My Gemini Twins

Finding one person who shares your birthday is rare enough, but finding two? And those two people being a mother and her daughter? Impossible, you say? No, really, it's true!

Happy birthday, Laurie and Miss Sloan! I couldn't pick a more fabulous couple of gals with whom to share my birthday!

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Happy Birthday, Amers!

You are my most favorite little sister in all of the land. I hope you are having a lovely birthday, and I wish I could be there to share it with you. I love you bunches, Amie Elzabeth!

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Week 10

So this is apparently my tenth week of pregnancy. And apparently, this whole baby thing still doesn't seem quite real to me, yet.

Dawn, who is due in September, recommended that I sign up for weekly e-mails from the American Pregnancy Association. Every Monday, they will send me a nice little e-mail informing me of the changes both I and my baby will be going through over the course of that week. Yesterday I received my first e-mail. I learned that, apparently, the majority of our baby's vital organs are functioning, though obviously they are far from mature at this point. The baby's head currently takes up about one-half of the length of the body, which is about two inches long, and there is a bulge in the forehead allowing for brain development. Here's some exciting news: this week, the fingernails, toenails, and hair will begin to become visible. The fingers are now no longer webbed and he/she is actively swallowing amniotic fluid and kicking his/her legs. That's right: LEGS! With which TO KICK! Of course the baby has legs, I know, but OH MY GOD I'm growing something inside of me that has LEGS! And can KICK!

So far, my favorite aspect of pregnancy is the horrendous NAUSEA that haunts me day in and day out. Though I'm not throwing up, there have definitely been a couple of close calls, usually when Ms. Toothbrush visits Chomperstown. If the pasty dirty mouth taste wouldn't aggravate my nausea further, I think I'd like to just give up brushing my teeth altogether for the time being. Because of the nausea, I have absolutely ZERO appetite whatsoever, but am constantly having to force myself to eat (and I mean constantly) because when my stomach gets empty the nausea becomes ten times as bad. And heartburn....I must be lucky, because most women I've spoken to have seemed amazed that I am experiencing heartburn this early on. I guess I just like to live life to the fullest. Aside from that, I'm really enjoying the life-sucking exhaustion that makes me feel too tired to even breathe sometimes. I had to leave work early yesterday afternoon because I was feeling so bad, and came home and slept for four hours solid. I was concerned I wouldn't be able to sleep that night since I'd taken such a long nap, but silly me, 11:00 rolled around and I was out like a light and slept until 8:20 this morning. Of course, if I didn't have to get out of bed three times during the night to tinkle, I might feel a bit more rested.

Luckily, though, my discomfort level varies each day; I have bad days and "better" days, so it's not constant misery. I also realize that in a couple of weeks I'll be moving into my second trimester, so hopefully the first trimester woes will soon be a thing of the past. I haven't had mood swings any crazier than usual, and I haven't experienced any constipation which apparently plagues many pregnant women. For my still regular poops, I am quite thankful! And, most importantly, I have an awesome husband who I'll never be able to thank enough for putting up with my whininess and taking such good care of me. Hopefully, he will accept his firstborn child, which I'm currently incubating, as a sufficient token of my gratitude.

I know in this picture it almost looks like I'm starting to show, but my doctor told me last week that my abdomen is a little bloated from all the hormones coursing through me. So, I blame the hormones, not the two-inch long baby, for my start-of-a-gut.

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Apparently, It's Finally Happening

They (two little at-home pregnancy tests and the doctor) tell us we're going to have a baby. I'm still in shock, though, and don't quite believe the news yet. After all this time, it seems too good to be true. And quite frankly, I'd started to convince myself it just wasn't going to happen.

We gave up trying to not get pregnant in September. That previous month, in August, a miraculous thing happened - I was a few days late, and the thought entered our minds that I could be pregnant...and that thought, for once, did not freak us out. In fact, we were even a little disappointed when I did start. This made us question ourselves and the mantra we'd had for years that maybe in a "couple" of years we'd maybe start thinking about maybe starting a family. And here, all of a sudden, the idea of starting a family did not feel like a complete nightmare.

Contrary to every single health and sex education lesson we've had since middle school, it turns out it is, in fact, quite possible to not get pregnant after one session under the sheets without protection. In fact, after several months of nonchalantly playing it unsafe, we still found ourselves unsuccessful in the department of knocked-upness. When I was a sophomore in high school, my health teacher had frightened us all with a story of a young teenage girl who allegedly became impregnated from merely dry humping with her boyfriend. "It," after all, can apparently "very easily" swim through his underwear, his pants, her jeans, her panties, and eventually up her you-know-where and result in teenage motherhood. And now, almost fifteen years later, I'm finding out I actually have to try? I thought this was supposed to be easy, like catching a cold, or herpes. Sure, it was a great motivator for me to put off having sex in high school, but I have to say it's led to some serious feelings of failure as an adult. Despite those inadequacies we felt, our stubbornness was much stronger. Around December we upgraded our methods and became a little more serious about the whole science of babymaking.

Apparently, our added efforts paid off. I nervously took a pregnancy test on the evening of Mother's Day, immediately after we returned home from Rowan's baptism. Two little pink lines immediately popped up. I took another test the next morning, and it, too, came out positive. This past Monday, on the 4th, I had my first prenatal exam. Although to my dismay they are trusting my interpretation of the results of my at-home pregnancy tests and didn't conduct another pregnancy test on me, I was told during my lady exam that my "cervix looks pregnant" (I guess it changes to a bluish-purplish color when you're pregnant) and my uterus is just the size it ought to be.

Oh my God. I'm about nine weeks pregnant. In mid January, we will become parents. I am so freakin' excited. (And a little freakin' terrified, to be honest.) Stay tuned for lots of stories on pregnancy woes and baby preparations...

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Rekindling an Old Friendship: Not As Scary As I Thought

On Saturday night, we were privileged enough to be invited over to Chez Allen & Rob for dinner and catching up. It had been a good eight years since we'd visited with Allen, aside from the one evening last month when we stalked him, so there was definite potential for quite the awkward evening. However, our time spent ended up being quite the contrary, and we're both so insanely glad we went.

I've known Allen since my sophomore year of high school. We were both band geeks together. Alto sax band geeks, that is. Allen's quirky sense of humor and sweet disposition quickly made him one of my favorite people. I just don't think I would have made it through band without Allie Scallie eating my LipSmackers Kiwi lip gloss in pep band during the basketball games or giving me rides home after practice in his huge boat-of-car, belting along to the tunes of Culture Club. We remained close until sometime during my sophomore year at college. It was his freshman year, and I think between me being so wrapped up in Stephen, who had moved to Knoxville, and him being so wrapped up in the college experience, we just drifted apart. Thankfully, though, we've been given the opportunity to reunite, and hopefully we can maintain the friendship we started many years ago.

Also, Allen seriously makes the best chocolate cake I've ever tasted. If nothing else, that is all the motivation I need to keep this "friendship" thing alive from my end.

Thanks, Allen and Rob, for a great evening! You guys are the best hosts. Between the hospitality, the company, your cozy mod place, and the food, we were very tempted never to leave. I just hope when we have the honor of having you over for dinner, we don't offend you too much with our boorish ways. I'm sure the boxed Mac 'n' Cheese and corndogs we'll prepare for you will win your hearts over, though.

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Sunday Night with Morrissey

It had been a long seven years.

The first time we had the pleasure of seeing Morrissey in concert was on Valentine's Day of 2000, when we had to drive all the way to Akron, OH, to see his charming ass. Of course we didn't mind doing so, but we were thrilled to find out this year he was going to be performing in our neck of the woods. I know he did it just for us, too - what a sweetheart.

Other than a few minor setbacks - such as the chubby drunk girls in front of us who (a) kept loudly shouting at each other during the show, (b) continually managed to plant themselves directly in my line of vision (I think we're all aware that I'm not the tallest girl on the block), and (c) not only kept showing us their buttcracks, as their pants were about two sizes too small and just barely covered their Netherregions, but also smelled like dirty buttcracks - the show on Sunday night was well worth the wait. He was very friendly and humorous, and surprisingly didn't throw out too many political stabs. We were a bit worried about the setlist because, to be honest, his last couple of albums aren't among our favorites and we figured he'd end up playing mostly new songs. Happily, though, he played a good mix of old and new, including some cherished gems from the days of The Smiths: The Queen Is Dead / First Of The Gang To Die / The Youngest Was The Most Loved / You Have Killed Me / Disappointed / Panic / Let Me Kiss You / I Just Want To See The Boy Happy / I Will See You In Far Off Places / The National Front Disco / At Last I Am Born / Irish Blood, English Heart / All You Need Is Me / I've Changed My Plea To Guilty / The Boy With The Thorn In His Side /Suedehead / Everyday Is Like Sunday / Ganglord / Life Is A Pigsty / How Soon Is Now? He wrapped the show up with an encore performance of "You're Gonna Need Someone On Your Side." Personally, I think he could have picked a better encore song, but he closed with one of my personal favorites, "How Soon Is Now?" so I won't complain too much.

I think Stephen's favorite part of the night, other than just being in the presence of the buttcrack girls, was the little striptease Moz did for us. That's right: full upper body nudity, people. Too bad I couldn't find a picture online of it.

All in all, it was an incredible show. I just hope we won't have to wait another seven years before getting to see him again.

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Geek, Dweeb, or Spaz?

Sunday evening on our way home from Dayton, we stopped at a Steak 'n' Shake restaurant for dinner. Right after we ordered, a couple who was probably in their mid-forties was seated across the aisle from us.

Thank God they only got dessert and left after about a half an hour, but in that time they still managed to scare off the gentleman seated behind them who had been quietly sipping a milkshake and reading a book since before we had arrived.

The woman had a hand puppet.

And played with it. And pet it. And spoke to her husband with it.

Nearly the entire time they were there.

And even spoke to the server with it.

Oh, they thought this was THE most hilarious thing ever, giggling and snorting over this incredibly stupid puppet. At first I thought they were just drunk, this frumpy couple of dorks. Then it all made sense.

I overheard her say they had just gone to see Spamalot. And the puppet? It was of the killer rabbit.

Oh. My. God.

These people give dorks a bad name.

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Rowan Brown Is Not a Pagan Baby

Yesterday, on Mother's Day, we traveled to Dayton to witness the baptism of our baby nephew, Rowan. A large chunk of the family was in attendance, and afterward we went back to the Brown Estate for a little celebration.

It was quite a lovely time had by all. You can check out all the wild and crazy pictures here. Thanks, Photographer Steve, for all your hard work with the camera.

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Glad to Know We Are Still Capable of Sharing Intelligent Conversation

(Conversation that took place approximately five minutes ago)

Me: "I think I'm going to go get ready for bed."

Steve: "Why?"

Me: "Because I'm really tired."

Steve: "Why?"

Me: "I don't know. I just am."

Steve: "Hm."

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Bathroom Etiquette 101

Almost on a daily basis I find myself being reminded that people never cease to amaze me. Unfortunately, it's rarely good deeds that prompt this reminder.

Let me first explain the pet peeve located at the very top of my list of 55,468,972 pet peeves: Inconsideration. People who either are too ignorant and wrapped up in themselves to even try to consider other people's feelings or, even worse, people who are such jackasses that they don't care one iota about other people's feelings seriously make me consider committing multiple homicides daily.

Now, let's throw some inconsideration into my beautiful KitchenAid mixer from my favorite mother-in-law and add some bodily functions. Voila! I give you nearly every public restroom I have ever reluctantly set foot in.

However, restrooms located in gas stations, fast food joints, malls, parks and rest areas are, unfortunately, expected to be nasty. It's almost as if that's part of their disgusting charm. I mean, just think how long traveling would take if you actually stopped every time the urge hit, no longer feeling the need to suppress it out of fear of toxic bathroom encounters. And, let's face it, public bathrooms are a great reminder that whether we shop at Sears or Saks, we all have to make potty. (And you can find me using the restroom at Saks, even if I'm shopping at Sears, because Saks' restrooms always happen to be spotless in comparison to Sears' restrooms. Hmmm...)

So those are public bathrooms. Filthy for the most part, but it's an expected filthy. Bathrooms at work, however, should not be filthy. That is, unless you work at a gas station, fast food joint, mall, park or rest area. Granted, very few of us are priveleged enough to have our own personal bathroom at the office, so it's true to say these could be classified as public bathrooms, as many people are sharing them. However, these bathrooms are also located in private offices that are not necessarily open to the general public and, therefore, could be classified as non-public bathrooms. Public or not, it doesn't matter. What matters is that work is our home away from home, whether we like it or not, and we ought to treat our bathrooms in the same manner we'd treat our own. It frightens me to think of how some people probably treat their home bathrooms, though, so I'm sadly feeling the need to publish some very basic bathroom rules that everyone should follow. If you don't follow these rules, you are an inconsiderate jackass and had best make certain to lock your stall else my homicidal tendencies flare up.

1. FLUSH. And, FLUSH THOROUGHLY. Yes, I am aware there are the occasional toilets you come across that are tricky - even though you technically did flush, half of the potty is still there. I know it's a TON of extra work and time out of your precious day, but you absolutely must turn around and look in the toilet and make certain that ALL of the potty has left the premises. If any potty remains, I'm sorry, but you must flush again. I know it's not fair, but these are just some of the great injustices of the developed world in which we live that we must suffer. Furthermore, should you be unfortunate enough to encounter a toilet that will not flush at all, close the door of the stall and tape a note to it stating it's out of service. This will prevent others from accidentally witnessing the sight of your potty, which let's face it, could really ruin someone's day in certain circumstances. You now ought to contact your maintenance crew and apprise them of the situation at hand.


2. You know those cutesy signs people hang up in their bathrooms that ever-so-hilariously-and-cleverly remind us, "If you sprinkle when you tinkle, please be neat and wipe your seat!"? You should always, ALWAYS follow this rule. I have met a lot of squatters out there and, although I myself am not talented enough to practice such acrobatics, I totally understand your philosophy. However, I also know this is how a lot of said sprinkling while tinkling occurs. And for Heaven's sake, WIPE IT UP! Tinkle left on the seat of the toilet is completely and utterly unacceptable, possibly even worse than not flushing. At least if you don't flush, all the next person has to do is push the lever. If you don't wipe up your tinkle, however, that next person either has to wipe up YOUR urine or, even better, if he/she doesn't examine the seat closely enough prior to sitting, he/she gets the pleasure of sitting IN your urine. Absolutely disgusting, and sadly the most common bathroom rule-breaker I witness.


3. This rule is exclusively for the ladies. You menfolk can skip onto number four. *Ahem* LADIES: Feminine hygiene products go IN the provided basket. Not in or on the toilet, not on the floor, and most definitely not on the walls. If all of the ladies truly were ladies, this would not even be an issue. And apparently, there are a lot of un-ladylike ladies out there. Okay, so now that you know where the used products go, let me stress that there are two other steps to proper disposal. One, WRAP WRAP WRAP up your nasties. Put yourself in the cleaning crew's shoes. I know this requires you to be CONSIDERATE for a moment, but bear with me. Cleaning up after strangers is bad enough, but cleaning up unwrapped girl waste? Ew! I actually came across this lovely little rule-breaker today, which was the last straw that prompted me to publish this rant. So, the whole three of you reading this (the other two are men and have skipped this section) can thank little Miss Too-Busy-and-Too-Good-to-Wrap-Up-Her-Pantyliner for this post. Two, if the receptacle is a wall-hanging basket, there is generally a little paper sack inside of it. USE IT! Do not discard your lady products all willy-nilly in the basket. Place them inside the provided paper sack. I don't know if you are too ignorant or clueless or inconsiderate to have figured this out on your own, but if you don't place your waste inside the bag, the cleaning person has to actually reach in there and grab your dirty trash with his/her hands in order to dispose of it. Oh, but you say, that's their job! And they ought to be wearing gloves, so what difference does it make? Don't even go there. I would not want to touch anyone's used feminine products with a ten foot pole, not even if I'm being paid to do it and wearing gloves. And finally, ladies, always close the lid to the receptacle. Unless it is overflowing and leaving it open cannot be helped, there is no excuse for you to leave the lid open for the waste to greet the next stall vistor. Just remember...wrap, sack and close!


4. I understand the most unpleasant urge (i.e., number two) sometimes strikes and you cannot wait until you go home to relieve said urge. There are some common courtesy guidelines you ought to follow in doing so, however, so that everyone involved can leave the situation with dignity. The only times it is excusable to disobey these rules is when you're sick and, let's face it, sometimes we don't have total control over whether these rules are fully obeyed. But with that said, you should try your hardest when possible to be considerate. For one, if someone is already in the bathroom when you enter, that person has bathroom dibs. If you are entering for the business of number one, you may do so, but quickly, and immediately leave after hand washing. No teeth brushing or make-up application. Pee and run, that's what I say. The person with bathroom dibs ought to reward you for being considerate and hurrying out of there by pausing his/her activities until you have left the room. If you are entering for the business of number two, you have two options: find another bathroom that is empty, or come back later. Either way, this bathroom is currently off limits unless, again, you're ill or have no control. Then, by all means, GO! (Like you'll have much of a choice.) I honestly cannot believe I had to make up this next rule because I think, who would do this? But, unfortunately, I have witnessed this on a few separate occasions so I must put it on the record. NO GRUNTING OR GROANING ALLOWED. NONE. NOT EVEN A LITTLE MOAN. Seriously, that's just plain tacky. And weird. And a little creepy. And a lot gross. And finally, I'm sure everyone has heard of the "courtesy flush." This is where you flush at a certain point, say, when someone walks in, but before you're done. Again, this rule requires a bit of consideration, but really not a whole lot if you consider the fact that it's also alleviating the unpleasantness for you, as well.

If I still haven't convinced people to use these very simple rules, maybe the fact that there are a lot of shoe observers out there will. I, myself, am a shoe observer. You know, when you're sitting in the stall or standing outside the stall and notice the shoes the other people in the stalls are wearing. The building in which my office is located has one bathroom per floor. So, our office shares a three-stall bathroom with several other departments on our floor. I can always tell when someone from my office is in the bathroom (and I can honestly say I've never witnessed any rule breaking done by my office mates), and there are a few other people outside my office that I've come to recognize by their shoes. So, you may feel totally anonymous inside that rickety little stall of yours, but the shoe observers are onto your game....

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Major Case of the Lazies

I thought spring was supposed to energize, motivate, refresh, and inspire. I thought once the weather decided to stop being schizo and maintain peak temperatures of above 60 degrees, I'd become this sort of Energizer Bunny of cleaning and exercising and, you know, leaving the house and stuff. It just sure would be nice to feel that burst of renewed energy that you're supposed to feel when the seasons change. Of course, I guess to have renewed energy, you'd need to have some level of energy to begin with.

I'm not sure what my problem is lately. Every year I seem to get worse and worse. Perhaps my spirit is merely prematurely aging. On the outside, late twenties. On the inside, 72 going on 73. I predict this time next year, I'll be well into my hundreds, desperately wanting to shake my cane at all the joggers, bicyclists, and baby stroller pushing passersby for taunting me in my sedentary condition, but unable to as, alas, that would require too much energy.

It doesn't help matters when you put two lazy people under the same roof. Stephen honestly doesn't care what the house looks like, as long as it's not a total trash pit. You know, how most guys are: he could care less if there are things hanging on the walls, and whether those walls are painted a pretty color or are just plain carpenter's white makes no difference to him. Although, I have to give him credit. Last week, as I mentioned in my previous post, he really impressed me and did some chores around the house that had been put off for months. And months. And what have I done since then? Three whole loads of laundry. And I critiqued his picture hanging - I can't forget that exhausting chore. But the way it goes for me is I do get bursts of energy, but then I look around and feel overwhelmed and realize I don't have enough storage space and not enough storage space means I have to get rid of something and OH MY GOD I DON'T HANDLE PARTING WITH THINGS EASILY, BRING ME A PAPER BAG IN WHICH TO BREATHE!

And once I've stopped violently convulsing in a tantrum on the floor, I wipe the tears from my eyes and the snot from my nose and come and sit at the computer and just ignore the problem at hand. Because that....that is what I'm really good at.

So anyway, I figure if I confess and write about what an incredible blob I'm turning into between the laziness and the procrastination and the confusion, maybe, just maybe, this will inspire me to change my wickedly pathetic ways so, if nothing else, I'll have some awesome story on overcoming to post on here. As if overcoming laziness is exactly the same as, you know, overcoming drug addiction or some life threatening disease. Wow, who knows, I could have Oprah banging down my door to do a show on my brave recovery from self-destructive behaviors...such as not sweeping the floor Saturday or skipping out the past three nights on my stomach crunches or not working on organizing this God-foresaken office. My problems are THIS huge, people.

I really, really hope someone out there is playing the world's smallest violin for me right now.

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Bestest Husband Ever

I came home this evening all cranky - which, by the way, is totally not abnormal, but I was much crankier than usual because some of the higher-ups in my company were in for a lovely meeting with my office - to find my darling husband all worked up in a sweat.

"Oh, honey, you painted!" (I am referring to the spot in the family room where touch ups were made on nail pops during our 18-month inspection in JUNE. You know....eleven months ago.)

"Yep. I also painted in there," he says, pointing to the spot in the dining room where a crack in the wall was touched up in DECEMBER for our 2-year inspection. "And, I bought mulch and spread it out around the patio."

The icing on the cake? He also went to the store and bought not one, but TWO packs of buttwipes. That's 100 moist sheets of clean goodness!

Crappiest day ever turned into most awesome day ever (no pun intended). The man knows the way to my heart like the back of his hand.

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McDonald's "Southwet Salad"

I don't know why, but signs that are misspelled or have letters burnt out are the funniest things to me. Maybe I'm too easily amused, or it could also be that my sense of humor is just really lame.

During a pitstop on our way to Dayton today, we encountered this McDonald's sign, enticing people to "Try our new Southwet Salad." (Click on the picture for a better view.)

I think this is wrong on...oh...at least three different levels. I will only say the first, which is simply the fact that the "s" is missing in "southwest." To come up with the other two, you must delve deep, deep into the gutter of your mind. And then a little deeper.

No thank you, McDonald's.

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Brown Reproduction Project:Successfully Completed

Stephen, Maryann, and I arrived at Kettering Hospital on Wednesday evening around 7:30 p.m. We went back to the delivery suite and found Angela comfortably biding time (thanks to an epidural). We had a very enjoyable time visiting with each other for a couple of hours until the nurses came in and announced it was time for her to start pushing. Maryann remained in the room to assist, while Stephen and I lurked outside the curtain of the room, too anxious to sit and wait in the lobby.

After only about 45 minutes of pushing, Angela delivered a very healthy baby boy, Rowan Christopher Brown, on Wednesday night just before 11:00 p.m. He weighed in at 7 pounds 10 ounces and measured 20.5 inches in length. And most importantly? He totally didn't have that creepy, E.T.-ish newborn look going on. He is actually quite handsome!

Seem a little too simple, uncomplicated and drama-free? After all of the horror stories I've heard about childbirth, I was absolutely flabbergasted at how smoothly and quickly everything seemed to progress. During the midst of her labor, I could even hear Angela occasionally laughing and chatting. Wow. Angela was pregnancy valedictorian, and I do believe she's now earned the title of birthin' valedictorian, as well.

Although we didn't witness the birth visually, just being able to listen in was amazing. When I heard the first cries out of my nephew's mouth, I was flooded with awe and love. Forgive me for sounding corny, but it truly was one of the most special and spectacular experiences I've ever had.

Congratulations to Angela & Jeff! And to our nephew! Kid, you're going to have a pretty darn good life. Chances are, your mama is probably going to turn out to be parenting valedictorian, too. (Which will probably also annoy the crap out of you much of your life because that will mean she knows how to set rules and stick to them and, let's face it, rules suck!) For more updates and stories on the little squirt, you can visit their blog. For more photos, click here. (FYI, the website I use for online photo sharing, Picasa (by Google), allows others to download the photos at full quality. So, if you want to keep any of these pictures, feel free to download them. Picasa also has a companion program called Hello which works like an instant messanger through which you can quickly and easily share your pictures with others. I really like it and highly recommend trying it out if you haven't already.)

Let the parenting officially begin!

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About to Make His Big Appearance!

Angela's water broke around lunchtime (or at least that's when we received the news). She's in the hospital now and dilating as we speak.

We're heading off to Dayton for the arrival of our baby nephew! I'll post pictures upon our return.

(YIPPEE!!!)

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This Is Why I Have to Be a Good Girl

I don't steal. I don't cheat. I don't lie (well, except for the occasional white lie, but, of course, that doesn't count!). I don't kill or physically harm people or animals. Aside from boring morals or the fear of God's wrath, do you know what keeps me in line?

Having the knowledge that I have the most frickin' bad luck and would get caught the mere second I even thought about doing any of the above.

Let me share a little story with you to illustrate my point.

This morning, running late to work as usual, I pulled into the parking lot and noticed a parking space much closer than I'm usually able to get. Being a Monday morning, finding a good parking spot is very odd, for that's a good thing and only bad things seem to happen on Mondays. But, I was grouchy, tired, and late for work, so I found an ounce of joy in this tiny Monday miracle. Alas, whenever anything good happens, it seems to be accompanied by something bad. I unlatched my car door - didn't even get a chance to start pushing it open - and the wind managed to yank my door open into the adjacent car. Son of a motherf**king bitch.

I've got tons of tiny dents and scratches in my car doors from careless people, and it really pisses me off when people aren't more careful about such small tasks as getting in and out of their cars. Although this was the wind's doing, I still felt very upset that I've just managed to do something I hate so much. So, I examined the car, and it appeared I'd just left some markings. *Whew* I got a napkin and wiped off 98% of the markings. There were a couple of tiny spots left, but feeling odd about polishing someone else's car in the parking lot, and the fact I was LATE FOR WORK, convinced me it was time to go up to the office.

I thought I should leave a note, because even though it was minor, I know how my luck is. I've just never been able to get away with the tiniest thing.

For instance, in sixth grade I drew XXX pictures of stick figures engaging in adult relations and stuffed them way up under my bed. Who should happen to find said "art" while cleaning my bedroom soon after? My mother. Of course, I lied and blamed it on my best friend at the time, but my mom didn't buy it. She just gave me a smirk and said, uh huh, I'm sure that was Holly's masterpiece. There was no punishment at the time that I recall, but it's been 16 years later and I'm still teased by my mother over it. I think I've suffered more than my fair share of penance. Then, my junior year of high school, my best friend at that time convinced me it would be a very wise idea to make prank phone calls to the boy I had an enormous crush on. My friend made a couple of calls to his house and hung up the phone upon our victim's answering. This was before caller id, but was during the technological boom of *69. The boy's mother called us back, and my friend proceeded to hang up the phone. Another call, and she disguised her voice (rather poorly) and informed said mother to quit calling this number. Wouldn't you know it? Said mother became very irritated and called the police on us, who showed up at MY house because we had been calling from MY phone.

I am completely aware that these are extremely retarded and trivial examples "bad things," but this is exactly my point. I was never caught doing drugs, because I never did drugs. I was never caught sneaking out of the house, because I never snuck out of the house. I was never caught lying to my mom that I was going over to Michelle's to study while instead going to a wild party, because I never told such lies and never went to wild parties. I was never caught having sex, because I never had sex until I went away to college, and even still that was only with the man I would later marry. Oh, but I do thank myself for the reminder of the time that Stephen and I were caught making out in the backseat of his car in my mother's driveway our senior year of high school. The neighbors came over and tapped on our window, apparently thinking from a distance someone was breaking into his car. They were very apologetic when they saw what was really going on. Yeah, of course I was pretty much topless, if I remember correctly, and I'm trying my hardest not to. Oh yeah, and now I'm remembering the time soon after we began sleeping with each other that Stephen's mother & sister found certain items that were clear indicators of us having "relations" in the back of the van...very disgusting and very mortifying, might I add. (My most sincere apologies still go out to Maryann and Angela, for not only having to witness such horrible things, but also for bringing up an instance that I'm sure you've tried your hardest to BLOCK!) Anyway, point being: I never did anything really bad because I couldn't even get away with doing the most minor of bad things. The first time I drank in college? I called my mom the next day and told her all about it. I figured I'd better 'fess up, because I know my luck and with such luck, she would surely find out. The two times in my drunken stupors I allowed boys to kiss me while I was dating Stephen? I immediately informed him of my infidelities because, aside from feeling guilty and wanting to be honest with him, I just knew someone else would tattle on me if I didn't tattle on myself.

Anyway, back to today, the fact that I didn't have a pen or paper prohibited me from leaving a note. I went upstairs and got distracted doing usual Monday morning busywork, but went down to my car at lunch to leave a note, as I'd been worried about it all morning. The car? It was gone. Finally, I felt at ease and thought, although completely accidental and beyond my control and entirely minor, I finally got away with something.

Stupid me.

I got in my car this afternoon to leave work and noticed an envelope tucked under my windshield wipers. Can you believe this:

"Hello, I was looking out our office window this morning and saw the door on your white car hit my gray Toyota Matrix. By the time I got down to check you had already come in the building. It appears you have rubbed the spot trying to remove the mark you left. Apparently the wind caught your car door and it hit my rear drivers side car door and left a mark. I will try to rub this out but I would appreciate it if you contacted me with your information in the event I can't remove the mark and have to take it to a body shop."

I was frickin' caught in the act. Son of a motherf**king bitch.

Like, seriously, how many dents and scratches have people put into my car? A ton. How many times have I caught this happening? None. I am so damn careful when opening my car door that this NEVER has happened to me. The one time it does? And after trying to be polite by wiping off my car's residue (because I can tell you from experience that usually when people ram into your doors, they don't wipe off the crap it leaves behind)? And after having full intentions of leaving a note? It doesn't matter. She beat me to the punch, and now I feel like I've been caught in a hit and run. Though I didn't run. My car remained parked in the same spot all day. Maybe that was my mistake?

I replied with a very, very nice e-mail to the person explaining what had happened. And because I was nice and accepted responsibility for my actions? I just know this person will probably repay me by being a vengeful bitch. And you can guarantee I will post an update if this happens.

What's almost worse than my bad luck is how creepy it is that this person just happened to be looking out of her office window at the exact moment this occurred. I always feel like somebody's watching me...Rockwell, you really speak to my heart, buddy.

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Reminds Me of My Niece

My mom called earlier, laughing hysterically. She demanded that we go to Funny or Die and check out this video. We did, and then we laughed hysterically.

I couldn't find a way to post the video directly to my blog from Funny or Die, so I looked it up on YouTube, since it does have that handy-dandy feature. Unfortunately, immediately after I posted it, the video was pulled from YouTube. Bummer.

So, I recommend that you check this out if you haven't already, because I think you'll laugh hysterically, too. After all, I really can't think of anything funnier than Will Ferrell and a drunken, money-hungry toddler.

Enjoy.

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Sweet Find of the Week: Bubblegum Octopus

Browsing through the music profiles on MySpace this weekend led me to the craziest thing I've ever heard.

Bubblegum Octopus.

The genre? "Electronica/Pop/Death Metal." Impossible, you say? Oh yeah, well take a listen, smartypants. (I personally recommend, "You're a Bad Cat Man." If you're further intrigued, there are a few more songs here.)

The description of this artist on Last.fm reads as follows:

"NJ based solo project of Matthew "m@" Morden. The style is more or less a mixture of synth pop, digital grindcore, dance music, and video game music. The most commonly noted element of his music is the vocals which are generally a girly falsetto that suddenly drops to a chaotic death growl. Pop meets death metal. He recently performed at his high school, in which he was booed off of the stage. "

It's bad. Really bad. And I totally want a CD.

Despite how much I hate to quote a John Mellencamp song, I will: it hurts so good. Because you know what? Anything that makes me laugh so hard that I pee a little gets two thumbs way up from me.

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Why We Can't Get Anything Done: Part VI

Why does it take me all weekend to finish doing the laundry? It could very well be because I'd let it pile up for two weeks and had seven loads accumulated by Friday, coupled with the fact that I'm easily distracted and don't constantly work on it until finished. But, what also doesn't help is Sophie's little fluffy ass sitting in the dryer. Apparently, I made the mistake of turning my back on the dryer for two seconds while the door was opened and in she jumped.

Because she is such a fierce and ferocious cat - look at her, she's like a shark! - I had to leave and let her have her fun time in there. The laundry will just have to wait because it's not worth losing an arm over to the wrath of Mrs. Meowsington.

Side note from Sophie Meowsington: That pathetic woman I live with is a liar. I am just yawning in this picture, and I'm yawning because I was weak with hunger because I had not been fed in SIX WHOLE HOURS. Not only am I not fed every hour on the hour, but I'm also blamed for her laziness. She sucks.

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Turns Out Weather Instability Brings Out the Best in My Mood Instability

Today is one of those days in which I swear I am frickin' crazy.

I blame it on the frickin' snow. It's mid-April, and it's snowing.

(And, I must mention, I'm really, really sick of writing about the damn weather.)

I was going to write about how I've been a Grumpysaurus since it decided to stop being April and start being November all over again, until today when I woke up to rain and my mood melted and I became a Sappysaurus. I went onto MySpace and saw an old friend had written me and almost cried because I was so happy to hear from him. And, of course, there are a few people out there I've written who haven't written me back, and for some reason it got to me today and made me very sad and contemplative about my life. Then, I was folding laundry - laundry, the ONE and ONLY chore I seem to (sometimes) complete each weekend - and I got misty-eyed folding my husband's manties. Why? Don't know. Maybe it's because I felt very honored to be taking care of him in this little way. Or, maybe it's because I am so disappointed...I used to fold boxer shorts, then it changed to boxer briefs, and now it's your standard tighty-whities. (At least they're Calvin Klein, and everytime I see them I flashback to the Back to the Future scene in which Marty asks Loraine why she keeps calling him Calvin, and she replies, "It's written all over your underwear.") Or, maybe it's just because I'm retarded.

Now the rain has changed to snow, and my mood, too, seems to have frozen into a harder emotion: almost rage, but with less anger...actually, not really anger or rage at all, but more like an energetic impatience or irritation on speed. Yeah, this makes absolutely no sense whatsoever, but if you were inside my head right now you wouldn't be making any sense, either.

On top of that, melancholy took hold of me when for some unknown reason I started thinking about how unspecial I am in the whole scheme of things. As I'm sure most people do, I used to have these absurd dreams in my head of how my life would turn out. First of all, I was sure I was a prime example of "The Ugly Duckling." Sure, in my mind I wasn't very attractive, but one day? ONE DAY something would happen to the world and everyone would suddenly realize how beautiful I was. All those boys I had crushes on for years and YEARS who didn't even know I existed would suddenly notice me and be overcome with sadness that they missed out. Because also? Also, my personality would flourish - I'd be the funniest, wittiest, smartest, most interesting person people had ever had the pleasure of encountering. And I can't forget about my talent. The world would discover this GREAT TALENT I had and it would bring me fame and glory. This great talent varied from singing to drawing to writing to stumbling across the cure for cancer while flipping through Cosmopolitan. Really, it didn't matter what my great talent was going to be - the point was that I was going to be special. I was going to stand out from the crowd and everyone would love me and I would love them. And, of course, no fantasy life would be complete without lots and lots of money. I'd be gorgeous, charming, have some awesome talent that would land me some sweet gig doing something fabulous, and I'd be damn rich.

Now it feels like eons later, and the fantasy I'd had of my life seems laughable. Here I am, late twenties, feeling much more attractive than I used to but, like most women, not feeling pretty enough (my face still breaks out, I hate my complexion, I will never ever have a nice tan [that will most certainly be an early summer post, right after the first person of the year makes the terribly creative and oh-so hilarious comment along the lines of, "hey Casper, why don't you cover those legs up, you're blinding me"], and I won't even get into my hairiness, as I would hate to make you lose your appetite for dinner), no strong talents, sitting at my computer on a crappy Saturday afternoon ranting about I-don't-know-what to the five whole people who read this thing.

And probably after they read this post? I'll be down to three readers.

So, SHOCKINGLY, I've realized that Radiohead is right: you really do do it to yourself, and that's what really hurts. The reason why those boys never noticed me, and the reason certain people may not be interested in communicating with me? Um, could it be the fact that I never tried to get anyone's attention, that I tried my hardest to blend in with the crowd and not be noticed, and that I blew certain people off a little too easily? And great talents? Well, some are God-given, but some can be honed and did I ever hone? The only talent I truly have perfected is being lazy.

What makes me feel really awful, though, is the fact that I can't let myself just be happy. Because really? I have a great life. My husband is over-the-top wonderful, I have a fabulous family and set of friends, my job is good, my house is nice, my health has been decent - I have no drama. Having drama is one of my biggest fears, and I can honestly say I am thankful to have a steady, reliable, good-to-me lifestyle. In the whole scheme of things, I have it pretty darn good. But, I'm a spoiled brat and still get in my funks where I think everything sucks. I was wrong; laziness isn't my only talent, for I am also very exceptional at focusing on the negatives.

Today is just one of those days. An "I'm-completely-out-of-my-mind-and-possibly-need-to-be-medicated" days. A day in which Stephen ought to be damn grateful for his Saturday afternoon part-time job because that means he isn't having to sit at home and put up with me and the crazies that are unwelcome houseguests of my mind. Fortunately, my mood will probably continue to morph and I'll be on cloud nine here in about five minutes. I'm just talented like that.

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