Friday, March 31, 2006
Snot Rockets
When I was in 9th grade I sat next to a really gross boy named John in band. He played the trombone, too. He thought he was hot stuff because he was on the freshman football team. He was not hot stuff. He was not cute and he was not very nice. He used to think it was funny to do disgusting things like pick his nose and eat it and fart. His favorite way to make me angry was to blow snot rockets at my feet. Oh, he thought it was hilarious. I loathed him all through high school.
A couple of weeks ago, I was sitting outside a building because I was early for an appointment. It was a professional building housing a bank and other offices. I was watching a man who was on the front stairs and bent at the waist. I was beginning to wonder if he was alright or if he needed help. Then I realized what he was doing. He was blowing a snot rocket, right there in front of the building! I wanted to scream. I wanted to throw up. I wanted to kick him in the shins.
Worst of all, though, are the snot rockets of my own dear husband. That's right. I'm married to a man who blows snot rockets in the shower. Something about the steam or some such nonsense. It's a load of bull. I don't blow snot rockets in the shower and there is just as much steam. It makes me SO MAD! He claims that I just like to complain and that the snot goes straight down the drain. He's delusional. I know this because I'm the one who cleans the shower and tub every week. As I'm wiping the tub down, I'll start absent-mindedly scraping at a crusty on the side of the tub with my fingernail. Then I realize that I'm scraping off a booger! I want to scream. I want to throw up. I want to kick him in the shins!
When I was in 9th grade I sat next to a really gross boy named John in band. He played the trombone, too. He thought he was hot stuff because he was on the freshman football team. He was not hot stuff. He was not cute and he was not very nice. He used to think it was funny to do disgusting things like pick his nose and eat it and fart. His favorite way to make me angry was to blow snot rockets at my feet. Oh, he thought it was hilarious. I loathed him all through high school.
A couple of weeks ago, I was sitting outside a building because I was early for an appointment. It was a professional building housing a bank and other offices. I was watching a man who was on the front stairs and bent at the waist. I was beginning to wonder if he was alright or if he needed help. Then I realized what he was doing. He was blowing a snot rocket, right there in front of the building! I wanted to scream. I wanted to throw up. I wanted to kick him in the shins.
Worst of all, though, are the snot rockets of my own dear husband. That's right. I'm married to a man who blows snot rockets in the shower. Something about the steam or some such nonsense. It's a load of bull. I don't blow snot rockets in the shower and there is just as much steam. It makes me SO MAD! He claims that I just like to complain and that the snot goes straight down the drain. He's delusional. I know this because I'm the one who cleans the shower and tub every week. As I'm wiping the tub down, I'll start absent-mindedly scraping at a crusty on the side of the tub with my fingernail. Then I realize that I'm scraping off a booger! I want to scream. I want to throw up. I want to kick him in the shins!
Friday, March 24, 2006
Pretty
Work has been crazy lately. Yesterday I was walking around a quaint neighborhood in Independence, Missouri. I was knocking on doors trying to find someone who remembered a nice young man who used to live there. (This is the same young man who took me to the fire station when I locked my keys in my car.) No one knew him, but it was a nice day, cool but bright and sunny. I was wearing sensible shoes. I never feel terribly pretty when I'm wearing sensible shoes. While walking, I could hear the laughter of two boys jumping on a trampoline a few doors down. They must be on spring break and looked to be around 10 or 11 years old. As I was walking back to my car, one of them yelled out, "HI!!" I smiled big and waved at them. They seemed well behaved and were having a good time. Then, "Hey, lady, you're cute!" followed by giggles (theirs, not mine!). Then they took turns trying to out-shout each other, "You're pretty!" "I think you're pretty!" "No, I think you're pretty!" They were falling all over each other trying to cover each others' mouths so they could yell compliments at me. Ok, then. So maybe the construction guys and homeless people have stopped whistling and making lude comments. These boys made my day. I can be pregnant and in sensible shoes and still be pretty.
Work has been crazy lately. Yesterday I was walking around a quaint neighborhood in Independence, Missouri. I was knocking on doors trying to find someone who remembered a nice young man who used to live there. (This is the same young man who took me to the fire station when I locked my keys in my car.) No one knew him, but it was a nice day, cool but bright and sunny. I was wearing sensible shoes. I never feel terribly pretty when I'm wearing sensible shoes. While walking, I could hear the laughter of two boys jumping on a trampoline a few doors down. They must be on spring break and looked to be around 10 or 11 years old. As I was walking back to my car, one of them yelled out, "HI!!" I smiled big and waved at them. They seemed well behaved and were having a good time. Then, "Hey, lady, you're cute!" followed by giggles (theirs, not mine!). Then they took turns trying to out-shout each other, "You're pretty!" "I think you're pretty!" "No, I think you're pretty!" They were falling all over each other trying to cover each others' mouths so they could yell compliments at me. Ok, then. So maybe the construction guys and homeless people have stopped whistling and making lude comments. These boys made my day. I can be pregnant and in sensible shoes and still be pretty.
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
Good Hair, Ice Cream Cake, Ace, and Karate Kicks
"At least my hair looks great." That's what I kept telling myself. I was having one of those meetings at work. You know the kind. I was just hoping I wouldn't cry. I put a good extra effort into my hair with excellent results. It was shiny, bouncy, and full of body. The meeting wasn't all bad. I mean, it could have been worse. I wasn't listening all that closely because I didn't want to cry and I was thinking about my hair. And the best part? At the end of the meeting, both of my managers complimented my hair. Ha!
As Kevin kissed me good-bye before he left for the gym I remembered something very important. I said to him, "Just so you know, I don't really care what is written on the ice cream cake that you stop and get after you work out." No special occasion. No celebrations. Kevin mentioned that they had an ice cream cake at work the other day and I hadn't been able to stop thinking about it. The Dairy Queen kind with the chocolate crunchies between the layers. I was obsessed. Since I'm pregnant and crazy (and he wanted ice cream cake as badly as I did) this wasn't a problem. He was torn between Sponge Bob and a plain one with hearts. He decided on the hearts. I love him.
How can a good hair day with ice cream cake possibly get any better? I'll tell you. Ace. Mmmmm. I didn't vote for him, though. I voted for Paris. But I love Ace.
When it was finally time to lay down and relax in bed, the baby had me squirming in pain. My friend, Sarah, is having a little girl and is due two weeks after me. She said her little girl gives her sweet little flicks. My little monster boy rears back and kicks with all his might making me jump and wince. Kevin has felt the baby kicking for weeks now but hadn't yet seen my stomach jump. He was kicking so painfully that I was sure it would work. Sure enough, after two little practice kicks, Oliver let loose with a real doozey. We saw his little foot (or knee or elbow or what have you) protrude plain as day. Kevin reacted with his usual, "Oh, shit!" This made me laugh so hard that my stomach was shaking too much to see any more of Oliver's karate moves. I love a good laugh before I fall asleep.
"At least my hair looks great." That's what I kept telling myself. I was having one of those meetings at work. You know the kind. I was just hoping I wouldn't cry. I put a good extra effort into my hair with excellent results. It was shiny, bouncy, and full of body. The meeting wasn't all bad. I mean, it could have been worse. I wasn't listening all that closely because I didn't want to cry and I was thinking about my hair. And the best part? At the end of the meeting, both of my managers complimented my hair. Ha!
As Kevin kissed me good-bye before he left for the gym I remembered something very important. I said to him, "Just so you know, I don't really care what is written on the ice cream cake that you stop and get after you work out." No special occasion. No celebrations. Kevin mentioned that they had an ice cream cake at work the other day and I hadn't been able to stop thinking about it. The Dairy Queen kind with the chocolate crunchies between the layers. I was obsessed. Since I'm pregnant and crazy (and he wanted ice cream cake as badly as I did) this wasn't a problem. He was torn between Sponge Bob and a plain one with hearts. He decided on the hearts. I love him.
How can a good hair day with ice cream cake possibly get any better? I'll tell you. Ace. Mmmmm. I didn't vote for him, though. I voted for Paris. But I love Ace.
When it was finally time to lay down and relax in bed, the baby had me squirming in pain. My friend, Sarah, is having a little girl and is due two weeks after me. She said her little girl gives her sweet little flicks. My little monster boy rears back and kicks with all his might making me jump and wince. Kevin has felt the baby kicking for weeks now but hadn't yet seen my stomach jump. He was kicking so painfully that I was sure it would work. Sure enough, after two little practice kicks, Oliver let loose with a real doozey. We saw his little foot (or knee or elbow or what have you) protrude plain as day. Kevin reacted with his usual, "Oh, shit!" This made me laugh so hard that my stomach was shaking too much to see any more of Oliver's karate moves. I love a good laugh before I fall asleep.
Thursday, March 02, 2006
Betrayed
I have been betrayed. Someone I trusted let me down last night. I thought I could count on TiVo. I leave TiVo in charge of things important to me. We went out last night. I knew I would miss the boys singing on American Idol. I also knew that I could watch it while I ate breakfast this morning because TiVo was in charge. This morning I sat down with my Cinnamon Toast Crunch, my bowl of blueberries, and my glass of milk and...it wasn't there. TiVo recorded an update show about America's Next Top Model instead. I tell you, if you can't trust you TiVo, who can you trust? I can tell you I voted for Lisa on Tuesday. Since I missed the boys I'm going to have to stick with ACE ACE ACE!!!
A Different Sort of Harassment
I had to go to downtown Kansas City today. I usually dread going downtown because of the hoots and hollers and whistles. I didn't figure I would hear that today because I'm prego. The homeless people like to hang out in the bus stop. Sometimes they are actually waiting for the bus. Usually they are just getting out of the weather a little bit. The first time I walked by the bus stop was empty. The second time I walked by it was full. I did my best to look straight ahead of me. As I walked on by I didn't hear any whistles, I didn't hear any hollers, I didn't hear anyone telling me to strut it. I did hear one of them say, "Yo! Somebody knocked her up!" Oh, man. This is not the time to get the giggles. I didn't want him to know that I thought it was funny because it was rude, really. I had to wait until I was well past them to crack a grin.
I have been betrayed. Someone I trusted let me down last night. I thought I could count on TiVo. I leave TiVo in charge of things important to me. We went out last night. I knew I would miss the boys singing on American Idol. I also knew that I could watch it while I ate breakfast this morning because TiVo was in charge. This morning I sat down with my Cinnamon Toast Crunch, my bowl of blueberries, and my glass of milk and...it wasn't there. TiVo recorded an update show about America's Next Top Model instead. I tell you, if you can't trust you TiVo, who can you trust? I can tell you I voted for Lisa on Tuesday. Since I missed the boys I'm going to have to stick with ACE ACE ACE!!!
A Different Sort of Harassment
I had to go to downtown Kansas City today. I usually dread going downtown because of the hoots and hollers and whistles. I didn't figure I would hear that today because I'm prego. The homeless people like to hang out in the bus stop. Sometimes they are actually waiting for the bus. Usually they are just getting out of the weather a little bit. The first time I walked by the bus stop was empty. The second time I walked by it was full. I did my best to look straight ahead of me. As I walked on by I didn't hear any whistles, I didn't hear any hollers, I didn't hear anyone telling me to strut it. I did hear one of them say, "Yo! Somebody knocked her up!" Oh, man. This is not the time to get the giggles. I didn't want him to know that I thought it was funny because it was rude, really. I had to wait until I was well past them to crack a grin.
