My husband never calls in sick for work. He’s an incredibily dedicated employee. (Unlike myself, whose sick time was in the NEGATIVE when I quit after 14 years of employment.) When suggested that he call in sick on Friday so that he could watch the kids for me while I was on my way to San Jose to “learn more about blogging”, he almost threw up.
After a little begging, he agreed to do it. Luckily, he got “severe cramps” and “felt like he had to poop.” I say “luckily” because he was feeling bad about himself for lying and the cramps and poop made him feel as though calling in sick was totally justified.
We woke G-Unit up, got her dressed, rushed out the door at 5:30 (IN THE MORNING!) and headed out to pick up Amy. You see, Amy was The Lucky One who got to fly to San Jose with me. And when I say “Lucky” I mean, totally not lucky at all because traveling with me is a horrifying experience. Horrifying because I freak the hell out about everything because I am paranoid because I always think bad things are going to happen because I always think that I lost something.
And then there’s the whole “I have to pee every 2 minutes” thing.
This is me, traveling.
“OH MY GOD! I THINK I FORGOT MY WALLET!”
“OH MY GOD! MY TICKET! I THINK I FORGOT IT!”
“OH MY GOD! I HAVE TO PEE AGAIN EVEN THOUGH I’VE ALREADY PEED 3 TIMES IN THE PAST 20 MINUTES BUT OMG! WHAT IF THEY START TO BOARD THE PLANE WHAT SHOULD I DO?!”
“OH MY GOD! I WANT A COFFEE, BUT THAT WILL MAKE ME HAVE TO PEE AND STUFF AND OMG! SHOULD I JUST DRINK TEA?”
“OH MY GOD, I THINK I LOST MY PHONE EVEN THOUGH I HAVE NO REASON TO THINK THAT OTHER THAN I HAVEN’T FREAKED OUT IN THE LAST 3 MINUTES AND I NEED SOMETHING TO FREAK OUT ABOUT.”
See? Lucky Amy, indeed!
I waited until we were on the plane to mention that I’m TERRIFIED of flying, but lucky for everyone on that plane, the flight was smooth and turbulence free. (For had it not been, I would have been forced to scream out “Oh Jesus please save us!” whilst bursting into “OMG! We’re going to die” tears of fear. And if you think I’m lying, you can ask my dad who once said that I become “very spiritual” on airplanes.)
(Apparently, I’m in love with the word “lucky” today. Lucky internet!)
Once we arrived in San Jose, we made a mad dash for the ground transportation area so that we could find the free hotel shuttle. (A free shuttle! Lucky us!) We waited for a few minutes when a minivan pulled up ready to take us to the hotel. However, on our way out of the airport, he made another stop to pick up another group of people.
I have a confession. The shuttle driver asked us to move to the back so that the people could get into the van and I ignored him because I was all “WE WERE HERE FIRST! WE GET DIBS ON THE SEAT AND I REFUSE TO MOVE TO THE BACK!” I got out so that he could lift the seats and the other people could hop on into the van.
The back of the van.
I heard one of the girls in the back say that she was here for a blogging convention.I whipped my head around and was all “So are we!” Then, I realized, to my horror, that the woman that I had made crawl into the back of the van was Motherhood Uncensored and I felt like the biggest asshole in the world because I MADE A PREGNANT LADY CRAWL INTO THE BACK OF THE VAN!
(That the first of many times that I’d feel like a giant asshole that weekend.)
(A minivan full of bloggers, LUCKY SHUTTLE DRIVER!)
Once we arrived at the hotel, I immediately began frantically scanning the place for bloggers and also friends. The first person I saw was Jen. I have no idea why, but I expected her to be loud and hyper, but strangely, she was quiet and calm. Unlike me, who was all “OMG! Jen! DANCE OFF BIOTCH.” (Because, you know how I get overly excited very easily? Yeah.) She was like “Yeah, um, can I get a room first and then we’ll talk about that dance off” (Only, she didn’t really say that, but I’m pretty sure she was thinking it.)
We made our way to our room at the GHETTO HOTEL, put our stuff down and decided to go back out and see if we couldn’t find some bloggers to hug and stuff.
We found the conference hall and I was immediately rushed by a bunch of screaming fans.
HA! HA! I’m lying! No one even knew who we were. We were all walking around like “Um, where do we go and where are all of the bloggers that we know and OMG! THERE ARE GIANT BAKE POTATOES AND ARE WE ALLOWED TO EAT THEM?”
Finally, I saw someone that I knew. OMG! JENN!, then OMG! ZOOT then OMG! Lisa Stone! then OMG! Lena! then “OMG! GRACE DAVIS!
It was insane. There was hugging and screaming and “OMG”ing and laughing and (silent farting because OMG! THE EXCITMENT!)
From the moment I had arrived at the hotel, I had been trying to call Amalah because she TOLD ME TO CALL HER to let her know when I arrived. She wasn’t answering and I was like “Oh hell no she isn’t going to ignore me.”
So, I kept calling and calling and she kept NOT answering and NOT answering. Then, this one time, there were all of these amazing women around me and we were talking and laughing and I tried calling again and as the phone was ringing, I felt someone brush up against me and I looked and it was Amalah standing right next to me and I was all “OMIGAWD! LOOK! I’M ON THE PHONE CALLING YOU! HOW CERAAAAZY IS THAT?”
Amy and I finally decided that we needed to eat because we were hungry and did I mention there were giant baked potatoes? Because there were giant baked potatoes.
And sourcream, and bacon and cheese and also? Fried chicken.
I have to admit, I felt completely self conscience about eating in front of all of these women who knew about my struggles with weight. I was like “If they see me eating a baked potato loaded with cheese and bacon, they’re going to be all ‘no wonder she’s still fat'” (And if you’ve seen the pictures, you know that I am still fat and that no! My stomach is NOT TONED NOR MUSCULAR.)
So, I cut the giant potato in half so as to not feel too bad about eating it, even though it killed me to watch the other half fall into the trash can.
(OMG! This is going to take forever, I haven’t even got to the part where we start drinking yet, I mean, I’m still writing about the first 20 minutes after arriving there! I am going to have to devide it into parts. This post will be part one. LUCKY YOU!)
As I was scarfing down my H-A-L-F of a baked potato, I got a text message that said these exact words “OMG. I saw you walk in but didn’t say hi.”
(I had only discovered that my cheap ass prepaid phone had text messaging capabilities and so I have to admit that the text messaging made me feel as though I was The Shit.)
I wrote back and was all “OMG, why didn’t you? And um, who’s this?”
It was HeatherB and so I freaked and was all “Where are you?” and she was all “by the pool.”
So, me and Amy left for the pool to find Heather. Once we got to the pool, I saw a group of women sitting by the pool and it struck me that I had NO IDEA what Heather looked like. So, because I am totally cool and know how to play things off, I stopped and pretended to be text messaging someone and I asked Amy if the women at the pool were looking at me. She was all “Um, I think so” and I was all “Crap, I have no idea what Heather looks like.” And I continued to pretend to be texting someone and she was all “Yeah, they’re looking at you.”
Then, I heard someone scream “YYYYYYVONNNNNNNEEEE.”
Next thing I know, Mir and Chris were running towards me. OMG! MIR! AND CHRIS! And, OMG! CARMEN!(Who did NOT AT ALL make me nuts, silly woman!)
I totally admitted that I was fake texting because I had no idea what Heather looked like and they’re all “NERD! Heather’s right there!”
Lucky for me, they knew her and I could stop the text messaging charade. (LUCKY!)
We stayed and chatted for a few minutes, then we had to head back to the room because I had been scheduled to do a video interview with Leah for Alpha Mom TV.
(Which. IMAGINE THAT. ME. DOING AN ON CAMERA INTERVIEW.)
I was extremely nervous about doing an on camera reason for many reasons.
a)My weight.
b)Um, gas.
c)I spit when I talk when I am excited. (Seriously, ask Amy. p.s. SORRY AMY.)
d)I am not very smart and um, what the hell do I know about anything really?
e)I do not know how to apply my makeup.
HOWEVER! When I got to the room, I was shocked to find out that my makeup was going to be PROFESSIONALLY DONE.
By a man named Jesus.
Jesus was pretty and he was gay and he thought I was cute. What more could I have asked for in a professional makeup artist? (Oh! I know! That he brush his teeth after he ate his lunch because I am sensitive to smell and I had to fight the urge to dry heave everytime he talked really close to my face.)
Now. The Interview. [Janice from friends voice]Oh.My.God[/Janice from friends voice.] People, I danced aerobically during the interview. Yeah.
I think I’ll make The Interview “Part Two” because a)I’m tired of typing b)G-unit woke up from her nap and is running around naked screaming c) I think my ass may explode any minute now (Which hahaha, wait til I tell you about the ass explotion in Amalahs hotel room.)
LUCKY AMY!
Look! My Target clothes!
Have I ever told you that I have extraordinarily small ears? Because I do, and I have been teased about them my entire life. Especially by my dad who used to blame my “disobedience” on the fact that I didn’t actually hear what he told me to do because haha! Get it? My ears are so small that I can not hear very well.
Why am I talking about my ears when there are clothes that need to be packed and big toes that need to be shaved and nails that need to be painted and eyebrows that need to be plucked?
Is it possible that I am avoiding the actual DOING of those things because I am nervous and have cramps?
I’ve shed a few tears over leaving my children. The boys will be fine, they’ve been away from me for long periods of time before (Andrew was gone with a friend in Palm Springs for 4 days last week. This week, they’ve both been gone all week with my sister.) They don’t need me in the ways that G-Unit does. I’m always with her, and she’s very attached to me. Like, so attached that Tony is often heard shouting “CUT THE UMBILICAL CORD, WOMAN.”
I know she’ll be fine with her daddy and brubbers, but I still can’t help but cry when I think of being away from her for THREE DAYS.
My God, I love my children. More than anything else, I love them.
Now, it’s time to shut this thing down, go to bed and get ready to board a plane in the morning. (OMG! A PLANE! I’M SCARED OF PLANES BUT HAVE BEEN TO NERVOUS ABOUT EXPOSING MY FATNESS LIVE AND IN PERSON TO EVEN THINK ABOUT THE PLANE BUT IT JUST HIT ME. AIRPLANE! COULD CRASH! AND DIE! HELP!)
When my Aerobic Dance Instructor announced that she’d be leaving for Russia for the summer, I knew that I’d miss Aerobic Dance Class, but I had no idea just how much I’d miss it.
I hate “freestyling” at the gym. I hate it with a passion.
Machines are boring. One minute on the eliptical feels like 2 hours. I try everything to distract myself from the stupid little red timer in the hopes that it will go faster if I stop obsessing over each passing second. I put my towel over the timer, I read a magazine, I watch the TV with no sound, I think about people that I hate and how I’m going to kill them with my new muscular body, I think about Teh Sex and how I sure look forward to having it again someday when my husband finally decides to get his Shit Snipped, I think about my babies and ponies and rainbows and bloggers and…and…THEN I CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE AND I LIFT UP THE TOWEL TO DISCOVER THAT ONLY 48 SECONDS HAS PASSED.
Not only are the machines boring, but they are dirty. I find myself dry heaving everytime I go to use a machine after a fellow gymmate has used it to find Sticky Ass Sweat lingering on the seat. HELLO? That is what the towel you are carrying around is for, you dirty pig.
Then there’s the issue of me being completely unable to control my gas whilst using any machine that involves the squeezing together of my legs. I try to be all “Yeah, I farted, SO WHAT?” about it, but honestly, farting at the gym amongst women who are walking around trying to prove that they are BETTER HUMAN BEING THAN YOU because they use 8 pound weights (as opposed to your lame little 5 pounders)makes me feel bad about myself.
Can we talk about the women who hog the machines now? Obviously, these are women who have no clue about the proper way to “work out” because everyone knows that 3 SETS OF 12 IS ENOUGH. Sitting there doing 100 leg presses isn’t going to win you a special place in Gym Heaven, so STEP OFF AND GIVE SOMEONE ELSE A TURN.
God.
I miss the days where I could just get to the gym early, to “stretch and get prepared to own the aerobic dance floor with my totally awesome moves and burn a buttload of calories in the process.
No wiping other people’s ass sweat, no waiting for stupid people to share the machines, no boringness. Just pure, sweet, calorie burning dancing.
I hope she plans on coming back. I do not know what I’ll do if I find out that she’s gone forever. Seriously.
Dear Internet,
I know you’re probably mad at my mommy for not answering your emails or leaving comments on your blog, but honestly? It’s not her fault.
I like to get into her things, especially her perfume and make up. Yesterday, I found her brand new bronzing powder and OMG! I went CERAZY with it because all of the pretty people are orange.
You think it looked beautiful on me? Well, you should have seen how AWESOME the sofa looked. And the carpet? It was so sparkly and shiny!
Daddy tells mommy that she should put her stuff away so that I can’t get into it, but daddy forgets that I know how to climb and how to make steps if I can’t reach things that I want. (Word to any toddlers out there listening: Plastic storage boxes make awesome steps! You can thank me the next time you’re able to reach your mommy’s makeup bag and you are able to make your face and the carpet shiny and orange like me!)
Anyways, mommy really wants to tell you about last night (something about having so much fun last night with some dude named Jay Mohr, I don’t know, I was pooping when she was telling daddy about it.) but, you know, there is makeup she must protect from my little hands, so you’ll have to wait until I crash for the night.
Peace out.
-G Unit.
Last Tuesday night, I sat at a table with Jay Mohr, Nikki Cox, Ralphie May, Bert and um, my cousin.
Talk about akward.
You see, Jay had invited me to see his show at The Improv. He was all “If you want to come, I’ll put you on the Almighty List.” And I was all “let me think about it YES PUT ME ON IT NOW OK THANK YOU.”
Tony didn’t want to go. I think he said something about it being a “weeknight” and having to “get up early” for “work” but I can not be sure because I was too busy planning out which “outfit” would make my boobs look the biggest to know for sure.
I invited my cousin, partly because I wanted to spend some time with her and partly because no one in my family believes that I know him (which is so lame because there is photographic evidence!) and having her there with me would put the doubts to rest once and for all.
We arrived at The Improv a few minutes before the show started. I walked up to the window and proudly announced “Hi, I’m on Jay’s list.” The girl looked up at me and said “ID please.” She checks the list, looks puzzled and says “um, one minute.”
“Is there a problem?”
“Yeah, you’re on the list for the 10:30 show. My manager is looking into it.”
The manager comes back a few minutes later and says “Ok, you can go in.”
We walk in and the manager tells the man who was going to seat us “They’re VIP.”
I admit it. I made sweet pee pee. Just a little bit. I’ve never been VIP anything before, well, unless you count that one week in Kindergarten when I got to talk about myself all week long and everyone in the class had to write a story about me. That was pretty sweet.
As soon as we turned the corner to make our way to “VIP” seating, I saw Jay. (eeeeeee! I know, I shouldn’t love him anymore. There are so many reasons not to and yet, I do. And I probably always will.) He walked over, gave me a very awesome hug and complimented me. I introduced him to my cousin, he shook her hand (haha! I got a hug, she got a handshake! I WIN!!) and then said “You’re sitting VIP tonight.”
I was all “Where’s VIP.”
He was all “You’re sitting at my table, with all of the comedians.”
I looked over and there was a table full of comedians + one very HOT Nikki Cox.
I pissed my pants again, but this time it was not sweet pee pee, for it was THE PEE OF FEAR.
I had met Nikki once before, but I do not KNOW Nikki. I had met Bert before, but I do not KNOW Bert (Also? Bert does not answer my MYSPACE MESSAGES and so I am pretty pissed off at him. I mean, he sends me a bunch of “bulletins” in which he tells me to “watch this video” or “come see him perform here” but BOB FORBID HE ANSWER MY MESSAGES.) I had never met Ralphie (although, I watched him on Last Comic Standing and thought he was heelarious.) I felt so out of place and very much like I may have to lay down and die from the fear.
We walked up to the table and everyone looked at me like “Who in THE HELL?”
“Hi, I’m Y from Joy Unexpected!”
Ha! Ha! I’m lying. I didn’t actually say that, but I was tempted to, to try to fit in, like “Yeah, I’m an entertainer just like you! Respect me? and like me? please?!”
“Hi, uh, I’m Y, Uh, Um, yeah, I’m a friend of Jay’s. Um, hahah yeah.”
(OH MY GOD! THIS STORY IS SO BORING! WHY AM I TELLING YOU THIS OTHER THAN TO BRAG THAT I WAS A VERY IMPORTANT PERSON?)
Blahblahblah, the show was hilarious, Jay is hot, Nikki has big boobs, Ralphie May made me spit my drink out, Bert made me fart (but I’m pretty sure no one heard it because the laughter was too loud.) blahblah. He invited me to go again tonight and I said yes. blahblahblahandalsohahahaha)
(That was totally one of those stories that is completely awesome to the person telling it, but totally lame to the people listening. So lame, that they’d rather stab themselves in the hand repeatedly with scissors than listen to it. Sorry about that.)
In more exciting news…
I got my electric bill today!
I just added that to the list of “Reasons That I Hate California With a Passion and Would Move Today Were it Not For the Fact That My Entire Family Lives Here.”
(But seriously, who needs a kidney?)
Is this thing on?
Last week I posted pictures of of my stomach. I tried to make light of it, but the truth was, I was terrified of letting people see what it REALLY looks like.
I can’t tell you how many times that I’ve cried over the way my stomach looks. When I see it in the mirror, I feel like some kind of a beast. When I’m watching a movie with my husband and an image of a beautiful woman with a stomach that is flat and not full of stretch marks and a deformed belly button appears on the screen, I want to throw up from the shame that I feel for the way that I look.
No matter how many times my husband tells me that I’m beautiful, I can’t believe it because of my stomach..
His hands gently stroked my belly, as he looked at it. “You’re so beautiful.” He whispered. “Stop calling yourself ugly. I love your body. Those stretch marks are beautiful to me, because they remind me that you carried my children. My children grew in there and you’re beautiful.” The tears came faster and harder. Here is this man, this wonderful, loving man, rubbing the body I hate. Looking at it, loving it. Why can’t I just accept it for what it is?
To expose my belly in that way was terrifying. I didn’t know how people would react. Would people be as repulsed as I was? All of the feedback was positive, except for one comment and of course, that was the one that stuck with me the most.
“your husband just wanted to get laid, why else would he say you are beautiful? Your stretch marks are hideous”.
And that comment was exactly the reason why I had felt so ashamed. My body isn’t what “Society” considers a beautiful body. It’s hideous and repulsive. Sadly, I’ve bought into that lie.
I’ve always felt that I am alone, because my sister has had children and her belly doesn’t look like mine. My cousins have had babies and they didn’t get stretch marks.
That feeling of being the only woman to look this way has made me feel isolated. It has made me feel like I should be ashamed.
That is why I can not stop crying over this site, The Shape of a Mother. (Amalah send me the link this morning.) I’m sobbing over here. To know that I’m not a freak, that other women have experienced such changes in their body, to know that it’s nothing to be ashamed of, even though society (“the media”) tries to tell us differently is a powerful, powerful thing.
*Edited to add* (Shape of a Mother put up a post I wrote on November 2002. I thought I’d repost it here too.
Last Wednesday, I started The Atkins Diet. The plan was to do it for 2 weeks to jumpstart my weight loss and then to gradually add the good carbs back in and go back on weight watchers.
Well, as of this morning, I have lost 8 pounds. In a week.
Spending time on the computer isn’t something I’m able to do much anymore. The reason?
With each passing minute, she is learning new things, discovering more ways to get into trouble, figuring out that she can “refuse” to do things, and so on and so forth.
In the past 2 weeks, she has learned the following
-How to climb out of her crib, but more like, “flip out, land on her back and get the wind knocked out of her”, which I suppose is better than “land on her neck and paralyze herself,” but, still.
-How to climb up onto her changing table and turn her fan on and off.
-How to climb onto the kitchen table and “jump up and down” on it.
-How to climb onto my bed.
-How to do summersaults.
-How to turn on the stereo and crank it on full blast.
-How to open doors
-That she doesn’t HAVE to take two naps. NO, one is good enough, thank you very much.
Combine that with all of the Mad Toddler Skillz she already possessed, (like peeling the border off of her wall instead of taking a nap, taking her bedding off of her mattress everytime that I lay her down, taking her diaper off no matter how many times I duct tape it, throwing herself on the floor whilst screaming bloody murder when she doesn’t get something that she wants.) and life as I knew it is PRETTY MUCH OVER.
Also? My computer is being a little bitch and I’m sure it’s because she’s old and about to die, but something that should take me 30 seconds, takes MINUTES and minutes are precious when all that you have are 30 of them to get something done on here.
I’ve been trying to write about The Wedding for 2 days now and I just can’t seem to finish it. I mean, I know you’re all dying to read it, you just have to believe that I’m working on it.
I feel guilty because I’ve not been visiting other bloggers NOR have I been answering my emails. That’s shitty of me, and I am sorry. I just hope that you know it’s not for any other reason except…
My “computer time” is not the only thing that’s been taken from me. So has my “do the laundry” time and “Load the dishwasher” time and “scrub the tub” time and “sit down to watch a little Maury” time because girlfriend be gettin’ into trouble every minute of every day and I.Can.Not.Accomplish.Anything.Including.Taking.A.Dump. AAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH.
I’m actually thinking of taking her to a friends house (who runs a daycare) one day a week. NOT so that I can spend time on the computer (lieeeeess) but so that I can have ONE DAY to myself, to get work done, to write, so answer email, TO TAKE A MOTHERFUCKING DUMP IN PEACE.
Anyways.
I’m off to see a show at The Improv with Jay Mohr. I just wanted to let you know what was going on in my crazy and yet totally average and boring life.
