Loaner Phone Part 1: Contact list

Last June I jumped feet first into the world of smart phones with my Samsung Moment. It was love at first touch. Over the next few months, my Samsung Moment failed me again and again while I became increasingly dependent on it. I feel like my Samsung Moment and I need to go to couples therapy.

The first problem was last summer when the plug port became bent because I dropped it too many times when it was plugged in for no obvious reason. Sprint replaced it with a refurbished phone.

The second time was a right after I got back from maternity leave. The phone was often unresponsive and wouldn't hold a charge for more than an hour. I took it in and Sprint replaced it with a refurbished phone.

Three or so weeks ago, my Samsung Moment was unresponsive again and would power down for no reason and then take hours to restart (even plugged in). Once at work I waited two hours for it to restart. A few nights later I plugged it in while it was restarting, woke up with Baby Blogworthy at 3 am and it still wasn't charged after four hours and had pretty much set my pillow on fire with the overheated battery. I pulled out the battery and it finally started.

The next night it crashed for real. After my phone tried to load for almost 12 straight hours, the battery died and it sort of gave up on life.

Although I'm only 18 days from an upgrade, Sprint wouldn't let me go ahead and give them my cash monies for a new phone. Instead, they sent my Samsung Moment away YET AGAIN. I get it back today, but for the weekend I was stuck with a loaner phone.

Oh, people, this loaner phone. It wasn't so much the phone as the condition of the phone. It's as if the Sprint people were like, "crap, this woman's phone is DONE and we need to get her something fast. Quick, check the back. Nothing? Seriously? Ok, think. Think. Wait, didn't someone just turn in a phone? Yeah, yeah, yeah, get that one! where is it? Oh here it is, in the trash, right under this banana peel. Brush the coffee grinds off it and I'll get it set up for her."

My sister has this phone because she has an iPad for awesomeness and doesn't need a smart phone.

However, I'm sure her's doesn't include the following:

- A hole in the casing
- A crack in the camera lens
- Half the keypad missing
- A contact list that contains the following names: Jit;  Kevin White Boy; Mikey Crip Walk; Moneek; No Hands; Nu Nu Nu; Toy Shipmate Sis and; Unc Bucket; B Smooth; Back Door; Cuz Boo; Black Ass; Fatboy; Rolemodel Lil Chris; Roo Block; and Spank. (All typed directly from the contact list on my Loaner Phone)


By the way, I guess I didn't mention they had forgotten to erase all the other person's information from the phone? Yeah. That happened. Creepy, huh? 


There was a work number in it and I called it. It was a KFC. Take from that what you will.


The Loaner Phone took on a new life at work Friday. My work friend, who was one work day away from a vacation and was stressed became instantly obsessed with Loaner Phone and we collectively spent the rest of the day inputting the contacts them into the Royal Name Generator. 

Marchioness White Girl Lulu Tcott of Alachuashire.

 

Marchioness Toy Shipmate Ticky Sis Andberton of Gainesvilleshire.

 

Prince Back Fearnsley Doorskitt of Gainesvilleford.

Now, tell me, how can a person be sad about their non-smart Loaner Phone when it provides that kind of entertainment? But I didn't know exactly how entertaining that phone was until I discovered the text messages....


Dun, dun DUUNNNN!! Come back tomorrow for the conclusion to my Loaner Phone saga.

Meanwhile, what do you think the text messages said, based on the contacts list?

Watershed

At first, I mistook the sound of running water for the white noise machine in the nursery. Maybe the neighbor was running water. At 8 am? Stranger things have happened.

I shook it off and rushed to work.

Hubby called at four Thursday afternoon and asked if I'd heard water running. He heard the same thing and checked everything -- sprinklers, toilets and faucets -- and couldn't find the culprit. A quick call to the water company and a visit from our friendly neighborhood Roto-Rooter guy confirmed our suspicions: we were the proud owners of a house with a water leak in some mysterious place between the kitchen and the guest bathroom.

Friday evening a guy from a leak detection company stopped by to find the exact location of the leak while I sat in my bedroom with a napping baby and tried on hairstyles and makeup using the InStyle virtual makeover. I learned two things Friday night:

1. There is such a thing as a leak detection company, further confirming there is a job out there for everyone;
2. When given the option of trying on any type of makeup in existence, even in a virtual makeover, I'll probably try on what I'd normally wear.

I thought my whole weekend was ruined. Thursday we were both a mess. I was crying, Hubby was moody and we both threw a childish little WHY ME! hissy fits. I would say, "where will we get the money to fix it??? Just tell me it'll be alright!" and he would say "It'll be alright!" and I'd be all, "WE WILL NOT BE ALRIGHT THIS IS A DISASTER!"

I texted a friend to tell her all about this awful tragedy. She was sympathetic but was more concerned about the hissy fits.

"Be gentle with each other!" she said.

I got that text while I was holding my little baby Blogworthy. He looked at me with those big, sweet eyes and my whole perspective shifted. Hubby, Baby Blogworthy and I laid down on the bed, talked and giggled. I just couldn't help but think to myself, he depends on us completely, but he has no idea how much we depend on him, especially in situations like this. He's truly the tie that binds us together and makes our love even stronger.

But this isn't about emotional watershed, it's about physical watershed. 

Roto-Rooter showed up yesterday and added some lovely decor to the middle of our living room floor.

Isn't that what every home needs? A big ol hole right in the living room floor? Like about 10 feet from the entrance. And also right smack dab in the middle of our eating area, where we eat and visit and you know, LIVE and stuff.  Even better is that our laminate floors extend through the whole house and there is no real break between the living room and dining room/kitchen area, so replacing the flooring in one room means replacing it in EVERY room.

The pin-hole sized gap in that pipe caused all that drama and destruction. TGFHOI (Thank God for Home Owners Insurance).

Also? Who builds houses with pipes under the concrete foundation and doesn't include a crawlspace. Floridians, that's who. 

The joys and sorrows of homeownership.

Worse home disasters? Spill it in the comments!

Las Vegas: Two Tales of One City

Las Vegas. Disney World for adults.  What happens in Vegas....you know the rest.

I have many fond and not so fond memories from two separate trips to Sin City, so gather round ye olde blog, friends, and let me weave a couple tales of vacations past.

The first time I went to Vegas was with my ex-boyfriend, the Bowler. He financed our trip by spending many a night playing poker online with real cash money. I'm 80% sure it was illegal and am 100% sure it was sketchy and off-shore. I also thought it was crazy until his winnings allowed us to eat at nice places and go to shows, then I didn't care as much.

We stayed at the Monte Carlo. I thought I would be super trendy and cute, so I brought only high heeled boots. All I knew of Las Vegas was what I'd learned through movies and TV, where sexy women are wearing sequined dresses and playing craps and drinking champagne. So basically, all I had were heels or nothing -- not even a slipper to cover my tootsies while I ran to the ice machine or something.

You know what there is a lot of in Vegas? WALKING. For miles I walked in those stupid high heeled boots. I'm really stubborn and hated to be wrong, so I pretended like all was FINE just FINE, I walk in boots ALL THE TIME SO SHUT UP. No, I always walk this way IT'S NOT A LIMP.

Oh, and I also need to mention it was December and I was pale as a ghost. I thought I'd brighten up my complexion with a little trip to the tanning bed before we left, ended up laying too long for my first visit in hopes of speeding up the process, and was shedding much like a snake the entire trip.

Bleeding, mangled toes? Check! Red, peeling skin? Check! Sounds great, right?

It got better.

Stampede machine. How cute is that buffalo

?

We were walking through the casinos one night, hopping from one to the next and looking out for my favorite slot machine, STAMPEDE! (If you got three buffaloes in a row, it said stampede and went haywire. Guess you had to be there?) I found one and threw a couple quarters in and didn't win, so we moved on. A few casinos away, I realized I'd left my purse at the machine. We ran back and it was gone, long gone, in a casino of all places. I didn't have much money, but I did have my cell phone, lipstick, a few other odds and ends. By the grace of God, I had my license in my pocket and left my car keys and all but one credit card in the hotel. We talked to security and filed a report, realizing I'd probably never see those things again. The remaining card was canceled and I proceeded to have a meltdown of epic proportions.

That night, while I was crying my eyes out over my misfortune, my ex-boyfriend spent hours in the Monte Carlo casino gambling. No surprise that relationship didn't last.

This trip happened right around Christmas. A few days after we got home, right before New Year's Eve, a packaged arrived at the condo, addressed to me. I opened it and it was my purse with everything still inside, less the handful of change. The purse included a note that said simply, "I found your purse and used the change to send it back." No identifying information, no return address.

It was sort of a Christmas miracle.

The second trip was a few years later, my last spring break trip while I was a carefree college student. I believe it was 2004, and I went with my BFF Candace, who was from a small town in West Virginia and at that point had never flown. Ever. After the fun flight on a SOUTHWEST AIRLINES plane, we landed in Vegas and proceeded to have a blast for four days. I wont' get into details because what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, right? but a few things I'll never forget:

• Dancing with Midwestern boys on spring break to Britney Spears' Toxic so they would buy us a beer
• Stopping by McDonalds at three in the morning for a burger and Candace proclaiming it the BEST BURGER SHE'D EVER HAD
• Walking for a dance club back to our hotel armed with nothing but my chain metal belt, which I claimed I'd use as a deadly weapon if anyone tried to "mess with us"
• Calling our friend who'd flaked out at the last minute, leaving a message that said she's missing out on a lot of hot guys and then marking the message as urgent
• How blonde and skinny I was in 2005

Blonde. Skinny. Belly shirt? I thought I was fat here BTW.

Anyone else have some Las Vegas memories?

This is part of a Studio 30 Plus prompt! Are you thirty? Word Nerdy? Go now!

Trash or Not Trash

We had our house cleaned a few weeks ago by some professional cleaners.

It looked super fab and beautiful and shiny. I could see my reflection in the floors. I could drink out of the toilets (ew, just kidding, ain't nothing that clean). They worked their fingers to the bone, sweeping the bunnies out of every nook and cranny in our house.

They had their work cut out for them, too. It had been approximately 13 weeks since the hum of a vacuum cleaner was heard at the Casa de Austin; approximately 4 months since any toilet or shower was cleaned; approximately the whole amount of time we've lived in our home since someone pulled out the fridge and cleaned behind it. Holy disgusting, batman.

Ten bleach filled hours later, the Pledge and Windex haze started to settle and we discovered some things were missing.

Nothing important like jewelry, cash or game systems -- although we do have so many game systems, we probably wouldn't realize if they WERE gone -- but little things we take for granted as not trash.

Let's play a little game, shall we? It's called Trash or Not Trash. I'll give you a picture and two line breaks to guess, and you tell me if it's Trash or Not Trash. (and by "tell me", I mean, "guess silently to yourself"). I'll also tell you how the cleaning guys categorized these items.

2010 Page-a-Day Civil War Calendar

What's your guess?

The answer is:

The cleaning people said: NOT TRASH! That's right, they kept that page-a-day calendar, as well as two more from 2010 that we'd neglected to throw away.

Next up:

Slightly dirty but not torn up at all yellow flip flops.

Your guess?

Actual answer:

Their answer? TRASH! What person in their right mind throws away a perfectly good pair of Old Navy flip flops, circa 2005? Really now. What if those are my bathroom cleaning flip flops? (Hint: they are.)

Let's move on to the next item!

Vogue magazine from September 2010 

What's your guess?

Answer is:

The cleaning people? Put this in a safe place in our linen closet, where all outdated magazines with torn, crinkled pages, covered in bath powder should go. OR NOT!

This last one basically stabbed me in the heart, then twisted the knife, then blood spewed out of my heard and all my blood drained out and I died. And I'm writing this blog from the great beyond.

My favorite stuffed penguin I slept with for probably 18 years of my life and that's not an exaggeration.

What's your answer?

What's the REAL answer?

OF COURSE it's not trash. What about a cute stuffed penguin, almost in mint condition, might I add, would make a person say, "Welp, to the trash can you go! Clearly nobody wants you, even though you're on the floor of a bedroom right beside a closet!"

Apparently, everything about that cute stuffed penguin says "I'm trash!" because that's where we found it, folks, along with the other "not trash" items.

Picture it: hubby and I digging through upwards of 8 black trash bags, pulling out things that were tossed but not trash. Dog toys. Belts. Dress socks. Baby socks. A bag containing craft scissors and thread. My Venus razor, perched in the shower right next to a bar of soap and my shampoo. Don't worry, cleaning people, I don't like shaving my legs anyway and wasn't using that brand new razor.

EXCEPT FOR THAT I WAS USING THAT BRAND NEW RAZOR.

Anyway, this experience leads me to two conclusions:

1. We all have different ideas about what should be trashed.
2.  I'm glad I'm not independently wealthy enough to have housekeepers. With the energy I expended digging through trash bags, I could have cleaned my own house.

Have you had your house cleaned before? Do you hate searching through garbage bags?

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?

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?

Gravy...it's a dealbreaker, ladies!

I was planning a whole bunch of stories about bad dates and boyfriends I've had in honor of my 3 year wedding anniversary tomorrow (and how wonderful my husband is), but I'm lazy so you'll get two of the best in one post!

I'll start with the longest. I dated C for 3 years. We lived in different cities but only about 2 hours apart, so I saw him almost every weekend. Where do I start with C? He was a unique person. Uniquely weird and hard to read and uniquely serious in all the wrong ways.

C had two great passions in life: gambling and bowling. Sounds like a real winner, RIGHT? He literally was a winner once, when after many nights of online gambling on offshore casinos, he won $1800 and funded our trip to Las Vegas where he GAMBLED SOME MORE. During that trip, I lost my purse and had to go to the police in one of the casinos and do a report, THEN had to cancel all my credit cards, and THEN was so upset that I was choking on my tears and he went down to the casino to gamble! I mean he was up, why not! Don't worry about me, I'll just soak my pillow with a river of salty tears BY MYSELF.

C's other passion, bowling, was serious business. He was on a college bowling team. He had 11 balls...try to read that last statement and not giggle. He was in a couple leagues. You know how cheerleaders will go off on you if you say their cheering is not a sport? He was totally like that. I'm sorry, but if you can drink while playing, it ain't a sport.

The first time C met any of my friends, we decided to go bowling. MASSIVE FAIL OF EPIC PROPORTIONS. I knew it was over when he rolled his huge bag of balls into the bowling alley. JP remembers this well and we'll often laugh at how ridiculous that moment was. Laugh so we don't dry. Three years, folks!

 (P.S. he's married now with a child, so I hope that bowling and poker moved down to passions number three and four. Also, I am still friendly with this dude because it turns out we had nothing in common...IMAGINE!)

After that relationship was over, I didn't date much. I was pretty torn up about it (who knows why). I became the wingwoman to a friend and sorority sister who liked to party and loved men. I became the little angel on her shoulder who tried to get her to close her tab, say goodnight to the feller she was trying to hook, get into the passenger seat of her car and give me the keys. That happened about 2 out of every 10 visits to the ol drinking hole.

Mostly I just talked to the friends of her conquests. One day she was talking to a guy, I'm going to call him Kevin, and I told her it was time to leave. Kevin's wingman, Dan, struck up a conversation with me and tried to get my number. I started to give him the wrong number, then just told him I'd see him around, because I was in NO MOOD to deal with his crap. I was so disillusioned with men that I had no interested in even getting to know him.

Next time we were at the Union (that was the bar we all frequented), my friend and Kevin had more time to talk and by default I got to hang out with Dan. He asked me out on a date and my internal monologue went something like this:

"He's not entirely awful looking, he's asking you out on a date, just say yes. What's the worst that could happen?"

WHAT'S THE WORST THAT COULD HAPPEN.

We went out a few days later. He took me to a nice restaurant but I knew from the second we met (yes, we met there because I didn't want to be stuck in a car with him if it was awkward). The conversation was absolutely terrible. We had nothing to say to each other. There was a lot of small talk and talking about how good our food was. After the date was over, he asked what I wanted to do and the only thing I could think of was going to the Union (duh) so I could (hopefully) be rescued. At the bar, the lame conversation continued, he spilled beer on my new black capris, and finally...FINALLY...God answered my prayers and my friends came to join us. He left later on and asked if I'd like to go out again sometime.

I said yes....WHAT WAS WRONG WITH ME?

A week or so later, we were (again) at the Union and Dan asked what I'd like to do on our next date and also mentioned he didn't have much money (smooth). I suggested we just cook dinner at my house or his house and asked what he wanted. He said fried chicken and mashed potatoes and the sides, like am I KFC over here? But for some unknown reason I said, that's a FABULOUS idea. Maybe it's because I knew I could blog about it 7 years later.

The day of the date, I was finishing up cooking when he arrived at my house.Everything was looking good -- fried chicken tenders, (instant) mashed potatoes, green beans and corn....I'd remembered everything but the gravy.

Me: Oh hey, Dan, I totally forgot the gravy! Would you mind running to the store for me to get it...it's only a block or so away.
Dan: Sure, babe. Do you have money?
Me: Excuse me?
Dan: I'm just out of money right now, so could you give me money to get gravy.
Me: It's only going to be, like, $1.50.
Dan: yeah.....

I gave him the money but knew that it was a terrible sign that I should end this quick, like pulling off a band-aid.

But instead I gave him one last chance...3 times a charm?

A few nights later, we went to get ice cream. I was searching for something, ANYTHING to talk about. I talked about a class I had in which we talked about certain words in the English language meaning nothing because they were overused -- like the word "nice". Then, later, I told him a story about the ice cream place.

Dan: Oh, that's nice
Me: Nice? That's the only thing you could think about saying after we JUST talked about how nice really doesn't mean anything?
Dan: Yeah..it's nice.

*sigh* Strike three. You're out.

Then a year and a half or so later, my husband and I started dating, so there is eventually a happy ending to my dating saga. You'll hear that tomorrow!

bowling ball image via | gravy image via

Let me turn this into a mommy blog for one hot second

My hubby and I moved into our house in August, 2009 after the worst experience with a Realtor in the history of the world (I promise I'll blog about it one of these days). Shortly after, Hubby called me at work and said he was headed to the animal rescue place where we'd volunteered and was going to pick up a new cat as a "house warming gift".

Now I was not at all keen on this idea. I told him absolutely, under no circumstances should he even think about bringing another cat home. Who needs 4 cats? Certainly not us. So nosiree, just get that thought right out of your pea brain, turn the car around, do not pass go, do not collect $200 and especially do NOT adopt another cat.

And of course when I got home there was a tiny gray kitten with white paws waiting for me. And it was one of those Hemmingway cats with an extra thumb. I was all, come ON, this is SO unfair. You had to pick the cutest cat EVER to adopt and now I'm supposed to be angry with you?

In the history of my cat ownership I have never had a cat that loved me more than other owners. The three other cats are pretty much obsessed with Hubby, but this one was different. He took to me right away. He would cuddle like a baby and lay on my shoulder and sleep on my lap. Eventually the thought popped into my mind: "I bet human baby cuddles would be even BETTER."

So time went on and I kept this thought to myself. Then one night, Hubby and I were watching The Hangover and at the end he said, "you know....if I had a baby, I would NEVER leave it unattended in a hotel room with a tiger." And that's how we decided we wanted to have kids.

With all that being said, I'm here to tell all y'all, Moms and non-Moms and maybe even some Dads (because let's face it, my male readership is like, literally two), proudly that, I'M GOING TO BE A MOMMY!

My due date is November 27, just in time to eat leftover turkey and dress that baby up in ridiculous Christmas hats. We're very excited, anxious, happy, shocked and all the other emotions you develop during the first trimester when everything makes you cry (including but not limited to, touching blogs, Carnival Cruise commercials, dog food commercials, "mean faces", too many phone calls, not enough phone calls, bad smells, your cat "dissing" you and grocery shopping.)

I can't imagine that I'll be posting that many pregnancy updates unless it gives me a good story (already using my baby for amusement), but I will on Facebook if you want to friend me. Now back to your regularly scheduled non-Mommy blog topics.

This post will make more sense if you take some Dayquil

So, you guys, guess who got the ManCold? Yup, apparently picking up dirty tissues and sleeping right next to a sick person will, indeed, get you sick. Of course, I can't let a little head cold get me down. And it is nothing more than a little head cold. I've done more in the first 12 hours of this cold than he did in a week. But he thinks it's because "it hasn't kicked in yet". Right. Might not have anything to do with the fact I actually took something for it when he suffered for a week refusing to take anything but Nyquil at night. Dayquil, people -- it is the wonder drug.

I made some homemade guacamole today. Dudes, I really adore me some guac. Publix had avocados on sale for  $1.25 each. I already had onions and tomatoes and garlic, so basically I made a whole mess of guacamole for $1.25! Now I'm going to eat the snot out of it while watching basketball. Speaking of basketball...

Today is the SEC tournament semi-finals. A die-hard University of Kentucky fan, Hubby was so super excited about watching the Cats play TN this afternoon. But big time FAIL for our local ABC affiliate, TV20, whose antennae  conked out at approximately 12:45 pm (with the UK game tip-off set for 1 pm.) But I don't' expect much more from a station that is more or less run by interns. We headed to Beef 'O Bradys and had a nice little lunch while watching the game.

During halftime, I picked Hubby's brain for this week's blog posts. He suggested I write about the difference between men and women when they are sick. Um, too late. I guess I could always write about other differences, such as when men just can't see messes and let them sit for a million years before women clean them up. Such as this example:

How cute is that lobster chalkboard anyway? Much cuter than rotten lemons.

This is a pitcher of lemonade made with real lemons that he got from a student at Valentine's day (I know -- weird gift but whatev.) VALENTINE'S DAY. That was a month ago. He immediately made this lemonade, drank one glass, set it on the counter where it has stayed for 4 weeks. Those lemons? Rotten. Like to the CORE rotten. Like green stuff all up in those lemons. But I feel like he should be the one to get rid of that mess, right? Do you hear me ladies? So now it's a battle of wills that I'm apparently fighting myself because I'm pretty sure he doesn't even NOTICE the green lemons anymore. *sigh*

But then we came up with a really great series to celebrate the only time of year I actually enjoy sports -- MARCH MADNESS PEOPLE. Get excited!

Here's where I need your help. You know how guys who are really into sports have their own little secret language? It's like Twin Speak or Pig Latin or something; little shorthand phrases they use to describe plays or players or refs. Like, for instance, "THAT PLAY WAS NASTY!" or "WAHOHOHOHOH THAT DUNK WAS SICK!" You know you, your men and/or men friends do this! So I need you to leave those phrases in the comments, email me or friend me on Facebook (that's right, I'm going there) and leave it on my wall. I'm planning this one for Tuesday, so don't let me down! You guys blow my mind with your clever-ness and wit!

Watch for my basketball themed series next week and if you want to get in on the hot bracket making action and you're a bloggy person, Cathy from Antsy Pants is coordinating a little sumthin' sumthin' so go visit her or tweet her!

Pantry, you're dead to me

Listen, pantry, we need to have a heart-to-heart.

There's a big problem right now in my home, and, well, it's not me, it's you.

 

Evil.

You just hang out in the kitchen all day with your delicious food. Mocking my and my desire to just lose a couple pounds. OK, cookie mix, I hear you. I know it's your goal in life to make me some cookies. You just want to provide a little extra cushion and I get that. "But you love sweets," you say. "And look, I only need to be mixed with one stick of butter and an egg and you have BOTH of those! It's not like you're going to use that stick of butter for anything else, anyway."

Well, cookie mix, I'm sure there are lots more HEALTHY things I can make with that stick of butter, so just screw off, ok?

The same goes for you, too, box of sugary chocolate cereal. Don't you dare hide  back behind the healthy cereal; I know this game far too well. You're trying to get me to forget about you until I'm having a late night moment of weakness, aren't you? Well guess what, I AIN'T FALLING FOR IT.

"Come on, I'm only 100 calories per serving! I'm basically a 100-calorie pack!" But your serving is 3/4 a cup. Know who can be satisfied with 3/4 cup of cereal? PEOPLE WITH WILLPOWER. That's not me, OBVIOUSLY. I pour out 3/4 a cup and next thing you know, BAM a half box of cereal is gone. I will throw you out before you can say "I'm Coocoo for Cocoa puffs!" and don't think I won't.

Who am I kidding, I will not throw anything out.

No, instead I'll fall for your old tricks, brownie mix. "Oh man, I'm almost expired! You might have to throw me away even though you bought me on Publix BOGO a year ago! You probably need to go ahead and bake me so as to not waste food, because that's a punishable offense in this house!" Although logically I realize that it's powdered food. How does powdered food spoil? Who is going to punish me?

You know what will expire? This peach. And it will expire quickly while I'm busy eating my weight in Ritz Peanut Butter Crackers and the fruit flies will get to it. GREAT. Not only have I wasted a perfectly good peach, I also have fruit flies. CURSES ON YOU, RITZ CRACKERS!

Oh, potato chips, you know just when I'm craving something salty. "Woops! Sorry, must have lost my balance from this precarious position stacked on top of all these boxes of dumpling and gravy mixes. I didn't mean to fall right into your hands. But since I'm here...." Since you're here, WHAT, potato chips? Huh? Tell me. Just test my patience because I have had nothing but salads for lunch for weeks and I'm in no mood.

And you can shut your whore mouth, Chips Deluxe Cookies, over there in the cabinet. You might not live in the pantry but this applies as much to you as it does that Warm Delights cake on the second shelf.

And peanut butter, I think you might be the worst. You and your delicious creamy taste and 170 calories for 2 tablespoons. You're ridiculous and I don't have to take this. I will punch you in the throat, peanut butter.

Why is there so much delicious food in the world?

When did I get so old aka music ain't what it used to be

So do y'all know about the singer named Ke$ha?

I like to pronounce it KEE sha. Hubby works with teenagers and is a little more in tune with what the youngin's are listening to and he says it's pronounced KESH uh. You know what? It's not pronounced either way because it is written with a dollar sign for that middle S and therefore is unable to BE pronounced. I mean honestly.

I guess it's because I really don't listen to top 40 music. I'm too old and married and lame to go to clubs and listen to it there. And top 40 stations are so annoying in the mornings, with all the loud talking and prank calls and whatnot. Please, top 40 station, I haven't had my coffee, keep your voices down.

Sidebar: Is it even called top 40 anymore? I mean what's like, KIIS FM called. Or the stations that play Ryan Seacrest's show. Is that top 40?

So I listen to the "adult contemporary from the 70s, 80s, 90s and today" station. Lots of soft talking and low tones and unoffensive music. Colbie Calet followed by the Eagles and then a little Billy Joel to round out the half-hour. That's what gets my blood pumping in the AM.

Then I tune into 90's on 9 on XM radio as soon as I hop in the car. I do love me some 90s tunes, y'all. If you were born in 1980 or after, listen when I tell you this, YOU ARE NOT AN 80S BABY. You are whatever type of music that was playing when you were in the 6th to ninth grade and to a certain extent, your freshman year of college. If you danced to any of these songs during your 7th grade dance that took place the last hour of the school day in your school gym, you're a 90s kid. You heard it here.

So K-E-dollar sign-H-A. No offense to anyone reading who busts a move to her songs, but the other day, Hubby and I were listening to her song in the car and I was appalled that 13-year-old children listen to this stuff.

Like:

Before I leave, brush my teeth with a bottle of Jack
Cause when I leave for the night, I ain’t coming back

Jack, like Jack Daniels? 'Cause that seems unsanitary. And:

I’m talking about - everybody getting crunk, crunk
Boys trying to touch my junk, junk

and WHAT?

Come put a little love it my glove bag
I wanna dance with no pants on
Come meet me in the back with the jack and the jukebox

 "Glove bag", really? Teenagers are listening to this? I mean I'm sure we had the same things going on when I was 13 but I truly don't remember songs with nasty lyrics like this. I sound like a total prude right now. I just get sad hearing young kids idolizing and singing along with adult lyrics like this, because being an adult is HARD and music like this is just the gateway into adulthood and I want to tell them, STAY YOUNG AS LONG AS YOU CAN!

Because one day you're listening to Ke$ha sing about a no-pants-dance, rocking your Ke$ha t-shirt from Hot Topic and the next thing you know, you're getting up every morning at 7 am to work. And will continue doing this for the next 35 years of your life (if you're lucky).

So who out there can explain Ke$ha to me?

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.