Five Things

Sorry I haven't been around much! Between this, days off of work where I'm trying to get things done (i.e. rid my house of that dog piss smell- I EFFIN' HATE MY CHIHUAHUA!!!!- and getting rid of sixteen thusand toys that the kids never touch and the chihuahua just pisses on), and wiping Grace's butt, getting a blog post up daily has fallen to the wayside. I do have several in the work; just need to find the time to finish.

Anyhoo, a quick five things:

1. Rocky Balboa- Seriously? This is an actual movie? That wasn't a Saturday Night Live fake commercial I saw last night? I mean, seriously? Another Rocky? Serious? Why?

2. Dreamgirls- Who is the third chick and dude, wouldn't it suck to be her? It's all Beyonce and Jennier and Eddie Murphy... does anyone know the third girl's name? Anyone?

3. One million dollars to the first person who can get Gavin to start pooping in the potty. One. Million. Dollars.

4. Someone left an XM satellite radio and tons of accessories on my porch with a note that says "Happy New Year". Did you leave it there? If so, holy freakin' moly- THANK YOU! This is going to be a tough one to pay forward.

5. Does anyone else own a Leap Frog refrigerator DJ? My kids LOVE IT and I tell you what, "Annie Ooh" is the dopest song to hit the fake air waves EVAH! I want to figure out how to upload it to my iPOD.

Poop Plague

Grace has had poop issues for about the past eight days… and by poop issues, I mean about two or three times a day her butt explodes and lets loose what I can only imagine is either the same toxic fluid that flows in Satan’s bloodstream or the gelatinous ooze that is found on the side of the road after a dead animal bakes in the afternoon sun for a week. Maybe two.

Seriously, people, it is F. O. U. L.

I called our pediatrician yesterday not necessarily because I thought she could do something about it (what does one prescribe for butt explosions? A cork?) but because I had vented enough to Lloyd about our daughter’s toxic hiney and felt the need to burn into someone else’s brain the sights and smells of Grace’s diapers for the past week.

The nurse called me back promptly and told me that “this” was going around and as long as Grace was eating and drinking and seemed fine that I didn’t need to worry. Not worry? Ummmm, tell that to my senses- namely sight, hearing, and taste. Yes, it is so foul you can taste it without actually tasting it. It gets inside of every fiber of my being. It haunts my dreams.

I tried to explain this to the nurse but she poo-pooed (pun intended) my concerns and told me to give it another week. I asked her if she could at least give me the number for HAZMAT but again, she dismissed me. Before we hung up, though, she gave a few dietary tips like make sure she is eating yogurt (check) and drinking plenty of fluids (check). I told the nurse that she is drinking plenty of water and still nurses A LOT during the day.

Wait for it….. Waaaaiiiiiiiittttt for it……

“Ohhhhhhhhhh, she’s still nursing?”

Then the nurse asked if I had changed anything in my diet recently that could have somehow passed to Grace via the boob juice and triggered all that is evil in the world to blow out of my child’s ass thrice daily. Yes, I gnawed on some of Satan’s bones with a side of road kill last week. Eureka! That’s it!

Argh. It really drives me crazy how little some health care professionals know about breastfeeding. I really like my pediatrician and her staff but between the doc telling me I needed to night wean Grace when she was two months- TWO MONTHS- old and now suggesting that MY diet could somehow be responsible for this evil plague that has fallen upon our house I feel like I need to offer to do an inservice on how NOT to continue the spread of breastfeeding myths.

You heard it here first. Breast milk may cause diarrhea. Hmmm, didn’t know breast milk was used in Mexican cuisine.

Sing-song

*All to the tune of Santa Claus is Coming to Town*


Gavin- "You better watch out, you better not cry, mama help me I can't remember the rest"

Me- "You better not pout I'm telling you why"

Gavin- "Santa Claus is coming to town!"

Merry Christmas

Wishing everyone a very happy day!

The kids were good this year....

See my Tabblo>

But I was very...





VERY good.

Hot Shakin' Llamas

My sister and her family came down for the day yesterday and the kids had a blast playing. My five year old niece was an absolute hoot. She is at that fun age where her mind is going a bazillion miles a minute and she isn't afraid to share all her cooky thoughts (unlike my almost 8 year old niece who is already exhibiting tween-like 'tude..... as in, I overheard her say "I'm ON the PHONE, Daddy!!!!!).

5 year old niece- "Cool people walk slow!"

Me- "Why do cool people walk slow?"

5 year old niece- "So they don't crap their style."

Me- "Don't you mean cramp their style?"

5 year old niece- "NO! CRAP their style."

Alrighty then. Although she does have a point. I mean, how cool could one be if they walked really fast and crapped their style? I mean, crapping one's style is the most uncool thing I can think of, actually.

She also told a tale of "hot shakin' llamas" (NO! NOT MAMAS) that for the life of me, I could not make heaads or tails out of but I think hot shakin' llamas is the most awesomest phrase ever. If I ever start a band, we will definitely be the Hot Shakin' Llamas.






(yes, my sister and I are well under way to beginning the next Aryan nation with all of our blond hair, blue-eyes spawn)

I got a fever

And the only prescription is NOT more cowbell!

It's more babies!!!!!

I have a raging case of baby fever. Three of my coworkers are pregnant and they are so stinkin' cute and all curvy and glowy and "baby this" and "baby that". One of them had their big ultrasound to find out the gender (boy) on Tuesday and we watched the video yesterday afternoon and I was practically in tears the entire time remembering my ultrasound videos with the G-unit and the insane amount of excitment that came with seeing the "hotdog" or the "cheeseburger" for the first time. It is amazing that something that resembles a grayish blob at worst and Skeletor at best can be the most amazingly beautiful thing in the world.

Argh. I let one of my coworkers borrow my maternity clothes and I swear, clothes that a mere 2 years ago I bitched about wearing are now the cutest duds EVAH and I just want to be able to wear them again! I have reached out to rub the preggo bellies so many times (yes, I'm one of THOSE annoying people now) that I'm just waiting to be called to Human Resources to be reprimanded for harrassment.

It's not that I don't feel complete right now. I do. I feel very complete. I'm overwhelmed with completeness. I am Mrs. Complety Completedness from the Land of Completia.

I don't even think having another baby would cure the fever. I know that if I did have another baby, once the baby stage came to an end, I would probably be longing to have another baby and then once that baby stage ended, I would long to have another... and another... and another....

I'm sick.

Sh!tter's Full!

Me

I was tagged yesterday by Kelly to post a self-portrait. I read Kelly's post yesterday while I was at work so I couldn't do a self portrait right there and then so I waited until I got home and took a picture at the first opportunity.

This is a pretty easy tag for me to complete thanks to the fact I am participating in Flickr's 365 day pool where I have to take a self portrait every day for 365 days.

The theme of the tag is "come as you are" and I cannot think of any better way to express me just coming as I am:

A mom of two who just wants to use the bathroom in peace.





I tag Melissa, Venessa, and Sunny

Bird for dinner

Perhaps I have lived in the south too long because this seriously made me laugh out loud.

Christmas Light

T-minus seven days until Christmas and I am done with all my shopping.

It truly is a Christmas miracle.

Watch for all the flying pigs, people.

I really don’t get into all the Christmas hub-bub like shopping or decorating or baking. It’s just not my thing. I work with all these crazy middle-aged women who are constantly freaking out over how “only one of their seven trees are decorated” and they “just can’t do anything with the mantle in their sitting room” and “oh my goodness heavens to Betsy, they can’t find their Christmas linens and their 17 million family members are going to be in town tomorrow” and “can you believe they started shopping on December 26, 2005, and they still aren’t done with all their shopping and ooh, they are so tired from staying up until 4 am gift wrapping last night”.

I just smile and nod because they might as well be speaking another language. In fact, I wish they were speaking another language because try as might to block out their nasally rants, some of it manages to infiltrate my crazylady-brain barrier and at least if it was in another language, me no comprehendo.

I so do not get why people do this to themselves over the holidays. They bitch and whine and moan over how much work it is to get out their holiday Pfaltzgraff , bake 16 million dozen cookies, hyperventilate over the Belk’s flier in the Sunday paper, and then have the audacity to suggest that people like me who see no reason to go bat-shit crazy shopping and take out a second mortgage to put inflatable snowmen and 14 million twinkling lights in my yard don’t understand the true reason of Christmas- the big JC’s birthday.

What would Jesus do? He certainly wouldn’t skip line in front of a woman holding not one but TWO children at the Macy’s counter and He certainly wouldn’t lament to all that are forced to listen about His binge eating on cookies and fudge and hey, I may not have the Bible memorized verbatim but I’m pretty sure He wouldn’t need to up his dosage of Paxil to help deal with the hanging of Christmas towels.

Maybe I’m just lazy, but when I think about going all crazy for Christmas and spending tons of money and redecorating my entire house for the season and cooking and eating until I want to puke, I just want to curl up in bed until the New Year. It’s just so not me and for the life of me, why would anyone want to drive themselves nuts doing it all? What’s the point? If you’re celebrating the secular aspects of Christmas then why would you want to anything that increased your stress levels to that degree and if you’re celebrating the whole “Jesus is the reason for the season” aspect of Christmas then you’ve really missed the ark. I’m sure some people enjoy it but most people just complain and declare year after year, “This is the last time I’m doing all this for Christmas!”

We have some lights and ribbon on our house and one small tree with lights- no ornaments (I didn’t want to go crazy watching the kids break all of them and throw them at each other and use the hangers for eye-poker-outers). My biggest display is a silver tree that is used to showcase all of the cards we receive during the season. I don’t plan on doing any baking or cooking- although the husband will probably do some- and if the wrapping isn’t done by 10:00 pm, it can wait until the next day.

I shopped last weekend and this weekend with both the kids and while usually, shopping with the kids would be akin to some sort of extreme sport of Fear Factor episode, I really tried to keep it low-key and move at their pace. It took us four hours to go to three stores yesterday. If Gavin wanted to stop and smell all the perfumes in Dillard’s and stick out his tongue at his reflection in every mirror in New York and Company then so be it. If Grace wanted to ride the elevator a couple of times then we rode the elevator a couple of times. When we went out to lunch and Gavin only wanted to eat the chips and Grace only wanted to eat the cookie then we smiled and made silly faces over their sweet and salty lunch. We put off shopping on Saturday for Gavin to go to a school mate’s birthday party and while all the moms stood around discussing “OMG THE HOLIDAYS ARE SO STRESSFUL!!!” I chased the kids around playing tag. The only time constraint I put on us while shopping was that we had to be done with enough time for the kids to play outside and enjoy our unseasonably warm weather.

The only “OMG” moments during our shopping were when Gavin announced in the middle of the mall “I’M PEEING!!!!!!!!!” and yanked down his pants and underwear right there for all to see. Thankfully, we made it to the bathroom in time. Also, I made the HUGE mistake of trying on clothes in front of Grace. I took off my shirt and she was all “nurse, nurse, nurse, nurse, NUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRSSSSSSEEEE!!!!!” I, of course, had no intentions of nursing Grace because that would have left Gavin with ample opportunity to shimmy out from under the dressing room door and indecently expose his self in front of the entire mall again.

Good times.

Ahhhhhhhh..... Saturday.

Puppy Love

The husband- "Good night, inbred."

Me- "Good night, trailer-trash."

Me- "I love you."

The husband- "Don't even tell me you love me. You're from West Virginia; you're supposed to save that stuff for your cousins."

Me- "Whatever. You're just mad because your parents live in a trailer."

Devil in disguise

Gavin's preschool performace was a smashing success! He was fabulous, the food was delicious and I was able to hold back the tears through the entire thing! I'm not holding back tears of sadness- I am just so proud of my boy! Watching him grow combined with seeing him participate in all these "rite of passage" school functions just leaves me dizzy with thoughts of "OMG HE'S NOT A BABY ANYMORE BUT WHO CARES BECAUSE HE IS GROWING UP AND ISN'T IT AWESOME TO WATCH BUT OMG HE ISN'T MY BABY ANYMORE!!!!"

Gavin spotted me coming out of his classroom and he pointed and yelled "MOMMY!!!"



It was so funny because throughout the whole show the younger kids were pointing out their "mommy" and their "daddy" to all the other kids. Loudly. Like we could hear "yeah, well, there's MY mommy" over the chorus of "Silent Night". I couldn't help but think how many years do we have until the kids start trying to hide who their parents are from their schoolmates!?!


Just like last time, Gavin was more into the clapping than the performing but holy crap when his halo fell off and he couldn't get it back on so he wore it as a boa and then sauntered of the floor wearing his halo boa with his head held high- I nearly peed my pants from holding in the laughter.

(click to enlarge)




Grace liked the cookies. Sure, she liked watching big brother but she liked the cookies more.




Preschool teacher #1- Let's get them all hopped up on sugar and then send them home

Preschool teacher #2- BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Preschool teacher #3- Dude, this is gonna be awesome!

HAHAHAHA!

My God. I love this mothering stuff.

Happy Love Thursday!!!!

Playing hooky from work today

Ok, so maybe it's not really hooky considering I have permission to not be at work and I am receiving paid time off today but "playing hooky" sounds so much cooler don't you think?

And after last night's Real World post, I can use all the help in the cool department that I can possibly get.

I'm at home because Gavin's Christmas presentation at preschool is today at 11:00. I helped him get dressed this morning in the shirt he made last week at school for this very occasion. I told him he had angels on his shirt and he got mad at me and was all "NOT ANGELS, MAMA!!!!! PAINT!!! IT'S PAINT!!!!!"

"Fine. I'll compromise. Not just angels but paint in the shape of angels."

"NOT ANGELS!!!! NO ANGELS!!!!! PAINT!!!! PAINT!!!!!"

"Fine. You have paint on your shirt."

So here is the Gavinator in his "NOT ANGELS PAINT" shirt:






I just hope I can keep the waterworks to a minimum this time around.

Officially a mom moment # I lost count

When you're watching the Real World Denver, instead of thinking "WOOT! Jenn, Alex, and Colie threesome" or "dude, one night with me and Davis would totally play for the other team"; you're thinking "man, when do those kids sleep?" or "my, don't their beds look comfy".

At least I'm not thinking about the effects of the girls' smoking and drinking on their future fertility.

Ack! I just thought that!

Save me!!!!

Public Service Announcement

The FDA issued a warning letter to Nestle.

This letter is dated November 27, 2006, and this is the first piece of information I have come across regarding the fact that "Nestle® brand Good Start Infant Formula with Iron (was found to be) in violation of the Federal Food, Drug, and Cosmetic Act (the Act) and the implementing regulations contained within Title 21, Code of Federal Regulations, Part 107 (21 CFR 107)".

Apparently the calcium and phosphorus levels were below the minimum requirements set for infant formula and were less than what was stated on the label.

I have been scouring the internet looking for more information and I came across this from the Associated Press dated December 12, 2006. Nestle has 15 working days to address the FDA's concerns so hopefully we'll know more soon.

I just don't understand how a woman breastfeeding on a plane can cause a media frenzy while infant formula found to be nutritionally deficient barely causes a blip on the media radar.

Security

The husband- "I didn't hook up with anyone; I'm an old, married father of two."

Me- "Yeah, but you're hot."

The husband- "Of course you think that- you're an old, married mother of two."

Hardest to learn was the least complicated

I have been thinking a lot about relationships lately. I have been hesitant to write this post because I don't want it to appear as though I'm dwelling in the past (I'm not) or that I have regrets (I don't) but I can't help but reflect upon people and events that have long since passed but continue to resonate with me today. It is sort of like the Beatles' song 'In My Life"; cheesy reference- yes- but in all honesty, when has being cheesy ever stopped me and, the ex-husband aside, I truly do hold a lot of affection for the "people and the things that went before". It still doesn't change the fact, "I love the husband more".

This past month-

I have run across not one but two former flames on myspace (former- 8th grade boyfriend/prom date, latter- summer fling Cedar Point style)

My 365 days photo of the day highlights the first big purchase (aka my talisman) I made after my divorce.

To boot, this very month marks the anniversary of the start of my first real relationship (read: the one that deflowered me) circa 1991.

No, I'm not that sentimental that I celebrate the anniversary of the deflowering with a red letter day on the calendar; I'm just all Rain-Man like and remember dates like most people remember to breathe. It is a blessing and a curse. Sure it is fun to know exactly what I was wearing on April 7, 1987, but at the same time, the human brain can only possibly have "x" amount of storage space and I don't want the old noggin to go all kapoot when I finally get to the good stuff- like when the kids go away to college.

Of course then there are the nuisances that come along with being Rain Man like my old friends back home who like to use me as their own personal memory bank. I can’t tell you how many times my phone has rang with the person on the other end wanting me to tell them the name of the guy in that band who was in tenth grade ILT (his name is Steve) or the name of that other guy who was in a band who she dated (his name was Scott).

Anyhoo, I have been listening to "Least Complicated" (cheesy song reference number two for those of you keeping track at home) on George and every time I hear it, I am all "FO' REAL!" I have got to give the Indigo Girls mad props because, my friend, those are not just clever lyrics (how much do you wanna bet I’m the first person to ever give the Indigo girls mad anything- never mind mad props?). Isn't it so true that some of the hardest things to learn are really the least complicated? For me it holds true in just about everything from school to parenting and especially relationships.

Some of the hardest things for me to learn relationship-wise is something that, in retrospect, really is the least complicated:

If you don’t love someone… if you’re miserable… if you’re thinking of cheating only weeks before you’re to be married… then no amount of anything is going to make it all better and make there be love where there is none. No number of new jobs or salary increases can make there be love. New houses or new cars do not a loving relationship make. Jewelry or vacations or clothes or anything can NOT create love. Time WILL NOT create love if there is none to begin with. It is either there or it isn’t.

And if it isn’t, it is probably a good idea to NOT get married.

I’m just saying.

Also, if he only talks to you after the sun has gone down or at a bar after ingesting a six pack then he probably isn’t into you. If the only time he calls is at three am to tell you his parents are out of town (key word: parents) and that he wants you to come over because he “misses you”, chances are its only one specific part of your body that he is missing but the rest of you has to come along to get her there. If you have never spent time together sober, you are not in a relationship. If one of his friends asks if you are his girlfriend and he says “no”, he is not being funny and he is certainly not being coy (hell, he isn’t smart enough to be coy), you are not his girlfriend.

Letting you “break” while playing pool is not courting. Buying you a shot is not romance. If he tells you “this doesn’t mean anything”, it does NOT mean that he is deep and introverted and too scared to tell you how he really feels because, hello, it’s three am and you both have just split a 12 pack and you’re getting it on in the front seat of your car so it HAS to mean something. He really means “this doesn’t mean anything”. If he only e-mails you to tell you he needs to cut back on drugs then he has a friggin’ drug problem. He’s not dark or mysterious or brewing over how much he misses and therefore forced to turn to something- anything- to cope with the pain.

Why is it for so many years drunken and juvenile came across to me as deep and cool?

Something else that was hard for me to understand was jealousy. For the longest time I thought jealous and overprotective meant he must love me bunches and bunches. If I so much as smiled at a guy from my anatomy class and then he yelled at me for two hours? I may spend the next 24 hours crying but hey, at least I have a guy who really, really loves me and is afraid that because I’m so beautiful and desirable that I might leave him for someone else.

Yeah right.

If he is jealous and overprotective and flies off into a rage because he thinks a friendly smile equals “dude, I want to bang that guy’ then chances are he is banging someone else- someone else with whom the banging probably started with a friendly smile. His insecurities stem from the knowledge of what he is doing. He is covering his ass twofold: by making sure you’re too scared to even look at another guy and creating a cover up because how could he ever cheat on you when he is so in love with you that he loses his freakin’ mind if you so much as mention another guy’s name.

Oh, and always- ALWAYS- let the guy call first.

My talisman

Day 5: Girl in Blue Necklace



This necklace is my favorite material thing. I bought it when I was going through my divorce. It served as a talisman to remind me who I am.

Apparently I'm a person who spends money she doesn't have on expensive jewelry


(click to enlarge)

Goose torture

(make sure your speakers are turned up)

Dirty Santa

I attended a holiday party/going away party for a coworker tonight and we played Dirty Santa (see definition number two).

I ended up with Booby Boosters and a training bra:



At the end of the game, everyone was all "hahahahaha... how funny that everyone ended up with a gift that was appopriate for them!!!" and I was all "yeah, hahahahahaha, really funny that WE ALL ended up with gifts appropriate for OURSELVES because hahahahahahaha, I got a training bra and hahahahahaha, I don't have any boobies!! Isn't that hysterical!?! I'm built like a 12 year old boy! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! Ouch! My side!!! I can't stop laughing!!!!! Not having breasts is heeeeeee-steeeeer-i-caaaaaaaal!!!!!!!!!"

Oh well, I can't say they don't have a point:



Too bad I didn't end up with the inflatable husband. I could certainly use the comfort of a man who can't talk and has an excuse for not listening to me right now.

Fire's out

Eff you Bama.

Thanks, Coach Rod. You can stay in my top twenty (that's myspace speak for "thanks for not screwing my alma mater over").

Liar liar

"Rodriguez, who is 49-24 in six seasons at West Virginia, said last week that he planned on being at WVU the remainder of his career “if they’ll have me." He is a West Virginia alumnus and a former Mountaineer football player."

Rrrrrriiiiiiiiiiiiiigggghhhhhhht.


Hey Rod, how are you going to coach at the Gator Bowl with your pants on fire???

Love Requited

I Love
Taking pictures
Taking pictures of my kids
Taking pictures of me and my kids
Taking pictures every day

I Love
Sharing pictures
Sharing pictures in Flickr
Sharing pictures in Flickr Groups
Sharing pictures every day

I Love
Looking at pictures
Looking pictures in Flickr
Looking pictures in Flickr Groups
Looking at pictures every day


Enter the 365 Days Pool.

Love Requited.

Thanks, Karrie.


Happy Love Thurday.

Excuses, excuses

Me- "Gavin, help me pick your toys."

Gavin- "Aw, mama, I can't. I'm too little."

Gone pro Give thanks

See my wish list down there? Notice something different from this morning? Notice that a little something is already crossed off?

That's right, my amateur days are over. I'm a Flickr pro now. Unlimited sets... increased storage... you know what this means, don't you? All the pictures of the G-unit that your little heart has ever desired in one nice, neat, and well-organized Flickr pro account.

And by pictures of the G-unit, I mean pictures of Grace nursing and my belly because that is all you people are interested in looking at you freaky internet, you.

So who is the fabulous person who gave me the gift that keeps on giving for the next 365 days? I'll give you some hints:

She's 6 feet tall
She lives in Boston
She's One Weird mother

I've been racking my mind as to what to give as a thank you gift and finally it dawned on me: GAUCHOS!!!!!!!! She has obviously decided to dencounce her Gauchist ways and offered me the olive branch via a Flickr pro account!!!

Hee hee.

I'm just messing with you, Karrie.

Thank you very, very much. When I'm overhwelmed by someone else's kindness, I really can't think of the words to say so I'll just leave it at thank you, thank you, thank you.

All I want for Christmas is...

this

Yes, my car has a tape deck. It also has faux wood paneling across the dashboard and 16 million pounds of garbage and food on the floorboards. I’m not a “car person”.

this

Pimp my George. I know, I know, I’m sixteen million light years behind the iLIFE curve but what do you expect from a Myspace stalker?

this

Oooh, it’s on sale!!

this

Yummmm!! We can’t afford shiny or sparkly so I’ll take pretty, pretty smell goods.

this

I need a Flickr pro account. I’ve reached my max of 200 pictures! Any more and Flickr starts eating my pictures!!

this** and this**

Promotion of breastfeeding AND support for the Mother’s Milk Bank of Ohio** wrapped up in two super cute t-shirts.


**Any money earned from the sale of ANY product on the Lactivist site between December 1st to December 31st will be going straight to the Mother's Milk Bank of Ohio.

One of the great things about the HMBANA milk banks is the fact that they are non-profit. They charge ONLY enough money to cover the processing and storage costs for the milk. While insurance often covers the cost of the milk, some insurance companies refuse to pay. In other situations, the parents of the baby simply don't have insurance. Since HMBANA milk banks are committed to providing that milk for any baby that medically needs it, that means that they sometimes send out milk that they will never be reimbursed for. In fact, the average milk bank never receives payment for 15-20% of the milk that they ship. Here in Columbus, that percentage if even higher. Add in the fact that the milk bank is barely two years old (and thus hasn't yet recouped enough costs to pay for all their equipment) and you've got a milk bank that's really struggling to the point that every single dollar of donations REALLY counts.

Don't feel like shopping, but want to make a donation? You can send a donation via PayPal by either transferring funds or by placing it on your credit card. Even beyond shopping and donating, you can still help out! If you have a blog, consider running a post talking about this fundraiser and pointing your readers to the store.

Five years of Service

In addition to receiving my five year service award last night (the watch, not the ring... or the hairy forearm), I danced the funky chicken, competed in a limbo contest, a twist contest, and a ball contest (ball contest is where you and your partner dance while keeping a ball between you), and twirled our hospital administrator around the dance floor by his necktie to the tune of YMCA.

I got robbed. I totally would have won the limbo if "ability to flash one's beaver" was past of our annual evaluations and I came in second in the twist contest but only because I was up against the director of Human Resources and hello, what unemployment-fearing soul wouldn't choose him over me? Of course, once I got tired of doing the twist I started doing the running man. Twist.. running man... whatevah. I also came in second during the ball contest but only because it was taking too long and DJ was anxious to wrap things up. One of the directors came up to me at the end of the night because he totally agreed that I was robbed and gave me his door prize- a $50 gift Card to Bi-Lo.

Although I came in second during the ball contest, I definitely came in first in inciting many lesbian fantasies. My partner during the ball dance was one of my favorite coworkers who also happen to be one incredibly hot blonde. As soon as the dance started we almost dropped the ball and by going down as low as we could go, we caught the ball between our crotches and wound up dancing like that most of the time. We worked the ball back up and then were pretty much boob to boob with it. Turns out it was a good thing that I didn't wear the green dress because "ability to flash one's boobages" is not part of our annual evaluations, either.

Alas, no pictures. The husband was busy at the bar watching WVU defeat Rutgers in triple overtime (can I get a hells yeah) but when I was doing the lesbian waltz ball dance, I was nearly blinded by all the flashes so I'm sure in due time I will have plenty of photos of shaking what my mama gave me in front of the people I have to face tomorrow morning at 8 am.

Sweet.

Makeover Mama

Before:




After:

The winner is....

The winner is….

The black dress.

But only by default.

I really want to wear the green dress. It’s so, so, so pretty and frilly that it makes me feel like prancing about in ballet slippers while singing songs about ovaries and menstruation and osteoporosis.

It’s that feminine.

I raced home from work yesterday to try it on with a padded bra but not only does the padded bra give the illusion of super-fake, rounded fun bags; the type of bra necessary to give me the illusion of anything in the chestal region and fill the dress out is so big and bulky that it totally peeps out of the top of the dress. When I tried it on with a less padded bra, I didn’t fill the dress out and the bra still peeped out of the top of the dress.

Sigh. I do love the green dress so much that I’m tempted to let the A-team hang loose but the reality is I do hope to be promoted to director one day and I don’t think that showing up at company functions looking like an underdeveloped version of this (sans crazy rastafarian cap and stained t-shirt, of course) is going to do much to help my cause.

Thank your comments! Maybe if I knew what a whip stitch was or where a fabric store was even located in my town things would be different but hey, one out of two lesbians can’t be wrong.