OH YEAH

Last night I sat there counting my last remaining birth control pills while Paul played his new Playstation 3 in the living room. Yes, I am a good wife, I "let" my husband get a PS3. To be honest, one of my favorite pastimes is watching him play Grand Theft Auto, and the new one will be coming out in April for PS3 only. So yes, Paul got himself an 80g version, and I got myself a new career as a video game widow. Usually my job as Sports Widow takes up most of my free time, but I decided to start looking around for other opportunities to get ignored by my husband. I'm cool with it, actually. Paul is often so busy at work (and his work extends to games and practices at nights and on weekends) that he rarely gets a chance to just relax, and his video games are an easy way to do that. Of course, that has resulted in us owning: one PS1, two PS2s, a Wii, a Nintendo DS Lite, and now the PS3. When did we turn into gamers?

Anyway, I was sitting there thinking, "Oooh, I should take my pill, I was supposed to take it at 10:20 (been taking it at that time for nine years now), and it's 11pm, now." Then I realized- what the hell is the matter with me? I'm planning on going off the pill after these last two pills, what the hell does it matter if I take one late? Ooooh nooooo, I'm going to get pregnant a day earlier! The tragedy! Sometimes I worry about my sanity, people.

So after I took my minty flavored pill, I was reading a book in bed and thinking about US having a child. I then proceeded to have a mini-panic attack. I'm going to be responsible for a child. I won't be able to surf You Tube for old Ricki Lake episodes for hours on end, and keep playing the talking cat clip over and over again. No, I'll be a PARENT. I'll have to worry about things like co-sleeping, breast feeding, and never sleeping in ever again.

Hold me, I'm scared. And yet... oddly thrilled about possibly having a baby with my terrific husband, who will be the best father I could ever imagine. And then there's the thought of our Felix baby "hulking" its way out of my uterus. Their babies are huge. I fear for my ability to carry a baby sized the way their babies are usually sized. I'm afraid it'll tear through my stomach yelling, "OH YEAH" like the kool-aid man. Hm. Back to being scared.

One more strike

Yesterday, my upstairs neighbor (she of the "he's too young for you" sex antics) came by to ask if we needed a crate for Woofie. As the only crate we have for him is only used as his bedroom at night (I successfully crate trained him! He even runs in there when I ask, "Woofie, is it bed time?" I ROCK.), and we don't really need anything else, I said no, and then asked how she was doing. I've noticed her boyfriend's purple car outside our building AT ALL TIMES, in the GOOD PARKING SPACE, but haven't seen him around lately. Well, she didn't mention him, but she did mention her shoulder had been acting up lately. I felt badly for her, until I was rudely jolted out of bed this morning by the vigorous sounds of a bed creaking and moaning. I look at the clock- 5:36am. WHO THE HELL WAKES UP AT 5:30AM TO HAVE SEX? Maybe I've just been in a relationship so long that I don't remember when that ever happened (not sure it ever did, I valued sleeping in too much), and I've become crotchety, but FOR CRYING OUT LOUD! I STILL VALUE SLEEP, and don't wish to be awakened by YOU AND YOUR DOUCHEBAG BOYFRIEND HAVING SEX AT RANDOM HOURS! GET A JOB, BOTH OF YOU!

And come on- your shoulder hurts????? Then STOP HAVING ROUGH SEX. CHRIST. Can you tell this is starting to get to me?

Monster

I think I'm getting dumber. Yes, folks. Perhaps it's because I am just doing my average reading and my basic computer entries daily, so I'm not really pushing my brain to work harder. Take today for instance, I'm playing Scrabulous online with Laura. My most recent word? Fogie. It's not even spelled the way I usually spell it (you know, since I spell "fogey" multiple times daily), which also kills me.

Seriously, I'm having the hardest time coming up with words to describe what I mean. I LOVE words. How is this possible? It's like that Seinfeld episode where George gives up sex and gets smarter, and Elaine gives up sex and gets dumber. Only there isn't anything I'm giving up, I'm just DUMBER. Sweet jesus.

It's with that lovely intro I'd like to introduce something new: Random Thoughts by Amber. And yes, I realize this whole blog is chock-full of random thoughts, but hear me out.

~ If you have a Bloody Mary at brunch (say, elevenish or so) it's okay, but if you make one by yourself at 9am you have a problem.

~ I wish I could stop eating cupcakes. Each time I try they come out with a new kind, (like yesterday's tasty Grasshopper one), and I MUST try it. Then I'm craving another cupcake, and I decide to eat half of one. Then the cupcake half starts going dry, and I must eat the remaining half so as not to waste food. Who wants to eat a dry cupcake half? I'm saving money JUST by eating that cupcake half. Please help me, I have a problem.

~ I have ordered a subscription to Redbook. Thinking I'm now married, and I no longer need to read articles on finding a man, or keeping a man satisfied (what do I care, he's married now! just kidding...), or how to send sexy text messages... No, I need to know how to keep my whites white and my closet organized. I need to know how to balance work and family. All these things are (sadly) in Redbook, with a jubilant Kirstie Alley on the cover, or Kelly Preston "How I keep my husband satisfied at 54" or something like that. True, it's basically the same article, with a few menopause stories intermingled throughout the mag, alongside ads for hormone replacement therapy- OH GOD, WHAT HAVE I DONE? My husband gets ESPN Magazine and Maxim, and I'm getting REDBOOK AND READER'S DIGEST?!?!?!

Which brings me to...

~ Why do people make fun of Crocs? Yeah, they are terribly unflattering, but still, they are totally comfortable! Again I must wonder, what have I become? I'm extolling the benefits of owning and wearing crocs. Pushing comfort over appearance. My high school self would shudder to see me now.

Okay, now that I've depressed myself enough, I'm going to take my sensible cotton pants wearing self over to get something to eat. And I hope it won't be a cupcake. 'Til then, my dears.

Drive Me Crazy

It's time for me to settle down and get married. What's that? I did that already? Huh. Okay. It's time for me to start thinking about children. What? I did that, too? So that means I'm a grown-up, right? *whisper whisper* Oooooh, yeah. I forgot. There's one little thing I've forgotten to do on my path to adulthood. Um... learn to drive. While I DO acknowledge the teensy fact of promising Paul I'd do that before the wedding, I had a lot to do! I was planning the single most important day in our lives up to now. So, he gave me a break, and insisted I must learn to drive before we have kids. Until we decided to go off birth control next week.

Paul said to me last night, "Wow! You're going to be driving soon! Are you excited?" I said, "Wha?" And he said, "Don't think I forgot, and you have to know the DMV doesn't let pregnant women take the driving test." Such a bastard. I said, "Um, pregnant women are allowed to DRIVE for crying out loud." His reply? "Yes, but they're not allowed to take the test, it's too dangerous." Let me tell you this, Paul is not a moron. I know he's trying to trick me into keeping my word. Ha. How's that for being a jerk? "Trick me into keeping my word". Nice. Anyway, I guess I must actually get down to studying for that damn drivers test.

Yes, I am terrified of driving. I don't know why, to be honest. I realize my not driving is so selfish of me, making my poor husband do all the driving. Seriously, I KNOW all this. The fear is just something I can't control. It truly makes no sense to not drive in Los Angeles. So, I will start my healing breathing exercises and get my rump studying the CA DMV book. Wish me luck (and stay off the streets!)!

Thoughts on housing

Now is the time to start talking houses and grown up lives. Laura is thinking of moving to a new city, Tricia is currently looking at houses in Chicago (and is shocked to see how pricey houses are in that area, when they are glorified cardboard boxes on bricks!), and Paul and I are seeing if that teacher's grant we heard about could actually work for us. At this point, we're willing to have a two bedroom condo. Yard? Naaah, we have brothers and sisters with yards. My dad has a yard! It's cool, we can have cement-friendly children.

Still, the topic comes up about housing in Los Angeles. It's impossible to find a decent place to live under 700k. Paul and I can't afford that! It's seriously just a nightmare, and even worse knowing I could never move. Sure, Paul wouldn't mind, but I can't leave my family. Without me, my dad would have no one to hang out with, he'd spend a lot of time at home with his birds. I'm not okay with that. As I mentioned before, my dad is one of my best friends and we have a great time together. Perhaps I'd never leave because of my own needs. I need to be around my family, I need to feel NEEDED. Sad but true. Tell me this, though, if my dad drives to my work just to pick me up... he obviously values my presence just as much, right?

Also, with one grandchild already a world away in Australia, I'd love to be able to have our kids raised around the same people I was raised around, my aunts, uncles, cousins and friends.

Friends. All of us have them.

Recently I've read a book by those two chicks who wrote "The Nanny Diaries" (I'm so eloquent, aren't I?) called "Dedication". It's about a woman named Kate, her high school love turned Rock Star, and her best friend Laura. The basic plot is about how Kate wrestles with the pain of a high school love story gone awry, her boyfriend leaves her the day of Senior Prom, and heads out to LA to find fame and fortune. Unfortunately for her, he makes it big using songs about her and their relationship, all the while never getting in touch with her. Her life plays on the radio, such huge moments as losing her virginity, her unfaithful parents, all the things you wish to keep private... yet he makes money off her memories.

This isn't a book review (seriously, everyone should read this book, I can't recommend it enough!), because this book made me think of my friendships, past, present and hopefully future. This book transitions between her adolescence and her adulthood, with the constant companionship of Laura. I'm sad to say that I have no real great woman friends around me. Growing up, I was content to hang with the boys and my family. I never knew it wasn't normal to have your cousin be your best friend. As I got older and started (and finished) high school, I had a lot of girl friends, some of which I was too good for and vice versa. I cut off friendships and begged others for another chance. Then I met Paul. I surrounded myself with him and his life, and made it my own. Sadly, when I look for someone to hang out with, or go to the LA Zoo with or something, I call my dad. Hey, I love my dad and we always have a great time together, but it would be nice to have a fellow wife, future mother or something to hang out with and commiserate with.

Luckly, I have my two OBFFs, Laura and Tricia. If they didn't live in New York and Chicago respectively, I'm sure they'd be real life friends (instead of Random Online Friend, like Laura refers to me as- THANKS. :) ). In fact, when I have bad news, or great news, I often turn to them. Tricia will always call me when I have a bad day, and we cheer ourselves up by talking about disgusting food items and the mouse in my kitchen (his name is Mouser, and I hope to God he's dead). Our husbands would get along so well if they would get a chance to hang out. Perhaps this makes them real friends. I hope it does.

Hopefully this post isn't insulting my OBFFs, since in my mind, I DO consider you friends. Even though I met Tricia through Wedding Bee when I was Miss Kiwi, she knows so much about me already, and I her. When I met Laura through Pricescope, we realized we had a lot in common, and a strange online friendship was made. Of these two women, we've shared our wedding photos, our lives and our fears. Just because a few thousand miles separate us, it doesn't mean it's not a real friendship. At least that's what I tell my friendless ass.

One Small Step (back) for Birth Control, One Large Step for Us

Last night Paul and I decided to go off the pill after I finish this last pack. The conversation went like this (picture me in the kitchen {sadly, three steps away from the living room} and Paul on the couch, playing God of War II on PS2), Me: "So, I think I'm going to go off birth control after this pack is done." Wait for panic attack, stroke, or swallowing of tongue. Nothing. Paul: "Sounds good." What? Like, for real, sounds good? Me: "Are you sure? It's okay?" Paul: "Yeah, it's okay. Did you just see that move I did? I love this game (of course, he did just buy that game an hour earlier, so you can understand his glee)!" And that, my friends, is the moment we decided birth control has no place in our marriage. Quite the momentous occasion.

Of course, the next morning I got online to chat with my OBFF (online best friend forever, of whom I have two- a future post about THAT to follow this one) and she shared my joy in this big step called "Getting Knocked Up". Even if my poor husband couldn't really express himself as well as OBFF did, I know he understands what this means- no more naked days. Gasp!

Why me?

I'm not quite sure why I haven't blogged lately, it just seems like so much has been going on. Of course, when I think about listing it all, nothing comes to mind. Isn't that always how it is? There wasn't anything bad going on, just busy life things. Today though, I'm tired and cranky- and there is nothing I can do about it.

Last night, despite being achingly tired, I was unable to sleep. Scrabble words kept running through my head, as I stayed there, gradually heating up on our pillowtop mattress. The heat wasn't it, though. At 2:45am I felt intense pain in my stomach. Had it not happened the night before (that time at 3:58am), I would have assumed the Italian food we had for dinner was bad. Unfortunately for me, the pain was the exact same as the night before. Last night I got up to use the restroom, and when I came back to bed, I couldn't help but hear my upstairs neighbor (remember her?) having quite vigorous sex with the new (younger, ooh la la) man in her life. Whatever. Her sex life is her sex life, and I'd really like to stay as far removed from it as possible. UNTIL IT DISTURBS MY ABILITY TO SLEEP. The more noise she makes the more I dislike her. It's really terrible, as we had been very friendly (not as friendly as she is with New Guy) in the past, although now I want to start banging on the ceiling with a broom handle ala Mr. Heckles on Friends.

It's not just her inability to stop dropping heavy crap on the floor, nor is it his inability to stop moaning and laughing (?)... It's the fact that I'm slowly becoming a terrible insomniac. Seriously, I'm starting to feel like the Machinist, minus the drastic and disturbing weight loss. I don't like to be dependent on medication to fall asleep, I'm already dependent enough on various meds for asthma, allergies, and all the other problems that ail me. I'm trying to wean myself from the nightly Tylenol pm (justification: I've only taken one per night), and fall asleep like a normal human being. So, with my recent frustrations with my inability to fall asleep, I also have to deal with the rudest neighbor alive.

I would like to leave her a note reading: "Hey Susan, I just wanted to ask if you could please try to keep it down from about 11:30 to 6am, as Paul and I both wake up at 6am to go to work, and it gets a little loud." In reality I want to say, "Listen, even though you don't work because you're on "disability", it doesn't mean everyone else has to stay awake because you are apparently unaware of normal human sleep habits.I'd appreciate it if you would stop doing whatever the hell it is you do at 4am, and let the good hardworking people SLEEP. And tell your boyfriend his dumbass purple (yes, readers, it is purple) car bothers me. And he's too young for you. And that I can HEAR HIM MOANING IN PLEASURE every night, and I DON'T WANT TO HEAR THAT." If only I was okay with people hating me.

"Have you lost weight?"

When you hear that phrase above, you feel flattered, when you're my size. You look down and think, "Well, my jeans DO fit better." Unless you hear it from a near stranger.

It's one thing to hear "Have you lost weight?" from a friend or family member who knows of your struggle with losing weight, it's a whole 'nother thing to hear it from a person who has only seen you maybe 5 times in the last 6 months. I don't know why it's a difference, maybe it's because in saying that, they're telling you they noticed how heavy you were before. To me, it's like saying, "I didn't want to say anything about how big you were before, but now that you've lost some of the heft, I can say something now". Like they're automatically assuming you were trying to lose weight.

As a fairly recent fat girl, I had never been exposed to the hidden world of weight loss and gain. Sure, I wasn't a skinny Minnie, but I had never heard the words, "You've gained weight" or "You've lost weight!" before. Now that I am hearing it, I don't like how it makes me feel. Like I said before, comments from family and friends are fine, they've seen me at my lighter days and my now heavy days- to hear things from them is different (also, they are usually kinder with their comments, unlike random strangers).

Honestly, while it is great to hear that you look like you've lost weight, it's still quite a shock to realize other people have noticed your weight gain. Yes, I am aware it's pretty obvious when your jeans now have stretch marks, but hey, let me grieve in peace.