This upcoming Monday I have a doctor's appointment. I'm not sick sick, just the usual flu, but if we're planning on trying for kids this year, I should make sure I'm fit. Since I have gained so much weight over the past few years, it's a little alarming. There has been no change in my daily habits, no immense bingeing, less exercise, nothing has changed. This is why it's so strange that my weight should have changed so much.
When I head to the doctor on Monday, I hope to have blood tests ran (eeek), and my body basically overhauled. Hopefully we'll find the reason my weight has drastically changed, and be able to fix it. Normally I'd just assume it was a body change, and I just gained weight. If that was true, though, would I only gain the weight in my midsection and face, but no change to the arms or legs? I mean NO change. It's really a horrible thing, I am so far out of proportion, it's crazy. My dad actually told me to bring a photo from two years ago to show her the huge difference. While that didn't exactly make me feel beautiful, whatever. I need to figure out what is wrong with me, no matter how scary it may be.
Wish me luck!
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Monday, January 28, 2008
Please Stop TALKING
I love our upstairs neighbor, but as of 3:41am last night, I kind of hate her, too. With a sore back and neck, I took a tylenol pm (advil pm is better, but doesn't come in vanilla flavored) and fell asleep around 11pm. Let me start off by saying that our upstairs neighbor has 4 cats. Four fun-loving, jump off the scratching post onto a mirror, racecar kittites. They are CRAZY, and I should know, as I've cat-sat them many times now. Despite the sounds of racing kitties, last night was seriously miserable.
Waking up at 3:3oam or so, I got up to go to the restroom. I crawled back into bed, still slightly drugged thanks to that tylenol, and all of a sudden heard our upstairs neighbor LAUGHING. At 3:30 in the morning. Not only was she laughing, but she was walking across her apartment very quickly, and she seemed to be having a conversation. Who is on the phone at (now it was) 3:45 in the morning?? Add to all that the fact that the television was blaring the whole night, and I attempted to fall back to sleep with my fingers in my ears. It was ineffectual, to say the least.
When I had to get out of bed this morning, I was angry and sleepy. The only time I've ever had someone else disrupt my sleep was years ago- when some neighbor down the street was blasting mariachi music. I get VERY cranky when someone disturbs my slumber, even more so when it seems to be caused by someone who is unable to sleep (EVER, we think she may be on drugs) but is doing very loud things as if she's the only person in the building.
She gave us a Christmas/Wedding gift not too long ago, and I have yet to write a thank you note. I will eventually send one out, but would it be wrong to thank her and also mention how much noise she makes at all hours of the night? Seriously, it was BAD last night.
Waking up at 3:3oam or so, I got up to go to the restroom. I crawled back into bed, still slightly drugged thanks to that tylenol, and all of a sudden heard our upstairs neighbor LAUGHING. At 3:30 in the morning. Not only was she laughing, but she was walking across her apartment very quickly, and she seemed to be having a conversation. Who is on the phone at (now it was) 3:45 in the morning?? Add to all that the fact that the television was blaring the whole night, and I attempted to fall back to sleep with my fingers in my ears. It was ineffectual, to say the least.
When I had to get out of bed this morning, I was angry and sleepy. The only time I've ever had someone else disrupt my sleep was years ago- when some neighbor down the street was blasting mariachi music. I get VERY cranky when someone disturbs my slumber, even more so when it seems to be caused by someone who is unable to sleep (EVER, we think she may be on drugs) but is doing very loud things as if she's the only person in the building.
She gave us a Christmas/Wedding gift not too long ago, and I have yet to write a thank you note. I will eventually send one out, but would it be wrong to thank her and also mention how much noise she makes at all hours of the night? Seriously, it was BAD last night.
Friday, January 25, 2008
Introducing....
My new niece, Ivy Jean Hayley-Brown. Man, that's a long name. Anyway, she was born at 1:30am, on January 25th in Sydney, Australia. Oddly enough, in America, she wasn't 'technically" born when we were notified. This time change thing is crazy!! Without further ado, I now present my adorable niece:
I think she looks like me. :) It's so strange to think that somewhere on the opposite side of the world, I have a niece. My brother has a child. The dude who would save all his Halloween candy until I ate all mine (and then eat each piece slowly, to torture me) is now a father. I honestly can't believe it!
It's going to be so hard now. I already miss my brother more than I thought I would. And yes, I do slightly resent him and his wife for living so far away- it's just so sad to me. My niece is going to be living her life, walking her steps, smiling the first smile, all without me there to cheer her on and give her hugs and kisses. I guess I'll have to do it by webcam then, right?
The only people I truly feel bad for are my parents. It's not quite fair that in order to see their first grandchild (which is easy for most other grandparents), they must pony up a couple grand, get their passports, and prepare to find somewhere to stay in Sydney. I guess we'd better hurry up and procreate, so the parents won't miss out on too much.
Still, welcome to the world, Baby Ivy.
I think she looks like me. :) It's so strange to think that somewhere on the opposite side of the world, I have a niece. My brother has a child. The dude who would save all his Halloween candy until I ate all mine (and then eat each piece slowly, to torture me) is now a father. I honestly can't believe it!
It's going to be so hard now. I already miss my brother more than I thought I would. And yes, I do slightly resent him and his wife for living so far away- it's just so sad to me. My niece is going to be living her life, walking her steps, smiling the first smile, all without me there to cheer her on and give her hugs and kisses. I guess I'll have to do it by webcam then, right?
The only people I truly feel bad for are my parents. It's not quite fair that in order to see their first grandchild (which is easy for most other grandparents), they must pony up a couple grand, get their passports, and prepare to find somewhere to stay in Sydney. I guess we'd better hurry up and procreate, so the parents won't miss out on too much.
Still, welcome to the world, Baby Ivy.
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Black Out Girl
When I was a junior in high school I fell into a hole while helping out with the Special Games. You'd think that for the insane tuition amounts Loyola Marymount University (In LA) charges, they'd be able to fix some freakin' holes, right? Especially when there will be HANDICAPPED people there? Like, people in wheelchairs, and on crutches? Luckily for those aforementioned special gamers, I was the one (the ONLY one) who managed to fall into that tricky hole filled with dried leaves.
I must say, wearing low-top Converse All-Stars didn't help my ankle bone keep it's stability, as my dainty ankle gave up holding the fort- while I was still standing. There I was, one foot in the hole, ankle touching the ground STILL UPRIGHT. Isn't that some kind of law against nature? I don't think I should be standing while my whole foot was on its side. Seriously. Obviously, my brain felt the same way, and my battle with my pain receptors began. Ever since that fateful (and bruised and puffy) day (when the special gamers made fun of me. I walked funny, they said), when I get hurt my body instantly gets cold, I turn greenish, and I start blacking out. Why does this happen?
It's actually kind of entertaining sometimes, when I whack my elbow on the side of the car or something and black out. My dad gets a little worried, since we're pretty sure that's not a common reaction to hitting yourself, but what can I do? Rewire my internal hardware? Don't think so, buddy.
The point to this story is: I'm an odd bird. I fall down in the most random of places, hurt myself in odd ways, and once actually hurt, I pass out. I wonder if labor will be something to watch out for, black out-wise. Hm.
I must say, wearing low-top Converse All-Stars didn't help my ankle bone keep it's stability, as my dainty ankle gave up holding the fort- while I was still standing. There I was, one foot in the hole, ankle touching the ground STILL UPRIGHT. Isn't that some kind of law against nature? I don't think I should be standing while my whole foot was on its side. Seriously. Obviously, my brain felt the same way, and my battle with my pain receptors began. Ever since that fateful (and bruised and puffy) day (when the special gamers made fun of me. I walked funny, they said), when I get hurt my body instantly gets cold, I turn greenish, and I start blacking out. Why does this happen?
It's actually kind of entertaining sometimes, when I whack my elbow on the side of the car or something and black out. My dad gets a little worried, since we're pretty sure that's not a common reaction to hitting yourself, but what can I do? Rewire my internal hardware? Don't think so, buddy.
The point to this story is: I'm an odd bird. I fall down in the most random of places, hurt myself in odd ways, and once actually hurt, I pass out. I wonder if labor will be something to watch out for, black out-wise. Hm.
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Geeks of the World
I've long assumed I am a geek. I had an internet boyfriend when I was but a child (and I'll be 29 this November so date THAT), when the webpages weren't all cool and WIKI. No, I still had to use a dictionary for terms I didn't understand, and now that I'm older and lazier, I just go to dictionary.com. I learned to read before kindergarten, and I began kindergarten at 4 years old. I was such a tiny little thing in kindergarten, but I was still moved up to a first grade reading class- having to miss the super coolness that was fingerpainting with my kindy classmates. I sound gloaty, don't I? It's not meant to be that way.
As I grew up, I thought it was cool that my cousin was my best friend. What do you mean she HAS to be my friend? Noooooo, she WANTS to. It's only later that I realize I probably wouldn't have been her choice of friend had we not been related. Last night I recounted to Paul a story from 2nd grade.
"I remember when I was a kid- I loved this one boy in my class. Every Valentine's Day, I'd "forget" that we were supposed to bring enough cards for all, and would assume that the valentine from HIM was especially chosen for me. I mean, it had a sticker- of a FROG! I LOVE frogs! (well, at that time I made it a point to) I ignored his mother's script on the back, reading "To Amber, from Chad". Every year he was in my class, kindergarten through 5th grade, and I adored him. It wasn't until 5th grade when I saw him holding hands with my cousin, and I realized I lost that 6 year race for his affection. I was heartbroken, but what can you do? You're a 48 pound 10 year old with legs like sticks- not exactly the most glamorous."
I wore stirrup leggings with suspenders. And a puffy painted t-shirt I made myself. I thought I was hot stuff. Looking back at photos I cringe- who let me go OUT like that?
As I aged, I became a little more interested in looks and a lot more interested in boys. I tried to write them the notes of the "Gifted and Talented", trying to prove to these boys that I was more than just a pretty face- since at that point I wasn't all too attractive in my matching sweatsuit. YIKES.
When I finally got to high school, I finally had the looks that weren't so bad, but I had gotten so used to pretending not to exist that I didn't react well to being newly "boobish". With the new figure that had sprouted up I became THAT girl. The idiot who pretends to be dumb. I'm totally ashamed of that now, but whatever- what can you do when you're tired of being a geek and life finally presents you with some ammo to be a "cool girl"?
Trying to be that girl made me do poorly in school, even though I was in all the AP classes I was assumed to be the random idiot who somehow tested well. I still didn't get the attention I so craved. I wanted me a nerd, the captain of the golf team rather than the captain of the football team. I wanted to have long chats about the Cretaceous Era, and about why Gatsby was like he was... Instead, the jocks called me "Knobs" and told stories about me. I became the prudish "slut". If the jocks told it, it was right. Right? Wrong. It wasn't until Junior year when one particular senior, the class love- our quarterback (and despite my adoration for nerds, I adored him as well) signed my yearbook telling me I was beautiful exactly how I was- and those boys were all idiots. My favorite part? "Look me up someday, I'd like to know the real you." *sigh* After that, I straightened up and dressed appropriately. Sean, if you're out there: thanks, this is the REAL me.
I have to be glad to be a geek, with people like Michael Cera and McLovin (yes, he's a character, but leave me alone, I'm making a point), we're free to be geeks! I don't have to pretend to be dumber than Paul, I don't have to wear a hooterlicious shirt to make him love me. It's OKAY to read a novel at his football games.
Finally, I am free to geek.
As I grew up, I thought it was cool that my cousin was my best friend. What do you mean she HAS to be my friend? Noooooo, she WANTS to. It's only later that I realize I probably wouldn't have been her choice of friend had we not been related. Last night I recounted to Paul a story from 2nd grade.
"I remember when I was a kid- I loved this one boy in my class. Every Valentine's Day, I'd "forget" that we were supposed to bring enough cards for all, and would assume that the valentine from HIM was especially chosen for me. I mean, it had a sticker- of a FROG! I LOVE frogs! (well, at that time I made it a point to) I ignored his mother's script on the back, reading "To Amber, from Chad". Every year he was in my class, kindergarten through 5th grade, and I adored him. It wasn't until 5th grade when I saw him holding hands with my cousin, and I realized I lost that 6 year race for his affection. I was heartbroken, but what can you do? You're a 48 pound 10 year old with legs like sticks- not exactly the most glamorous."
I wore stirrup leggings with suspenders. And a puffy painted t-shirt I made myself. I thought I was hot stuff. Looking back at photos I cringe- who let me go OUT like that?
As I aged, I became a little more interested in looks and a lot more interested in boys. I tried to write them the notes of the "Gifted and Talented", trying to prove to these boys that I was more than just a pretty face- since at that point I wasn't all too attractive in my matching sweatsuit. YIKES.
When I finally got to high school, I finally had the looks that weren't so bad, but I had gotten so used to pretending not to exist that I didn't react well to being newly "boobish". With the new figure that had sprouted up I became THAT girl. The idiot who pretends to be dumb. I'm totally ashamed of that now, but whatever- what can you do when you're tired of being a geek and life finally presents you with some ammo to be a "cool girl"?
Trying to be that girl made me do poorly in school, even though I was in all the AP classes I was assumed to be the random idiot who somehow tested well. I still didn't get the attention I so craved. I wanted me a nerd, the captain of the golf team rather than the captain of the football team. I wanted to have long chats about the Cretaceous Era, and about why Gatsby was like he was... Instead, the jocks called me "Knobs" and told stories about me. I became the prudish "slut". If the jocks told it, it was right. Right? Wrong. It wasn't until Junior year when one particular senior, the class love- our quarterback (and despite my adoration for nerds, I adored him as well) signed my yearbook telling me I was beautiful exactly how I was- and those boys were all idiots. My favorite part? "Look me up someday, I'd like to know the real you." *sigh* After that, I straightened up and dressed appropriately. Sean, if you're out there: thanks, this is the REAL me.
I have to be glad to be a geek, with people like Michael Cera and McLovin (yes, he's a character, but leave me alone, I'm making a point), we're free to be geeks! I don't have to pretend to be dumber than Paul, I don't have to wear a hooterlicious shirt to make him love me. It's OKAY to read a novel at his football games.
Finally, I am free to geek.
I Heart Michael Cera... and so does she.
My friend Laura and I are going to be co-wives. Despite both of us having been married in 2007 (not to each other, weirdos) , we both share an affinity for a certain Michael Cera. Annnnd while I am almost nine years older than Mr. Cera, I'm okay with that. So I'm a Cougar. I'm okay with that.
Laura and I have decided that because we're both married, and we're both going to marry Michael Cera, it all cancels out any weird illegalness of it all- since we're not bigamists, we're just... jointly married to the adorable little guy.
Okay, it sounds weird, but it's not. It's totally cool. Now get off my back, Narc.
Author's note: Laura is apparently weirded out by Michael Cera's age (he's going to be 20 in June). Now I get to keep him all for myself. And probably millions of women and girls all across the world.
Laura and I have decided that because we're both married, and we're both going to marry Michael Cera, it all cancels out any weird illegalness of it all- since we're not bigamists, we're just... jointly married to the adorable little guy.
Okay, it sounds weird, but it's not. It's totally cool. Now get off my back, Narc.
Author's note: Laura is apparently weirded out by Michael Cera's age (he's going to be 20 in June). Now I get to keep him all for myself. And probably millions of women and girls all across the world.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
I'm Hatey
It could be working the day after a three day weekend, it could be the caffe mocha, it could be the acid reflux from that dumbass apple fritter I got this morning, no matter: today I am full of hate.
It all began with hearing the drizzling rain this morning while I was still lazing about in bed (can 6:14am be lazing about?), dreading getting out of bed and freezing my ass off. When I did get out of bed two minutes later, I hustled to put my warm clothes on. When I dress for warmth, I seriously don't dress for the visual appeal of it since today I wore my charcoal grey yoga pants, a baby blue long t-shirt with eeyore on it, and a baby blue hoodie, shorter than the actual t-shirt- it's quite the breath-taking look.
Once I got to work and realized I may actually have to go out in public in this, I felt a little ashamed. Then I realized I currently don't care. That began my day.
I then received a fax from Office Depot, from the accounts receivable person named "Tasmonie Nation". Hm. Is that in fact, her REAL name? Doubtful. Anyway, this was her 2nd fax, telling me my payment was overdue. I realized she sent the same notice back on the 14th, five days before it was actually due. Since I can be righteous as I had sent payment on the 18th, I gave her the ol' what for. I told her that as far as I knew, four days until the due date wasn't quite overdue. And mailing something out the day before also resulted in the invoice being paid by the due date. Sooooo Tasmonie can suck it.
After I had finished my hatred-filled email (I so hate Office Depot), I called my doctor's office to make an appointment for a checkup, so I could get new asthma medications. What did I hear? My office had moved and was no longer available to me. Instead of a quick trip to the doctor, I would have to take the freeway and then take another few hours to get seen.
Now, I called the phone number of my dad's physician, and was told that although it is the SAME branch of my other medical group, I have to call my insurance to have them switch me over to a different doctor, even though it's a PPO. I am so frustrated about this that I just feel like crying. What if I had an asthma attack?? What the hell??
I just called the old doctor's office and they said that I was right: I can go anywhere because of my PPO. Ha. Dumb bitches.
Update: I have a doctor's appointment for February 2nd! Hm. I may have to change my name with them, too.
It all began with hearing the drizzling rain this morning while I was still lazing about in bed (can 6:14am be lazing about?), dreading getting out of bed and freezing my ass off. When I did get out of bed two minutes later, I hustled to put my warm clothes on. When I dress for warmth, I seriously don't dress for the visual appeal of it since today I wore my charcoal grey yoga pants, a baby blue long t-shirt with eeyore on it, and a baby blue hoodie, shorter than the actual t-shirt- it's quite the breath-taking look.
Once I got to work and realized I may actually have to go out in public in this, I felt a little ashamed. Then I realized I currently don't care. That began my day.
I then received a fax from Office Depot, from the accounts receivable person named "Tasmonie Nation". Hm. Is that in fact, her REAL name? Doubtful. Anyway, this was her 2nd fax, telling me my payment was overdue. I realized she sent the same notice back on the 14th, five days before it was actually due. Since I can be righteous as I had sent payment on the 18th, I gave her the ol' what for. I told her that as far as I knew, four days until the due date wasn't quite overdue. And mailing something out the day before also resulted in the invoice being paid by the due date. Sooooo Tasmonie can suck it.
After I had finished my hatred-filled email (I so hate Office Depot), I called my doctor's office to make an appointment for a checkup, so I could get new asthma medications. What did I hear? My office had moved and was no longer available to me. Instead of a quick trip to the doctor, I would have to take the freeway and then take another few hours to get seen.
Now, I called the phone number of my dad's physician, and was told that although it is the SAME branch of my other medical group, I have to call my insurance to have them switch me over to a different doctor, even though it's a PPO. I am so frustrated about this that I just feel like crying. What if I had an asthma attack?? What the hell??
I just called the old doctor's office and they said that I was right: I can go anywhere because of my PPO. Ha. Dumb bitches.
Update: I have a doctor's appointment for February 2nd! Hm. I may have to change my name with them, too.
Everyone Loves "Juno"
This weekend, Paul and I went to see "Juno". My goodness, this may be the best movie I have seen in years. I'm a little strange about movies, I either love them or hate them, and that definitely holds truth with "Juno". A while back I had heard about this movie on Perez Hilton, and after recently seeing Michael Cera in Superbad (also a hilarious movie! Love me some Seth Rogen), I figured it would be a good movie. After constantly bugging Paul to take me to see "Juno", we made a day out of it on Sunday.
Although it's only an hour and a half long, this movie was FANTASTIC. My previous statement of loving or hating every movie I watch probably makes my "fantastic" review sound a little silly, but seriously, this movie is achingly good. Diablo Cody's writing in this, her first screenplay, is memorable, and leaves me wanting to know what else she has in her brain. Also: I totally want a hamburger phone.
Ellen Page is hilarious as Juno MacGuff, a sixteen year old smart-ass (love the snark that comes out of her mouth), and Michael Cera portrays Paulie Bleeker, her sweet best friend who still sleeps in a race car bed. The cast is rounded out with Jennifer Garner (who I seriously want to be), Jason Bateman, Allison Janney, JK Simmons, and as Juno's best friend, Olivia Thirlby.
The subject matter in this movie is ironically quite adult: teenage pregnancy. Juno is played so heart-breakingly real, and while joking about her "condition", you can just see the angst she feels about what she's become. Watching this movie, you laugh, and cry (well, I did, my husband is made of stone) and sympathize with the main character. Wondering what you would have done in her position, and seriously think about this: fetuses have fingernails?! Yikes.
"Juno" has received some Oscar nods this morning, most remarkably "Best Picture". Along with "Juno", there is "Michael Clayton", "Atonement", "No Country for Old Men", and "There Will Be Blood", out of these motion pictures, the box office totals for each: "Michael Clayton" 39.3 mil; "Atonement" 31.8 mil; "No Country for Old Men" 48.6 mil; "There Will Be Blood" 8.7 mil. How much did "Juno" make? The highest of the nominees at 85.3 million. Looks like the word is out: "Juno" is by far the best movie I've seen in years.
Although it's only an hour and a half long, this movie was FANTASTIC. My previous statement of loving or hating every movie I watch probably makes my "fantastic" review sound a little silly, but seriously, this movie is achingly good. Diablo Cody's writing in this, her first screenplay, is memorable, and leaves me wanting to know what else she has in her brain. Also: I totally want a hamburger phone.
Ellen Page is hilarious as Juno MacGuff, a sixteen year old smart-ass (love the snark that comes out of her mouth), and Michael Cera portrays Paulie Bleeker, her sweet best friend who still sleeps in a race car bed. The cast is rounded out with Jennifer Garner (who I seriously want to be), Jason Bateman, Allison Janney, JK Simmons, and as Juno's best friend, Olivia Thirlby.
The subject matter in this movie is ironically quite adult: teenage pregnancy. Juno is played so heart-breakingly real, and while joking about her "condition", you can just see the angst she feels about what she's become. Watching this movie, you laugh, and cry (well, I did, my husband is made of stone) and sympathize with the main character. Wondering what you would have done in her position, and seriously think about this: fetuses have fingernails?! Yikes.
"Juno" has received some Oscar nods this morning, most remarkably "Best Picture". Along with "Juno", there is "Michael Clayton", "Atonement", "No Country for Old Men", and "There Will Be Blood", out of these motion pictures, the box office totals for each: "Michael Clayton" 39.3 mil; "Atonement" 31.8 mil; "No Country for Old Men" 48.6 mil; "There Will Be Blood" 8.7 mil. How much did "Juno" make? The highest of the nominees at 85.3 million. Looks like the word is out: "Juno" is by far the best movie I've seen in years.
Friday, January 18, 2008
Where's the booth?
I have these confessions:
B gave me that extra 1% raise because he said I was the hardest worker in the office. Out of all five of us, that's a big job. Perhaps it was a bribe to do his "Missed Calls" log bidding. Either way, I have been using the date stamp with the 2006 date, and then adding another loop to the open side of the six. Our stamp only went up to 2007, and I'm too lazy to order a new stamp. I wonder if it's more work to turn the six to an eight on the dozens of items a day than it would be to just call in an order for a new stamp. I just wasted more time blogging about the actual stamp changing than it would have been to just call.
My pants are rolling under my stomach and indenting a big ol' button shape into my stomach. It's really very painful, and I've just now unbuttoned and unzipped my pants. Luckily I have this XXXL sweatshirt of Paul's that I can wear to cover it up.
I really want to post this picture of us at our rehearsal dinner:
That was a tiramasu cake and just fabulous. My nordstrom dress was a little tight in the boob area, but it was very cute!!
Poor Paul has regretted the decision to try to conceive later this year. Not because he doesn't want the babies or because he's worried about anything- he's tired of the pregnancy porn. Not the dirty kind in movies *shudder*, but the kind that consists of books, magazines, an tv shows his wife has DVRd while she was at work of pregnant women and babies. The man probably thought he'd be done with all the books and crap lying about after the wedding. The guy just doesn't know how much I love to read!
And finally, the last confession:
I love the way Paul looks in glasses. More than I like him without glasses. It's truly a terrible thing to say, but I love the way ALL men look in glasses! I tried to beg him to wear the glasses for the wedding shots (as I did), but nope. He's too uncomfortable in glasses, and he can't see as well. Oh well. I guess I will have to settle for the times he wears them at night to play Guitar Hero.
And that, friends, is what I'm admitting to today.
B gave me that extra 1% raise because he said I was the hardest worker in the office. Out of all five of us, that's a big job. Perhaps it was a bribe to do his "Missed Calls" log bidding. Either way, I have been using the date stamp with the 2006 date, and then adding another loop to the open side of the six. Our stamp only went up to 2007, and I'm too lazy to order a new stamp. I wonder if it's more work to turn the six to an eight on the dozens of items a day than it would be to just call in an order for a new stamp. I just wasted more time blogging about the actual stamp changing than it would have been to just call.
My pants are rolling under my stomach and indenting a big ol' button shape into my stomach. It's really very painful, and I've just now unbuttoned and unzipped my pants. Luckily I have this XXXL sweatshirt of Paul's that I can wear to cover it up.
I really want to post this picture of us at our rehearsal dinner:
That was a tiramasu cake and just fabulous. My nordstrom dress was a little tight in the boob area, but it was very cute!!
Poor Paul has regretted the decision to try to conceive later this year. Not because he doesn't want the babies or because he's worried about anything- he's tired of the pregnancy porn. Not the dirty kind in movies *shudder*, but the kind that consists of books, magazines, an tv shows his wife has DVRd while she was at work of pregnant women and babies. The man probably thought he'd be done with all the books and crap lying about after the wedding. The guy just doesn't know how much I love to read!
And finally, the last confession:
I love the way Paul looks in glasses. More than I like him without glasses. It's truly a terrible thing to say, but I love the way ALL men look in glasses! I tried to beg him to wear the glasses for the wedding shots (as I did), but nope. He's too uncomfortable in glasses, and he can't see as well. Oh well. I guess I will have to settle for the times he wears them at night to play Guitar Hero.
And that, friends, is what I'm admitting to today.
Thursday, January 17, 2008
My Scrubs, My love
At first, I intended this blog to be called "Waiting for my real life to begin", with the address: reallifebegins or something. This is a play off of the Scrubs episode, "My Philosophy" in which the Colin Hay song is sung. The song lyrics are beautiful (and Colin Hay is featured on Scrubs an awful lot because of his fantastic song-writing!), and available here .
I particularly love these paragraphs:
Any minute now, my ship is coming in
I'll keep checking the horizon
I'll stand on the bow, feel the waves come crashing
Come crashing down down down, on me
And you say, be still my love
Open up your heart
Let the light shine in
But don't you understand
I already have a plan
I'm waiting for my real life to begin .
That's how I felt after I got married, like all the things I have done in my life have been waiting for this moment: when my REAL life begins. It's funny, though, since this is now a real life shared by two of us. Life started that day in November, and now I only have to stand back and watch it unfold.
Anyway, as I downloaded "My Philosophy" on itunes, I grumbled to myself about the lack of episodes for this final season of Scrubs. I am completely on board with the WGA strike- at least I WAS until I realized that meant I may never see the final episodes of my favorite series on television. It angers me to know that after I'd been anxiously waiting through the summer months for a hint of what's to come for J.D., Turk, Elliott, Carla and the rest of the gang, after following this series for close to 8 years (okay, maybe closer to 7 years), I may never see what happens.
I'm a gal who needs closure, needs to know that things end- whether a good ending or bad, no matter. Ross and Rachel? Love how it ended, but had it ended differently, I would have been fine- unless it was an open ending. I HATE cliff-hangers! Why? Why am I like this? Perhaps it stems from my many years of being without Paul- those 6 years of not knowing how he was, if he was married with kids or not- all the while knowing I was meant to be with him, finally I had figured it out! I missed out on 6 years of love with him, and I want everyone to realize what they could be missing- life is short, do what feels right NOW. Do it yesterday!
Back to the Scrubs topic, Scrubs is humanity. Sure, there are times when you're like, "Yeah, that would never happen in real life", but this show is sadness and happiness, just like real life. People cheat, people debate their futures, people fall in love with best friends. People die and others are born, oh, if only my life had a soundtrack as good as Scrubs. I don't know of any show on television that can make you laugh your ass off, and minutes later cry deeply. I must cry during every other episode of Scrubs, I'm just emotional like that.
All I ask is to be able to see the final episodes, for the only other thing I'm as devoted to is Paul. How many shows are this loved?
I particularly love these paragraphs:
Any minute now, my ship is coming in
I'll keep checking the horizon
I'll stand on the bow, feel the waves come crashing
Come crashing down down down, on me
And you say, be still my love
Open up your heart
Let the light shine in
But don't you understand
I already have a plan
I'm waiting for my real life to begin .
That's how I felt after I got married, like all the things I have done in my life have been waiting for this moment: when my REAL life begins. It's funny, though, since this is now a real life shared by two of us. Life started that day in November, and now I only have to stand back and watch it unfold.
Anyway, as I downloaded "My Philosophy" on itunes, I grumbled to myself about the lack of episodes for this final season of Scrubs. I am completely on board with the WGA strike- at least I WAS until I realized that meant I may never see the final episodes of my favorite series on television. It angers me to know that after I'd been anxiously waiting through the summer months for a hint of what's to come for J.D., Turk, Elliott, Carla and the rest of the gang, after following this series for close to 8 years (okay, maybe closer to 7 years), I may never see what happens.
I'm a gal who needs closure, needs to know that things end- whether a good ending or bad, no matter. Ross and Rachel? Love how it ended, but had it ended differently, I would have been fine- unless it was an open ending. I HATE cliff-hangers! Why? Why am I like this? Perhaps it stems from my many years of being without Paul- those 6 years of not knowing how he was, if he was married with kids or not- all the while knowing I was meant to be with him, finally I had figured it out! I missed out on 6 years of love with him, and I want everyone to realize what they could be missing- life is short, do what feels right NOW. Do it yesterday!
Back to the Scrubs topic, Scrubs is humanity. Sure, there are times when you're like, "Yeah, that would never happen in real life", but this show is sadness and happiness, just like real life. People cheat, people debate their futures, people fall in love with best friends. People die and others are born, oh, if only my life had a soundtrack as good as Scrubs. I don't know of any show on television that can make you laugh your ass off, and minutes later cry deeply. I must cry during every other episode of Scrubs, I'm just emotional like that.
All I ask is to be able to see the final episodes, for the only other thing I'm as devoted to is Paul. How many shows are this loved?
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
"When are you having kids?"
This has to be the most commonly used phrase after wedding planning. It's also the most common thing to blog about after a wedding. I'm no different, except for one thing: I love when people ask. I am bursting to tell the people how we're waiting until late summer to start trying to conceive- sure, not even a year of marriage, but still... I want babies.
It was whilst reading up on wedding topics that I got bored. I don't care about favors and all that fancy junk. I looooved wedding planning, but we couldn't afford any of those things I coveted, so I just stopped looking. Instead, I turned to books about babies and pregnancy, all the while wistfully imagining the day when I can wear the cutest shirt ever (in case you can't see it, the bar code reads "Priceless"):
Now that we're done with that wedding crap, I can focus on the real reason I wanted to get married: to have kids. Okay, that's not the real reason, as I could have bred with Paul for a couple of years now, but because it's OKAY now. No matter what people would have said to our faces, had we had a child before marriage, they would have been mighty look down their nose-y at us. Now we can feel free to cavort nakedly with a purpose to this whole sex thing: to build one of them humans.
As I've been reading more and more, I get even more scared about miscarriages, and years of trying without result- both of which cause strife in a marriage, most likely. Are we willing to take that chance? To open up our hearts to possible pain? I think I am, I think Paul is. Are we prepared for any bad news that may come along? I honestly don't know. I do know that worrying about something like that can't possibly be good for the "good vibes" you hope to cushion your uterus with.
We currently live in a one bedroom apartment in southern California. We share it with a particularly hoggy dachshund who will always take the middle of the couch as his. I'd be lying if I wasn't terrified about the idea of impending parenthood- will we have enough room? Will Woofie try to eat it? What if we can't afford it?? Then there is the last niggling voice: what if we can't get pregnant? What will we do?
There are so many worries nowadays, all of which don't help to conceive a child. I make promises to God, to myself, to Paul... "If it works out for us, I promise to be a better person." or "I won't take anything for granted anymore". I know we haven't even started trying yet, but as a constant pessimist, I have to think of the half-empty scenario. It's a good thing I've married an optimist.
As I read the "Baby on the Brain" section at the Nest (and mock myself while doing it), I always think about how much I ache to have a baby. How we've had names picked out for years and years, and how badly I want to hand over the urine soaked test stick that has that tell-tale plus sign. I am actually looking forward to peeing on my hand accidentally, because I have no aiming skills.
of course, until August, I must take my minty-flavored baby repeller (birth control pill) every night, and just live vicariously through friends and family who are having babies (speaking of, my new niece should be arriving any day now!), and read up on how to avoid nipple chafe. This is what I have become.
It was whilst reading up on wedding topics that I got bored. I don't care about favors and all that fancy junk. I looooved wedding planning, but we couldn't afford any of those things I coveted, so I just stopped looking. Instead, I turned to books about babies and pregnancy, all the while wistfully imagining the day when I can wear the cutest shirt ever (in case you can't see it, the bar code reads "Priceless"):
Now that we're done with that wedding crap, I can focus on the real reason I wanted to get married: to have kids. Okay, that's not the real reason, as I could have bred with Paul for a couple of years now, but because it's OKAY now. No matter what people would have said to our faces, had we had a child before marriage, they would have been mighty look down their nose-y at us. Now we can feel free to cavort nakedly with a purpose to this whole sex thing: to build one of them humans.
As I've been reading more and more, I get even more scared about miscarriages, and years of trying without result- both of which cause strife in a marriage, most likely. Are we willing to take that chance? To open up our hearts to possible pain? I think I am, I think Paul is. Are we prepared for any bad news that may come along? I honestly don't know. I do know that worrying about something like that can't possibly be good for the "good vibes" you hope to cushion your uterus with.
We currently live in a one bedroom apartment in southern California. We share it with a particularly hoggy dachshund who will always take the middle of the couch as his. I'd be lying if I wasn't terrified about the idea of impending parenthood- will we have enough room? Will Woofie try to eat it? What if we can't afford it?? Then there is the last niggling voice: what if we can't get pregnant? What will we do?
There are so many worries nowadays, all of which don't help to conceive a child. I make promises to God, to myself, to Paul... "If it works out for us, I promise to be a better person." or "I won't take anything for granted anymore". I know we haven't even started trying yet, but as a constant pessimist, I have to think of the half-empty scenario. It's a good thing I've married an optimist.
As I read the "Baby on the Brain" section at the Nest (and mock myself while doing it), I always think about how much I ache to have a baby. How we've had names picked out for years and years, and how badly I want to hand over the urine soaked test stick that has that tell-tale plus sign. I am actually looking forward to peeing on my hand accidentally, because I have no aiming skills.
of course, until August, I must take my minty-flavored baby repeller (birth control pill) every night, and just live vicariously through friends and family who are having babies (speaking of, my new niece should be arriving any day now!), and read up on how to avoid nipple chafe. This is what I have become.
Fab new hair
I've officially turned matronly. Not more than a few months post wedding, and I have cut about 17 inches off my hair. I didn't even know I HAD 17 inches of hair! Of course, wanting to be like everyone else who recently married, I got a bob-ish cut which seems to not work as well on wacky wavy hair.
My hair has always had a mind of its own, flipping this way, curling that way. The only thing that kept it so sleek and straight all those years was the fact that it was about two feet long. I wish I had remembered that when I went in to chop it all off, asking for the Nicole Richie (albeit with a few more pounds) 'do, complete with side-bangs. Perhaps I'm just too lazy for a sleek bob, since I'd rather just let it air dry, instead of getting the dead arm feeling from holding my brand new hairdryer. I wish I had thinner hair (not bald spot thinning, just regular thin), so this bob would look cute on me.
I'd post a picture but my hair dryer laziness has spread into camera taking laziness. Oh, the shame. Instead, let me paint you a mental picture: round, pale face, shockingly dark black hair- snow white? Not so much. Although... I did play her in a musical once. Yeah, it was fifth grade, but I was the STAR! Anyway, my hair comes to my neck, and literally goes its own direction. Remember Drew Barrymore's hair in The Wedding Singer? That's mine. Just poufier. And with random pieces shortened.
I know it seems as though I'm complaining about my hair, but I'm really not. I think it's hilarious about how weird it is. And as long as I can ponytail it, I'm cool. It makes it really easy to handle, and it'll be a good look for headbands!
My hair has always had a mind of its own, flipping this way, curling that way. The only thing that kept it so sleek and straight all those years was the fact that it was about two feet long. I wish I had remembered that when I went in to chop it all off, asking for the Nicole Richie (albeit with a few more pounds) 'do, complete with side-bangs. Perhaps I'm just too lazy for a sleek bob, since I'd rather just let it air dry, instead of getting the dead arm feeling from holding my brand new hairdryer. I wish I had thinner hair (not bald spot thinning, just regular thin), so this bob would look cute on me.
I'd post a picture but my hair dryer laziness has spread into camera taking laziness. Oh, the shame. Instead, let me paint you a mental picture: round, pale face, shockingly dark black hair- snow white? Not so much. Although... I did play her in a musical once. Yeah, it was fifth grade, but I was the STAR! Anyway, my hair comes to my neck, and literally goes its own direction. Remember Drew Barrymore's hair in The Wedding Singer? That's mine. Just poufier. And with random pieces shortened.
I know it seems as though I'm complaining about my hair, but I'm really not. I think it's hilarious about how weird it is. And as long as I can ponytail it, I'm cool. It makes it really easy to handle, and it'll be a good look for headbands!
Into Our Life
Well, I have begun a new blog, this one won't be filled in with wedding goodies, nor will it be filled with angsty posts about how much my matron of honor is cramping my style. :) No, this one will be full of my daily foibles and our plans for the future.
On my wedding blog I recently posted about how I'm waiting for our real lives to begin (a nod to Colin Hay, of Men at Work and also a song sung on Scrubs), after the wedding hubbub. Apparently, when you get older and more adult, you say words like "hubbub".
To me, our real lives have finally begun... what's that? Who the hell am I? Oh. Well. I suppose I should tell you about the people behind the stories. I am Amber. There used to be a last name, one that was rife with color and passed down through the ages. Now I have a new last name, one that is a cartoon character, and also passed down through the ages, except I have just acquired it.
Beside me in life is my husband Paul, a gentle, patient man who teaches children from 5 to 13 how to throw a football, and how to be good people when they grow up. I wish I had known him when I was a kid. Maybe then I'd be a little less mean and a little more good hearted. We have been married for a little over two months, and we have been together a little more than four years, although we've known each other for ten years. He is a good man, my husband. Sometimes I feel he's a little too good for me. Then he leaves his pizza plate in the sink for me to wash and I think I'm too good for him. That's married life, isn't it?
I'm a bookkeeper for a small family owned (not my family) oil company in Southern California. I like my job, and enjoy working here. It gives me plenty of time to blog and chat online. Hopefully you readers will get to know us a little better through my blogging, and see how awesome I can be. I am so incredibly modest, it's astounding.
On my wedding blog I recently posted about how I'm waiting for our real lives to begin (a nod to Colin Hay, of Men at Work and also a song sung on Scrubs), after the wedding hubbub. Apparently, when you get older and more adult, you say words like "hubbub".
To me, our real lives have finally begun... what's that? Who the hell am I? Oh. Well. I suppose I should tell you about the people behind the stories. I am Amber. There used to be a last name, one that was rife with color and passed down through the ages. Now I have a new last name, one that is a cartoon character, and also passed down through the ages, except I have just acquired it.
Beside me in life is my husband Paul, a gentle, patient man who teaches children from 5 to 13 how to throw a football, and how to be good people when they grow up. I wish I had known him when I was a kid. Maybe then I'd be a little less mean and a little more good hearted. We have been married for a little over two months, and we have been together a little more than four years, although we've known each other for ten years. He is a good man, my husband. Sometimes I feel he's a little too good for me. Then he leaves his pizza plate in the sink for me to wash and I think I'm too good for him. That's married life, isn't it?
I'm a bookkeeper for a small family owned (not my family) oil company in Southern California. I like my job, and enjoy working here. It gives me plenty of time to blog and chat online. Hopefully you readers will get to know us a little better through my blogging, and see how awesome I can be. I am so incredibly modest, it's astounding.
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