all 20-21 weeks.
regretfully, these are mostly crappy self mirror shots, as I think Oqui is still refusing the inevitable.
sprout number 3.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
just for shits and giggles...
I think I'm gonna run the dishwasher o' doom, today.
we settle (or will settle) on the new house in about 3 hours, which means we are FINALLY liberated from this hell-hole!
in case I've never fully relayed the story...here it be:
-tired of paying an exorbitant mortgage that was still in the ex's name...oqui and I decided to do one of several things. buy the house off the ex. no go. the value had dropped such that it would've been a negative equity situation and I don't overpay for ANYTHING...even my own house. sell the house. again, value tanked. no way to sell. hand the keys over to the ex and be about our merry bidness buying a new one. we opted for that.
and oooooh, lawdy! did that turn out to be a disaster!
- went in and out of contract on a whole shite load of properties over the course of several months. inspections. jitters. realizing we're having another sprout and need a hella big house. needless to say...we wasted alot of time, money and probably irreparably damaged our karma. fun.
- ran outta time. the ex had his moving van reserved had nowhere to live in a few days and we had to be outta the house unless he and oqui were gonna spoon for a few weeks. which leads us to....
- the worst decision of our lives. we re-entered an offer on a previously disregarded property (too much work to be done) because we knew the seller would take it, it was big enough and with 20 or 30 grand of work the house would be stellar. from that moment on...we have been so fucked.
- seller takes our offer, but turns out to be ape.shit.fucking.crazy. there is an undisclosed bankruptcy, mental competency issues, the title can't clear, the guy's a general purpose fuck up (not to mention STUPID), and we're a few days away from being homeless when we have to make a decision...
move into dickhead's house and rent until (if?) title clears, buy the piece of shit, spend 2 years fixing it and live happily ever after...
or be homeless?
- we move into dickhead's house. KARMA was in full-force. our movers didn't show up (they actually posted our info - addresses, phone numbers, names, EVERYTHING - on craigslist emploring people to come photograph our belongings. I STILL want them dead), our shit didn't fit in the truck, the garage was soggy when we got here (ie. nowhere to put shit), so on and so on and so on.
fun, fun.
- we are yet hopeful and start busting our asses and wallets trying to get this dump habitable. my 73 year old grandfather came and removed the leaves that this asshole had let sit for YEARS. cousins, nieces, niece's boyfriends, mom, stepdad, friends, friends' friends, and near strangers scrubbed, sanded and painted this heap of hell with us. and then we waited...
waited...waited...for title to clear, settlement to go down and to rip out the DISGUSTING kitchen and bathroom so I wouldn't feel too skeeved to bathe, here.
nothing doing.
- we get pissed. and more pissed...and more pissed. the stove literally blew up in my face. the dishwasher drains into the sink cabinet...oh yeah, the sink is broken - along with every other piece of plumbing in the house, no oil in the tank, faulty wiring, fire hazards, dead limbs hanging over bedrooms...
I want badly to hurt dear chuck-o, our "landlord" of sorts.
- final straw. we sent an addendum ammending our "rental" agreement over to the seller specifying that we are SICK OF HIS BULLSHIT and will absolutely NOT be paying a dime in rent for December (listing our extensive repair expenses for undisclosed bullshit as cause), giving him 12 hours to sign or we're fucking outta here.
- the asshole won't sign it.
-fuck to you, asshole. we terminate the agreement, STILL refuse to pay him a dime in rent, and now he gets to sit on his mortgage for months until a. he clears title (if ever) b. some other bunch of retards agrees to buy this heap. c. hell freezes over.
see? I told you he was dumb.
- we DEMAND our deposit money back and threaten to sue the pants off of him for our expenses. should be an easy case since it is CLEARLY OUTLINED IN OUR CONTRACT that he would be responsible for such expenses.
- his lawyers are assholes, too. our deposit money...still in escrow at the broker's office, somehow gets tangled up as one of his "assets" in a bankrupty procedure.
- we hate everybody...and start calling lawyers.
- meanwhile, we look for other houses. first time out, oqui and I fight like hell. this is getting too stressful. our agent (bless his little heart) is stillll trying to talk oqui into sticking the hell-hole deal out, so....
- I gotta flip my shit on everyone. foot down. no more fucking around. we are motherfucking OUTTA here. they finally listen. all is (somewhat) well...we keep looking.
- enter into contract on another house, but we're definitely "setttling". while it's big, in great shape and extremely well maintained...the school district is sub-par, it is NOT in our gorgeous neighborhood and we've recently come to find its half a mile from a trailer park. oh wells. diversity is good....right.
- we come to find the hella mess with crazy seller is legally holding our shit up.
- we get even angrier. weeks pass. we're still living in filth with 83% of our belongings unpacked, but somehow...I think we're finding peace. I've just stopped thinking about how disgusting the kitchen is (oh, I've also completely stopped cooking), I don't touch the bathroom floor (which no amount of scrubbing will EVER clean)....and we just DEAL.
- still dealing...still dealing. finally we get in touch with the CORRECT lawyer who sets everyone straight, the contract is cleared, the money returned and we are set to settle in just a few hours on the new, much more appropriate...bigger house.
which leads me to the dishwasher o' doom...
it's been pretty rough trying to feed a family of four in a totally inadequate kitchen with almost no working appliances and since its the monkey's job to do the dishes...and the dishwasher leaks like a sieve...
we haven't had a clean dish in weeks.
but since I gotta pack these fuckers one way or another, and I won't be here long enough to enjoy the mold that will undoubtedly thrive under the sink post-dishwasher cycle...
I'ma load that bitch up, throw some towels on the floor and try my damnedest to leave this place in the condidtion we got it...
completely fucked up.
amen. hallelujah. who wants to help us move?
we settle (or will settle) on the new house in about 3 hours, which means we are FINALLY liberated from this hell-hole!
in case I've never fully relayed the story...here it be:
-tired of paying an exorbitant mortgage that was still in the ex's name...oqui and I decided to do one of several things. buy the house off the ex. no go. the value had dropped such that it would've been a negative equity situation and I don't overpay for ANYTHING...even my own house. sell the house. again, value tanked. no way to sell. hand the keys over to the ex and be about our merry bidness buying a new one. we opted for that.
and oooooh, lawdy! did that turn out to be a disaster!
- went in and out of contract on a whole shite load of properties over the course of several months. inspections. jitters. realizing we're having another sprout and need a hella big house. needless to say...we wasted alot of time, money and probably irreparably damaged our karma. fun.
- ran outta time. the ex had his moving van reserved had nowhere to live in a few days and we had to be outta the house unless he and oqui were gonna spoon for a few weeks. which leads us to....
- the worst decision of our lives. we re-entered an offer on a previously disregarded property (too much work to be done) because we knew the seller would take it, it was big enough and with 20 or 30 grand of work the house would be stellar. from that moment on...we have been so fucked.
- seller takes our offer, but turns out to be ape.shit.fucking.crazy. there is an undisclosed bankruptcy, mental competency issues, the title can't clear, the guy's a general purpose fuck up (not to mention STUPID), and we're a few days away from being homeless when we have to make a decision...
move into dickhead's house and rent until (if?) title clears, buy the piece of shit, spend 2 years fixing it and live happily ever after...
or be homeless?
- we move into dickhead's house. KARMA was in full-force. our movers didn't show up (they actually posted our info - addresses, phone numbers, names, EVERYTHING - on craigslist emploring people to come photograph our belongings. I STILL want them dead), our shit didn't fit in the truck, the garage was soggy when we got here (ie. nowhere to put shit), so on and so on and so on.
fun, fun.
- we are yet hopeful and start busting our asses and wallets trying to get this dump habitable. my 73 year old grandfather came and removed the leaves that this asshole had let sit for YEARS. cousins, nieces, niece's boyfriends, mom, stepdad, friends, friends' friends, and near strangers scrubbed, sanded and painted this heap of hell with us. and then we waited...
waited...waited...for title to clear, settlement to go down and to rip out the DISGUSTING kitchen and bathroom so I wouldn't feel too skeeved to bathe, here.
nothing doing.
- we get pissed. and more pissed...and more pissed. the stove literally blew up in my face. the dishwasher drains into the sink cabinet...oh yeah, the sink is broken - along with every other piece of plumbing in the house, no oil in the tank, faulty wiring, fire hazards, dead limbs hanging over bedrooms...
I want badly to hurt dear chuck-o, our "landlord" of sorts.
- final straw. we sent an addendum ammending our "rental" agreement over to the seller specifying that we are SICK OF HIS BULLSHIT and will absolutely NOT be paying a dime in rent for December (listing our extensive repair expenses for undisclosed bullshit as cause), giving him 12 hours to sign or we're fucking outta here.
- the asshole won't sign it.
-fuck to you, asshole. we terminate the agreement, STILL refuse to pay him a dime in rent, and now he gets to sit on his mortgage for months until a. he clears title (if ever) b. some other bunch of retards agrees to buy this heap. c. hell freezes over.
see? I told you he was dumb.
- we DEMAND our deposit money back and threaten to sue the pants off of him for our expenses. should be an easy case since it is CLEARLY OUTLINED IN OUR CONTRACT that he would be responsible for such expenses.
- his lawyers are assholes, too. our deposit money...still in escrow at the broker's office, somehow gets tangled up as one of his "assets" in a bankrupty procedure.
- we hate everybody...and start calling lawyers.
- meanwhile, we look for other houses. first time out, oqui and I fight like hell. this is getting too stressful. our agent (bless his little heart) is stillll trying to talk oqui into sticking the hell-hole deal out, so....
- I gotta flip my shit on everyone. foot down. no more fucking around. we are motherfucking OUTTA here. they finally listen. all is (somewhat) well...we keep looking.
- enter into contract on another house, but we're definitely "setttling". while it's big, in great shape and extremely well maintained...the school district is sub-par, it is NOT in our gorgeous neighborhood and we've recently come to find its half a mile from a trailer park. oh wells. diversity is good....right.
- we come to find the hella mess with crazy seller is legally holding our shit up.
- we get even angrier. weeks pass. we're still living in filth with 83% of our belongings unpacked, but somehow...I think we're finding peace. I've just stopped thinking about how disgusting the kitchen is (oh, I've also completely stopped cooking), I don't touch the bathroom floor (which no amount of scrubbing will EVER clean)....and we just DEAL.
- still dealing...still dealing. finally we get in touch with the CORRECT lawyer who sets everyone straight, the contract is cleared, the money returned and we are set to settle in just a few hours on the new, much more appropriate...bigger house.
which leads me to the dishwasher o' doom...
it's been pretty rough trying to feed a family of four in a totally inadequate kitchen with almost no working appliances and since its the monkey's job to do the dishes...and the dishwasher leaks like a sieve...
we haven't had a clean dish in weeks.
but since I gotta pack these fuckers one way or another, and I won't be here long enough to enjoy the mold that will undoubtedly thrive under the sink post-dishwasher cycle...
I'ma load that bitch up, throw some towels on the floor and try my damnedest to leave this place in the condidtion we got it...
completely fucked up.
amen. hallelujah. who wants to help us move?
Monday, January 11, 2010
a tiny little piece of social commentary
I was, today, driving behind the LONGEST short bus I have ever seen.
all of the children on this bus appeared to me to have either:
a. serious developmental delays (bear in mind, I have a degree in developmental psychology)
b. be acting really dumb.
they looked, for all intents and purposes, like wee-tees. if this is just the way kids act these days (ie. drooling, stimming, mouth dangling neanderthals)...I'm scurred.
either way, I blame Coca-Cola and lunchables.
all of the children on this bus appeared to me to have either:
a. serious developmental delays (bear in mind, I have a degree in developmental psychology)
b. be acting really dumb.
they looked, for all intents and purposes, like wee-tees. if this is just the way kids act these days (ie. drooling, stimming, mouth dangling neanderthals)...I'm scurred.
either way, I blame Coca-Cola and lunchables.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
for christine...and my emotional health
I'm MAD. (duh)
our pediatric practice is full of a bunch of very sweet doctors led by some seriously misguided policies. AND THEIR OFFICE MANAGER IS A BIIIIIITCH!!!!
there is NO ROOM for discussion of alternative medicine. breastfeeding is given minor lipservice as to the method of choice but then off-handed comments like, "don't listen to La Leche League, they're crazy" are made and formula samples are handed out en masse. my sons allergies and intolerances were repeatedly dismissed (now he's having developmental regression. who do I have to FUCKING SHOOT up in this bitch?) and heaven forbid you're hesitant about vaccinations.
I've been treated like a criminal because of my unwillingness to overload my son's immune system with THREE relatively unproven combination vaccinations at once.
fuck you, doc. we've discussed this at length and basically what I'm hearing from you is two-fold:
1. vaccines are safe. it's what I've been told and I'm buying it, wholesale. research? what research? I've been indoctrinated. I question nothing.
2. no, I'm not willing to take personal responsibility for any harm that may befall your child due to our ridiculously overwhelming vaccine schedule.
ok, doc, so you're worthless to me.
actually, they weren't ENTIRELY worthless. they did initially agree to put him on a modified vaccination schedule...spreading them out. THEN when Oqui took the Prof in for the shot...he came home with three bandages on.
how dare you???? we discussed this over and over and over. you knew my hesitations. we came to an agreement. you fucked me over.
I don't take kindly to be dicked around ESPECIALLY WHEN YOU MAY BE RISKING MY CHILD'S DEVELOPMENT.
fuck you.
fuck you.
fuck you.
did I mention...FUCK YOU?!?!?!
now, here's the best part...I'm not even decrying vaccines as a definite devil. my view point is this...
I don't know.
it's like the greenhouse effect. you choose what you believe, but in all honesty, doing an internet search, reading articles and studies is very likely going to lead you right back to your original belief. it's so contradictory...and science being "science" is inherently skewed. (DON'T EVEN GET ME STARTED ON RESEARCH METHODS!!! for my senior honor's thesis in college I tried to debunk the theory of the normal curve (and thereby all statistical analyses based on it) but noone would sign off as my advisor. shocker)...
that being said, I now know I've been going about this all wrong. I'm been trying to relate to pediatricians as scientists ie. people searching for information, when actually...they're just practitioners.
muh bad. you're so busy prescribing antibiotics and shooting kids in the thigh that you forgot to think about the basis for all the treatment decisions you make.
diagnosis is easy. all you have to do is remember what symptom goes with what...
actually DISCOVERING disease/developmental info/treatment standards/etc is hard.
sorry, I thought you might like to try.
so, end result is this. I'm not comfortable subjecting a child with a history of digestive disorders, possible seizures and now speech regression to round after round of immuno-stress.
yeah, he COULD get meningitis...but he could also end up on the autism spectrum, with developmental delays or with a mommy in prison for shanking his doctor.
I'll take my chances with nature instead of the pharmaceutical industry.
but thanks for your concern...
fags.
our pediatric practice is full of a bunch of very sweet doctors led by some seriously misguided policies. AND THEIR OFFICE MANAGER IS A BIIIIIITCH!!!!
there is NO ROOM for discussion of alternative medicine. breastfeeding is given minor lipservice as to the method of choice but then off-handed comments like, "don't listen to La Leche League, they're crazy" are made and formula samples are handed out en masse. my sons allergies and intolerances were repeatedly dismissed (now he's having developmental regression. who do I have to FUCKING SHOOT up in this bitch?) and heaven forbid you're hesitant about vaccinations.
I've been treated like a criminal because of my unwillingness to overload my son's immune system with THREE relatively unproven combination vaccinations at once.
fuck you, doc. we've discussed this at length and basically what I'm hearing from you is two-fold:
1. vaccines are safe. it's what I've been told and I'm buying it, wholesale. research? what research? I've been indoctrinated. I question nothing.
2. no, I'm not willing to take personal responsibility for any harm that may befall your child due to our ridiculously overwhelming vaccine schedule.
ok, doc, so you're worthless to me.
actually, they weren't ENTIRELY worthless. they did initially agree to put him on a modified vaccination schedule...spreading them out. THEN when Oqui took the Prof in for the shot...he came home with three bandages on.
how dare you???? we discussed this over and over and over. you knew my hesitations. we came to an agreement. you fucked me over.
I don't take kindly to be dicked around ESPECIALLY WHEN YOU MAY BE RISKING MY CHILD'S DEVELOPMENT.
fuck you.
fuck you.
fuck you.
did I mention...FUCK YOU?!?!?!
now, here's the best part...I'm not even decrying vaccines as a definite devil. my view point is this...
I don't know.
it's like the greenhouse effect. you choose what you believe, but in all honesty, doing an internet search, reading articles and studies is very likely going to lead you right back to your original belief. it's so contradictory...and science being "science" is inherently skewed. (DON'T EVEN GET ME STARTED ON RESEARCH METHODS!!! for my senior honor's thesis in college I tried to debunk the theory of the normal curve (and thereby all statistical analyses based on it) but noone would sign off as my advisor. shocker)...
that being said, I now know I've been going about this all wrong. I'm been trying to relate to pediatricians as scientists ie. people searching for information, when actually...they're just practitioners.
muh bad. you're so busy prescribing antibiotics and shooting kids in the thigh that you forgot to think about the basis for all the treatment decisions you make.
diagnosis is easy. all you have to do is remember what symptom goes with what...
actually DISCOVERING disease/developmental info/treatment standards/etc is hard.
sorry, I thought you might like to try.
so, end result is this. I'm not comfortable subjecting a child with a history of digestive disorders, possible seizures and now speech regression to round after round of immuno-stress.
yeah, he COULD get meningitis...but he could also end up on the autism spectrum, with developmental delays or with a mommy in prison for shanking his doctor.
I'll take my chances with nature instead of the pharmaceutical industry.
but thanks for your concern...
fags.
Monday, January 4, 2010
resolve
I don't normally do resolutions. I think I stopped that particularly annoying habit somewhere around my 16th or 17th year at which point I realized:
hey, it's kinda ghey to only focus on self-improvement for the first 3-6 (depending on your motivation level) weeks of the year and let the rest go to pot.
my resolutions usually come about (in one way, SHAPE, or form) round about the time it gets too warm for pants.
I take one look at my (perpetually) chubby white thighs and start thinking fitness. I usually drop 5 or 10 pounds with the warmer weather, increase my general activity level (it's easier to climb withOUT ice) and go about my merry business until the dark starts creeping back in before my climbing partner gets off of work...then general malaise inevitably seeps in.
such it is.
HOWEVER, since I seem to be stuck in a general state of malaise for the last year and half or so...I gotta switch some shit up.
pregnancy and breastfeeding (particularly both at the same time) have REALLY sapped my energy and cramped my damn style. without climbing, riding, skiing and general romping about on a consistent basis...
I have turned into one downright ornery and nasty BIOTCH.
in my defense, however...I WAS looking at this providing undivided attention to a small child thing as a relatively temporary situation. The Prof is getting older, I was starting to get excited about school, job, training, etc...ie. getting some "me" time, again...
when, lo and behold, our dumbasses got knocked up, again.
plan B. I see now that I have GOT to find a way to "stabilize my mood" without the full commitment to going ballzout that I used to be able to give it.
in other words...at 32 years of age...I must learn to juggle.
so juggle, I will (well, at least I'll TRY once I stop hacking up a lung).
thusly and therefore, I've decided to make some life-changing, sanity-saving (recovering?) resolutions:
1. I will make The Prof's food BEFORE he wakes up as often as possible. the lil bastard is unbearable when hungry, and he's obviously STARVED the moment he awakes. sooo...to avoiding wanting to puncture his dome...momma's gonna freeze some veggies, stock up on frozen waffles and stick some food in the lil shit's mouth the second he gets up. buys me some "thinking time" and def improve our relationship (can you tell I just fought my way through lunch with the little ingrate?)
2. step away from the devil's box. the happiest years of my life were those WITHOUT cable. other than the toddler music channel and the nursery rhyme videos...I can totally live without it. it is pointless, time consuming and makes me hate my life (guilt, guilt, guilt). I'm gonna craigslist some kid videos (COMPLETELY NECESSARY DON'T YOU DARE JUDGE ME!!!) and tell comcast to suck one. oqui will very likely have an anneurism, but his lazy ass hasn't taken the trash out in 10 days...so as far as I'm concerned, he has no acceptable argument here.
3. do something creative....nuff said.
4. do something physical. last weekend we hit the climbing gym and, not gonna lie here, my harness HURT. I know some women climb until they're 8cm dilated...but I'm obviously not that chick. with my history of early contractions, bleeding and generally being a pussy while I'm pregnant, I'm gonna need something a little more appropriate. I hate yoga...so I'm still ISO my perfect exercise. I used to walk a good 2 hours a day (the Prof, fortunately for me, LOVED his stroller) which was great for shedding the last 5 or so baby pounds...but didn't do shite for the now non-existant back muscles. since I haven't so much as walked around the block in 4 months (did I mention how much I HATE being pregnant?)...a little stroll to the park in the witch's tit cold is definitely a start...unfulfilling...but it'll be a start. I'm also, for some strange reason, feeling the tap dance vibe...but don't hold your breath on that one.
5. do something educational. I want to learn a new skill. I'm thinking lampwork (ie. flame and glass sculpting) or maybe the ukulele. whatever it is...I want it to be novel and fun.
6. do something productive. job, maybe? I know that's aiming high. I didn't sleep more than 45 minutes straight after the Prof was born and I can't imagine my odds improving with TWO leeches to contend with, but...optimistically speaking...I can at least prep and plan for an EVENTUAL return to the work force. perhaps research real estate? do some computer classwork? work on honing my resume lies? either way...I'm too sexy to spend the rest of my days knee deep in baby poo...so I'll at the very least do some serious thinking about my options.
7. start a garden. no excuses. I come from farmer stock. there is no reason on this planet I should not be planting, tending, harvesting and canning my own food. I intend to cut my trips to the grocery store in half. I'll regret this come august when I refuse to leave the house for anything other than a midnight stroll to the freezer section of the supermarket...but, it shall be done, nonetheless. I'll just have to weed by candlelight.
8. regain my personal sense of style. the fact that my entire wardrobe is "functional" is no longer acceptable. there will be stripes, possibly glitter and some pink shoes.
9. more campfires, sunsets and gurgling mountain brooks. ahhh. that's the stuff.
10. do at least one thing (good book, warm bath, red toe nails, etc)...one single, solitary, special thing for myself every single damn day.
no point in letting the sprouts COMPLETELY suck my soul out, right?
11. take more pictures. this baby is wicked cute. just in case he grows up fugly...I should document the cutitude now. just saying.
besides...nothing funnier than looking back on the drunken saki pics (hotdog, anyone) oqui and I used to take. *meow*
12. start living up to at least 10 or 11% of my potential. I'm wicked smart, yo.
and finally...
13. find some motivation to do a few of the things (big and small) that I dream. this will probably involve caffeine...and I'm ok with that.
I'll keep y'all posted on how well this actually goes.
hey, it's kinda ghey to only focus on self-improvement for the first 3-6 (depending on your motivation level) weeks of the year and let the rest go to pot.
my resolutions usually come about (in one way, SHAPE, or form) round about the time it gets too warm for pants.
I take one look at my (perpetually) chubby white thighs and start thinking fitness. I usually drop 5 or 10 pounds with the warmer weather, increase my general activity level (it's easier to climb withOUT ice) and go about my merry business until the dark starts creeping back in before my climbing partner gets off of work...then general malaise inevitably seeps in.
such it is.
HOWEVER, since I seem to be stuck in a general state of malaise for the last year and half or so...I gotta switch some shit up.
pregnancy and breastfeeding (particularly both at the same time) have REALLY sapped my energy and cramped my damn style. without climbing, riding, skiing and general romping about on a consistent basis...
I have turned into one downright ornery and nasty BIOTCH.
in my defense, however...I WAS looking at this providing undivided attention to a small child thing as a relatively temporary situation. The Prof is getting older, I was starting to get excited about school, job, training, etc...ie. getting some "me" time, again...
when, lo and behold, our dumbasses got knocked up, again.
plan B. I see now that I have GOT to find a way to "stabilize my mood" without the full commitment to going ballzout that I used to be able to give it.
in other words...at 32 years of age...I must learn to juggle.
so juggle, I will (well, at least I'll TRY once I stop hacking up a lung).
thusly and therefore, I've decided to make some life-changing, sanity-saving (recovering?) resolutions:
1. I will make The Prof's food BEFORE he wakes up as often as possible. the lil bastard is unbearable when hungry, and he's obviously STARVED the moment he awakes. sooo...to avoiding wanting to puncture his dome...momma's gonna freeze some veggies, stock up on frozen waffles and stick some food in the lil shit's mouth the second he gets up. buys me some "thinking time" and def improve our relationship (can you tell I just fought my way through lunch with the little ingrate?)
2. step away from the devil's box. the happiest years of my life were those WITHOUT cable. other than the toddler music channel and the nursery rhyme videos...I can totally live without it. it is pointless, time consuming and makes me hate my life (guilt, guilt, guilt). I'm gonna craigslist some kid videos (COMPLETELY NECESSARY DON'T YOU DARE JUDGE ME!!!) and tell comcast to suck one. oqui will very likely have an anneurism, but his lazy ass hasn't taken the trash out in 10 days...so as far as I'm concerned, he has no acceptable argument here.
3. do something creative....nuff said.
4. do something physical. last weekend we hit the climbing gym and, not gonna lie here, my harness HURT. I know some women climb until they're 8cm dilated...but I'm obviously not that chick. with my history of early contractions, bleeding and generally being a pussy while I'm pregnant, I'm gonna need something a little more appropriate. I hate yoga...so I'm still ISO my perfect exercise. I used to walk a good 2 hours a day (the Prof, fortunately for me, LOVED his stroller) which was great for shedding the last 5 or so baby pounds...but didn't do shite for the now non-existant back muscles. since I haven't so much as walked around the block in 4 months (did I mention how much I HATE being pregnant?)...a little stroll to the park in the witch's tit cold is definitely a start...unfulfilling...but it'll be a start. I'm also, for some strange reason, feeling the tap dance vibe...but don't hold your breath on that one.
5. do something educational. I want to learn a new skill. I'm thinking lampwork (ie. flame and glass sculpting) or maybe the ukulele. whatever it is...I want it to be novel and fun.
6. do something productive. job, maybe? I know that's aiming high. I didn't sleep more than 45 minutes straight after the Prof was born and I can't imagine my odds improving with TWO leeches to contend with, but...optimistically speaking...I can at least prep and plan for an EVENTUAL return to the work force. perhaps research real estate? do some computer classwork? work on honing my resume lies? either way...I'm too sexy to spend the rest of my days knee deep in baby poo...so I'll at the very least do some serious thinking about my options.
7. start a garden. no excuses. I come from farmer stock. there is no reason on this planet I should not be planting, tending, harvesting and canning my own food. I intend to cut my trips to the grocery store in half. I'll regret this come august when I refuse to leave the house for anything other than a midnight stroll to the freezer section of the supermarket...but, it shall be done, nonetheless. I'll just have to weed by candlelight.
8. regain my personal sense of style. the fact that my entire wardrobe is "functional" is no longer acceptable. there will be stripes, possibly glitter and some pink shoes.
9. more campfires, sunsets and gurgling mountain brooks. ahhh. that's the stuff.
10. do at least one thing (good book, warm bath, red toe nails, etc)...one single, solitary, special thing for myself every single damn day.
no point in letting the sprouts COMPLETELY suck my soul out, right?
11. take more pictures. this baby is wicked cute. just in case he grows up fugly...I should document the cutitude now. just saying.
besides...nothing funnier than looking back on the drunken saki pics (hotdog, anyone) oqui and I used to take. *meow*
12. start living up to at least 10 or 11% of my potential. I'm wicked smart, yo.
and finally...
13. find some motivation to do a few of the things (big and small) that I dream. this will probably involve caffeine...and I'm ok with that.
I'll keep y'all posted on how well this actually goes.
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