Thanks and Shit

Turkey in George Bush's CrotchI know what I’m supposed to say: I’m thankful that this miracle of life is growing inside of me and that Charlie and are going to be a “family” instead of “just a couple” (that’s what it says in some of the booklets the doctor’s office has given me), blah, blah, blah. But that sort of makes me want to barf more than usual.

But I am thankful for the things I take for granted every day: having a roof over my head, food on the table, heat in the house, and clothes on my back. We don’t have to worry about our house being foreclosed on  because we rent and the landlord doesn’t have a mortgage on it. We don’t have to worry about losing our jobs because when times get tough, people drink more, so at least Charlie has job security. And if anyone at the coffeeshop is going to be fired, there are at least five people hired after me who would go first. So I have some kind of job security. Of course, our thanks are at someone else’s misfortune or difficulty coping. So that’s kind of depressing.

I am thankful for all of my friends – what I consider to be our family – and the individual kinds of support they each give. In no particular order, I want to thank all of them: Jay and Scott, from now on to be referred to as Auntie Jay and Uncle Scott, Cavan, Liz, Annie, Annette, Katie, the other Katie, Melody, Jennifer, Heather, Maureen, Sarah, Leticia, Audrey, my Aunt Vicki, Kit and Shae, Karla, Molly. There are other people who come to mind who, though I don’t see them all the much, are still in my thoughts and who have been a part of my life for a long time: Jason and Greg, the two Julies, Nancee, Shannon, Tim, and Jim.

And I guess that’s what I have to say about that.




For the fourth time in as many years, I attended my employers’ (mandatory, and no longer fun) holiday meeting on Monday night. They gave us the option of doing it on two different days and I was so sick all weekend that I never made it Sunday. I was dry-heaving most of Saturday night, and ended up with a migraine after we had lunch with Jay and Scott.

The meeting consisted of informing us of the same half-dozen or so things they do every Christmas: a “holiday blend” of coffee that several dipshits will inquire about (“Does it taste like pine cones or something?”), holiday tea, same brew-in tea mugs we had last year, overpriced chocolates, red French press. We tasted the coffee and tea and I was pretty sure I was going to heave all over the owner. I skedaddled right quick as soon as they let us go. But not before the owner mentioned our employee “shopping spree,” a day we will get an amazing 20% off of what little retail we carry, rather than the usual 15%.

This morning Charlie and I went to the new doctor’s office at 8am sharp. That was tough. Even though I get up for work at five in the morning several times a week, it’s still difficult to get up when it’s dark out and I don’t have to be at work. But the appointment was short and sweet, and I didn’t have to give blood or get naked. I did a better-than-usual job of shaving my legs last night, though, just in case.

Tonight I’m more nauseated than ever. It’s been getting worse. To the point where I think, maybe if I just threw up, I’d feel better.

Tomorrow will be interesting. Can I ingest any food without turning green? Will I spend the day chewing Tums? Is there a person left in my family who doesn’t know I’m pregnant? Probably not.


I have issues with Pizza Hut’s “P’Zone.” I don’t like anything about it. The concept, the execution, the spelling.

My grandmother was having hallucinations last night, possibly due to a narcotic she’s on for back pain. Apparently she called my aunt to say she couldn’t find my grandfather and that there was a rat or mouse somewhere in the house. My grandfather has been dead for about 10 years.

Tyra Banks is quite possibly one of the most horrifying human beings on the face of the planet. I honestly do not know where she gets the enormous amount of confidence she has in her “expertise,” but more power to her, I suppose.

Tomorrow we have an appointment at the new OB’s office. We’ll see her nurse at 8am, have the whole interview thing all over again, and possibly tour labor and delivery. Yipes.


Every time I get to the end of a semester, I think I can’t possibly want a semester to be over more than I do right now. And yet, a few months later, I’m doing the same thing, wanting it to be over more than ever.

This time, I haven’t even gotten to finals. I still have at least three more weeks, not including the extra time I have for a psychology exam.

I’m quite sick of school.

And I’m very tired of work. I mean, I’m glad I have a job. I chant it silently everyday when I drag myself in at five in the morning and have to face the same paranoid, obsessive-compulsive, ungrateful jerks who come in the moment I unlock the door. The ones who don’t so much as drop a nickel in the tip jar or thank me when, bleary-eyed, I manage to make their americano or latte or coffee to their specifications without a word being spoken: with six cubes of ice, a little hot water, four Splendas, a little extra foam, and go ahead and put some cream in the bottom first because that’s the way they like it.

I’m feeling gross, fat, uncomfortable, and irritable. My skin is in bad shape, my pants don’t fit, my shirts ride up, my bras are too small. When I don’t feel hungry, I feel nauseated. Or vice versa. When I make drinks I can see my arm jiggle.

Two more weeks and I’ll be out of the first trimester. I can only hope that I actually enter the “honeymoon” phase of the pregnancy where I’m, like, super-horny and my skin glows and I’ve got tons of energy. As it stands, I can barely function on less than 10 hours of sleep a day.

The Local Flavor: Disgusting Old Men

Today I had a regular customer say the most offensive thing I have yet to experience at a job. And there have been some whoppers. He was getting a steamed cider drink that he made up himself, which is disgusting, and I was bending down to get the cider out of the fridge. I have been having some difficulty bending at work so I have to sort of scrunch down and use my knees more. He poked his head over the side of the  he said:

“Wow. I love a woman who gets on her knees that fast. Usually I have to beg for a while first.”

I stood up, shot him a really dirty look, and said, “Man, you are one class act.”

He tried to back peddle, saying it was supposed to be a joke about praying and he meant I was saint-like or some other shit, like I just “didn’t get it.” Which is just how it is with perverts. When you give it right back to them, they think they can keep doing it. When you call them out on being a dick, they act like you can’t take a joke.

What Destroyed My Ego for One Day

Here’s the article in the weekly (since its original publication, it has been trimmed down and the videos removed) that thought my drink tasted “too much like coffee” (it actually had coffee in it and very little sugar). And, as you can see if you read the comments at the end of the article, most of them are friends of the winner. And relatives, I’m sure.

I’d be more willing to give the guy props if he wasn’t such an enormous douchebag.

And, by the way, my cappuccino was absolutely not 45 seconds. Try cutting that number in half.

Peanut McNugget Update

So I got a call this morning at work from the OB’s office. It was come in at 10:15 (rather than 2pm) or I’d have to reschedule again. The worst thing about this is that Charlie had to work last night so he didn’t get home until about 4 in the morning (and that was earlier than usual because someone else closed), and I had to be in at 5:30 this morning and wasn’t supposed to leave until noon, so I had to ask Leticia and Sarah if it was okay to head out at 9:45am. I got almost nothing done at work from our usual morning routine and had to leave the girls alone just to go see this friggin’ doctor who has irritated me since the first time I made an appointment with her almost two months ago.

So I lost three hours of paid time (which I need for my health insurance), and Charlie wanted to go so he lost a few hours of sleep. And we ended up being there from 10:15 until almost one in the afternoon. I got a lot of blood drawn, peed in a cup, gave a history of my family to the nurse, and got one ultrasound. I definitely think it could have been a lot more efficient and I didn’t appreciate being made to wait for so long with a full bladder. We sat in the waiting room until 10:30 when someone finally called us back to weigh me. I had to pee so bad my eyeballs were floating. It turns out, I only needed to pee in the cup for them to determine I really was pregnant. Ugh.

The doctor was very loud, and not in a “fun” way. She was sort of abrasive and I noticed she really never made eye contact with me. Other than the nurse who spoke with us at first, I didn’t like anyone in the office. They were all really standoffish and much more interested in their conversations with each other than with what we were doing. Which mostly consisted of twiddling our thumbs and looking for the bathroom.

I got a picture of the peanut, which I would share with you, but it’s kind of scary. When you look at it from the front it looks like Chester Cheetah. When you turn it upside down it looks like Admiral Akbar from Star Wars.

The bad news is, I’m not even out of the first trimester yet, which is what everyone was thinking because I’m so fat right now. The good news is, I’m just about 9 weeks which means I haven’t missed any really important dates to get tested. It also means that instead of worrying that I’m going to pop in the middle of spring finals, I have a few more weeks beyond the end of the next semester.

They took around 8 vials of blood, the most that has even been intentionally removed from my body, and I thought I was going to pass out. They’re going to test me for everything, and I’ll finally find out what my blood type is. I know I’m Rh negative, which means almost nothing to me except that I may have to get some sort of shot at some point, and my body might attack the peanut if its blood gets in my blood stream.

My next appointment was made 4 weeks from now. I will probably make an appointment with Mel’s doctor by then, though. It’s even closer than the hospital I’d have gone to. I just didn’t have any sort of connection with this other OB and I can’t imagine her being there, caring one whit about my pregnancy or concerns, for the next six or seven months. I realize that probably sounds sort of shitty, but this is not like someone who checks my throat for a white spot or looks in my crotch once a year, or even cleans my teeth. Except those are kinda big deals. It took me a long time to find a dentist I felt comfortable with, and I got really lucky. If I care that much about the person scraping my teeth, the person pulling a human being out of my vagina should be just important, right?

Keep Your Enemies Closer

I think part of the reason Fox “News” has high ratings is because people like me watch it occasionally to see how the other half lives. Charlie claims to be a big proponent of paying attention to what conservatives and Republicans are doing, but even he can’t stomach as much Bill O’Reilly as I can.

Usually, “Countdown” with Keith Olbermann is on, and I’ll set the DVR to record it, then watch enough O’Reilly to be able to skip through most of the commercials on MSNBC. But it pisses Charlie off so much that he makes me turn the station before I can even get to the good stuff.

I’ve been watching it almost every night since the election – if not O’Reilly, then some other horrifying form of Fox punditry – to see what they’re saying. I’ve concluded that they think Obama isn’t giving people “enough” information. They want to know why he isn’t laying out more detailed plans for what he’s going to do, and asking why his press conference wasn’t more explicit. Of course, he stated clearly that he isn’t the president and that there can only be one at a time (unfortunately, it’s still Bush). They’re also spouting off about how much he “owes” the “liberal nutjobs” who donated to his campaign and how they think we’re going to make sure he lives up to promises he made during the campaign.

Of course, had it been the other way around, if Obama had gone on and on about his plans for when he does take office, they’d have been screaming about how he isn’t the president, and who the hell does he think he is?

Obviously, he can’t win. But it’s entertaining to see them squirm.

More news after Thursday (not about Obama), when I finally have my first doctor’s appointment.

Tina Fey is NOT Sarah Palin

Charlie took the night off last Saturday, mostly because we’d been planning on going to my 15-year high school reunion, but which we didn’t end up attending because it was at a bar on the far, far west side, and I knew I couldn’t handle the smoke. It’s been hard enough quitting smoking, I wasn’t going to put myself in the middle of temptation, or ask Charlie to go from working in a bar to standing in one. And if I couldn’t drink, he sure as hell wasn’t going to!

Honestly, I wasn’t sure if there were going to be that many people there. And if there were, whether or not I wanted to hang out with them. I’d really hoped we would have been able to do something slightly “classier” this year. But given the town where I attended high school, I guess it made me seem stuck up to want to have anything other than meatballs and country music.

So we actually just went to bed early, then got up early on Sunday for coffee and breakfast. We went to this cheap, greasy spoon that’s just northeast of here. It was early enough that none of the hung-over 20-somethings were in there drinking loads of coffee, but it was full of creepy old people who apparently hang out there all the time.

A group of them was having a conversation about the election, and said some things that made my hackles go up. I wasn’t surprised at what they said, but the fact that they would just openly spout off offensive things in mixed company. It must be awesome being old and saying whatever you want, when you want. When I used to work in social services, we would take Julie to Hardee’s after her weekly stay at her mom’s for biscuits and gravy. It was always early enough in the morning that there would be scores of scowling septuagenarians. One day a few of them made remarks about “certain people” and their “disgusting lifestyle,” assuming that Kate and I were lesbians and that Julie was our daughter. We got that a lot.

Sunday morning I was a little irritated to have one of the older men standing right behind me while I was trying to eat. Apparently, he wanted to sit at our table and thought we should eat faster. The elderly couple he was talking to was batshit crazy. The woman kept asking her husband and their hovering friend why, if she’d set the clocks in the house back an hour before going to bed, and she didn’t set her watch back, why was her watch an hour ahead this morning? Think about that one for a minute.

As she kept repeating her question, I wondered if she didn’t think she’d come up with a really clever riddle. I didn’t understand why she kept saying it, or why no one would just tell the woman. Then she said “Oh, wait. I just answered my own question. I didn’t set my watch.”

She and her husband were also talking about Saturday Night Live from the previous evening. As you may or may not know, John McCain was a guest star and did a mildly amusing bit about buying time on the QVC network because that was all he could afford. The crazy old wife said, “Oh, Sarah Palin was on there, too.” Her husband said, “Yes, she did a really good job.”

If you didn’t watch the show, Sarah Palin was not on it. It was Tina Fey.

Holy Shit.

I finally live in a blue state. I can’t believe it. I fell asleep on the couch last night before the results were in. Damn this peanut sucking the energy out of me. But I fell asleep knowing in my heart that Barack Obama was going to be the next President. And when I woke up at six this morning, I couldn’t go back to bed. I had to get up and check, just to be sure. And then I found out that Obama won Indiana.

There isn’t much else I can say right now because I’m just so damn happy. It sort of feels like winning the lottery. I want to scream and jump up and down. Can Bush just leave office now? No one needs him, anyway.