I’ve been feeling frustated at my inability to get things done around the house. It’s hard to complete a task with a one year old baby girl who loves to spend time with her mama. I find myself spending all of my time with my daughter, playing with her, reading to her, singing with her, taking her outside, going for walks, dancing with her, fixing her hair, teaching her colors, cuddling her, teaching her ABC’s, teaching her body parts, (which, by the way, it’s no longer “vagina” but “pachina” because, well, PACHINA IS SO CUTE. Double standard because I was all “No cute names for Penis!” But pachina is like the cutest name for a twat EVER and so, pachina it is.)
The only time I feel like I have to clean and get things done is while she’s napping. But, I use that time to catch up on my email (which, by the way, I’m VERY BEHIND ON, so forgiveth me if I’ve not yet responded, ok? ok!), pay my bills, catch up on my reality TV, make phone calls, write, and after I’m done with that, THEN, if she’s still sleeping, I’ll do laundry, or clean the piss off of the toilet seat.
I feel frustrated. I want the house to be clean and in order, I want to be caught up on the laundry, I want this place (notice, I didn’t call it “my home” because IT’S NOT MINE) to be a comfortable, functional environment where we can all feel at peace. Instead, it’s an unorganized, chaotic MESS.
But damn, if it doesn’t smell WONDERFUL. Because? I am obsessed with Products That Make Your House Smell Good. Glade plug in fans, Oust fans, Wisps , Glade candles, LORD, my cup overfloweth with Air Freshing Products. I have one or two in EVERY ROOM and an entire cabinet filled with new ones, ready to be plugged in or lit up.
I decided that I needed to find someone, whom I trust deeply, to watch G-Unit for half a day, one day a week. Because, IT’S ALL HER FAULT. The Charm. It be interferring with my ability to Get Shit Done. At least, that’s what I’ve decided to tell people, because it feels great to blame A BABY, rather than take responsibility for the fact that I SUCK AT HOUSEKEEPING.
I was so excited about having a little time to myself to get things done around the house… Until the time came to actually take her. I couldn’t do it.
The thought of being in the house without my daughter killed me and I wimped out. “I don’t NEED time away from her, what I need is to learn how to manage my time in a more efficient way! THE GIRL STAYS!”
I’ve only left Gabby with my mom 3 times since she’s been born. I’ve left her with my sister once. And I’ve left her with Tony a couple times when I’ve gone out to do Fun Things With Friends. I’ve missed her like CRAZY those few times I’ve left her and couldn’t wait to come back home to see her, kiss her and squeeze her uncontrollably. HOWEVER, that’s so much different then her not being here in the house with me. The thought of that makes me want to cry. It would freak me out if she were gone while I was here.
She’s my lil’ buddy. My little partner in crime (a.k.a my partner in farts). She’s my sunshine, my precious, my Special Sauce, my Gabby Goo, my G-unit, my lil brat, my everything.
Maybe the fact that I can’t bring myself to drop here off for a few hours is because I know she’s the very last baby I’ll ever have, and I know how how quickly she’ll grow up.
Or maybe it’s that I’ve become completely attached to that girl. And the thought of being in this house kills me.
Of course, there’s always the very small possibility that a very small, tiny weeny part of me does not want to get rid of “The Greatest Excuse EVER” as to why I did not clean the house. Again.
But most likely? It’s because that little girl owns me.
Get out of me pre-FACE.
Saturday night I forced myself to get in my VAN and drive to Skits’ 40th birthday party. I say “force myself” because, well, I’ve not been feeling so hot, and when I feel this way, I like to hide from the world. However, I am growing (ha! ha!) and learning how to push those feelings aside and not them control me and not let them keep from from enjoying life. Also? There was no way I was going to let my weight issues keep me from seeing Skits one last time before she moves.
So, I bought some new earrings to make myself feel better and headed on out to El Torito.
I’m so glad I didn’t listen to “my feelings.”
I had a fabulous time with my friends. I mean, does it get any more fabulous then ME singing “As Long as You Love Me” by Backstreet boys? Seriously, pointing whilst singing The Backstreet Boys is TOTALLY fabulous, right? And, so totally, completely “cool”, no? And so is owning their “greatest” “HITS” CD, YES?!
Speaking of “Fabulous”, I have to tell you about my friend Joelle. (I hope she does not kill me) She’s an incredibly beautiful woman. I’ve always thought that, always. But, saturday night, when she walked in the room, she was so stunning, it actually took my breath away. She had a really hot new haircut (10 inches… GONE) and was wearing a hot pair of jeans and MAN, I was in awe. I felt very ugly for about 2 minutes while standing next to her, but the thing is this, not only is she beautiful? She’s got a great personality to match. She’s not “stuck up” what so ever. Infact? She’s loving, warm and she’s all classy n’shit. That’s rare, to find someone that gorgeous with such a good, pure spirit. I feel lucky to know her, I really do.
(Dear Joelle,
Are you mad at me for writing this? Circle YES or NO
Love U 4 Evah,
-Y)
The night ended on a sad note. Having to hug Skits “goodbye”. I know we’ll see each other again, BUT I HATE CHANGE. I hate that she’s not going to be a couple freeways and just an hour away anymore. HATE it. I hate that should I accidently get pregnant again, she won’t be able to throw me another baby shower and make beans and weenies for me at her house here in california. I hate that I won’t be able to email her and be all “Todd Glass is going to be at The Improv next week, wanna go?” I guess that’s life. Things happen, people move, life changes. You have to accept it and make the best of it. But, that doesn’t mean I can’t HATE IT.
I wish PigHunter had come with me, but, he’s a homebody and was all “Go! By yourself! Have fun! Don’t let dumb people get you down! Enjoy life! SING BACKSTREET BOYZ WHILST POINTING YOUR FINGER IN THE AIR! Because that’s cool!” (He might not have actually “said” the thing about backstreet boys, but he totally said it with his eyes)
So, alone I went.
And I’m happy I did. I needed to be around friends and let loose a little.
Ok. A lot. Because saying “I have to PEE!” very loudly in a restaurant is “letting loose A LOT.”
Can a girl get a little understanding?
Here’s the thing…
When I write about my weight, I am speaking of how I feel about MYSELF ONLY.
I have always struggled with self hatred and insecurities. When I say things like “I’m fat and gross” I am not saying that I FEEL THAT WAY ABOUT OTHER PEOPLE WHO ARE OVERWEIGHT.
I am talking about the feelings I have towards myself. The past few days have been really rough emotionally for me. I’m sorry if my brutal honestly about how I feel inside offends you, but it’s not about you.
These are my issues, these are my struggles, these are my problems. And YES, I know it hurts people who love me, especially my husband. But I’m not TRYING to hurt people. I’m trying to work through my self hatred, I’m done trying to figure out WHY I am this way, I don’t give a shit WHY anymore, I only care to NOT BE THIS WAY anymore.
Writing here helps me do that.
I honestly believe a HUGE reason that I’ve been feeling this way recently is hormonal. My periods have been irregular, extremely heavy and very painful. I believe that something is happening inside of my body that isn’t “right”. I feel so awful all of the time and I hardly am able to sleep. I’m worn out and that is contributing to my emotional state.
I just wish people could try to understand where I’m coming from. I’m actually a happy, fun loving person. I just have these voices in my head (satan, perhaps?) that want me to believe ugly things about myself. If that pisses you off, that I struggle with these things? I don’t know what to say.
(this concludes any FURTHER TALK ABOUT MY ISSUES, I’M ALL ISSUED OUT. From now on, it’s farts, ‘gineys and reality tv. Ok? OK!)
The one in which I say “And MAN” constantly
I was recently interviewed by Regina Lynn from Wired News.
She was doing a story about the annual “Boobiethon”. I spoke with her on Tuesday evening and after we talked about the ‘Thon, the subject turned to my blog.
She gave me some extremely awesome compliments, told me that she loved my blog and had spent an hour reading it, then… THEN, she said that, are you ready for this? I was a “great writer”.
A professional WRITER thinks I’m a “great writer.”
Go figure. (And yes, I do believe that was a Toot of my Own Horn)
After the complimenting of my great writing skillz (Ha! Haaa!), the conversation quickly turned to The Fat. She told me she could totally relate to my struggle with The Fat. We had a really great conversation about our body issues, I really appreciated her perspective.
After our phone call, I sent her an email that said we should meet up for coffee sometime, that way, she could see “that I’m not lying when I talk about my weight and how gross I really am.”
Funny stuff, RIGHT?
Not so much. This was her response.
the way i see it, if we women keep telling our lovers that we’re huge and gross, eventually they will believe us .. and then that steady stream of “you’re beautiful” dries up … and then perhaps we drive them to go find a woman who isn’t huge and gross (translation: who doesn’t tell them she’s huge and gross, because the men wouldn’t have noticed if we hadn’t old them … )
I’m not saying that you’ll lose your husband if you don’t shut up. LMAO!!! i’m just saying that since you’re NOT huge and gross, and your husband knows it and I know it, it makes me wonder what’s really behind it. what’s the real worry there? that someone won’t love us, or that we’re not deserving of love, and as long as we are “huge and gross” we can pretend it’s because of that rather than admit what disgusting people we really are inside?
sigh. it’s so complicated being female, isn’t it? and ex-Catholic (in my case).
Whoa, huh?
I haven’t been able to stop thinking about those words since I read them. They’ve been bouncing around my head ‘err since. A LOT to think about right there. And man, am I thinking about it.
I also haven’t been able to stop thinking about whether she would actually “quote” me in her article.
Well, she did and MAN, I’m SO glad I asked her not to link my blog. I’m feeling slightly embarassed at what I said, but, then again, I have this problem where I think everything I say or do is “dumb”. (I’M WORKING ON THAT, SO DON’T LECTURE ME) But, yeah, I’m glad I asked to NOT be linked. HA!
(That’s right, I turned down a BUTTLOAD of hits. I bare my soul on this blog, and the thought of thousands of people clicking over here FREAKS ME OUT. I don’t write here to get a ton of hits. I write here because it’s cheap therapy, because I connect with people who I can relate to, who understand where I’m coming from, who are supportive and kind. I write here because I enjoy writing.)
Well, that, and because I love talking about farts, boobs and vaginas on The Internet.
Too bad I didn’t have a blog back then, because The Internet NEVER would have let me wear that veil.
I believe I wrote about “My Big Fat Stupid Ugly Germican Wedding” once before. However, today, I was doing what I do when I get emotional…looking through photo albums. As I flipped through the pages of my wedding album, I thought OMG! I have to take pictures of this for The Internet to see how HILARIOUS my wedding was.
People. It IS hilarious.
I must defend myself before you see these pictures.
1.) It was 1990. “Bigger” “Puffier” = “Better”
2.) I was only 19 years old. My parents still controlled everything
that I did. I’m not bringing that up because I’m bitter, but
because that explains a)why I am NOT wearing makeup. b)why I am
NOT wearing jewelery. c) MY HAIR
3.) I wish I had a third reason, but I don’t. But, man, I wish I
did.
Are you ready for Pure Puffy Hotness?
Let’s start with The Bangs, shall we? Because I KNOW you’re freaked out by The Bangs. A week before the wedding, I had no bangs. My hair was all one length and MAN, was it long. My friend was going to pay for this really awesome stylist named “Johnny” to do my hair. BUT, for reasons that I will not get into here, my parents didn’t want “Johnny” to do my hair, SO, I decided to use my mom’s friend’s “stylist” (and I use that term VERY LOOSELY). She decided to chop me some bangs, an entire TOP OF MY HEAD worth of ’em and RAT THEM TO HEAVEN. Then, she just put the rest of my hair in a BUN that half fell out before the wedding even started. Perfect!
The Veil. What can I say about The Veil? “IT was HUGE?” “Man, that’s a LOT of pearls!” Seriously. It is what it is. And, what it is, was FUGLY.
The Dress. I was so damn proud of those “puffy sleaves”. I aint even gonna lie. What I did not realize was how “Amish” the dress was. Because… THERE IS NO SKIN SHOWING WHATSOEVER. But, hey, it had puffy sleaves AND “A Train” “With Bows”!
Lack of makeup/jewelery. It was against my parents religion. That’s all I can say about that.
I think I’ll let those pictures speak for themselves.
Remember, I said “Bigger”=”Better”? That would be why my cake was BIGGER THAN GOD. 3 foot base cake, with 4 round cakes, a fountain, and a stairway to heaven. Don’t be jealous of my Cake With A Fountain.
There is ONE picture from our wedding that I love. For several reasons. My Tiny Waist, the smile on Tony’s face (because, you know why.), how happy we look. And for a moment, when I look at that picture, I forget how, um, HORRIBLE everything about our wedding was, but then, I LOOK AT THIS WITH THE HAIR STYLE FROM HELL and I am reminded that, yeah, our wedding was so very ugly. (But so very hilarious. At least I can laugh about it.)
Because it makes me laugh so hard
I was lucky enough to capture G-Unit in action. This is what she does when she doesn’t get her way. SHE SCREAMS ALL DRAMATIC LIKE. It’s hilarious because… LOOK AT HER FACE! At the same time, it’s NOT hilarious because… LOOK AT HER FACE!
This picture will go down as one of my top 10 favorite of that girl because… LOOK AT HER FACE!
Um
In our house, it’s always been the rule to refer to the Penis as The Penis.
Not as The Weenis. Nor as The Pee Pee. Nor as The Weiner.
Penis.
No cutsey, baby names allowed.
I remember one time when Andrew was about 2, he went for a ride on his little electric tractor with my little brother. Andrew was riding in the back, holding on to my brother’s waist. As they raced by, we all heard Andrew shout, “Uncle Tim, scoot up, your squishing my penis.”
My mom looked at me all horrified and said “I’m sorry, Y, but there’s something creepy about a child that little saying PENIS.”
I just rolled my eyes, because, UM, THAT’S WHAT IT IS. A PENIS. Would it really be better if he said “Weiner?”
Momma, please.
I’ll never forget the first time he asked about MY penis.
I informed him that girls don’t have a penis, but rather, a vagina.
Oh, how he laughed and laughed. He thought vagina was the funniest word he’d ever heard.
Later that night, I was taking a leak when I heard giggling outside of the bathroom door.
“Andrew, what are you doing?” I asked from behind the locked door.
He continued to giggle and blurted out “I hear you going pee out of your china.”
I seriously was going to make a point with this post, but now I can’t stop thinking about “My China” and I forgot where I was going with this.
Ha! Ha! Ha! “My china”
*****
Do you remember when I told you that my daughter was “part beaver”?
And I showed you clear and convincing evidence to back that claim up?
Well, The Beaver is OUT OF CONTROL, people.
I have no idea that I hadn’t noticed until YESTERDAY how bad her wood eating habit had become. I pointed to it last night and said “What did you do?!” and, as Tony is my witness, she walked over, put her mouth on it and STARTED TO BITE IT.
And people wonder why I REFUSE to buy expensive furniture with young kids in the house.
I’m not going to lie, I’m upset about it, because I can’t have anything nice. My kids always end up ruining it somehow, whether it be with a permenant marker, a knife or THEIR TEETH. But, I’m trying to have a sense of humor about it and saying things like “It’s JUST FURNITURE.” or “That’s what babies do!”
Right, because ALL babies eat wood!
In closing, I have no idea how this post went from “Penis to Beaver” but hey, at least I bring up The Tuna. (And trust me, I have a Tuna story to tell. Another day, people, another day.)
The water colored ponies will one day ride away
I spend a good part of my day kissing, hugging and squeezing my daughter. She’s not always happy about it, but it doesn’t stop me from smothering her.
Sometimes, when she sleeps, I’ll sneak in the room and stare at her. And I’ll think how I can’t wait til she wakes up so I can kiss, hug and squeeze her again.
I loved my boys like that, I kissed them all of the time, I cuddled them and I enjoyed every minute with them when they were little, but I truly had no idea just how quickly the years would pass, how soon they’d be “grown” and no longer my little baby boys.
I remember the day that picture was taken. It’s permenantly inscribed in my memory. That’s my first baby, Andrew. It was a warm day and we were just relaxing outside of our condo. Tony grabbed the camera and snapped away. My God, I love that boy and I can’t remember being happier than I was that very moment, right there, with my beautiful son. I was only 23 years old. Some would say too young to be a mother, but that was all I ever wanted.
To have children. To be a good mom to those children.
That smile on my face? That was real, pure happiness, because that little boy was everything I had ever wanted. And I was doing what I believed I was meant to do, the only thing that I believe I am truly good at.
Being a mother.
I had no idea at that moment, when I was kneeling next to the child I loved so much, the little person who brought so much joy into my life, that I’d blink my eyes and he’d be a 12 year old young man.
I knew he’d not be little forever, I knew one day he’d be an akward, witty, pubescent, zitty nosed, but totally perfect preteen young man, but I honestly had absolutely NO IDEA it would happen so damn fast. So fast, that it hurts.
Now, I have been blessed with another baby, an unexpected daughter. I am painfully aware of how quickly she will grow, how the days will turn into months, then into years. How one day, she’ll not want to me hold her close and kiss her all over because she’ll have friends to play with or games to play or skates to lace up and glide around the neighborhood in.
I know that day is just around the corner, so for now, I will kiss that girl, I will cuddle that girl, I will squeeze her and nibble on her sweet little cheeks every damn chance I get and I will be careful to remember how sweet she smells, how soft she feels and how very, very precious she is at every moment of every day that I am blessed to hold her in my arms.
See? Not a scam.
I want to thank everyone who has offered to help Stacey. I noticed that almost everything has been purchased off of her baby registry. You guys are awesome. If you had written asking for her address and I didn’t respond? I was NOT ignoring you…Please know it was just an oversight (as I was OVERWHELMED with emails regarding helping, which is so awesome.)
I just recieved an email from a reader whom I put in contact with Stacey. She was able to meet her last night and spend some time talking with Stacey (and her brother, who is living with her). Something I did NOT know? She was at the superdome. Ugh. If you’re interested, click on the extended entry to read the email.
Again, thank you for your help and generousity.
Splat.
Last week I had a conversation with Jim about my weight. I shared with him my frustrations about trying so hard (which, was kind of a lie, because for the past few months, I’ve not been trying as hard as I could have been.) and only seeing minimal results.
He then proceeded to give me some great advice. I listened closely and decided I was going to do everything he told me to do, because, um, have you seen his body? The man knows what he’s talking about.
I cut out sugar (and by “cut out sugar” I mean, I replaced my “venti green tea frappucinos with a tall, nonfat, sugar free vanilla latte. And can I just say…”Yuck”? Because, yuck.) I worked out every morning before I had anything to eat. I drank more water. I ate lots of veggies (salads) and snacked on fruit during the day.
As of this morning, I had lost 6 pounds.
Awesome. I was hoping for 24, but hey, I’ll take what I can get these days.
I was talking to a friend about my progress and how S-L-O-W the weight is coming off. I like to pretend that I’m happy it’s coming off slowly because “that means I probably won’t gain it back! Because I did it The Right Way!” Which, is probably true, but DAMN.
We started talking about all the crazy things we used to do to lose weight.
The craziest thing I ever did? Starve myself for days, only eating white rice with lemon when I couldn’t take it anymore, and when I DID finally break down and eat something, I’d do 20358698 jumping jacks in my room until I was drenched in sweat but ONLY AFTER I had taken a package of chocolate laxatives.
I’d poop until there was nothing left but juicy air. I’d actually sit on the toilet crapping juicy air. And crying because MAN did it hurt, but hey! I was SKIN-NAY!
I sometimes get tempted to do crazy, insane, unhealthy things like that again to lose weight, but now that I’m the age that rhymes with “dirty whore” I am too afraid of dying or damaging vital organs.
I’m curious, what’s the craziest thing you’ve done to drop a few pounds? Or am I the only one who shat juicy air to look beautiful