Borderline Crazy Strikes Again! June 8, 2008

I think I’m turning into one of those creepycreepy people you hear about, who collect all their toenail clipping or bits of dead skin in jars. Except my disgusting collection is My Baggie of Things I Have Peed Upon. Yes, I just took another test (with a pink line that kicked the ass-kicking pink line from yesterday’s ASS) but I didn’t take a picture of it! I’m progressing! Kind of.

I’m turning into my own little science project. I have a baggie with the positive tests, on which I have written the dates in Sharpie, so I can look at the freaky rapid progression of my hormones. Have I mentioned that the hormones, they are DOUBLING really often? Because they are!!

This probably explains why yesterday’s jaunt to see You Don’t Mess With The Zohan at a movie tavern had me alternating between laughter and tears. The movie was revoltingly funny! But the tears? They were not for the movie, oh no. They were because we ordered food, and Joey got his, but my salad didn’t arrive for the whole first half of the movie. AND the waitress did not show up when we turned on the light-coaster thingy. AND I currently get very nauseous when I don’t eat every two hours. AND they still charged us for the salad. But seriously? Have never cried over anything salad-related before. Probably.

Now I’m off – I’m going to IKEA today with Joey’s mamma, to buy new dishes. And to look at the baby stuff! Between her and my mamma, both thrift-store divas, they are already stockpiling every baby-related item you can imagine. I was going to order a pregnancy yoga DVD online yesterday, but when I saw Joey’s mamma last night, she had already found me one at a garage sale. Without me ever having to mention that I wanted one. I seriously have the best in-laws EVER.

WAIT. Joey’s mamma? And she is the most nurturing, mothering person I know? And her real name begins with a ‘K’?

I will so be calling her Kanga in this blog from now on. Perfect.

Anyway. Before Kanga and I go shopping, I MUST clean my kitchen. Because it is so dirty that even looking at it makes me need to take a nap. With how sleepy I have been lately, I’ve begun to put my life on a rewards system. Yesterday’s movie was my reward for getting my classroom ready for summer school to start (tomorrow. ick.) and making the copies I needed to make. Today, going to IKEA will be my reward for cleaning the kitchen finally.

Huh. June 7, 2008

Umm, okay. So. On the 17th? Joey and I were like, “Good morning! Hello! Who needs protection?”

And then? I started to feel really sick. And I was like, “Haha, see how neurotic I am? I can physically manifest symptoms. Because I am so neurotic.” And Joey was like, “Haha, my loins are strong.”

Only I kept ON being sick, and everyone IN THE WORLD was like, “Haha, you young married girl! You are all kinds of knocked up!”

But I was all, “It’s too EARLY to know. Shut UP. Everyone LEAVE ME ALONE! GOOOOOOOGLE!”

And then?

Do you see that FAINT line there? Because I sure did. That was yesterday. I told a few family members, and then had a few panic attacks because FLUKE! I HAVEN’T MISSED MY PERIOD YET! STUPID!

And Joey took me to Babies R Us because I wanted to look at all the stuff, and I may have melted into a little puddle when he started picking out recieving blankets, and helping me think about nursery themes, and when he turned to me and said, “Okay, I think I have baby fever as bad as you, now. But don’t tell anyone.” And I totally won’t, babe, except for the whole Internet. And then he bought me a little stuffed monkey, to hold onto when I freak out – and let me tell you, this monkey has gotten a lot of mileage so far. Joey has been convinced all along that I am with child, and is thrilled about it, and so supportive, and can I tell you HOW HOT IS THAT!!

And this morning? I woke up really early, and (with much wailing and gnashing of teeth) took another test.

That is no faint line, there, bitches. That line kicks some ass.

And so, OMG! Holy Crap! Squeee!

I wonder if I will be able to relax now? No? I didn’t think so, either.

Cat Fights June 4, 2008

A while ago, I was on the phone with my mamma, and I DARED to walk through the kitchen without feeding Maya the cat. To add insult to injury, I think I was selfishly getting food for myself. So she began to heartbrokenly and LOUDLY wail and cry. To put this into proper context, Maya is well on her way to being enourmously fat, and she freaks out any time her food dish is empty. Even if she just ate. Even if it is four in the morning. There must be food present at all times, biatches.

After trying to shoo her away, I finally picked up her food dish and growled, “Fine! I’ll feed you, if you will just SHUT UP for the love of all that’s holy!!”

Clearly, I am sooooo ready for motherhood. Could I be anymore nurturing and kind?

Hour Two Of Empty Dish: Sooooo…..Weak….Must….Not…Follow….Light…..

My cat is making me insane. -er. Every morning, and every time I come home, I dread letting my eyes wander to the corner where we keep her litter box. Because EVERY time (it feels like) there is a tidy little pile of poo right next to the litter box. And yes, the litter box is kept clean. And yes, I love the cat and must keep her for always. BUT I like our shiny new apartment, too, and I don’t want it to become nasty-fied by Maya. I have no solution, just to clean up the stray pile of poo before Joey sees it, because he isn’t all tolerant-like the way I am. I was informed yesterday that the only reason Maya has not been forcefully evicted is because Joey loves me. A lot.

Although yesterday? I was all ready to go out and buy her a big cage to live in at all unattended times. Until I checked the bank account and realized we could realistically afford a large cardboard box.

Since I do everything else wrong* in regards to cat ownership (according to the Internet) I decided to just keep cleaning up the poop for now.

*We had Maya declawed, and not until we dropped her off at the vets and I went home to Google ‘how to care for cat after declaw surgery’ did I find out that declawing is Wrong and Mean and I should Die A Painful Death. Also, have some Hate. Hate, Hate, Hate.

And I cried, for I knew that right that minute, my cat was being PERMANENTLY MUTILATED, and also TRAUMATIZED FOR LIFE. But dude, she was seriously destroying patches of carpet in our old apartment – I mean gaping bare holes where carpet should have been. It was not pretty.  And it turns out, Maya is too big of a dork to realize that she has been PERMANENTLY MUTILATED, etc., and remains exactly the same. She even tries to scratch her scratching post still.

Hmmm, a whole post about the cat. Am lame. Very lame.

Oops! Sorry blog! June 3, 2008

My lofty blog-every-day intentions were momentarily (for two weeks-ish) put aside. I suck. But I had REASONS!

For one thing, it was the end of the school year and I had to Write Reports. For another, I was Deathly Ill. And no, I don’t know why. But am still feeling a bit queasy, so… blech.

But now, school is over, I have a week off before I have to start my summer tutoring and research, and, and…it’s SUMMER! Yesterday I got up late, worked for a few hours, spent an hour by the finally open pool in our apartment complex, and then went to see Indiana Jones with Joey and his young cousin. I also realized that I can go to the pool EVERY DAY this summer, and maybe not blind the nice people with my whiteness.

 In spite of this, I was in a foul mood and killed several people for no apparent reason.

I attracted a few stares at the pool, but I think they weren’t about my amazing hottness, or even my blinding whiteness. Probably they had something to do with the massive, angry purple bruise I was sporting on my outer thigh. I debated my answering options for anyone who asked, vacilitating between spousal abuse and sports injury (I WISH I was cool enough to have a sports injury!) but really, I am a victim of the River Rapids ride at Six Flags. We went there this weekend with my mamma and baby sister and Joey’s parents, and somehow everytime the raft slammed against a wall, my thigh slammed into the edge of the seat. And somehow that gave me a bruise the size of… well I was going to say the size of my head, but then realized MY THIGH IS NOT AS BIG AS MY HEAD. Not yet anyway. A bruise the size of a small-ish grapefruit, which pulses and changes color in time to mariachi music.

Yes, I am a delicate flower.  One who will be obsessively checking the size of her head against the size of her thigh for the next two days. I mean, I have a fairly small head, after all, and I don’t quite weigh one hundred and twenty pounds any more, and well, my hips don’t lie… I must find a measuring tape….