I am THAT lady...

It's official. I am THAT lady. You know, that lady who is a little bit senile but can pull off sane pretty well most of the time. I am the lady that has pulled one of my ever growing jugs out of my shirt- not once but TWICE since I have been back to work. I know! I am effing batshit crazy. Having kids will do that to you I think.

People walk by my office all day long and hear the familiar "swoosh, swoosh, swoosh" sound. My boss called me the other day on the phone- I was pumping at the time- and she says suddenly, "Are you printing something in there." Awkward silence. I replied, "uhhhhh..... no." They don't call me the Queen of Quick Thinking for nothing!

Now, to my credit- both times I've given my coworkers fair warning. How does that go you ask? "Ladies. I'm about to spring a leak here. I know what we are talking about is important here. So, I give you two options- either A) I come back in 15 minutes and we pick up where we left off- or B) you watch in sheer horror as I pull this boob out right here in front of you and subject you to watching it get sucked into a plastic receptacle over and over again for the next 15 minutes."

The conversation was something like that. Frankly, after having babies, I've lost most of my embarrassment over the human body. I mean, awful, AWFUL things happen in that labor and delivery room and I feel like using a breast pump- on the scale of humiliating body functions, isn't really all that bad.

I leave you with some amazing breast feeding humor! This is why Scrubs is one of the best shows on television! (if you can't see the videos, here are the direct links, here and here.

The best 45 seconds of my week!

OK, two questions... how wrong is this? And should we maybe look in to decreasing the sugar intake of this child?

If she says there's a Mommy... then there's a Mommy!

My 3 1/2 year old daughter loves books. Not the good kind, the help-you-learn-to-read kind. Not the kind that will turn her into the class valedictorian, on track to become a Harvard educated doctor and become my sugar baby taking me on long weekends to the Maldives. Not that kind of reading. The Where's Waldo kind. It might not be "reading" so much as looking at pretty pictures, but she is really good at it. Like, really really good. She's like a savant when she's flipping through these things- back me up here Grandma!



So, as we sat down to do our... a'hem... "reading" the other night, we flip open to one of the pages and she says, "You find the mommy!" See, since she is so good at finding Waldo, she makes up other things for me to find, because Waldo himself is clearly too easy. Have you ever had a 3 year old be so much better than you at a game that they actually look bored when you try to beat them? It's humbling...



So I start looking for a mommy on the page. I don't see anyone with a baby so I instantly say, "I don't see a mommy. I don't think there is a mommy on this page."



To which she replies, "Yes there is a mommy, Mommy! You just have to find it." (in her sort of patronizing "you can do it!" voice that a parent would use. That voice is irritating By.The. Way. Parents- take note.)



Ok, I think. I'm no quitter, if she says there is a mommy I am sure she is right. So I keep looking. I start thinking maybe it's not an obvious mommy. I look for someone pushing a stroller. Nope, nothing. I look for a little illustrated person that is frazzled and unkempt. I look for one that is clearly on her way to work when at the last second she got spitup on her suit. Nope. I look for one that has love handles and funbags that hand down to her beltloops, courtesy of nursing her baby. Nope. I look for one that has bags under her eyes. I look for one that is craving a huge margarita, because between being pregnant and nursing she hasn't had that limey kind of love in over a year. Nope, nothing.



Finally, exasperated, I give up. I say, "Honey I really don't see a mommy. You're going to have to show me where it is."



She looks a little confused. She points at it and says, "Here it is silly. But why does it have it's baby wrapped in toilet paper? Toilet paper is icky when we use in on our butt, right Mommy?"


And sure enough, she pointed at the "Mommy" on the page. A "Mommy" wrapped in toilet paper. Now I have to explain why it's ok for this "Mommy" to play with toilet paper but it's not ok for my 3 year old. Thank you for that Waldo.

Can you feel the love?

I interupt this regularly scheduled blog post to bring you this: my youngest little munchkin slept through the night last night! 7:30 PM to 6 AM! Kisses to you my sweet little thang!



And now, on with the love...

In honor of Valentine's Day I give you... the things I love!

These girls own my heart:

My Daughters, Husband, Mother, Brother, Father, Nieces, Nephews, Grandmother, Family and Friends. Abba. Scrubs. Clive Owen. Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough. Green Olives. Sunny Days. Sex & The City. The Rain. Enya. Clive Owen. Fresh baked bread. Sleeping in. Reading. Lakes. Poker. Movies. Violins. Crinkle Cut French Fries. Greece. Maple Leaves. Guns N Roses (who am I kidding, all 80's music). Fountain Pop. Coldstone Creamery. Mexican Food. Clive Owen. Tennis. Dark Chocolate. Boating. Shopping. Wedding Cake. Randy Travis. Epidurals. More sleep. Vacation. Exercise. Pasta. Poetry. Art. Hobnobs. Sunburns. Clive Owen.

It must go something like this...

Young floundering actress: “Ugh, I don’t know. I just can’t seem to break through to the A-list. I’m a freaking Harvard theatre grad and all magazines cover is that effer Lohan.”
Hard core Hollywood agent: “Look. We need to get you some tabloid coverage. Period. How about a sex tape. Do it with some skanky DJ and I’ll “accidentally” leak it to the press. Your face will be everywhere! Genius. I’ll call in a camera crew.”
Young floundering actress: “No! I could never be respected by my peers again!”
Hard core Hollywood agent: “It worked for Paris. And Pamela. And Colin Farrell.”
Young floundering actress: “I’m just not doing it. That’s final. I swore I’d never whore myself out for the sake of my career… well, I mean, there was that little indie film sophomore year, but nothing else I swear.”
Hard core Hollywood agent: “You’re so uptight. I’ve got it! You’ll have a baby.”
Young floundering actress: (scoffs) “I don’t even have a boyfriend.”
Hard core Hollywood agent: “Who needs a boyfriend. We’re talking in vitro, adoption, whatever. Every one who is anyone is doing it.”
Young floundering actress: “Well… I don’t know.”
Hard core Hollywood agent: “You love it don’t you! I’ve got it! Even better- you’ll have twins! You’ll gain like 200 pounds. Fat and ugly! THEN, you’ll crank out two adorable babies and lose the weight in 2 weeks and look uhhhh-mazing! Red carpet, nannies, the whole sha-bang! We’ll name them something sassy and memorable- like Acorne and Jezzabelle. Oh, People magazine will be all over this. Young, unwed actress, gets pregnant with twins, you can’t make this stuff up! Well, actually you can, we are doing it now.”
Young floundering actress: “What? This is insane!”
Hard core Hollywood agent: “Exactly, that’s why people will love it. We need to make a spectacle of you if you’re going to get any print on this thing. This is what the big names do- they make sacrifices for their career.”
Young floundering actress: “Well… I mean, J.Lo did it. And Brad and Angie too. Maybe you're right.”
Hard core Hollywood agent: “Hell yes I’m right! It HAS to be twins. Nothing else will do. God, I’m a genius. Look at Angelina, she’s up for an Oscar for God’s sakes. You know it’s those twins. And J.Lo… well, I mean, her career is… well, she married a stinking vampire, so what do you expect. But trust me, you can thank me later.”

And THAT must be how it happens. I’m serious, this business with twins- there is something fishy up in Hollywood. Here are the recent parents of twins:

Julia Roberts, the Jolie-Pitts, J.Lo and the Vampire, P. Diddy, Marcia Cross, Patrick Dempsey, Lisa Marie Presley, Geena Davis, Recca Romijn & Jerry O’Connell, Dennis Quaid, Charlie Sheen, Jenna James, Nancy Grace, Melisa Etheridge, Ricky Martin, Martie Macguire (a Dixie Chic) and Marcia Gay-Harden.

And here are a few more that must have been ahead of the curve, they have twins that are a little older. See, these things go in cycles! One year it's the Gucci bag, the next year it's twins. Then tapered pants. Then twins.

Cybill Shepherd, Ray Romano, Michael J. Fox, Mia Hamm, Jane Seymour, Mel Gibson, Denzel Washington, Holly Hunter, Robert De Niro, Chuck Norris, Lance Armstrong, Angela Basset, Niki taylor and Dave Matthews.

I will literally murder you.

You know. People sometimes annoy me. Sometimes they annoy me so much, that I will literally have to murder them to make them stop annoying me.

One thing that annoys me is when people misuse the word literally. It literally drives me crazy. Except not literally, because if it literally drove me crazy, I'd be in an insane asylum, in a padded room, eating my cotton gown for breakfast. Clearly I am not there, because who would realistically let an insane person blog from their asylum room. So, hence, it did not literally drive me crazy.

My friend Webster says this:

Main Entry:
lit·er·al·ly

Function: adverb
Date: 1533


1 : in a literal sense or manner 2: adhering to fact or to the ordinary construction or primary meaning of a term or expression : actual 3: free from exaggeration or embellishment d: characterized by a concern mainly with facts

I recently attended an information session at work where the person kept misusing the term. "Their customer service will literally bend over backwards for us," this person exclaimed. Really? Really will they literally bend over backwards? Will they set their laptop down, stretch for a minute, and then go into some awful attempt at a backward bend? It sounds painful to me. And a little perverse if I'm being honest. I don't actually want anyone to bend over backwards for me.

I mean, what's the point of saying literally when you are exaggerating? It's an exaggeration already, you don't need to add "literally" to make it stronger. Because what happens when someone needs to use the word for real, like when you drive your car off in a ditch on a cold snowy night and you are half submerged in a river of icy water and you call 911 and you say, "It is so cold I am literally going to die from hypothermia" and the 911 operator says, "oh I know, don't you hate being so cold like that? I had to bring a space heater to work it's so drafty in here!" It's so watered down people don't know what "literally" means anymore! Like, it's just a given that you are blatantly exaggerating when you use the term.

I want to give you an example of how this phenomenon permeates our society, but there are so many bajillion examples (literally) that I can't decide what to use. Reading the examples, makes me want to kill myself, literally, so I can't stand to post them. Just Google it ("misuse literally") and see for yourself.

I feel like I am a forgiving person. So if you occasionally slip up, and say, "I am so starving I am literally going to ingest my own stomach," then I'll let it slide. But seriously, if you abuse this power, I will literally murder you. No really, I will end your life, like murder murder. Like, there is a big trial, you are in the ground type of murder. I mean it, literal murder. The kind of murder where I will go to jail and people will mutter how "she always seemed so nice... a little off maybe, but pretty nice..."

And the conversation went something like this...

Setting: Good friend J and I on our way to a movie on a bright and sunny afternoon. She is driving.

J: "Wow, those are some huge birds over there!"
Me: "Holy cow, those are!" (as I take in the scene of what could easily be mistaken for teradachtyl's eating some road kill off the pavement about 30 yards ahead of us.
J: (nonchalantly) "Jeez, you better get out of the way you crazy birds."

Silence as we watch the birds start to scatter.

BUT- Suddenly one of them changes his stupid feather-brained course and heads right toward the windshield!

Me: ACCCKKK!!! (as I shut my eyes, cover my face with my arms and do what any sane, grown woman would do and scream like a 12-year old at her first Jonas Brothers concert!)
Jamie: (heart pounding, screaming like a ninny) O.M.G! Did we just hit that bird!!!!
Me: I have no idea, my eyes were shut and I took cover!!!
Jamie: Me too!

Ummmm, you too what? Your eyes were shut too and you took cover also? That's all well and good really. I mean, I wouldn't want a teradachtyl-like bird to crash through your windshield and mame you into a bloody, feathery mess. That would be just horrific. Beak sticking out of your eye-socket and such. No, much better if you completely forget about this task called "driving" and shield yourself from such a horrific death. I mean, granted, since we were hurling 70 MPH down the highway in a 2 ton hatchback- chances are I think we would have won in this little game we called "let's play chicken with a freaky chicken-sized scavenger bird on a Sunday afternoon." But go ahead, protect yourself from the impact.

J- For future reference you only get to shield yourself from crazy-ass, giant, monster-sized, steroid-induced birds when you are the passenger. The driver always has to die in the feathery head on collision, everyone knows that. I'm sorry, I don't make the rules, I just follow them.

PS- I'm driving next time...

:)