Friday, January 29, 2010

The worse date I ever had.

A local radio station is having a contest for the worse date. You write a story, readers vote, you can win prizes. I decided to share this little classic story & figured you people may get a kick out of it, too.

And if not, oh well.

Oh yeah, baby news is fine, expect a baby blog in full tomorrow. But until then, enjoy my awkwardness...

Ah, college. I have many good memories, involving good times with good friends. This, however, is not one of those stories. Unless you’re one of my friends, then you love laughing at this story and my misery.

I’d had a couple classes with a guy who I thought was cute, so when he eventually asked me if I’d like to get together for a movie that weekend, I accepted. Worse case scenario I thought was just getting to know the guy a little better, even if there weren’t any sparks there. And hey, I’d get to wear my new dress that I loved. It couldn’t be miserable. Impossible. He was just a normal, seemingly decent guy.

Once we arrived at the movies, I excused myself to use the restroom. Once I came back, he asked what I might like to see. I didn’t really have a preference, which I said as I looked over my options. Before I finished my options, he excitedly announced, “Well, Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy is out today!” I responded without thinking, telling him I’d never heard of it. I think the world stopped for a moment, while he stared at me with disgust. He then accounted that he’d actually already gotten the tickets while I was in the restroom, he thought I’d love to see it. I tell him that’s fine, but I still had no idea what it was. He was obviously uncomfortable that I had no idea what this movie was. For the next 20 minutes, he schooled me in its magic, how it was based on a book, things about the author, throwing in a random jab here and there about how he can’t believe what kind of school system I went to if I knew nothing of this wonderful book turned movie. I stood there, eating some nachos & wondering if I would survive this date. Every time I tried to change the topic, he ignored me & went on about the movie we were about to see. As I stared at my nacho cheese, pondering the other things I could have done that day, such as clean my bathroom, he made sure to remind me that he’d like me to finish eating those before the movie because he didn’t want me eating to be a distraction for me or anyone around me, because this was a “very important event.”

He insisted on the perfect seats. I was told where to sit. He explained to me that he didn’t mind comments in movies usually, but this was “about to be an amazing experience for both of us” so I should just stay quiet, anything I don’t understand he’d be happy to explain to me over dinner. If it hadn’t been so crowded and I hadn’t been sitting by a wall, I would have just made my exit. Isn’t like he would have noticed. The movie started and in the first few seconds as the credit were coming up, there were a few scratching sounds in the movie. He became irate. Loudly complaining that this was ruining his experience, and that he was going to go complain and demand that they restart it…even thought the credits hadn’t appeared on the screen. I talk him down, telling him it wasn’t a big deal & nothing to make a scene about, everything would be fine, pointing out that the picture was perfect now & the credits were just starting. At that point he looked at me like I’d just shot Bambi by thinking it wasn’t a big deal, but he agreed not to storm out & complain. He spent the next few minutes groaning and moaning, loudly showing his disapproval at the screen issues. I wondered if the people around us thought he was passing some sort of kidney stone or something.

I then sat through 45 hours of the most boring movie ever made. OK, I have no idea how long it was, I actually fell asleep a few times, as my date talked to himself about the “magic” of the movie, whispered to himself about how that was too different than he’d prefer, and so on. I survived it though and that’s all that mattered as the lights came back up. I’d convinced myself that this had to get better, it had to. I was optimistic actually. Until I looked at my date, that is. He was hysterically crying.

I don’t mean a few tears down his face. I mean hysterically crying, can’t catch his breath crying, wailing basically while people stared. I’m all for men showing emotions, but I prefer it when they have a reason to show said emotion. I ask what’s wrong, & he’s finally able to choke out, “that…it was his DREAM!” talking about the author of the book having his book turned into a movie. He continued his snot fest out of the theatre and towards the car. He asked if I wanted dinner. At that point, I needed a drink & I basically felt like I was owed a dinner for dealing with him and his water works. He then takes me a small restaurant, which doesn’t serve drinks. He must have read my mind. On the drive over and during our meal, he continued to break out into tears from time to time, with me handing him a couple tissues I carried with me. During our meal, the waitress finally asked us if everything was alright, because he seemed so upset. She then got then entire story on the movie and its magic, plus the complaint that it should have been a series of movies instead of just one movie. While he went on & on about it, she looked at me with sad eyes I’ll never forget.
I ate as fast as possible, reminding him to eat as well as he continued telling me the story of the book, how the movie was made, the authors entire life story, and, you guessed it, crying here & there throughout the story. He only stopped crying when he realized that I myself had not shed a tear. He asked why I was so cold. I told him I wasn’t cold, just bored & it just wasn’t my type of movie really. At that point, he was done with me, I could just tell. I hadn’t passed his test, which was fine with me. I’d been worried if I had. The good news was that made him stop crying, so I was happy about that at least.

I was able to make my exit and I thought it was done and over with. I thought he couldn’t think much of me since he thought it was weird that I wasn’t emotional about it as well, so I figured I was safe & would never have to worry about his advances in the future.

I was wrong.

The next week, he showed up in my class, a class I didn’t even have with him, with the book. He signed his full name in it “with love” in the front cover. He went on to tell me that he’d love to educate me about that & other fine literature, he felt as though “we were suppose to meet” to “help” me & he figured I’d be interested in that idea as well and wanted to know what I was doing for lunch. I thanked him, but told him I really wasn’t interested in that idea. He stared at me for a moment, then took the book out of my hands, and announced “you will never find anyone like me again” as he walked out of the room. He never spoke to me again in any class. And he was right, I never found anyone like him again.

Thank goodness for that. I don't always have tissues. And I never wore that dress again.

Tuesday, January 26, 2010

Making a list & checking it twice.

And it doesn't involve whose been naughty or nice.

If you've been reading long enough or you've read back in my blog, you'll realize I already know whose naughty or nice.

I'm preparing for a big day Wednesday. On that day, we have our "big" 20 week (well, 19 week really) scan of the baby trapped inside of me.

For those of you who don't have kids & have never been through this, it's something that's really only exciting to most because usually that is when you're told if your fetus has indoor or outdoor plumbing. We have already been told that the baby is suppose to have outdoor plumbing. But even if we hadn't, I'm pretty sure it wouldn't be my first concern.

With Joel, we got fucked. We got fucked hard. And I'm not sure if I should blame incompetence or if I should blame someone being in a hurry. No matter what though, I'll continue to blame.

I know I've spoke of this, but I'm not sure if I've done it in great detail. If I have, it's not been recently, so here is the story.

We go to a place connected to a hospital I hate for our "big" ultrasound. The appointment was at 1pm. We didn't get seen until 1:10. That's only a big deal since we were out of there & at a branch of our bank putting in a deposit at 1:35. These scans are suppose to take 45-60 minutes because that's when they check everything. Every organ, every limb, & make sure things are how they are suppose to be.

The girl doing the scan is hurried. She doesn't really talk with us until the end, never tells us anything. I know techs can't give you exact details, but I'm use to them at least saying, "here is the babys leg" & things like that. She didn't say anything about the baby, minus that he was a boy, until the very end. And those 5 minutes haunt me & always will.

"When do you see your doctor again? Are they your primary doctor? I can't get pictures of his toes & one set of fingers, so you need to come back in about 3 weeks. Will your doctor send you back? When do you see your doctor? Are you sure you'll be able to make that appointment? Will you come back in about 3 weeks when your doctor will order it?" She just went on & on. After we left I told Adam I had a weird feeling, people don't act like that over some fingers & toes, which are hard to get pictures of at all.

I wait & call my midwife. The only thing that made me feel better was her telling me that if there was something wrong, they usually get a doctor then if they are available. No doctor came in, so I should be fine. Still though, it didn't feel right. She gets the report in about 2 weeks after, everything says it's just fine. At my next visit, she sits beside me, going over word for word of the report. Gives me a copy that I bring home & hang on the fridge. I push my concerns aside, maybe that tech was just a weirdo. I talk about going back with my midwife, we decide it's not really important to get fingers & toes since they are hard to get, plus they are expensive scans ($1200 at this place, which we pay 20% of). Plus, it was an uncomfortable place with not so nice people, so I wasn't in a hurry to go back. And again, if anything serious was wrong they'd put it in the report, right? Right.

Fast forward to my 3rd trimester. We decide we'd like another ultrasound because with the first one, we were rushed & didn't get but 3 pictures. My midwife okays it & gives me a form to have it done. On the form she calls it a "positioning scan" so insurance will cover a portion of it & then decides to write "and previously poorly viewed features." She writes that just because the report previously said to look for toes & a set of fingers. She put it on there for the hell of it, nothing more. This is just over a month before he's due. Adam sets up his vasectomy appointment for the 16th. I joked that the only day they'd have available for the scan would be the 17th & we'd find out something awful was wrong.

We were so comfortable, we could joke about something being wrong. Because nothing was wrong, right? Right.

We go in on the 17th. Different tech, thankfully. She's a bit nicer. She sits down & says, "It's been a while...why didn't you come in sooner?" I told her we didn't see much of a reason at the time. She looked kinda confused & started the scan. First thing she goes for wasn't anything but his heart, then bladder, then other things. She has me lay all over the place, she brings another tech in. She tells me out of the things she's suppose to look for, she couldn't find them all. She sends us on the way, totally empty handed, & I'm annoyed I'd looked forward to this & got nothing out of it.

We wait in line behind a woman pregnant with twins, making several appointments in advance, taking a long time to do so. We have to wait to check out. After a few minutes, I recognize a fancy doctor from his pictures on the walls walk through the hall & pass us as if he'd just come in. Adam tells me later he goes right into the room we'd left. The tech comes out a minute later & ask, "Jessica, would you like to come have Dr. Idiot scan you?" We say, "Sure!" because we think he's going to do something fun. Yes, seriously.

He scans me. They finally exchange "well, here is where bloodflow would be if there was any." In that moment, I realized something was up.

"We're pretty sure this baby only has one kidney."

I never thought I'd be one of those women who got hysterical. I thought I'd remain cool. I didn't. He tried to calm me down, explained it'd only a bad thing if they don't monitor it & his fluid levels, but once he's born it'll be alright. They had thought we'd just now finally come back to confirm that diagnosis. We had no idea it was even a possibility. My report said two healthy, normal kidneys. Lies. He's very clear that he's sure in this diagnosis. They write the name down so we can google it. He says a few times he's sure there is nothing. He even goes as far as to say, "I mean, if you want to pretend that something here is a kidney you can, but it's not there." They let us stay in the room for a while after, I guess they didn't want to scare the other pregnant women. When we go out I try to make an appointment for the next week so they can monitor his kidney & fluid levels. They refuse to let me, because "there isn't an order from your primary caregiver." Ummmm...your highly trained, overpriced doctor just said I need it but you don't let me make an appointment? Thanks.

We drive home in silence. I call my midwife, she's freaked out because she knew that wasn't listed on the report. After a couple days, she finally gets ahold of this doctor. Looking back, I don't understand what she told us compared to what he told us. According to her, he was "fairly sure" the baby would need kidney surgery for the kidney. When I ask her if she was talking about the only one he has, she tells me he didn't say. We assume at that point he thinks it's worse than he explained to us because she was told he'd need surgery on his kidney. He was very sure there was just one kidney there, so talking about surgery with my midwife had to refer to that one kidney.

More crying.

We decide we want to see this doctor again, so we make arrangements to drive almost an hour to his other office since the office in our town told us they could never tell us when we'd get to see him at all. We go, sign in, & wait. A woman from behind the window opens it & calls out, "Jessica, when did you find out about the babys deformity?" She said it like she was asking if I had my insurance card with me.

I go back, I get scanned. They do a biophysical profile to make sure the baby is doing alright. He passes, but barely. And he only passes because she "buzzed" him a few times to get all his movement in under the 30 minute time limit. The doctor comes in & they say, "we found another kidney hidden in the pelvis! You don't have to come back!" Yes, seriously. A week before he was confident there wasn't a kidney or blood flow, but now there are 2 kidneys?

Being overjoyed, we asked no questions. We were happy & went out without a single worry or any questioning of, "should we monitor this just in case?" When you're scared your baby will die, being told it won't is very nice & you don't see it any other way.

But you all know how this works out. About 3 1/2 weeks after being told things will be fine, the baby is dead. Autopsy shows only one kidney, & not too great of one at that. In my medical records, a radiologist actually says that he believes there were fluid issues before the baby died, that the levels didn't drop that rapidly after the baby passed away since I had almost no fluid when it was checked. He used a fancy name for it that I googled to find out about. I had so little fluid in delivery that they didn't even know when my water broke, they assumed it was still intact until I started pushing & only when they saw no signs of the bag of fluid did they realize it'd broken.

So yeah, I got fucked. The first time his possible "deformity" wasn't even told to us or my midwife because of some paperwork error. And the second time they dismissed it & just thought things would work out alright.

My favorite moment was leaving my midwife on the way to the hospital when she couldn't find his heartbeat. She called & mentioned she'd already called that doctor. When she explained who I was & that the baby now had no heart beat, the only thing she said he would say was, "well, kidney problems don't cause babies to die, so this has nothing to do with that."

Ah, compassion.

I later found out these doctors had other "goofs" ranging from telling people the wrong sex of the baby all the way up to diagnosing people with serious medical issues during pregnancy without any testing, which turned out to be incorrect diagnoses once other doctors did testing.

Obviously, I'm using a different everything this time around. I assume that lessens our chances of fuck ups. But I still find myself angry that I didn't demand more care. I'm angry that I didn't pay close enough attention at that 20 week scan to notice something was up.

So now, instead of looking forward to Wednesday, I dread it. Because this could end up totally fucked like Joel's was. I have no faith in people anymore. I want to sit down & make a list, a list of everything that is suppose to be seen at this ultrasound to make sure they take the time to find it all.

This is just yet another one of those times I want to hunt people down & punch them. I shouldn't have to fear something other people look forward to so much. And I will never believe this baby is fine & healthy until he's born & staring at me with that look of disappointment that says, "you people are my parents?!" I don't think any amount of testing & reassurance can get me to believe things will be alright.

Things were suppose to be alright all along. But, again, if you've read my blog about pretty much everything in my life you should know most things aren't alright. But they shouldn't be able to get any worse.

If they do, I'm getting committed. Someone needs to start that paperwork now.

Tuesday, January 19, 2010

My head in a box.

This isn't as funny as Dick in a Box, but really what can be?

I love Brad Pitt. Not current Brad Pitt, I love my older (well, younger) Brad Pitt. Legends of the Fall Brad Pitt (Joel Tristan ring a bell?). I also love cop shows & crime documentaries. Ask my husband, I'll watch the same thing 3548375 times. I combined my love of crime shows & older (younger) Brad Pitt with the movie Seven (or Se7ven if you're serious about titles).

Because the movie is 15 years old, I feel safe talking about the ending of it. Go watch it really quick if you don't want it spoiled, but I figure if you've waited 15 years to watch it, me talking about it isn't going to do something magical for you.

Brad Pitt is married. He & Morgan Freeman are searching for a serial killer. In the end, he takes them out to the desert & a package comes. A box. Morgan Freeman opens it. Oh fuck, it's the fucking head of Brad Pitt's wife.

Talk about a bad day on the job.

No worries, Brad Pitt blows his brains out so that feeling in your gut that wants him dead leaves the theater happy. Yeah, sure, justice is nice but a serial killer is a waste of space & money, so Brad Pitt was right. And he's fucking Brad Pitt, the old (young) Brad Pitt. Man can do no wrong in my eyes.

So what does this have to do with anything?

Well, nothing really. I just wanted to talk about Brad Pitt while I could.

The end.

No, just joking.

Alright, I'll move past this lame shit.

I wasn't going to mention this because I don't want to give any "readers" of this blog that I may be related to the joy of knowing they worked me up.

On Jules' birthday, I received an email from that guy I married titled, "They still can't call him Jules."

In my gut, I instantly knew what this was about.

In case you don't know, my husband family isn't on our good side &, in fact, were told not to contact us anymore since August. On his birthday, knowing the only people who refuse to call him Jules is his parents. Ugh.

I was correct in my assumption. His parents & sister had sent Jules a gift to Adam, via UPS, at his work.

This pissed me off for several reasons. First off, seriously, why bother now? When they were involved with our lives, they could never send anything. In fact, Christmas 2008 gifts were given to us AT JOELS FUNERAL. Now they've learned to use the postal system? Second, send it to his work? Because, you know, I'm the meanie who'd just burn it, really my husband has no problem with them & would give the gift to Jules without an issue.

What does this have to do? Adam sent another email directly after, saying he felt like Morgan Freeman in Seven because the box was just like the box in the end of the movie, though he wasn't sure whose head would be in it. I do though. Mine. Whose else?

If I was going to have to recreate a Brad Pitt, I'd much rather create something with hot sex, not my head chopped off my body & shipped somewhere in a box.

Adam suggested doing something nice with it, like donating it. Me, being fired up, refused that option. I was packing that shit up & sending it back to them. Why? Because I'm bitter & didn't want them to know they got away with it. Plus, if they thought they did, they'd just send things to his work all the time, which isn't permitted. It's his work, not his personal delivery spot.

I didn't read it or open it. Adam, not being able to contain himself, did. He opened the card & it read "we love you very very much!" I personally wanted to throw up upon hearing that. Of course, I was also amused that it was signed, as if Jules would know who they were. Jules only met Adam's sister once when he was 6 weeks old, because she came up here & wanted to go to the Disney Store at our mall. And his parents only saw him maybe 6 times from the time he was born until he was 8 months old, but I think it's less. I'm being generous here. We didn't want to travel 3 hours with a newborn & they didn't want to come to our house, because I made them uncomfortable because I didn't like them & would show them how I didn't like them by folding laundry when they were here. Yes, seriously. They saw him at Joel's funeral, but I don't count that. It was a fucking funeral. Of course they count it. They even took "beautiful" family pictures, at said funeral, & cropped my sons urn out of the background to post them on online networking sites. Yes, seriously.

Back to the box. Adam wrote a nice letter, which even I thought came across mean, which is saying something since I once told these people I thought they were "the evils of the world," telling them that if they felt the need to buy gift for his children, to buy three gifts for charity in place of his children they wouldn't see. I packed up my bitterness & hate into the box & sent it to it's rightful owners.

Fast forward to last week. My front door is open because I'd been letting the dogs in & out. I let them in, about an hour later I let them out, & this time there is a large box at my door. I have no idea when it came, but Fed Ex had snuck a box to my house.


I feel that feeling as usual. I thought about throwing it in the road, but I resist the urge. I drag it in the house & notice the address isn't from his parents, but another relative. And yes, everyone is very aware of what has happened with his immediate family & us.

I open it because I can't stop myself. An unwrapped toy. A Christmas card. A card that tells me that Jesus will forgive me for anything I've done if I ask for forgiveness & that if I pray enough all of my worldly, simple problems, will go away.

No mention of my dead son. No mention of "hope you guys did alright during the holidays" since our son just died. Just some delusional "hope to see you soon!" & a Jesus message. Yeah, I don't expect friends to acknowledge him but people who call themselves family? Damn right I do. He wasn't just my son, he was your family, too. He's wrote off that easily? Our pain is wrote off that easily? If it had been someone else, I'm sure it would have been mentioned in the card, but he isn't. He's just an astrick on the family tree.

And you stay silent, never bother to check in with us about anything all this time, but you send a card & a gift a month late? The husband let the extended family know they were welcomed in our lives, they were the ones who chose not to during this time. Minus, of course, a random facebook message here or there from some, sometimes angry because they are convinced I'm mocking them but making jokes about our pets for some reason, or just to say things like, "I guess you don't allow him to reply even during the holidays!" when I guess he didn't reply to an email or something from someone else. Because, you know, I'm amazing like that & can control my husbands internet usage, even when I don't know everything about it.

And cue Adam reading this & asking me, "who sent you a message like that?"

Well husband, you don't tell me each time you get things in the first place, therefore I don't feel obligated to let you know when I get things in reference to those things you "forget" to tell me. :)

I fine myself wanting to move, just to keep people from having my address. It's as though every time you think something dies & you can breath, it forces it way back up & you have to remember everything you've gone through, all that pain all over again.

Left alone. That is all I want. I don't want to make nice. There is nothing that can make this better. I said my entire pregnancy wit Joel, if he's born & they still make no attempt at being involved, they'd lose their chance forever. Just because Joel died, it doesn't mean that went out the window. I allowed that door to be opened because he died & I felt like they deserved the right to be there, but it wasn't just going to be left open as if nothing happened. My sons death wasn't going tobe used that way. And the actions & words we dealt with after his death just made matters even worse. I look back & I'm so angry at myself that when Joel died, while they were "visiting" us in the hospital & making small talk about people & other totally random, stupid shit, I just didn't scream, "What is your fucking problem? We jut sent our son to the fucking morgue & you're making jokes about your neighbors? You stand in the room with his body & make jokes about surgery scars with us?" How is laughing even possible at that point as you're standing 2 feet away from a dead baby, your dead grandson? You come to "visit" the next day after we send him for an autopsy & you don't do anything but make jokes & small talk about things like I mention, the only thing you really say worth while about us is that you're sad I didn't make my parents bring Jules almost an hour away so you could "visit" with him at the hospital? They're pumping antibiotics into me because they are worried I'll get an infection for having a dead baby in me for however long & such a long induction, & you're laughing about worthless shit?

Yes, my biggest regret is not screaming at these people & telling them to leave & never come back. That says alot I think.

I just want left alone. We all do, believe it or not. Of course they don't believe it. They'll continue to believe he's the victim in this, I'm the meanie whose caused all these problems & ruined Adam's life & now he has no choice in the matter because I make his life a living hell. As adults, even if you don't like it, we have the right to be left alone. And as parents for young children, we also have the right to make that decision for them. You don't have to like it, & you can spend the rest of your days curing me & my evil ways, refusing to believe anyone but me is at fault, & I don't care. Dealing with this time & time again makes me remember everything. From the complaints about me folding towels to joking while my son was having an autopsy preformed to bringing Christmas gifts 6 months after the holiday to my sons funeral. I would just like left alone.

But now that I've made that public that won't happen. Maybe I should have tried reversed psychology. Maybe next time. Until then, I'll continue to tell myself the advice my friend, Dawn, gave me over a year ago when this first started...don't waste time caring about people who don't care about you.

Of course I don't really care...I just want to destroy. But hey, I figure that counts as well.

No more opening boxes though. I'll kick them into the street if needed. Or, you know, burn them.

Ah, maturity still reins supreme. :)

Saturday, January 16, 2010

Piccadilly's sex organs...the extended version.

Here is the expanded post on the trip to look at Blair's penis. Enjoy.

I'd previously mentioned going one place on January the 9th. I didn't complain, but they kinda irked me on the phone. They didn't seem that professional & I just didn't see it being a great experience. Being the most impatient person on earth, I really wanted to know if my baby had indoor or outdoor plumbing, so when I happened across a place that offered a guarantee as early as 14 weeks for the same price & seemed more professional, I jumped at the chance to use them. I called the day after Christmas & they got me in for that Monday, less than 48 hours in advance. Awesome.

Did I mention it was a 3 hour drive?

Well, it was a 3 hour drive.

Anyway, I drop Jules off at my parents & head out on our trip. Our first trip is to get gas, since we're on empty. Having a fancy VW Passat, it sets off a shit load of alarms if anything is going on with your car. On that day, I needed windsheild fluid (or as I call it, wishy-washy fluid) & antifreeze. And air in my tires. But I always seem to need air in my tires. So as we gassed up the family roadster, Adam tried to find where to put antifreeze in my car. Always a good start on a trip.

We sat out on the road, eventually we get there. Well, we took a wrong exit & drive around all over the place to get back ON the interstate to take another. Once we did that, we realized we were on the same road as previously, just in the other direction. So we wasted like 20 minutes on that. Great, huh?

We finally get to the place, which is located in a little medical office area. I carefully walk on the ice (did I mention it was a snow storm? Well, it was), & make my way to the door. We pay, we get sat in the waiting room, we wait.

Eventually it's out turn & we are taken back to a room while waiting on our tech. It was something.


Room for up to 20 people.


I don't even know 20 people.

Well, scratch that. I don't know 20 people that I like. Same thing though really.


Don't I look excited?

Our tech comes in & she's nice. And patient, since our baby wasn't into this whole "ultrasound" idea. Like my previous womb dwellers, this one loves to face my back, cuddling my placenta.

Isn't that a nice mental image?

I was in every possible position, minus stand on my head, & the kid wasn't into the idea. I drank water. Kid still wasn't really into it. Moved arund, but nothing that amazing.

Finally, the tech says to get up & walk around for a few minutes, then said she was "90% sure" she already saw it's genitals, but didn't want t say until she was 100%, which she should be able to see when we tried again.

Now, in my head there is either a penis or not. Really the only times I've heard people get percents were in cases of a girl, just so they could be be sure to see girl parts instead of just assume they didn't see boy parts, so it's a girl. So I was thinking I had a set of ovaries in my belly as opposed to a set of testicles.

As usual, I was wrong. She started again & there, glowing in all it's glory, was a tiny penis. Having 3 penis in my belly in a row, I know what a penis looks like in there. They seriously seem to glow, it's weird. Adam then says, "I thought I told you I'd already seen it?" which he didn't.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not disappointed, but at that point I'm horrified because we dried the baby boy name well up last time around. Joel wasn't decided on until like 39 weeks. He was almost Heath, which I'm happy we didn't go with.

What other winners did we consider?

Well, there was Jackson. And Dane. And Sawyer, which I really liked but it just sounds dirty with our last name. Preston, which I liked but I knew it was bad when my mom liked it as well, love it even. Of course, then we hit rock bottom. Oh yeah, it got worse than Dane. We seriously considered naming our son Rourke. Yes, Rourke. I was actually into it, until I realized that was the sound a seal made. And the sound a drunk makes as they puke at 4am right after that always fun drunk dial.

So yeah, horror filled me for this poor child inside of me.

But with this whole Conan O'Brien drama going on, the kid could always get stuck with Conan. And if you don't know the Conan drama, I'm not going to bother to link you to any of it. If you don't know already, you must live under a rock & I'm not sure how you're even reading this considering I don't think you can get internet access under rocks.

Back to the story though. I moved on, looking at this child inside of me, which I really enjoyed.

First, there was this picture.


I'm convinced that he looks as though he's mocking someone for being a cry baby. This child, he's got my meanness. Awesome.

Then there is this one.


Why? Because it reminds me of this.


That was the episode of Conan we went to live, so I'm going to pretend the baby sucked up some of his spirit. Oh yeah, Jay Leno can fuck off. Just a side note.

But otherwise, he's just a normal baby.


Besides his obvious awesomeness, of course.

After that adventure, we went to Dave & Busters, just because. And when I say just because, I mean because we've never been to one because we don't have them here.

While there, we had this gross looking appetizer.


But once I got over the baby poop, cat puke look of it, they were pretty good.

We had good, which they got wrong. As usual with any place I go. And no, I'm not complicated, I just don't want garlic potatoes because I don't want to die. You'd think substituting one side for another wouldn't be too hard.

Didn't matter though, knowing that he had no "x" chromosomes to pass onto our children made him feel manly.


After that disappointment, we hit the arcade.

I whacked moles.


Adam takes bad pictures.

He played Rambo, to confirm his manliness.


Then we won a bunch of tickets.



With those, we got like a ring pop.

Finally, we hit the road. Only to stop again.


I wanted a coke, Adam wanted some coffee. I also got cookies, after which I discovered I hate sweets now. Thanks, Piccadilly.

On the trip home we talked about random things, including names. Finally, I pulled "Blair" out of my ass & liked it. Of course, isn't anything better than Rourke?

After some discussion, we have decided on Blair Owen. No real reason, we just like it. My mom, of course, hates it. I think that's why Adam likes it now. My mother, on the other hand, is holding out hope for Cheyenne. Yes, for a boy.

I was wrong, not everything is better than Rourke.

Wednesday, January 6, 2010

Wire hangers & bottles.

I'm a mom.

We all have moms.

No, really. If you don't, where the heck did you come from?

You came from a uterus. I did, too.

Growing up I watched alot of television. I watched shows that showed you how a family was suppose to be. You know the kind...


Donna Reed. I hated that cunt.

Seriously, she was so damn perfect. To an annoying point. And she acted as though life was rainbows & sunshine. I guess it would be if you had her figure & a doctor for a husband, but that's besides the point.

Call me white trash, but I always enjoyed this family...



They were amusing, human, & loved each other. Not a bad combo. They had crazy family, a dad that spent 20 years cheating on Roseanne & Jackie's mom, out of wedlock babies, teen marriage, teen sex, & fighting parents. Oh, & money problems. It was the side of life Donna Reed didn't show you.

Then, there is the other group. Do you recognize this one?



Need I say more?

What kind of family did you want? What kind did you have?

I'm the first to admit my own family is nutso. Seriously, nuts. I've spoken about it before in bits & pieces, but this has been eating at me the past couple days so here I am.

Personally, I came from the 3rd option. I was lucky that I had a great dad. My mom? I seriously think we had the "NO WIRE HANGERS!" freak out a few times, over different things.

I can tell you story after story. Dragging me across my driveway by my hair. Breaking a hairbrush over my head because she decided I wasn't holding still enough. Keeping me up late at night, telling me she was leaving my dad & I had to choose who I'd live with by the time I was 5. One of my earliest childhood memories is my mom bringing me out of my bedroom around 3, I'm crying because they are fighting & I'm scared, & she sits me on the kitchen counter in front of my dad telling me I'd never see him again, blah blah blah, & my dad telling her not to talk to me like that. There are more stories. Her & my dad, they fought alot. My dad would win, which meant my mom would need someone to take it out on. That was my role. The first time I remember it being bad was my dad & mom were fighting in our basement, which you had to get to outside. I was starving, it was dinner time, & I was stealing pieces of fish & eating it, waiting on them to stop so we could eat. My aunt & grandma showed up, I think I yelled for my mom at that point. I was like 5-ish. My mother beat the crap out of me. I don't remember that part, but I remember being hysterically crying, a mouth full of food, & yelled at to stay at my room while my aunt & grandma looked on. I remember my aunts sad face as my mom yelled that I was being punished for standing outside & listening to her & my dad, which wasn't true.

My dad worked night shift. When he & my mom were fighting, hell was going to happen around 10:45 at night for me. On those nights, as I spoke about, my mom would tell me she's leaving, was going to be poor & live on bread & water, & it was somehow my fault. I'd offer her my allowance, which would make her more angry usually.

I remember many nights being scared, crying, holding a stuffed animal while she yelled at me with me against the wall. On one of those nights, she ripped the head off of my best stuffed animal friend, Tramp. The next day, my dad sewed him back together for me. I still have him. So often, I would just cry & over & over again I'd say "I'm sorry." She'd yell at me "You don't know what that means!"

All of that bullshit finally stopped around 6th grade, when I stopped taking it & one day when she jumped in my face, I jumped right back in hers. A couple years later we almost went to blows in a similar situation. But once I stood againist her & not in a corner crying, she realized she lost her punching bag. Verbally, my mother still sucked. We still got into it, she'd freak out over something, & I'd just throw it all back at her. I have a quick, sarcastic wit & she can't keep up if she wanted.

Now, I know what you're saying, where the hell was that great dad & anyone else?

They were there. They ignored. My dad will still talk about that hairbrush over the head incident, because he'd just got home from work for it. He actually points to my 5th grade picture (did I forget to mention it was picture day?) & reminds me that the only reason I'm smiling is for him, because he asked me to not be upset & smile for my picture that day. Other people really didn't know the extent of it. I mean, they knew my mom had a crappy attitude but I guess they didn't think she was, well, like that. I've mentioned before, my mom is all about keeping up appearances.

I don't hate my mom. Not at all. I try to be understanding to an extent. I'm not mad over my childhood. My mom came from a fucked situation. She was the daughter of a poor teen mom who couldn't read & she never knew her father. The man listed as her father eventually killed someone, with an axe if I remember correctly, & went to jail until she was around 13. She grew up thinking he was her dad. Eventually my grandma married the man they call my grandpa, an abusive drunk (much like my grandmother was, they were a perfect pair) who was also a child molester. Go out on a limb there & guess what happened to my mom growing up. Her mom, as I mentioned, was a drunk. Her sister, who is younger, started drinking with their mom at a young age, so she was surrounded by abusive drunks until she married my dad & moved out. The psychologist in me wants to believe that while she fucked up alot when I was growing up, she didn't know any better at the time. Like the cycle continued, she did what was done to her.

Problem with that?

My mom totally denies this ever happened. Any of it. Well, she may admit to the hairbrush incident but only because my dad was a witness. She didn't usually have a witness. I like to think she's so ashamed she blocked it out, but as an adult I've seen & heard her deny things the same way, knowing good & well she knew differently. I guess it goes into the keeping up appearances. It's easier to write me off as a crazy person, who maybe got spanked when I was bad from time to time, than to admit that she sucked from the time I was around 3 or 4 until I got too big to take it anymore.

My mom has lots of denial. Not just with me, but with my grandmother as well. She's 70-some years old & dealing with the effects of years of booze & pills. My mom use to worry about her, but now it's changed. She says she never drank more than 2 beers & only at parties. And the pills? They were given by doctors, so that isn't a big deal. I don't know what it is about my magical number 2, but every drunk I've ever interacted with "only ever drinks 2 beers!" That's it. I remember my grandma getting plastered, she drank lots of vodka & would drink several beers at a time poured into those oversized straw cups you get a gas stations. When I was 5-ish, my parents sent me to stay with my grandma & aunt while they went out. I was there 30 minutes before I cried to go home. I explained that they were drinking & it scared me, which it did. They were drinking alot. My mom told them that the next day & they said I was lying. My mom gave me hell for lying about them, insisted I call & tell them I'm sorry. She'd call, give me the phone, & I'd refuse to talk. I wasn't lying. I never said I was sorry & I caught hell for it. So be it, even then I had this hard head of mine. I wasn't going to agree with something that wasn't right.

My mom became less crazy the past couple years. I say crazy, I should say aggressive I suppose. Less fighting, less snarky remarks, less everything. It was nice. When Joel died, she did well. Adam told me that for the first time, when he was walking her back to our hospital room before I started pushing, she was upset & clutching onto him like she was someones mom. I appreciated everything they did during & after that tragedy.

Of course, old habits die hard. The past few weeks have been hard. Lots of, well, passive aggressive bullshit. First, it was a cough. She wants me to rush my kid to a sick people filled urgent care for a cough he's had 3 days that they won't do anything about. That was before she had her lovely possible swine flu & put my dog to sleep. She went about 3 weeks without seeing Jules. By the time she saw him again, the day I took him over so I could go to the doctor, he had a small cough again. I spoke to her on the way home to let her know I was on my way & she told me, "I see he's still got that cough he's had for over a month" in a tone that dripped with, "why don't you care about your sick baby?" Of course then she hit me with a bombshell, that Jules had marks on him & she wanted to know how he got them. I told her I had no idea, that maybe the dog scratched him but I didn't see anything. She didn't seem to believe me & said in an almost threatening tone, "Well, if someone saw those they'd have some serious questions for you guys about how they happened." That, of course, pissed me off, implying people would think we abused him. I looked when I got to their house & there was nothing. We later figured out she had given him a bath & for some odd reason, during a bath he'll sometimes get red looking marks on his shoulders.

Over the past couple months, every sniffle has been cause for debate. Anything she wants to thinks is automatically better than what we are doing or wanting. At Jules birthday party she made a point to talk & talk to people who worked with Adam & family, but the friend I'd invited, because I'd met her online, she didn't say a word to & didn't even bother to remember her name. She wants us to bring him to her house on let her take him trick or treating. She wanted to have him stay all night on Christmas Eve at her house, tried to put him to bed, & actually threw a hissy fit when we were leaving with him. She goes on & on about how she thinks he should talk me, how she thinks he should be potty trained. Mind you, he's talking more each day & as far as potty training we've been trying for about 6 months without much success. She recently told me how awful it was to not tell her the name we picked for Joel before telling other people, how sad it was & people told her they were sorry they knew & she didn't until after he died & how it was the saddest thing she had to deal with. Mind you, we didn't decide his name until I was around 39 weeks & about 2 weeks before he passed away, my mother never took my phone calls & ignored my messages. Even the night he died, I didn't get to talk to her, I had to leave her a voice mail she didn't bother checking until the next afternoon. But seriously, the saddest thing you had to deal with? She didn't have much to say when I told her "well, if not knowing a name first is the saddest thing that happens this time around, don't you think you should be happy?" Don't try to guilt me when you were the one who refused my calls & ignored my messages. Was I suppose to keep it a secret until you got the stick out of your butt & wanted to talk to me?

Tonight my mom & I had a throw down, worse than yesterday when she claimed to have called me easlier & I told her I didn't get her call, which she took as me telling her she was too stupid to call me & responded to everything I said with a bitter, "I don't care!" response. They kept Jules overnight this weekend. We got there around his nap time, my mom pulled out a bottle. He's 2, mind you. We told her we don't do bottles anymore. My dad agreed they were pointless, but she went ahead & put one together & gave it to him. My dad did damage control & told us they'd stop them. She seemed angry that we were telling her to stop.

Fast forward to when he came home. Every night since, he's fussed for a bottle. Every. Single. Night. He'll ask to go to bed at 10:30, then fuss for a bottle for 2 hours straight. I really have no idea what she did, but part of me thinks because we told her not to anymore , she pushed them on him. She's been doing it all along from what we've figured out, but never before now has he come home expecting them.

So tonight, I talk to her. I ask her to not give my 2 year old a bottle. She got defenisve & told me, "I don't give him bottles!" which had Adam blurt out in the backgound, "we just saw her with one the other day!" I quiet him & tell her the same thing but for 5 minutes we go back & forth on if she gives him bottles or not. She finally explains, "I only give him a bottle at nap time & at bedtime." I had to force her to accept that was giving bottles. She got loud & offended & the first thing she said once she understood was "so you're taking his bottles but not potty training him?!"

I wanted to beat myself in my head. I explained we had been potty training him for a few months. And that he was over a year pass when bottles are suppose to be stopped. I'm not some hardcore person, he had a bottle for about 18 months at night, but we weaned him off & for months we've not given him one. She then gets more defensive & tells me how he doesn't even drink them, then I lay the bombshell out that my dad told us just the other day that "he drinks them down so fast, I don't see a point to them now anyway" which left her speechless & I'm sure had my dad yelled at tonight. When I tried to explain that for whatever reason after the other night he'd been asking for one every night & we're up until almost 1am trying to get him to bed, which she responded with, "Well, he goes to bed here before 11 so I don't know what your problem is." I laughed & tried to get her to make the connection between him sleeping because of the bottle she would give him, but I'm not sure she ever did.

The convo basically went into how awful we are for taking his bottles & how sad it is that he can't have them. That babies shouldn't have to be taken off bottles & she went as far to say "if he was like 7 & wanted a bottle here at home, I don't see the big deal."

I should mention that as a child, my teeth were fucked up. I had rotten teeth in the front from what I understand & my front teeth were so crooked that I had to have braces on my front teeth for 2 years before I had a full set put on for another 2 years because there was no way to fix them otherwise. Honestly, I don't want to have to pay for that insanity, not to mention that I don't want my son to go through the pain of fillings & braces that can be avoided. She finally got off the phone angry, I got off the phone in complete amazement about how insane this was. If I had approached her with "hey asshole, stop giving my fucking kid bottles or else" I would understand her reaction, but it wasn't like that at all. And when I tried to explain so she wouldn't think it was personal, she just kept saying, "I could care less, he's your kid."

I, of course, had to bite my tongue over & over to stop myself from correcting her incorrect use of the saying "couldn't care less."

But you see, this has nothing to do with bottles. I'm not stupid. It's just another topic on top of the real issues...for whatever reason, my mother has some sort of bitterness & resentment towards me. Has since I was a child, I have no doubt in my mind about that one. Kinda like Mommy Dearest, it the woman looked for things to freak out on her daughter about. If it wasn't wire hangers, it was dolls or it was hair. Whatever she could use, she used it. And that my friends, is my life. And any acknowledgment of me as an individual, it's either ignored or treated as if it's wrong or pointless. I mean hell, when I was on the news a couple months ago she didn't even watch it, she went to dinner & watched it a couple days later online. And I know for a fact she's never come here to my blog, which amuses me since the news story was focused on my blog about our loss & my life in general. I think in a way she wanted to avoid it because if she didn't, she'd have to admit I'm doing something. Yeah, it's just a lame blog, but it's something. My mom didn't want me to go back to school, she seems to want me to stay in some box, a box where she's better than me & where she can feel like because of that she's right. I think she's afraid that I might be able to do something, nothing in particular, on my own which she fought against most of my childhood. "Ugh, a writer?! Get real!" I think that was actually the day I decided to write a book. If there is anything I am, it's competitive & if someone says I can't do it or that I'm crazy, I'll prove them wrong just to spite them.

The woman has more money & things than we do & she enjoys showing it. But I remember when my parents were in their 20's with a small child, they weren't living high class. A two bedroom house without doors anywhere in the house in a coal camp beside a creek isn't fancy. Of course she now likes to remind me how her house is bigger, nicer, & in a better neighborhood than mine & how my $200 dishwasher isn't a shiny as her $1500 dishwasher.

Personally, I like my crappy house that we have because I think I'm a nice person. I'd rather be a nice person that a status, but maybe I'm weird. I guess I am, because when I mentioned we'd picked kids to buy for over Christmas from the "angel tree" for kids in poverty, she got annoyed & said, "Ugh, you're still doing that?"

The other day, when my mom found out about our new dog, she got angry. She told me "you must be a sad person, always trying to save the world."

I am, I'm a sad person. I feel bad for homeless people, I give them money. I feel bad for stray animals, I feed them & help them if they need it. I feel bad for kids who go without things. I feel bad for their parents, who don't want their kids to go without. I feel bad for people I don't know or don't have to know. How I developed that personality I'll never know. Maybe that's why I believe in nature when it comes to nature vs. nurture.

I'm not trying to save the world. I'm trying to save myself. If I go 50-some years through life & don't feel like I did a single thing for anyone, I'll feel like my life has been wasted. That's part of the reason I'm here. Yes, I like to bitch & make fun of things, but I've had comments & emails from people...people I don't know, thanking me for what I say. Thanking me for being a small voice when they can't find the words.

Holy shit, I'm proud of myself. Not for anything special, but for being a decent human being. In this world now, I think anyone who is decent should be proud, it's a road less traveled.

I love the mom I get glimpses of. The funny woman who is kinda a blunt bitch like I am. Those glimpses are few & far between at times. Those are the things that keep me around, my son loving my dad is the other.

I'm a mom. I didn't learn the best things from mine, but I learned bad things I didn't want to do or say. Going through what I've been through is what made me the person I am today, so I can't complain since I think I'm pretty awesome. But as a mom, I know what I will & will not expose my children to. And one of those things is that I won't allow them to become some pawn in a passive aggressive bitch fight. I don't plan on saving the world, but I do plan on protecting my own little part of it. And I won't keep pretending that it's just about bottles. Or wire hangers. Whatever it happens to be at the moment.

Tuesday, January 5, 2010

Hello, stalkers.

Soooo....did you know this week is a holiday?

It is. I have a graphic to prove it.


That means that all of you stalkers out there (that's a compliment, I swear) are suppose to come out of hiding, throw me a bone, & tell me hi.

What you tell, of course, it up to you. But I'm nosey, so feel free to tell me as much as you like. I won't complain that you shared too much. Who you are, how you found me, why you think I'm neato...those are just a few random suggestions if you have writers block.

I know you people exist. I have 52 followers & according to my nosey stat counter where I track my readers, I have like 200 a day.

Since I share so much of my life, you people owe to it me.

No pressure of guilt or anything like that though.

And if you're the self-serving type, if people actually let me know they are reading & not just accidentally clicking on my cool sounding blog name, I just may update with my amazing-ness more often.

It's a totally win-win situation.

Sunday, January 3, 2010

Vegas Part #2...Baby Kangaroos.

After much technical difficulties & laziness, I bring you day two of our trip.

At this rate, I'll have the stories of the trip finished by this time, 2011. To remind yourself of day one of our exciting adventure, feel free to click here to read about it.

On day two, we woke up in the Hollywood Heights Hotel to a nice, overpriced breakfast.


Nothing better than laying bed, looking like you've not slept since 1989, with some stranger telling you hello. Kinda weird how I'm willing to allow a stranger in a hotel in my bedroom without concern, but at home I'd call 911.

We take our time, after our full day of travel the day before, & I decide we should do something else before we leave town. I decide I should make Adam take me to the LA Zoo, just because. He looks up directions & tells me I'm 45 minutes away from it. Damn. But I finally tell him we should do it. My word is the gospel, so we pack up & head out.

We were confused by this.

Photobucket lately or something?

When we get in the car I look at the directions & realize Adam is silly. The directions he pulled up gave like 3 different ways to get there, each a total of 15 minutes or so of travel. So it was only 45 minutes if you added all three methods of getting there. Really, we were 15 minutes away.

On the drive I kept looking for the Hollywood sign, because I think it's a rule you see it & get a picture of it.

Nope, it's not. While driving, Adam thinks he saw a quick peek of it, but I saw nothing.

I did see this.


Forest Lawn Cemetery! That's where famous dead people go.

...yeah, it's creepy, but whatever.

Finally, we arrive!


I was excited by something as simple as the trash cans.


Of course, thanks to my facebook app, My Zoo, all of the animals weren't really impressive to me. Lame, huh? I actually walked around saying, "Oh, I've seen those before. I have them in my zoo on facebook." Yes, I know.

The first animal we see are some type of water creatures.


Um, seals? I really wasn't that excited by them. Really, I was just scared.


From this sign, I thought if I had popcorn the animals would smell it, turn into vicious critters with scary teeth, & try to eat me.

How the hell can I enjoy seals thinking my life was in danger? Not that I eat popcorn, but Adam has ate enough of it over his lifetime to likely smell like it to beast in the wild kingdom. Kinda like whistles only dogs can hear? Adam smells like popcorn to critters in the wild.

But my fears soon melted away. Why? Because I saw the greatest creatures known to mankind.



I wanted to jump over the wall & cuddle them.

They, on the other hand, couldn't care less about me & my excitement.


Of course I was kinda disturbed by the meerkat roaster. Hmmm.


After trying to get them to talk to me about being awesome (since we have that in common), we finally move on to some kangaroos. As we looked at the kangaroos, I also saw wallabies in the "habitat" with them. I thought nothing of it.

Until, that is, I hear Adam announce very excited, "LOOK AT THE BABY KANGAROOS!" & start snapping several pictures.

I look, to see baby kangaroos.


Nope, just wallabies. I didn't have the heart to tell him.

That is, until 5 minutes later he tells me he saw a sign saying they were actually not baby kangaroos, to which point I say, "Yeah, I know, but I didn't have the heart to tell you."

I spent the rest of that week mocking him though for his baby kangaroos.

Actually, I just looked up at him, laughed, & said "baby kangaroos..."

Everyone feel free to go make fun of him for that.

We saw many other animals of course. Like this sleepy critter who drank too much last night.


And this critter, playing peak-a-boo with us.


As we walked around we saw two men there with a woman. One man was walking around with a bird on his finger. Seriously. Adam had the camera or I would have got a picture. The guy with him, he was special. At each enclosure, he tried to get the animals to come closer to him. How, you ask? By saying, "Hey fucker, come here you fucker!" Very odd combo, those men. Again, I'm shameless & would have taken pictures, but Adam had the camera & he's all "I'm not taking pictures of strangers, it's weird." It's only weird if you get caught. That's why there is an option to not have the flash work.

I saw my animal twin, a lion who also looked at Adam like she couldn't believe him. For what? Oh, just pick something.


I love the educational value of some of the signs at the zoo. Like this one.


Showing the soon to be death of a zebra. Awesome. Not scary at all.

When then saw my good friend, an ostrich.


For some reason, I decided that I have a special bond with these animals. I'm weird like that. Maybe it's because I can talk to them though.


They always find that respectful. I'm sure of it.

I pose for a picture with a giraffe, because it's finally something I can pose with & not look like a huge giant.


Of course, I was most proud of this picture.


How cute is that? Creepy, but cute.

We encountered the most scary, in touch with the world tiger ever. She would be laying, going to sleep...until you snapped the picture.


When you looked at the picture, you saw it staring into your soul.

Sweet, huh? I think she smelled Adam's popcorn smell.

Of course, there was one animal I really wanted to see. Like, bad. I couldn't wait. A HIPPO!

I was actually as excited about the hippo as I was the meerkats. After seeing alot of signs telling me about what way to go, I finally see the sign that tells me that behind this grass, my hippo awaits me.


I run to it, excited. And what do I see?


That, my friends, is the only view I saw of my hippo. Sweet, isn't it?

I walk away, hiding my pain.


I eventually get over it, when I see a huge fucking turtle.


Adam was actually trying to get pictures of a normal turtle, totally missing this HUGE FUCKING TURTLE moving around.

I tried to make friends.


But it wasn't thirsty.

It made it's way to the turtle roaster, sharing with another, smaller turtle.


The heat must shrink them.

Adam then found the jaguar. I'm not sure why, but he wanted a special picture of it. Special how, I'm not sure. But I came home with this on my camera.


And this.


And this.


And yes, this.


And about 10 more that look the exact same way. I'm not sure what he wanted to capture, but I'm fairly sure it just wanted to capture him after all of that.

As I stare at some giant otters playing, Adam is looking at the bird. He tells me the bird must be trained, because when he just happened to say "that's a huge fucking bird" it spread it's wings to show him how big it was. I tried it myself, thinking he was silly, but it did the same when I said it. I then decided to try my hand at live action animal photography.



But the flamingos were nice.


They weren't thirsty either.


They had a nice place set up for photo ops.


Asian men walking by didn't think he was funny, but for some reason they enjoyed my picture.


I have no idea why & I'm not sure I want to know why. We had to leave quickly, as people wanted their kids to pose there. Silly parents with kids.

We finally get on the road, back to Vegas. That was a fun trip.

Got in one lane, the other lane moved.


Got in that lane, & our other lane moved.


That said, we really didn't get stuck in any of the evil traffic you hear stories about. Amazing really.

Finally, we make our way back to Vegas.


I'm just excited because Craft Steak in MGM.


Oh look, the M&M store. I've got a story about how we should own that big yellow M&M later.


Eventually we see Planet Hollywood.


And look, Thunder from Down Under!


But we have no idea how to get into our hotel. After driving around, lost, we find the hotel & just valet out sexy rental car. As soon as I step out of the car I feel a problem. I feel pain.

I feel a blister on my foot. By the time I walk a little more, I realize I have them on both feet, right on the ball of my feet. Awesome.

We get inside & if I weren't in pain, I'd been impressed.


We wait in line for what feels like forever.


The people in front of us are interesting. One has like a 2 month old. The other, a set of two women, are having problems checking in because they don't have credit cards. Finally, I get called to check the very far end of the counter.

I mentioned my blisters, right?

While I'm checking in people try to sell Adam things. You know, timeshares. Lots of fun. I'm checking in & I don't understand why it's taking so long. I'm wondering if this guy is writing an essay about me.


He finally ask for a credit card & I give it to him.


He then runs away, without saying a word.

I start to wonder if Visa's are the devil on the west coast or something. While we wait, I tell Adam that because my feet are killing me, I bet we'll have to use the elevators way across the lobby.

Dude finally comes back & give us our room info...& tells me to use the far away elevators. Fabulous. I hobble.


And there is nothing like tits to welcome you. These tits were everywhere, too. We even had a message on our phone from the tits, inviting us to come see their tits. Can't get away from tits in Vegas, let me tell you.


We finally get to our room. My physical pain is soon masked by the emotional pain.

I looked around. See, Planet Hollywood has this gimmick of each room having a movie theme with real movie props.

I was in an Arnold Shwiotoger room.

And not just any Arnold Shritnigager room. But the movie for the film Erasere.

On my side of the bed?


A gun.

Over the desk, where the desk light shines so brightly.


A picture.



Oh yeah, that's right.

Doesn't this just make you want to get romantic with your husband? I know it did me.

There was also a light up table with stuff in it. Lovely. All just lovely.

Adam, as usual, couldn't work the hotel TV.


But here is our view from the room.



We also found Neil & Vicki hiding in our shower.


Snazzy again.

We were starving, so we looked at our food options that were in the hotel. It was like 9:30 at this point & I couldn't walk. We decided on Strip House.

Creepy place really.


And full of pictures of women, looking like victims.


The waiter seemed disgusted that I wanted something without booze. In fact, when I asked for my non-alcohol options, he suggested beer. Yeah...

Adam had some sort of Salmon, which looked like it was sitting in a pile are green cat puke foam. Somehow I'm missing the picture of that. I had $22 "crispy chicken."


Back home, we call that "fried chicken" but whatever. The server, yet again, was displeased with us, saying we can't go to a steak house & not order steak. I thought "why offer other things if you only want to cook me steak?" while Adam had a better response of "if you're a good chef, anything is good."

Dessert was had. I had some sort of banana thing, which was alright.


Adam had creme brulee, which I was jealous of.


After the meal, we looked down onto the casino.


In the casino was the Extra Lounge, where there was of course a bad piano bar singer.


Adam looked serious.


Me? I played kitty slots.


I managed to not lose all of my money & printed out a ticket...for like $4.


I look proud, no matter what the amount.

We return to the room at like 1-ish. I bath under Arnold & Adam runs out to the CVS to get something for my blisters.


Arnold room AND blister treatments. Doesn't this trip just scream sexy?

I apologize for this in advance, but Adam insisted we take pictures of my feet. I guess because he knows I'll never do anything to get blisters again. And I want to share them so you can feel my pain.


That one was the foot that I seriously considered cutting off it was so bad. The other hurt, but wasn't as bad.


Washed out, but you should still be able to feel my pain.

And yes, I was rocking Mario Brother PJ pants. Again. SEXY.

Finally, we retire to the bed.


I overloaded the outlet, just because I live on the edge. And it's not my power bill.

Of course, more to come, including our trip to The Price is Right stage show. Sooner rather than later, promise.


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