eff 2 u, life touch!

I hate (HATE HATE HATE) school portraits.


they're cheesey, gay, a rip off, and a bit "in your face" if you know what I mean.


Life Touch, purveyor of cheesey portraiture, happens to be at the top of my list of companies that should be allowed nowhere near a school.


take the district I teach in, for instance...85% of these kids receive free lunch, medical assistance and food stamps. they don't have a lot of cash to be throwing around...and Life Touch (good ol' Life Touch) takes it upon themselves to photograph these children THREE TIMES A YEAR!


what? two of those times they don't even give the parents the opportunity to pre-order then only photograph the kids who actually can and will buy.


nope. they disrupt the whole school (taking up classroom and hallway space and valuable instruction time) for days on end...snapping shots of every kid in sight...


most of whom haven't even combed their hair. and if they haven't (they don't)...the photographer has a handy dandy trusty multi-child comb he or she whips out to tame the fly aways.


without fail...two weeks after picture day there is an outbreak of lice.


after photographing all these kids (for the second or third time that year) they take the liberty to go ahead and print up packages for ALL OF THEM.


yes. all of them.


they then send them home with the kids with cool lil' gadgets like stickers, bookmarks, and photo back pack tags...and expect the parents to cough up the money to keep from breaking the kids' hearts.


if they can't (and don't) pay...they are supposed to return the packages to the school, who then returns them to the studio...


who then destroys all of that good paper, non-biodegradable ink and plastic.


I hate them.


so every year I make it a point to write an incredibly nasty and accusatory note and send it along with my child on picture day. two years ago I threatened the teacher's life if she let them photograph my kid, again.


lo and behold, her class was called down while with the social studies teacher (who hadn't read my 'fight the man....and Life Touch' note)...and I got another set of cheesey portraits to throw away.


this year, as tradition dictates, we wrote another note...



however, my kid is older and wiser than before and has learned that I'm crazy...and just didn't get in line when it was her turn.


I ALMOST KINDA feel bad that I'm making her a social outcast with my strong opinions and general distaste for anything commercial. Last night, when she saw us cackling away while filling out her 'order form' she said, "oh, no. not again. can't you just be normal or something?" I said hell no and threw my fist in the air. She then told me, "sometimes...you just gotta go with the flow." Negative, I say. Threw the fist in the air again and said, "fight the man, my child." She rolled her eyes and walked away. despite her rebuking my views...I know it. the force is strong with this one...even though she didn't hand in my note.


curses!


I suppose...I'll just have to mail my notes directly to the studio, instead...


with a bomb.

babies are boring

can somebody PLEASE tell me what the hell I was thinking???

I got oqui a present!!!

it cost me all of five dollars...

is over 20 years old...

is multi-colored...

fits into a tiny eensy weensy lil' bag...

and is probably the coolest thing going on the planet, just now.


my intent was to wait for the baby shower (or some other time when he might be feeling left out and dare-i-say-it 'whiney')...but I'm pretty sure he's getting it as soon as he comes home.


...I sure do hope he likes it!

can't wait.

soooooooooo tired.

soooooooooo sore.


where my balance ziz zat?

I've been crafting...or more specifically, organizing my craft stuff with a feverish passion, but not much of anything else. I get really sore and crampy when I walk more than 42 feet...but at least I know I'm not dilating (thanks to yet another cervical ultrasound yesterday, after which I cried like a blubbering baby to a total stranger).

I want so badly to push myself and do...well...ANYTHING, but I end up paying for it with pain, fatigue and (worst of all) fear that THIS TIME the contractions really are doing something. something we don't want them to do for another ten weeks or so.

inactivity does not suit me. I'm wearing it like a pair of loud plaid pants that show off my cellulite and love handles.

I've made it a point recently to NOT sound like I'm complaining or that I'm ungrateful.

whoopsies! maybe I should make it a point to be silent in order to achieve that end.

I've come to accept that this pregnancy is totally whooping my ass. this is ok. its a minor sacrifice to make to feel a lil booger squirming around in my belly. it'll seem even less of a sacrifice when I finally get to meet him...and figure out his name.

I hope he has hair.

I'm just a bit bitchy and whiney cause I'm bored and sore...and let's not forget massively hormonal.

oqui has made a (subconsious) habit of leaning way down and looking into my eyes when I talk to make sure I haven't been crying recently. it's funny when I haven't been...kind of invasive when I have been...and want to hide it.

I've been trying to hide it...alot. no sense in showing how overly emotional and unstable I am to the world...(blogging doesn't count. noone reads this shit, anyway)

when I have every faith that this is, indeed...a temporary condition.



in fact...I'm giving myself six weeks of recovery after the baby is born...and already planning my training regimen for January.

its gonna feel so. damn. good.

goooooooooooooooooooooooooal!

had a strange dream. I was somehow, somewhere...playing soccer.

I was goalie (see? even in my dreams I don't fucking run) and was being charged steam train style by an uber good, aggressive as hell and kinda cocky european dude (read: long, greasy curls and hepatitis b).

I knew I was going to be anhilated. there was no question he was going to score a goal...and I was going to be eating cleat. I was wearing camo cargo pants, a tank top and flip flops...and probably had a hot dog or some tots in my pocket.

this guy was a professional. I was going down.

then he ran right past me. tucked a well-placed (and 73 mile an hour) shot in the corner of some OTHER set of goal posts...and missed.

that's right, bitches. he missed.

I fell to ground laughing. he looked completely dismayed.

then I woke up and realized the soccer ball is in my belly.


the moral of the story...he won, anyway.

fucker.

its not a tumah.

presenting...teh 7 month belly!

el numero dos

last night included yet another trip to OB triage.

no dilation. no severe contractions (unlike last time)...just "mild uterine irritability"

if this is mild...

no. I'm not even going to finish that statement, I'll just get re-annoyed all over, again.

I'm tired of this. this not-so-great relationship with one of my care providers. this intermittent (extreme) discomfort. this not knowing if I'm in pre-term labor.

and over night...all ALL of my clothing got tight.

I ballooned. my bras are painful, my pants are a joke...and most of my maternity shirts are about 5 inches too short.

moo moos.

its time for moo moos.




ps. ok. I know its time. I'll post some fatso pics soon. very soon. I promise. its just that the second I come home I tend to rip all my uncomfortable clothing off...and well...nobody wants to see that!

my convo with the magic 8 ball.

Q: do I sell the house even if I don't make any money on it?
A: Maybe

Q:ok, bitch. wanna play like that...fine. DO I SELL THIS MOTHERFUCKING HOUSE?
A: No, way!

Q: will I be able to afford it?
A: unlikely

Q: is your only purpose to annoy me?
A: absolutely!

Q: fuck you.
A: yes!

my list

the following is my short list of people who need a fucking beating:

-my sister for being a fucking douchebag retard who completely fucked her kids up
-my nieces for following in her footsteps
-the jackass parked in front of my house
-my sister and nieces, again.

I swear, I'm going to beat my 13 year old niece into a bloody fucking coma.

this child speaks only of sex. sex with her friends watching. sex six times in one day. sex next to strangers. sex to MY GRANDMOTHER. sex, sex, sex.

I'm sewing her legs shut, giving her two black eyes and a broken nose and sending her to therapy. she is entirely TOO FUCKING YOUNG to be putting her ass out there like some two bit hooker, and way too fucking stupid to see a few years down her chosen path.

obviously, she was psychologically and physically abused by my worthless and insane sister...but where does one draw the line of responsibility?

my just barely teenage niece is now of the opinion that she is capable of making very adult decisions...so, as such...I cease blaming her childhood and begin blaming her for any and all fuck ups.

I have made it abundantly clear that I'm not willing to accept this behavior, she states through tears that she understands and will stop, then calls my daughter up and regales her with unsolicited info about her juvenile (and completely fucking raunchy) sexual exploits.

its beating time. while I feel sorry for what she's gone through...I also love her enough to hold her responsible for her own dumbass actions.

my sister is out of the picture, yet these girls insist on being dumbfucks and continuing her legacy.

oh. no. you. don't.

you have a say in your future now. you have choices. so stop acting like fucking retards and at least TRY TO IMAGINE a future in which you aren't a skank slut.

something drastic WILL happen here. there isn't a chance in hell that I will stand idly by and let this fucking kid do whatever the fuck she wants.

you can only go so far before you're unable to turn back.

I REFUSE to let her get to that point.



military. school.

double durr

this morning I fell off the scale...partly because of what it said (oh! the horror!)...

and partly because I'm a reetee. I said to oqui, "whoa! I just fell off of the scale" I was certain that he was gonna say something like, "no. actually...I think it bucked you, fatass." instead, he just nodded and said, "yeah. I saw that." like it was no big whoop.

then I stared blankly in the mirror (not EXACTLY blanky...I think it was more of a fart face, actually) at the 'pah while he complained about his hair.

I caught a glimpse of myself and realized that it looked an awful lot like I was making a yicky face at his head.

I apologized...to wit he replied: oh, no sweat. I was ignoring you, anyway. I just assumed you were confused.

so there you have it. I fall off 1 1/2" high objects and make a dookie face often enough that those around have come to ignore it.

splendid.

where my silence ziz zat?

my daughter's (loud, touchy-feely, mildly-retarded-like-teenagers-tend-to-be, in-your-face-but-very-sweet) best friend was on vacation for a week.

a whole week of sweet, sweet, golden, nectar o' the gods silence.

peace. and. blessed. quiet.

and now she's back.

she was here when the 'pah and I got home. violated.

she immediately fell to hugging us...and just as immediately got on our nerves.

a few minutes ago...




she watered one of my artificial plants.

durr

we just spent two hours watching 3 minute long video clips on the web.

not riding, climbing, or otherwise galavanting around.


and it wasn't even porn.



I am sooo pregnant.

I'm tired.

sooo sleepy.

hot, hot, hot.

yawny and lethargic.

is august over yet?

(ps. is it just me...or does that lil guy look like an incredibly happy ding-a-ling?)

stretch, 2, 3, 4...

baby'nomics. I can stretch a dollar til it screams...WHEN I wake up early enough to hit the yard sales and flea markets.

$15 @ a yard sale:

there are 64...count them SIXTY-FOUR, pieces of baby clothing on that bed. I was digging through a quarter box (I <3 rich people's left-overs, btw)...and finally got sick of it and just said to the woman, "I'll give you what I've got in my pocket for the whole box." that turned out to be $15...in Oqui's pocket, and we were set. I evened jewed her into throwing in a few "pricier" items (at 2 bucks each) for free.

$20 @ a yard sale:

now, we add to that the $4.50 worth of toys purchased at the neighbor's yard sale and we're up to $19.50. we actually spent a whole $20...cause I had to toss a few quarters at the chic's kids to get some chocolate chip cookies to keep oqui from running home. (it was early...he was tired.)

$20 @ yard sales + gifts from family and friends:

all of yesterday's purchases, plus the stuff already recieved as gifts (gotta LOVE those cute lil baby Gap outfits a la caroline)...and the bed's getting fuller...and I'm still only $20 in.

$28 @ yard sales + gifts:

adding to the pile are a few things I picked up at yet another yard sale a few weeks ago. on his way back to work from lunch oqui gave me a call, "I see a bunch of baby stuff on a lawn...you better get down here." right-o, chief. $8 got me two boxes of toys and some books and cd's.

have I mentioned I love this shit?

$20 @ a flea market. of course, the pink will have to go...but come on! it was 20 bones:

actually...I didn't even pay for this one. I was set up at a flea market to aid and assist in purging the clutter from this house...a flea market that I didn't end up making any money at b/c:

1. I gave all the clothing away for free to my students and their families

2. we spent whatever else we earned on really cool antique gadgets.

my grandmother happened to stop by and buy me the chair I was eyeing up...and also gave oqui a 20 spot when I wasn't looking. so, come to think of it...without g-ma's contribution, the flea market would've been a negative net proposition. it was fun to see some of my students and help a few families out. it was also pretty cool that when the flea market was over...15 people all bee-lined it to goodwill to get rid of the rest of the shit they had left over. I managed to score a few more toys, an easel, a couple of bathseats and give away some more of my crap waiting in line to donate.

of course, not every baby purchase is a good deal. there are some things you just HAVE to have...or just HAVE TO HAVE new. a few are as follows:

$28 @ babies r' us for the 'pah's b-day:

we're not irish, but the 'pah was born on st. patty's day...and we had just found out the news. we both got teary eyed imagining a lil monker in those clothes. my first baby purchases for this child. I've already got the really embarrassing pics planned out in my head.

$34 @ Cirque d'Soleil:

jingle ball and rattle. waaaaaaaaaay too expensive, but HOW FUCKING CUTE ARE THEY???? and that circus rawked.

$35 @ an atlantic city claw machine:

my mother...is stubborn. she refused to stop playing til she won this mofo. it's ugly as sin, stuffed with styrofoam and to date...the most expensive thing we have for this child. go figure.

not pictured are my $5 swing and walker, shopping cart cover, blankies, a gazillion toys and a carrier all procured via yard sales for less than $15.

craig's list is my new best friend.

all this misering around is quite vital, mind you...being that we've made our diaper choice and its mega expensive.

check these puppies out:

the best diapering option on earth

they're bio-degradable (I actually cried when I saw their video comparing diapers in a landfill), are made from sustainably harvested tree products, manufactured under fair labor conditions, FLUSHABLE and compostable, and don't require ANY energy or water to launder.

I'm hooked. they cost about three times what disposables do...but quite frankly, this is one area I'm willing to splurge on. I was conflicted about the environmental impacts of cloth diapers, adamantly opposed to disposables and wondering what I was going to use to cover the kid's yunk.

viola!

now we just need:

a crib, a hammock, some seats, socks, warm sleepers, breast pump (shudder), changing table, playpen, stroller, car seats...

oh, boy. I suddenly don't feel so good.