit card companies, sorry, but you're just going to have to wait for my payment because the cockroaches are currently holding my mail hostage with their tiny little feet and 18 kneecaps. Sick.

Apparently there is nothing you can do -- they are just a part of life down there in the dirty South (is THAT why it's called the dirty South??). I was talking about (what I believe to be) our cockroach infestation and what we were planning on doing to about it and my work friend said, "well good luck with that. Nothing helps. They'll leave in the winter."


O.M.G.

Here is a chart to express my hatred of cockroaches:

TRUE STORY ALERT: This weekend I was home alone, right? And so I was getting ready to shower before bed, took my contacts out, turned the water on and noticed  A GIANT COCKROACH on the wall above the shower. I called my husband and was sobbing about this darn cockroach because what am I supposed to do? It's my biggest fear COME TO LIFE and staring me in the face. I asked him to come home from his conference, but when he told he he couldn't do that, I had him walk me step by step through the process of killing the cockroach dead. It included multiple steps, starting with "throw a magazine at it" and "hit it with a shoe".


Then after I killed it, I put on my glasses and discovered it was actually a beetle.


IT COULD HAVE BEEN A COCKROACH, you guys. You have to be diligent about those nasty things.


According to British researchers at the University of Nottingham's School of Veterinary Medicine and Science, cockroaches could be the key to fending off harmful, drug-resistant bacteria (DO NOT CLICK ON THIS IF YOU ARE TERRIFIED OF COCKROACHES OR GROSSED OUT BY BUGS).

I'm sorry, but e coli is one billion and a half times better than cockroaches.

What is your biggest fear? Do you hate insects? What do you think is worse than cockroaches?

Wendys, you're on my list

So if you watch TV at all and don't fast forward through the commercials, you know that Wendy's now has their small size Frosty for 99 cents. I've been obsessed with them for a month or so because 1) they are delicious and 2) they are only 99 cents, so it's perfect for daily pregnancy snacks.

In fact, as I watch this SEC football game, which is sponsored by Wendys, I've seen no fewer than 5 commercials for this tasty treat.

Our Wendy's is right down the road. We actually have a couple, but the one down the road is so convenient. But the past couple of times we've gone they said their machine was down. I thought to myself, "wow, the advertising campaign must be working."

Then Friday night, Hubby tried to stop by and get a Frosty for me as a surprise and they told him they only had ONE machine, so they could only make one flavor at a time. They only serve chocolate Frostys every other day and vanilla on the off days, so that we should call before we come to make sure they have them.

Several things are wrong with this. 

1. We're talking about a FROSTY, not some fancy restaurant. Are they really telling us we have to call and make reservations for a Frosty? I mean is Wendy's black tie optional now? 
2. Who actually orders a vanilla Frosty? Even my sister, who loves vanilla cake, icing, and ice cream, prefers the chocolate Frosty. I mean, it's a classic. Who hasn't enjoyed a cold, creamy Frosty on a hot summer's day? It's the all American treat. Then somebody had to decide to mess with a good thing and create those God awful vanilla ones. I haven't tried a vanilla Frosty but I believe it's akin to saying, "Hey, you know, Christmas on December 25 is good, but you know what might be more convenient for all? Let's have it on December 30. That way we can just have Christmas and then New Year's Eve and New Year's Day all in the same week." 
3. Here is a novel idea: GET A NEW FROSTY MACHINE. I'm sure the thousands of locations have multiple Frosty machines, so tell me why it's so difficult for ours to have the same thing? I mean Wendy's is spending probably a quarter of a million dollars on advertising their Frosty's, yet we are unable to get the kind they are advertising. Bull crap is what it is.

It's just cruel and unusual punishment to make a pregnant lady look at Frosty's on the screen for 8 hours on a Saturday and then not be able to serve her one.

Do you eat chocolate or vanilla Frosty's? 

Oh, and I'm guest posting today over at Our Mommyhood! Learn how I became mortal enemies with the OB clinic scale!

Lower. No, Lower.

Yesterday I had a OB appointment.

I'm 27 weeks pregnant and it was time for the dreaded glucose screening. And then they were going to give me a shot of some antibodies because I have Rh negative blood and my blood might fight with my baby's blood? SCIENCE. And while I was there, they were going to recheck my blood pressure (which ALWAYS goes up right before my appointment because I have white coat syndrome and am terrified of doctors). So it makes sense they would be rechecking my blood pressure when I have all those other things to worry about. (And by "makes sense", I mean "makes not once tiny lick of sense".)

The glucose screening wasn't as bad as people wanted me to think. It tasted a lot like fruit punch. But you guys, they are NOT kidding around about the test times. I was to take the medicine an hour before my appointment, EXACTLY, and then let them know when I got there what time I took the medicine so they could test me IMMEDIATELY. I got to my appointment about 20 minutes early because I was so terrified of it messing up.

Everything went fine, blood pressure was normal (after taking it 3 times), but then it was time for the shot. I don't do shots. I have been known to pass out when I LOOK at a needle. This isn't just for medicine, either. When I got my ears pierced at 8 or 9 I passed out. So after 30 years, I know the drill. The nurse told me the injection went into my hip, so I laid on my side and pulled my jeans down a little. She said, "actually, just a little lower." I pulled them lower. "Actually, looowweer...." I pulled lower. "Actually, this goes right into your buttcheek," she said. So there I am, laying there trying not to have an anxiety attack over this needle. My buttcheek is just hanging out saying "Oh hello! Wow, I didn't expect to be out of my underpants today, this is a lovely surprise, OH WAIT WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO ME???"

And when it was over, I got a Tweety bird band-aid. It was like my badge of honor.

When was the last time you had to get a shot at the doctor's office? Was it in your cheek? Do you get panic-y around needles?  Want to read more about my baby, cause it's here on my baby blog.

A fairytale about plants

I have had a craptacular few days because ridiculousness is just boiling over into every aspect of my life. Sometimes I wonder how many times I'm going to say to myself "Is this really happening?" and/or "what is wrong with people?" and/or "am I taking crazy pills?"

So in honor of this week in ridiculous and so I can laugh so I won't cry, I'll be weaving some tales of a few of the best and then at the end of the week I'll have y'all vote for the most ridiculous for an It's Blogworthy award! Sounds fun, huh? Now for tale numero uno, otherwise known as "The Wicked Witch of Plantopia and Her Bushes".

Plantopia....a beautiful place to be. 

One upon a time there was a lush, exotic place called Plantopia, where luscious green trees soak up golden rays and liquid sunshine, where shrubs and bushes flower, bloom and vine all over God's creation, and where nature knows no boundaries, enveloping everything from cars and fences to small animals who don't move quickly enough. Long, long ago, in the Before Times, plants grew unabated, and the residents of Plantopia grew weary that their belongings were so often overtaken by the glorious leaves of these wild and wonderful plants. They named the ones with sharp tools to be "lawn care guys", the only ones who could tame the plants. And so lawn care guys gently cut back the vines and branches so the good people of Plantopia could once again drive their cars. And it was good.

But there was one woman in Plantopia who loved many things. She loved teeth, children, children's teeth and various types of dental surgery. She also loved plants -- loved them so much that she didn't want the lawn care guys to touch them. She loved her precious plants, the way the branches reached for the heavens, the way the vines looped through the fence and into everyone's property. She loved the wild and untamed look and savored looking outside at the beautiful greenery overtaking all her neighbors' possessions. She dared any lawn care guy to touch her precious, what was rightfully hers.

Then one day, a kind hearted, puppy adopting, cat hugging, RC driving man noticed the Wicked Witch of Plantopia's plants were overtaking his yard and trimmed the bushes. A few days passed and she discovered what he'd done. She was furious. She sent one of her slaves to talk with this kind man. The kind man told the slave he'd happily talk to the Wicked Witch and would meet at her lair.

When he got to the lair, he was greeted with a terrible surprise. She was very mad that her beautiful bushes were trimmed and wanted the kind man to pay....WITH HIS LIFE.*

*Ok, maybe not his life, but definitely with some money.

The kind man realized quickly that the Wicked Witch had a pickled brain that didn't work like anybody else's. He tried to reason with her. He tried to tell her that he was doing her a favor.

"BUT MY PRECIOUS!" she screamed. "YOU MUTILATED MY PRECIOUS!"

It was just a trim, the kind man said, the bushes will grow back within a month or two.

"YOU KILLED MY PRECIOUS! VAANNNNDDDAAALLIIISSSMMM!"

The branches were so out of control, he continued, I was trying to help you out.

"LIAR! ALL LIES! CUT OFF HIS FINGERS AND I'LL EAT THEM FOR DINNER!"

The kind man told the Wicked Witch he would help her by buying new bushes, but now the kind man is afraid  she's going to use her pickled brain to think up some really hairbrained scheme and/or eat his dog. Mercy.

But for real, y'all, hub cut down some bushes and our crazy ass neighbor called the cops on him and threatened to file vandalism charges and the words "vandalism" "mutilated" and "liar" were all thrown around, which is the long and short of this particularly ridiculous tale.

To be....continued?

Do y'all have crazy neighbors? Would you enjoy Plantopia? 

The only thing worse than mornings is bad radio in the morning

 I'm not what you'd call a 'morning person'. In fact, don't bother even looking my direction for the first hour I'm awake because I'm not going to be nice to you. There have been some epic snarky fights as a result of the clock striking the early 'o clock hour. Although I hate that my hubby, a teacher, is able to sleep in every darn day of the week while I'm up ready to face the world, I'm secretly glad I don't have to talk to him while I'm getting ready.

When I get up in the AM and get my face on, I like to listen to a little tunage to get me moving. The noise helps me block out all the anger and resentment I feel toward my alarm clock. Most morning shows are just atrocious. There's all the loudness and corny jokes and constant jabber and snarky callers. I mean what on earth is important enough to talk bout at 7 in the morning, to actually pick up your phone and talk to another human being before your first cup of coffee? And it's always just the most inane conversation. And PS -- where's the music? I'm sorry, I thought I was listening to a radio station that PLAYS MUSIC. It's like the same places that have the "no commercial workday" have the terrible morning shows with no music. They have to get all the talk out before 9. Please, spare me. All I want is a little Kelly Clarkson or Billy Joel to make the transition between sleep and work a little easier.

Let's talk for a second about the morning show hosts...God bless you if you are one. I mean no disrespect, not trying to be snarky. But do these people have friends in real life? They are so freaking annoying. What kind of tragedy have you had in your life that makes you not only have a face but also a personality fit for morning radio? They are like the people at a party who think they are the life of the party and tell terrible jokes and get all get all snarky with other guests under the guise of being "funny" and "real", but really everybody just hates them. That's morning radio.  And they always have names like "Wolfman" and "Thunder". 

And if the all-talk-no-music-terrible-host format isn't bad enough, every show has some game to get people to tune in. The prize is always sub-par and they pump it up like it's the greatest thing ever. "Hey! Call in and answer some impossible questions and you get a family pack to Hungry Howie'sPizza Buffet!" 

So now I've established how much I hate morning radio, I'll tell you about the radio station I listen to currently that is honestly delightful. Good mix of music. Decent -- and sometimes even entertaining -- hosts. Games that I actually *enjoy* listening to. I really thought I'd died and gone to morning show heaven. Until recently.

The crew just started a new game called "Take it From Me". It starts with some cheesy 60s game show music. The two hosts, Storm and Chris, and the mid-morning DJ, CeCe, all give definitions to an obscure word. Two are wrong, one is right. They all sound "legitimate". So the person calls in and they have to choose which definition is correct. Sounds easy, right? I mean, we do live in the age of iPhones and wireless internet. You just get online and get a little help from my friend and yours, Mr. Googlebox. If it's that easy, why have they not had a winner for at LEAST a week! People are really and truly that stupid. I tried it one morning with my phone and found the answer before they read the last definition. 

I know, you're all saying, "Why are you being so snarky? Just go ahead and call in already and win yourself a ticket to the botanical garden?" But you see, I can't. I physically can't talk to someone that early. My brain doesn't work fast enough to get the words out of my mouth. Sad but true.

I'm hoping and praying for the day when this stupid game ends and another game starts. And so I don't have to hear Chris say "good morning Sheesh" instead of "Cece" ever again.

Do you guys have a favorite station? How's that working out for you? Do you like to talk to people in the morning?

This post has been a part of Word Up, Yo!, a vocabulary meme. Go play along!

Oh what a day; then I forgot my password

Do you ever have one of those days where you're all, "well this task that should have taken two minutes has now taken 20 minutes of my time"? I like to call these kinds of days Harder Than They Need To Be days. And they SUCKHA.

Our company just changed to a new voicemail system and they have been bugging the living daylights out of us for the past week to delete our old messages and set up our new system. Well joke was on them because I did that after the FIRST email they sent out weeks ago. I still got the email that told me I had unplayed voicemails and I'm like, "What now? There is no red light a'flashin' at me. How can I have a message?" and LO and BEHOLD I checked and there was a message from...wait for it...MAY 12. Oh good, thanks for eating that message, glad it wasn't important. Oh wait, it WAS important.

And also, how creepy is it that they knew I had a message when I didn't even know that?

That was yesterday and then today we get another email to clean out our boxes, already, or it will be deleted and lost into the depths of technology hell where bad messages go to DIE and you will never hear from them again and then everyone will hate you for not responding to the message, and HOW COULD YOU BE SO NEGLIGENT? (I am paraphrasing.) I figured I might as well check one last time, in case some stealth ninja message had crept into my mailbox in the dead of night. there was nothing.

Then I dialed the new voicemail system to see if the stealth ninja message was there. I pressed the numbers *beepbbeepbeep*. It asked for my password. I checked the post-it where I'd written down my new password, a super secret and hard to figure out combination of numbers (12345)(which was the default) and punched that guy right into my keypad.

Then the voicemail lady said, "I'm sorry, that doesnt' seem to be the correct password."

Saywha?? Wrong password, but I wrote it down.

I tried every combination of numbers that I could possibly think of...my anniversary, my birthday, my house number, my old house number, my husband's birthday -- no success. Then I got locked out of my mailbox.

Like Tony the Tiger says...GRRRRREAT! Except I mean it in a sarcastic opposite world way.

I emailed our secretary and she told me to call IS. I called IS and they told me to call Communications. I called Communications and they told me to go die. Just kidding. They told me to go fill out a work order. A WORK. ORDER. For my missing  forgotten password.

Meanwhile, my coworkers are feeling pity and laughing hysterically at my plight in equal amounts.

So I filled out this durn work order, right? The drop down says "Choose the problem" and I chose "Telephone and Telephone Services". I pushed submit. It says I need to fill in the device. Work order, do you mean the device I'm having trouble with? The device that I, not 3 seconds ago, chose as "Telephone and Telephone Services". Right, the device I'm having trouble with is our toaster oven. Definitely the toaster oven. For crying out LOUD.

After I submit the work order I get a call from somebody in IS I believe (and isn't that funny consider that's the first place I called). And he says, AMANDA! What's this about you forgetting your password? and I said, well I just did. And he said, You just set it up! And I said, Um, excuse me, I set it up 3 weeks ago after your FIRST email thankyouverymuch. and PS when you point fingers are people there are 4 others pointing right back at you, so just keep that in mind, IS guy. Let's just get on with this and go back to being productive.

Finally it reset but now I'm pretty sure my phone is out to get me:

What technology gives you the crazies?

We're not as crazy and unstable as we seem *update*

Usually around 2 to 3 pm I start getting the afternoon blues here in the old cubicle. Usually it's just a case of the sleepies, but lately its' been exacerbated by the snug fit of my work pants. There are days where I really can't think of anything more than crawling under my desk for a nap. Just a short one.

So yesterday I texted my sister and the following conversation occurred. I'm transcribing these texts just like I got them :

Me: I look and feel yucky.
Sis: I'm sure you look pretty.
Me: I don't. Fat and ugly face!!!!!!!!!!!! Boooooo
Sis: Noooooooooottttttttttt!!!
Sis: I'm eating a cookie for your plus one.
Me: Oh yummy, what kind?
Sis: Smiley face cookie from Servattis!!

About this time she sent this picture:



My sister will do pretty much anything, include making the nastiest face ever, to make me laugh. The subject of this message said, "BTW, THIS is fat and ugly".

Me: Whatever. You are SO not fat! Or ugly! At least your pants are zipped.
Sis: ......OR ARE THEY?
Me: Hahaha it would be so awesome if they were! (they were, but only because the top clasp was broken. So technically, they were just not broken).

Right about this time, I sent her a picture of me:





Sis: (in response to this picture) You must have sent the wrong pic. you sent a beautiful picture of yourself.

So I sent this one:



She must have gotten the picture and I basically won the "I'm uglier" contest because she never did write back!

This is so what we do all the time, though. We spend a lot of time together saying things like, "You're so pretty." "No, you're prettier." or "I have the best sister." "No, you have the second best sister because I have the best sister." It's truly ridiculous on many levels. And believe it or not, we both found guys who would marry us.

Oh, so question for you guys. Let's say someone was interviewing for a job. What are your thoughts on kitschy leave behinds, like notepads with the candidates names on them, or personalized pencils? Tacky or brilliant?

*Update*  This "leave behind" is not my idea because I am not interested in looking for  a new job at all. But there are people who do come through here whether it be interns or applicants or whatnot, and they bring a variety of interesting leave behinds, so I guess I'm more curious as to what you guys think of people coming in to interview at your place of employment and who later leave things. That is all.

Green Beans and Hot Garbage

Since I've been pregnant, bad smells have become almost impossible to live with. What might have been an unpleasant before suddenly smells like a combination of wet dog, garlic, spoiled chicken and feet, or a smell that I have fondly named "hot garbage". My boss thinks it's so funny that it's sort of caught on in the office. Well, I'm glad my sensitive sniffer can bring so much joy.

I also have discovered lots of things smell like green beans, even when no  one is eating green beans. There is someone in my office who is notorious for warming up green beans and catfish in the building's microwave without any regard for how that smell lingers, so at first I just thought it was her. No, it's like the smell of green beans, my least favorite food in the WORLD, is silently stalking me wherever I go. I smell them at home; at work; at restaurants that DON'T' SERVE GREEN BEANS. It's the most bizarre phenomenon ever. And why couldn't it be something good smelling that haunts me? Roses, where are you? Fresh baked cinnamon roll scent, I know you've got to be around here somewhere. Lilac and magnolia I SEE YOU BLOOMING RIGHT OUTSIDE, yet you're not able to overpower the non-existent green beans?

Then yesterday I was walking to my desk and discovered the suite TV was paused on this commercial for TGI Friday's fried green beans:

At first I was all, OK you guys, this is really funny! I totally get this joke, it's because green beans are haunting me, right? Whew, that was a good laugh. But then I walked by 3 hours later and it was STILL ON THE SCREEN.

I walked to the TV to take a picture and said, "Those green beans have been on TV for like 3 hours now and I just had to take a picture because nobody will believe me otherwise." And my friend Kim said, "oh my gosh, I didn't even notice! Sorry! You can turn it off if you want!" and I said, "so what you're saying is that this was unintentional and the TV is ganging up with these mystery green beans to make my life miserable?"

What are the odds? Of all scenes in the plethora of commercials on local tv, it had to be paused on the green bean money shot. Sick.

And in other Austin family news, remember the jug of moldy lemonade that's been on our counter for months? The other day we finally addressed it:

Me: I sure wish I could make some of that grape kool-aid. Problem is, we don't' have a jug big enough.
Hubby: What about the one with the lemons?
Me: Um, it's dirty. Clearly.
Hubby: I've been waiting for you to clean it.
Me: I've been waiting for YOU to clean it!
Hubby: Well I don't know what to tell you.
Me: It's the most epic household chore standoff ever! Guess I won't be getting any grape kool-aid.
Hubby: Guess not.

Then....THEN...a miracle occurred. I was cleaning up the dishes and he puts on his shoes and an old shirt. I asked what he was doing and he said, "I'm going to go clean out that lemonade jug."

Then angels started singing! The best part of this whole thing is that I WON.

What was the last household project standoff that you won? I wanna hear how you celebrated.

It's Monday all day, even when part of it is spent in bed

I didn't blog all weekend because I just wasn't feeling very funny or bloggy and I have a reputation to maintain. Especially since Ian challenged me on Twitter to write something funny OR ELSE. I'm going to try and make this rant as funny as possible.

I woke up this morning really sick, like sit-in-front-of-the-toilet-try-not-to-vom sick. Fifteen minutes later, I realized that ain't no way I'm getting to work at 8 am so I called and let them know I'd be a little late. I ate some cereal and got a couple extra hours sleep.

I woke up rejuvinated (sort of) and was on my way to work  thinking, what a lovely, spring day. Too bad I have to spend it at work. And then I reached over to grab my purse to put on my lipstick and OH GUESS WHAT -- It's not in my car. Well I thought, screw this, I don't need anything in that purse anyway and kept on going.

Then as I'm driving, I pass the Checkers and they had a Bacon, Swiss and Mushroom burger advertised. I'm all, excuse me? Queasy person driving past your fine establishment and you're going to put the most disgusting combination of foods ever on your sign board? Checkers, you're dead to me.

And then there was this guy running down University Ave. without a shirt. Just a pair of tiny running shorts and a smile, muscles rippling in the wind. And I thought, DUDE, as chiseled as your upper body is, and I'm sure you're mighty proud of it, but it's 10:30 and, like 70 degrees out. Shirtless when it's less than 90 degrees out is gratuitous. And also? I'm pretty sure if you had a beer gut you wouldn't be jogging shirtless, so this is very clearly a cry for attention, so I guess mission accomplished for that guy since I'm writing about him in my blog.

Then I didn't get a space on the lot, but that's the price you pay for coming in late. It all evens out because a couple weeks ago I got the most fab parking space of them all:

Now here's where I try to win some giveaways and help my fellow bloggers:

• Miranda is preparing to move to Hawaii in about a month! She needs some help finding a temporary home for her kitty cats. Read all about it here. If you can't help, please let your friends know! she's in the Jacksonville, FL area currently.
• Surferwife is giving away some mighty fine tankinis and I need to get my bod in one of them, so go visit her!
• I <3 gadgets and so does Jessalyn, so check out her champagne cork giveaway.
• Salt has a sweet little headband up for grabs, you know you want it!

Listen, I'm shameless and I don't even CARE. But these are some of my favs regardless of the free stuff they give out! I never win anyway, so might as well give my readers a chance.

Tune in this week for another It's Blogworthy award, cat dancing and a little blast from the past.

Beware of the Man Cold

I mentioned last post that we're in the middle of Man Cold 2010 (the sequel). It's brutal. Hubby is a teacher, so his biggest work hazard is his school is a petri dish of germs. It's not even a public school, either. It's a Christian school, and *somebody* isn't doing their job praying hard for healthy students.

This isn't the first Man Cold of the season here at my house. No, Man Cold 2010 struck in mid-January. It was proceeded by Christmas Man Cold 2009. And in between, the kidney stones fiasco. So yeah, basically my home as been an infirmary for the better part of 3 months.

I had a cold, too, around Christmas. And then also picked up some weird chest cold in January. But the sink can only hold so many dishes and Hubby was out of clean undies, so I kept chugging along. Can't keep a good woman down.

Anyway. Man Cold. These two words can strike fear into every wife or girlfriend's heart. They can cause white hot rage to burn from her skin and muscle strain from all the eye rolling. It's been this way from the beginning of time, you know. Below is a cave drawing of a pre-historic Man Cold:

 

Authentic cave drawing.

That's clearly a woman who is angry with caveman who has a Man Cold. And she's apparently about to hit him with some pre-historic animal bone (good call, lady). That's a stone pillow and trash can. So I've been told.

Remember how Henry VIII had Anne Bolyen beheaded? It's a little known fact this happened because she warmed up his chicken noodle soup by putting it in a bowl in the microwave instead of warming it up gently on the stove. DUH.

How do you know you have a Man Cold happening in your home?

1. Do you have a man who lives with you?

If yes, go to question 2. If no, you do not have a man cold in your home.

2. Please answer "yes" or "no" to the following questions:

• Are there wadded up, wet tissues littering the floor surrounding, but not actually IN, the trash can?
• In the past two hours have you been told any of the following? "I feel horrible." "I'm the sickest I've ever been." "I'm going to lay down on your lap." "I think I might have pneumonia."
• Have you been asked, "Do I feel hot to you?" more than once in the past three days?
• Have you cleaned up more than five different, half-drunk glasses of juice or ginger ale from the coffee table?
• Are there more than four bottles of ibuprofen, NyQuil or other other-the-counter medications on your kitchen counter, dining room or coffee table?
• In the past 24 hours, have you had to explain that ER doctors don't typically treat common colds?
• Has your man spent more than 4 non-sleeping hours in bed between 9 AM and 11 PM?
• Have you been asked to move from the couch because the man wanted to completely stretch out?
• Have you been snapped at more than four times in the past week because you forgot a fork, napkins or beverage?
• Did you say "Oh, you poor thing" at all in the past 7 days?

If you answered "yes" to two or more of these questions, then friend, you are in the midst of a Man Cold. My deepest sympathies to you.

I know I'm not the only one. Here's a WebMD article on the phenomenon. What do y'all do to stay sane during Man Colds?

Some Florida winter truths for you guys who think I'm a wuss

I'm writing this from my couch, where every square inch of my body is covered with some type of fleece, topped with a thick blanket.

It's pretty much Armageddon here, people. We've only had two days above 70 degrees since December. I can't tell you how many days we've had below freezing because my brain is frozen. FROZEN SOLID.

I was looking back on some old blogs and found this one where I was complaining incessantly about how hot it was back in October, so I will take the blame for this one. I should have learned my lesson my first winter here when I posted a really snotty message about wearing flip flops in January and it proceeded to drop into the low 50s for, like, a week.

And I thought THAT was bad.

Listen, I know. You guys and your 40 inches of snow or whatever. I've been reading your blogs, I know all about how stir crazy you're getting and how you haven't seen the ground for weeks. And trust me, I feel very sad for all of you. It's no fun living in Northern states where you're at the Mother Nature's mercy for 4 months out of the year. My deepest sympathies to you.

That's why I moved to Florida.

I can hear it now. "Poor little Floridian," you will say. "Why don't you go cry a river of tears into your lightweight jacket because the brilliant Florida sun will just dry them in 2.2 seconds?"

However, (and please, Southern readers, back me up on this), I've learned two things about surviving winters in the South.

First, 40 degrees in Florida feels way colder than 40 degrees up north. My father-in-law used to make fun of us for talking about throwing on a sweatshirt if it gets a little cool until he came down to visit during our first cold snap of the season around Christmas. It was such sweet justification when he said to me, "You know...I don't know what it is, but it feels much colder what I'm reading on the thermometer." TOLD YOU SO.

I have no clue why this happens, but I know it's not just me. My coworker said it was the higher humidity that makes it feel cold, but we're in marketing, not meteorology, so it's pretty much a shot in the dark.

Second truth about Florida winters -- well, more specifically, about Floridians: our blood has thinned out considerably. I mean it really has to happen and if you've visited Florida in, say, August, you'll know why. It's a survival mechanism. You can't have the blood of a Northerner churning through your veins when it's 95 degrees and 98% humidity or you'll die. Um, it's basically biology, you guys. But the downside is when we have freakishly cold winters, we pretty much freeze to death.

Oh also? I have a closet full of warm weather clothes that I can't even think about wearing and about 7 sweaters I've been wearing on repeat for over a month. Maybe that explains why I'm eating every fattening food that crosses my path -- I'm adding some winter blubber, much like a walrus.

That reminds me, did you know that there were a bunch of manatees that were in danger of freezing to death, too (just like me), because the water in South Florida was too cold? And some of them did? Sad face for the manatees (do NOT click on that link unless you want to cry.)

Here is me two years ago: "Oh, how precious, they have a Winter Weather Advisory crawl on TV."
Here is me today: "OMG it's going to frost tonight! Quick, get the extra sheets so we can cover our plants!"

Anyway, I hope, on behalf of all the weather-weary bloggers, that it warms the heck up and SOON.

The post where I complain about some things

You know? It's close to 11 and I'm pretty beat. I get super grumpy when I'm tired. So the better plan would be put my PJs on and get a good night's sleep. But instead, I'm going to write a list of things that are currently pissing me off.

• I hate having my plans changed last minute. I am not what you call a "spontaneous" person. Like at all. I need to know exactly what's going to be happening that day, have a plan in place and carry out the plan. I ain't a happy camper if things are suddenly changed, which they were today. You know, I wasn't always like this. I used to not care. I used to be flexible. But for whatever reason, it makes me antsy and irritable.
• Why do I always clean out the litter boxes? I dont' know how many times I have to ask Hubby to clean them out, both passively ("Gosh that's that smell? Smells like litter in here. Sick. Don't invite anybody over until they get cleaned out, ok?") and agressively ("Can you just clean out the litter boxes ONCE in your life?") Then he'll do it once in a blue moon LITERALLY and acts like he freaking won a nobel prize. It's a crappy job in every since of the world, I get that. I hate it too. But do you want the house we own to smell like a zoo? Do you HAVE a sense of smell? 
• Why is it so frackin cold in Florida? Guess what the temprature was yesterday....JUST GUESS. I'll wait. Ok, I'm done waiting. IT WAS 32 DEGREES. WTH you guys? I moved to Florida for a R-E-A-S-O-N. What did we do to Mother Nature to make this happen? Is it because I bought a new winter coat on clearance and said I was afraid it wasn't going to be warm enough to wear it? I wasn't serious, Mother Nature, I could have waited until next season, thanks.
• I don't understand some college men and they way they treat women. I have a certain friend who has been really strung along by a guy she likes. It makes me absolutely furious. I'm so far removed from it, but at the same time, that kind of heartache is so memorable that I can't help but put myself in her shoes, and it gives me the sads. I want to scream at him, but it's not my place. It's insanely disrespectful.
• Dear Bell South: I know that I called you last weekend to ask why my internet wasn't working and you said there was absolutely nothing wrong with it, but THERE IS OBVIOUSLY SOMETHING WRONG WITH IT BECAUSE IT DOESN'T WORK 65% OF THE TIME. Get your act together. Annoyed, me.

Sorry this is so Negative Nelly but like I said, I should probably just go to bed instead of post this and I'll be better tomorrow. And hopefully funnier. 

Magic Mike and the Olympics

It's becoming increasingly obvious that I'm going to need more hours in a day to keep up with all the fab blogs I'm finding lately. I think I'm up-to-date on the ones I've been following, but now I've got a ton more I found by reading said blogs. You guys -- quit being so funny and entertaining. It's counter-productive.

Remember the other day when I told y'all about my really awesome new Wednesday night dinner plans? I just found out that a person Hubby and I know, let's call him "Todd", really and truly hates Magic Mike. Apparently, Dave was at a place where MM was entertaining one night and MM stayed at his table a little too long, which really annoyed Todd to the point of hatred. He said he will stay away from Beefs from  now on because apparently Magic Mike gives him unspeakable, debilitating anxiety*.

Really, Todd? Really? What exactly is it that annoys you so much about Magic Mike? Is it the card tricks? The magic? The fun puzzles to work out while you eat? The family-friendly jokes? The awesome balloon animals?

My dear friend Allison and her Daffy Duck balloon animal.

*Those are my words, not his, but I think hatred and fear are super close cousins, like so close they couldn't get married in WV.

So I am really baffled that a grown man would outwardly express his hatred of a mild-mannered restaurant magician whose only crime was interrupting this guy's dinner.  And Magic Mike doesn't even dress like a clown. Todd is dead to me.

Tonight are the Olympics, and I would know that even it I didn't read about it on several separate amazing blogs: (Salt Says , Magnolias and Mimosas and Be Awesome Instead who had a whole series about Canada this week in preparation for the wondrous events).

You guys? I am so in love with the Olympics. I always have been. My earliest memory of the Olympics was when I was 7 and it was Valentine's Day or around that day, and I got sick with some sort of bug. I got to stay home from school, watch the Olympics all day and got a crimping iron for Valentine's Day. Best. Day. EVER.

The Olympics inspire me to be a better athelete, which is saying a lot since I truly am the most unathletic person alive, have no coordination and am very lazy. During the 2008 summer Olympics, Hubby and I watched all the women's beach volleyball matches and I'm all, phhhssst I can do that and get a hot bod in the process! So we ran out and bought a volleyball to play on the sand court at our apartment complex and I was so ready to get totally ripped but it turns out that I'm really terrible at volleyball.

And I'm not gonna lie and tell you I wasn't moved to buy a pair of ice skates during some ill-adviced late night online shopping during another Winter Olympics.

And who can forget the 2000 Syndey Olympics when Michael Phelps busted onto the scenes with those tight abs and sexy arms. I had just started as a grad teaching assistant, teaching speech classes. All the TAs went out for lunch one afternoon and all the ladies in our group could do was watch in awe as Michael Phelps wiggled through the water with that itty bitty Speedo. Le sigh. (I love you Hubby.)

Besides all the hot bodies, there is also the element of "the whole world is coming together and putting aside its differences to celebrate the global language of sport and competition" but the hot bods trump that a little bit.

What's not to like about it? I bet Todd hates the Olympics as much as he hates Magic Mike.

This post is a little jumpy because 1) it's Friday and 2) it's 30 degrees outside IN FLORIDA and 3) it's 85 degrees in my office. My brain is a little melty and hyperactive simultaneously.

Who else is excited about the Olympics? If you wrote a blog post about it, put it in the comments.

What are they teaching in medical school these days?

Continuing on my series of medical related posts this week, I'd like to tell you all about the conversation I had with a resident today who was calling our department asking about patient photography.

The media team had a meeting the other day about how we're going to handle non-media requests. We get them occasionally from doctors or other employees who just have basic questions. The media director made us a little fact sheet telling us exactly what our department is responsible for, where to refer them and what forms they will need.

Dr. Dbag: Hi, I'm a surgical resident. I'd like to take a picture of a patient for a case study.
Me: Ok, well let me grab my handy little fact sheet tell you our policy. We don't' handle photos used for education. You don't' need written authorization as long as the patient has signed Consent form #09809234809234890.
Dr. D: What's that?
Me: It's a consent form. I'm not exactly sure what it is, but Legal Services will be happy to explain it. I just don't know because we don't usually handle this type of request.
Dr. D: It's ok. Where can I find that form?
Me: Let me check for you on our intranet. Because I don't have it on hand. Because we don't typically handle these types of requests. [ checks ] Hm, I can't seem to find it. You can call Legal Services and see where it is.
Dr. D: [ silence ]
Me: Or I will call them and call you back, how about it? Can you give me your phone number?
Dr. D: Actually, let me give you my PAGER so you can PAGE me back.

So I called legal services, who told me where to find the form, but that all patients are asked to sign the form before surgery if they do, in fact, give their consent. I thought, score, problem solved. I paged Dr. Dbag right back.

Me: I found out from Legal that your patient should have signed the form before he/she went into surgery. You can find it in his/her chart.
Dr. D: What if it's not on his/her chart?
Me: Well. [pause] it should be. Like it's supposed to be; its' part of the paperwork they fill out before a surgery. If it's not, there is a problem.
Dr. D: What if he/she doesn't' have a chart? He/She was admitted from a clinic.
Me: So he/she's going to have surgery shortly....? If so, she can sign it before he/she goes in.
Dr. D: He/she already had surgery.
Me: Wait. What? So what are you photographing?
Dr. D:  His/her incision site.
Me: Did he/she have surgery at our hospital?
Dr. D: Yes.
Me: That form should be a part of the medical record, then.
Dr. D: Where do I find that?
Me: I'm non-clinical, I really am not sure. I would maybe suggest asking the charge nurse on the floor. It has to be attached to the medical record somehow.
Dr. D:  You mean I can find it online?
Me: Well. [pause because I'm thinking, really? am I seriously still on this call?] I don't think it's readily accessible online. Ask the charge nurse and she will be able to give it to you.
Dr. D: Well, what if it's not in the files.
Me: You know who could answer that question better than me? The charge nurse. And if it's not in the files, I'm sure the charge nurse would be able to find the form for you.
Dr. D: It's just that....this seems very vague. What exactly do I need to fill out to take these pictures?
Me: [ headexplosion ]

THEN he asked if we have a camera to use, like what part of "this isn't our responsiblity" don't you understand? And isn't doctoring 101 "how to find a chart"? And this was a resident! Not even a full fledged doctor!

I can't wait till the new media person starts.