Saturday, March 26, 2011

Going to the Motherland

If you didn't know me, you'd think I talk a lot of game about my luck or timing in my life. Timing is always an issue for me. It's not that I have overwhelming 'bad luck' - if you look at the big picture my life in general is pretty fantastic. It's more so that the damnest things seem to happen to me that you can't make up.  

Last week, on Monday the ball & chain heard about a job opportunity. Friday he had an interview. Friday he was offered the job. Friday (still the same Friday, as in same week as the Monday he heard about this job) he accepted and we began a wild adventure.  Hold on to your hats; we are moving. Again.

Disclaimer: I am aware we are blessed to be in a situation.  I am not complaining...
  • that a wonderful job opportunity is available and offered. 
  • that career advancement and success is something in our reality. 
  • we both work full time and love our jobs.

The thing is, with all that we have to be thankful & grateful for, you better believe I recognize that there are some issues with our good fortune. 

  • We are moving. 
  • Not only are we moving, but we are moving FAR. 
  • Not only are we moving far, but I don't know if you got the memo - I AM PREGNANT.

We are moving to St. Louis. Missouri. Midwest... WHAT? And soon. His job will start transitioning April 18th. Don't check your calendars- that's (LESS) than a month from now.  I KNOW NOTHING about this place.  I know it has an arch in a park.  I did a quick interent search and found they make Budweiser (horray for Bud Light)  and allegedly there is 'wine country' in Missouri - but I can't imagine that wine goes in bottles... I'm thinking boxed only.  Not knocking boxes... but I'm sorry if wine country midwest doesn't knock my flip flops off. (Side note: If anyone gets offended by this joke, keep in mind I prefer Bud Light)

I had a serious panic attack of claustrophobia realizing for the first time in 32 years I was not going to be reasonable driving distance of a beach. No ocean.  No water for as far as the eye can see that is of the sea persuasion. I'm sorry lake people, lakes don't count. Lakes are glorified puddles and monsters live in them. It's true, I don't care what wikipedia says.

Doctor? TBD. House? TBD. Childcare? TBD. Sanity? TBD.


We'll probably move May or June - it has to be by June, because I don't think I can fly after that? 
Though, maybe we'll drive.  Doesn't that sound delightful? 

This is not a drill. 


I have a friend, Shaniqua, though I am reconsidering that status. In a downward spiral of panic she pointed some more "fun" stuff to do in Missouri. For example, we can visit the Beverley Hillbillies car (in Pt. Lookout), Leila's Hair Museum (Independence, MO), Precious Moments Park (yes the statues) in Carthage, MO - oh there's more!! The list is endless: http://www.roadsideamerica.com/location/mo

Some come and visit, won't you? 



bustedtees.com

*Please keep in mind, this is just post one, since the panics I have found some serenity. I'm also very fortunate to have a few friends & colleagues who have lived or do live in the area. This here post sums up the first few days of where our head was at. Fear not, I'm not freaking out (too badly). 

Thursday, March 24, 2011

Wouldn't you want to join this family?



Sorry for the radio silence, all will be explained shortly. Before I do... I'm updating an application. We are going to look into having an au pair join our family. I'm looking for pictures to add to our application to show a little bit more about us. I'm adding this... if you were a young person, 18 - 26 you would want to join this crew? RIGHT?

Sunday, March 20, 2011

Me & Charlie Sheen

Lose respect for me, if you like - but the whole Charlie Sheen thing fascinated me. Is it sad? Absolutely. Is it a tragedy that someone has to fall this far down the addiction hole? Absolutely. Am I going to park out in front of his house and watch the show? No. That said, if he is going to put his crazy out there, I will tune in from time to time for a release of my own reality to check in with his delusion. Like I said, lose respect if you will - but don't hate me for my honesty.

Also, it's not my fault - it might be genetic.

Time out on this... walk with me. I promise we'll get somewhere. I'm not actually about to go down a nonsensical road alla truth torpedo Sheen style.

This here blog was started to keep people posted so they could stop asking "how do you feel" when I was preggo with the kid.  It was the lazy(wo)man's mass email.  It's starting to merge into something else. There is some stranger danger here, I may not know you are reading.  Sometimes people think I'm funny.  Sometimes I think I'm funny.  It's a way for me to deal with, document, get through and celebrate what happens everyday.  Sometimes, I keep the family in the know, sometimes with things I'm sure they'd rather not know about.

My mom (Nana Lu) is a big time stalker. Hey, Mom!  Besides this here space on the world wide web, she keeps an eye on me on the twitter & 'book of face. She's started to comment on Facebook posts, but that took awhile. For awhile it was just text messages. She has yet to comment on this here blog, but has commented on another blog as she took it upon herself to heckle sour grapes style when we didn't win a contest we entered. Awesome (sarcastic font).

Note to self, random person - if you are watching and thinking about starting a blog, think about not using it to keep your family in the know.
Why would I say that? I believe in interaction. Instead? I have people checking in, not telling me they are there.  You, reading this. I don't really know you are there. Then there is the book of Face, which is I worry about. Am I sharing too much? Lord knows I have people on there that I want to hide. Between sleep schedules, meaningful quotes or passive aggressive status updates that leave me wondering - I know people who share too much. I think a lot about the book for some reason, it's more personally tied whereas twitter is more general for me.  It's probably where I am most real, quite honestly, with some semblance of anonymity. Well. Except for the fact that there is my mom. Opening a twitter account. JUST to watch me. Just to see what I update.  It's weird.

It was weird, until it just got weirder. And by weirder, I mean hilarious.

Time in. Back to my thoughts on Mr. Charlie Sheen. Just when I thought I was the only one I find out that I can use me and Charlie Sheen in the same sentence.

My mom only follows two people on twitter, me and Charlie Sheen. 

Saturday, March 12, 2011

Precious Baby

Each week I await notification from Babycenter.com to tell me a few things:
  1. How many weeks pregnant am I?
    • Why? Everyone wants to know. I'm convinced, at this point, it's mostly to remark on how they would assume I was further along. Another true quote from the weekend of (not feeling) positive self-esteem: person who shall remain nameless to protect the (seemingly) innocent: "How far along are you?" Me: "18 weeks, 4.5 months, 146 days to go!" (It's my go-to shtick about how I know down to the day how much longer, it usually works.) Person about to make me feel like crap: "Oh, I would have thought you were further along. (as I take that in to understand that I am in fact a beast she round house kicks me with) You look tired."
  2.  What kind of random fruit or vegetable will babycenter equate to the tiny human inside me growing?
    • If it wasn't strange enough to have a human growing inside me, let's talk about him or her in terms of the size of a kumquat (week 10). 
  3. While we are talking about my kumquat, what other random factoid is happening to make me feel (even more) creepy?
    • Hooray, week 14, this tiny human the size of a lemon is peeing! Yippee! Rogue urine inside my body!  In getting these emails I learn things I didn't know I didn't want to know until I do. Another example: you get a play by play on how ears are moving across the baby-to-be's head. Fun, at one point my baby's head looks like Sloth via The Goonies when (s)he's in utero.  Super.
Yesterday I got an email. I'm 19 weeks pregnant.  The baby is the size of a (large) heirloom tomato, (s)he's started to sprout hair & looks like Gollum cramped all up in my uterus. Yup, nothing to see here, Precious. Just another day of creepy living.



*Squished baby, bits & pieces of my anatomy, tomato picture & outline of a pickled baby at 19 weeks- courtesy of Babycenter.com. Gollum, courtesy of a google images search for smiling Gollum. (John: Gollum is a part of the Lord of the Rings trilogy.)  Mash up of this whole collage of weird courtesy of my sick brain.

Wednesday, March 9, 2011

It Ain't Over Until I Sing

The following stories are true, unaltered accounts of excepts from my weekend.

Friday I went to Boston for a weekend long work event.  As with most of my trips, it's usually eventful, and not in a good way. This trip was no different. The plan was this, get to Boston, go to the office and get some things done in the morning and head over to the hotel for 12 pm.  I was joining a meeting at lunch and then continuing on with them.  I knew they were on a tight schedule so when I showed up close to 12:30, I'll be honest I was nervous.  I wanted to make sure I got my lunch on.  I walk in, do rounds of hello - and head to the buffet in the back.

As I go through the line, once I hit the end a friend, Frau, comes up to me and whispers, "I don't mean to be rude, but you are going to go outside with that? Right?" 

Me: "What? You guys are already moving onto the next part?"
Frau: "They didn't eat yet."
Me (as I was dying of mortification) "Stop IT! I have to be honest, it looks a little picked over."
Frau: "Well... now it does."

I leave, dying, and loose my appetite.  Watch out buffet tables, around the world, here comes Preggo.  I laughed, I (almost) cried, I got over it. 

Later on that evening, a cab driver must have heard I was feeling fat and wanted to drive the point home.  This happened. I have 2 witnesses. For real.

Cab driver (here by referred to as the D): "Sit in the front."
Me: "I'm fine." As I get in the back, it was going to be a tight squeeze but there were other people who could have sat in the front, taller people that probably made more sense.
the D: "Sit in the front!"
Me: "Seriously, it's fine." Realizing that we weren't trying to squish as many people as I originally thought we were.  I really didn't have to go up front, but did because he must have said it at least 3 more times.
the D: makes this pose to and towards me (just the arm flexing part - not so much the oiled down, tanning bed bod with the accented yellow tighties):
Me: "Are you saying I'm fat?" (mostly joking, though I KNOW I am no skinny Minnie)
the D: "NO! Husky."
Me: "Same thing."
the D: (not even a minute later, only a slight pause) "Do you exercise?"
Me: "ARE YOU SERIOUS? I'm pregnant." Yup. I threw the pregnancy card. 
the D: "Are you due next week?" 
Me: "Are you f'ing KIDDING ME?" (true quote, I didn't drop a full F bomb)

I think he tried to talk - I told him to stop talking and finally, he listened - or I just blacked out. I'm not small, by any means.  I don't look like I'm due next week. For real.  What is WRONG with people?  

There were a lot of people this weekend that had some one liners for me.  The worse part? Many didn't realize how rude they were being.   By in large (not a pun), it made for good laughs.  I was on point this weekend so that's a plus (for real, no pun intended).   Just another day, in my big girl world.

Monday, March 7, 2011

This awkward moment was brought to you by auto correct...

It can happen to you.  There is a new site out there, http://damnyouautocorrect.com/.  The autocorrect feature on an iPhone can be your best friend just as much as it make you look really weird.  I admit, I find the site somewhat humorous, but there are a ton of people who actually "LOL" when they check it out.

Having been a recent victim of the auto correct function of the iPhone I know it's dangers.  Pretty regularly iPhone corrects my cursing. It hurts my heart, if I'm being honest. Why doesn't my girl know me?  I had hoped at this point, the genius phone I have would learn that despite her wanting me to say "he'll" all the time, I'm really saying hell. People "get" what I'm saying, but the forced apostrophe makes me feel censored. 


What I want say:
Get the hell out of here!
What my phone says: Get the he'll out of here!

It annoys me. Every time it happens I am reminded of the love I have for my phone that is not reciprocated.  
Take for example an email exchange I was having, by way of my iPhone. 

Also also... This baby is making me like Koran? WtHell. 
jCg
Sent from my iPhone

Care to take a guess what I was really referring to? I'll give you a hint: I was not, referring to a Koran OR the
Qur'an - though I don't have anything against it. Go ahead, guess.  You are not going to be able to guess.   I was referring to my recent love affair and obsession with the one, the only... 

OPRAH (said as one would say Her name, as she would say Her name.

I don't know what it is, but I have began DVR'ing Lady O and I love every minute of Her. The baby, God Bless
Kev, likes him/her some Oprah. Maybe this is just another symptom of my Benjamin Button baby?  My friend wrote back, after I re-read my email and clarified it was Oprah I like. The way she read it though was that the baby was making me like Oprah, as in acting like Oprah.  I assured her, while many changes were happening to me, my body & mind due to this kid I was not, in fact, becoming the richest most powerful African American woman, in history (thank you Wikipedia).  Bacon loving old lady, yes. Rich philanthropist genius, no.


It could be worse than Oprah, obviously.  Just the other night in going back and forth with a co-worker and friend over twitter - I saw worse.  I looked worse than Oprah straight in the eye and raised it sexual harassment.  In an attempt to say "sorry I MISSED you in the office today" I got this....


(c) 2007 all rights reserved. aka don't be a D and swipe any content, photos, etc - sucka. Should you be tempted, let me know so I can be flattered and then give me something write about.