Thursday, September 28, 2006


Bullet-style because I'm all fired up today:

  • Came into work today to find a borderline abusive e-mail from my boss. The irony that we work for an organization that tries to end violence in personal relationships doesn't seem to strike her. I was told to "use more common sense". I'm still angry that someone in a professional setting (my boss no less) would write that to me.
  • I ran out of gas yesterday at the big-chain daycare center. I left work with only 1/4 of a tank, went the grocery store for the items that I forgot when I went to the grocery store the night before, and then pulled in to get Zac. The daycare center doesn't have a parking lot, it has a glorified drive-thru where you park, get out, go retrieve the fruit of your loins, then get back in the car. Apparently, the Shoe Nazis reason that parents might be encouraged to talk more to the child's caregivers if they had a safe place to put their vehicle. My car was parked on a steep slant, away from my gas tank. I didn't have enough gas to turn my engine over.
  • So I walked three blocks to the closest gas station, after unsuccessfully trying to jump my car, thinking that it was a battery problem.
  • I walked in 90 degree, late-September heat with Zac in a stroller, sweating, getting bit by mesquitos
  • in high heels
  • to purchase a gas can and walk three blocks back to give my car two gallons of gas. Then started said car and drove home.
  • I lost four pounds this week, according to the scale at Weight Watchers. That is the biggest loss in a single week since I started this journey.
  • Turns out that drinking water (so much damned water) in a day really can help you lose weight. Just like all those water-fanatics keep preaching. The Nalgene bottle is in hand, now back off and no one will get hurt.
  • I'm getting the permanent fillings in my three, highly battered teeth tomorrow. They are still tender and my jaw is sore from the needles and staying open for business for three hours. I'm hoping to have a better weekend, though.
  • And at least forget that although I'm getting paid better at this job, I still don't have any respect.
  • And I still feel like I can't do ANYTHING RIGHT!

Wednesday, September 27, 2006


Tracey (it turns out that she doesn't actually spell her name with an "i", much to my dissapointment) was good to me last night. I had to follow her around for an hour while she said things like, "This is a Nautilus machine. It's usually easier for people to start out training on them becauase they keep your body in proper alignment. Now I'm going to show you how to work your ab muscles, which are the ones in your stomach."


I wanted to tell her that I used to lift weights three times a week for three years in college, but now I'm an overweight Mommy with a layer of blubber (referred to as a "shelf" by other Mommybloggers) that overhangs my sweet-ass C-section scar. I did what most people should do in that circumstance - I kept my mouth shut and nodded.

My stomach and legs are feeling my workout from yesterday, even though it was minimal. I just have to look at a flight of stairs and my quads start shaking and my calves say, "Don't do it. I'll be so sore tomorrow you will regret that you didn't take the elevator." Calves are usually one of the only muscles that I listen to unquestionably.

In other Mommy-helper news, I've had a couple of people interested in the world's easiest position, also known as: sitting in my apartment making sure nothing happens while Zac is asleep. I'm interviewing this week and taking a serious look at my finances to make sure that I can do all of this. Sometimes my grand ideas don't match the realities of my bank account. As I found out earlier today when I realized that I couldn't double all of the payments on my credit cards AND pay for my car repair deductible and inspection fee AND pay for my initial dentist visit AND buy a dental savings plan in the same month. I suck. I'm trying to learn more as I grow older and mature into this whole, "responsible for someone" business of being a parent. I wish I was better at it.

Fortunately, I'm feeling pretty good about things, even if Zac refused to take a nap yesterday at daycare and was the world's crankiest child at the gym yesterday. It's a fine line to walk between, "Ok, baby, you didn't sleep well? We'll stay home and watch 'Dancing with the Stars'," and, "Tough shit, kid. Mommy hasn't slept well in almost two years. Get your little diapered butt into the car seat."

Tuesday, September 26, 2006


I went to the gym last night.

I don't usually like to plug the establishments that I go to, especially because people then tend to find me on Google and giving a multi-million dollar company free advertising feels weird to me, but I have to say, that Bally's pretty much rocked my boat. There is no processing fee, no initiation fee (both of which I had to pay at Not-Really-Open-24-Hours-Fitness), AND I get to try out the gym for a month for $5. The only thing they wanted from me as a commitment that I would try and go there at least 12 times in the month.

*pause for internal dialogue*

12 times! That's a big commitment. I can't even commit to pooping twelve times in a month. How am I going to be able to go to the gym that much? That's a little less than every other day. Hmmm.....

*internal dialogue over*

So I decided to join. It's a remodeled facility in a crappy stip mall in my part of Houston. I don't have to drive on any major freeway to get there, which is so beautiful that I almost cried. I live in an older part of Houston and there are almost no stores close to me that don't involve me driving on the most crowded freeway known to mankind. The freeway also goes in a giant circle, which Houstonians happily refer to as a 'loop'. As if humans were supposed to drive in circles and never really get anywhere.


I'm going back tonight for my free, hour session with my personal trainer: Traci. Wish me luck.

Sunday, September 24, 2006


I think it's time that I finally admit it: I need help.

Take a deep breath and fasten your seatbelts because you are going on the rationalization ride of your life.

I spent the weekend at my Mom & Dad's house (sans Mom, who was at a chorus retreat all weekend) with Zac. I don't remember much of the weekend except that it involved copious amounts of pain followed by wonderful pain medication. The first dentist I saw on Tuesday had only prescribed me Vicodin, regular strength. After three hours in the dentist chair on Friday with the dentist drilling into my very soul trying to find the root of all of my issues, he prescribed by Vicodin, E.S. He moved the lamp back and leaned over the chair in a conspiratory tone of voice and whispered, "The E.S. stands for Extra Strength." "Really?" I thought, "this man is a genius and needs to be awarded some type of 'Dentist of the Year Award,' especially for practicing at a clinic that smells like human urine."

I was only being partially sarcastic. I've got much love for those that liberally prescribe pain medication. My offer to marry the man that gave me my epidural during child birth still stands.

Vicodin E.S. and I slept most of the weekend. I woke up on Sunday thinking, "Wow, these teeth still hurt like a bitch." I usually bounce back pretty fast, but the root canals had me on my knees.

I finally got back to my apartment late Sunday evening (which is like 6pm for my family and I) and once again the thought occured to me: I need help. This thought has been floating through my brain for the past couple of weeks as I've been trying to figure out how I can start incorporating going to the gym and taking better care of myself. I realized that the only hours of the day that I have free are from 5:30-7:30am. It's great because Zac is usually asleep (I am as well, I should point out). I was thinking that maybe someon from my apartment complex could come and hang out on my couch for two hours every Tuesday and Thursday, while I go to the gym. Then I realized - why stop there? Maybe they could unload the dishwasher, fold some clothes, for-the-love-of-God vacuum every now and then??

I started rationalizing that since I've started my new job everyone from the lawyers, to the case workers, to the receptionist makes fun of me for bringing my lunch every day. It's a habit that I started at the Food Bank where the closest restaurant for lunch was B.Y.O.H.G. (Bring Your Own Hand Gun) and shirts were optional. If you wanted to eat at that organization, you brought it yourself or took hour-and-a-half lunches. At my new job, downtown H-town, there are swank corner cafes, basement delis, and at least two Quiznos on every corner. No one eats in the office except me and the kid on parole in the next office over who has to leave early every day to finish up his mandatory community service.

By buying lunch at the grocery store, I spend about $2.5 - $4. If I ate out, lunch would easily cost me anywhere between $8-$10. So, I save between $15 - $30 each week. Before, I needed every last cent that I was saving to do little things like pay my rent and keep the electricity on. Now, I'm in a little different situation. I wonder if I really could pay someone $7/hour for 4 hours a week = $28/week to help me around the house and make sure Zac stays sound asleep.

What do you think? Do you think I should try and find someone? Am I out of my mind for even considering this? Should I just quit whining and put Zac in the free-low cost child care that some of the gyms offer? Should I just quit whining in general and suck it up? I can always take care of myself when Zac graduates high school.

Friday, September 22, 2006


Woo hooo! It's Friday. Ahhh, yeah....doin' the happy dance. Shake it baby. Just like that.

In a couple of hours I'm actually leaving the office to go for my first of several trips to the dentist. I'm praying that they take my "Care-a-Little-More Credit" card. It's the most ridiculous thing that I can imagine. I accidentally applied for it (and was approved! ha!!) when I was getting an eye exam to see if I qualify for lasik. The idea behind the "Care-a-Little-More" card (not it's real name) is that people need a little "extra" credit to take care of cosmetic, dental, and veterinarian procedures: like teeth whitening, lasik, liposuction, full body recontoring, and getting Fido's balls chopped off. I'm not really sure why a regular V*isa or M*astercard wouldn't suffice in those instances, I just know that two weeks later I opened a letter and found a card inside with an incredibly high credit limit that urged me to "finally take care of all those procedures that you've been meaning to".

I suppose that an unfinished, neglected root canal falls into that category. It isn't really what I had in mind when I imagine cosmetic surgery (or forced sterilization of a beloved pet).

I had a lot of time to think about this yesterday in between naps at my apartment. At 10:30am, I got a call from my favorite chain daycare center saying that, "Zachary is VERY irritable today". That ranks up there with the time they called me to tell me that Zac wouldn't lay down and take a nap. The same, "What do you want me to do about it?" thought came into my mind. It turns out, they wanted me to take Zac home.

It's well known that teething kids will have loose bowel movements and Zac had two of them that morning and a pretty bitchin' diaper rash. Add sharp pain from razor-like teeth pushing through his gums into that mess and you can see why he was irritable. I would have been pretty cranky if both my ass and my mouth hurt at the same time. Cranky enough to send me home from work, though?? Well, that's pushing it. As you might remember though, I have difficulties negotiating with the Shoe Nazis and I generally do whatever they tell me to do, unless I can find a way to get out of it. You'll be happy to know, though, that when they called me and told me that they couldn't get Zac to take a nap, I cheerily asked them if they had tried taking off his shoes and putting him back in his crib.

Kids don't like to sleep in shoes, you know, no matter how "happy" they seem.

Thursday, September 21, 2006


Dear Huggies Manufacturers,

My name is Zac. I can't talk, type, or walk yet, so my Mom is writing this for me. Even though I may or may not be developmentally behind other bebes, I am exceptionally good at one thing: making a mess. I make the messes in our household and my Mom cleans them up. Most times, she does a good job. Some days are better than others, you know?

However, she recently purchased a jumbo pack of size 4 Huggies with an apparent defect. The tab on the right side won't adhere to the part of the diaper covering my jo-jo. No matter how hard she stretches, pushes down, or curses at it, the tab keeps springing back open, with disasterous consequences. A couple of days ago, the diaper opened in my sleep and got my ENTIRE crib wet. It was like she had put me to bed wearing nothing at all! I was as free as the day I was born, able to piss about as I pleased, but she didn't seem to like it very much.

Now, while I think this is lots of fun, I'm starting to feel bad for my Mom. I love making HUGE messes by pooping and peeing around the house. My Mom, doesn't really like it. It doesn't give her a fighting chance to keep the place clean in my wake. When she gets frustrated, she's prone to drastic action. By drastic, I mean duct tape. A lot of it.

Fortunately, I don't seem to mind.

I'm just happy that she let me play with her cell phone.

I was hoping that you could stop making such suckie diapers, at least for my Mom's sake. She has her faults, but last night she stayed up with me for two hours while I cried in pain from sharp molars trying to poke through my gums. I mean, really, with all of that going on, does she really have to deal with diapers that won't stay closed?

I didn't think so.


Bebe of Not-so-Pregnant-in-Texas, Zachary

Tuesday, September 19, 2006


I either have 2-3 teeth that need root canals or I have a cyst forming on my lower jaw bone. Each root canal costs $580 and needs to be paid in full - in advance. Did I mention that I don't have dental insurance? That thought keeps coming into my mind because as of two months ago, I did have it. 23 months ago (9 months + 14 months = 23 months), I didn't have dental insurance and only paid for half of a root canal. I never finished it because I left New Hampshire and moved to Texas, where I took on the, "Pregnant in Texas" moniker.

The infection in my mouth has now spread to all of the "vulnerable" areas (i.e. teeth with previous fillings). I'm back on amoxicillin and for those that may not remember (3/16/05) how I got pregnant, well, let's just say that it involved more of the same kind of medication. Just for grins and giggles, I checked that little folded up piece of paper that the pharmacist and drug manufacturers slip into the bag with your prescription. Here is what is listed under "Drug Interactions" for amoxicillin:

"This medication may decrease the effectiveness of combination-type birth control pills. This can result in pregnancy. You may need to use an additoinal form of reliable birth control while using this medication. Consult your doctor or pharmacist for details."

That's fun. Thanks for the warning.


For Jenna, an update:

Major problems with my work computer. The desktop kept shutting off at random and my lap top that I brought from home couldn't connect to the wifi.

I'm having dental problems and a mouth full of pain right now. I'm headed to the dentist this afternoon.

Turmoil and drama in my romantic life. It causes me to cease blogging, especially when I know who's reading.

Zac is good. He took two steps on his own this weekend (WHEN I WASN'T AROUND!!) in between my Mom and Dad. They are the first official steps on record and, again, I DIDN'T SEE THEM!!! After carrying his growing body for 9 months inside my body and 14 months outside my body, I don't think I'm being unreasonable for getting a little fired up about the whole thing.

Friday, September 15, 2006


Anytime I'm around a preteen or teenager, my mind splits down the middle. One half of my brain identifies with the child while the other half of my brain observes the action as parent. "Going to bed" and "getting ready for school rituals" are especially problematic for me.

I can clearly remember being 7 or 8 and waking up, taking a shower, getting ready to go to school by myself. My sister's bus was earlier than mine (she was older and in junior high school by then) and my parents left for work very, very early in the morning. It was just me and, as a result, I went through a number of memorable incidents growing up. There was the time that I was so excited by the falling snow, which is a rare oddity in Western Washington, that I ran outside to look at it and locked myself out of my house. I had to knock on a neighbor's door to call my parents at work and ask them to come home and unlock the door. Oh, and I shouldn't forget to mention the morning when I couldn't find my shoes. I looked everywhere for them: in my closet, in the hallway, under the pile of clothes in my room. I started crying. I knew my Mom and Dad would be so angry with me for asking them to come home from work, but I couldn't go to school without shoes. I finally broke down and called my Dad. His fury is clearly embedded in my memory, when he threw off the covers to my bed to find two pairs of beaten-up tennis shoes sitting there. It looked like I had purposefully hid them. I hadn't. I just couldn't find them.

Then there is me as a parent. The constant worrier. The one that marvels: they really go to bed all by themselves? You don't need to tuck them in, read them a story, make sure they turn out their lights?? Older parents usually look at me like I've grown two heads. They mutter, "She's a teenager! She can put herself to bed. Last time I tried to tuck her into bed she turned her back to me and asked me to close the door on my way out." In the mornings, I'm even more flabbergasted. To me, it's amazing that 10 year-olds can wake themselves up with an alarm clock, dress themselves, get breakfast, get all their books together, and walk to the bus stop, even though I was doing the same activities at an even younger age. Seeing them walk out the door with a jaunty little wave and an enormous back pack is enough to bring the parent-me to my knees. I want to yell out: "Come back. I'll drive you to school. Do you know what kids will do to you on the bus? Someone could hurt you while you are waiting at the bus stop!" This is regardless of the fact that I once walked a mile to my elementary school after waking up to hear the bus thunder down the street outside my house.

I couldn't have ever predicted the duality of being parent. Child-me is in constant battle with parent-me and I'm thinking about restricting my privileges until it can start showing me some more respect.

Thursday, September 14, 2006


Well that was fun. I had just finished composing a post here and my work computer decided to play the "Let's shut off randomly while she's typing" game. They have a contract IT guy here that doesn't return phone calls. My computer has been doing that every day for almost two weeks now. I've been reduced to schlepping my laptop computer to and from work everyday, which is both heavy and annoying.

Anyways, I was writing that I rejoined the cult known as Weight Watchers after a month abscence from attending meetings. I regained 1.8 lbs, which isn't that bad considering how much I've been binging. Lately, I've been sitting down with my computer on my lap, playing with a blog template or IMing friends, with a bag of baked Cheetos beside me. When I look up, the bag is empty, which leaves me wondering, "Who ate all my chips?"

So, yet again, I pick up Zac, put him in the car, drive to the meeting, take him out of the car, and spent the next 45 minutes trying to keep him both occupied and quiet. The only problem is, my son loves to hear his own voice. He babbles, shouts, growls, and roars and chases after balls, pushes his toy trucks on the floor, and generally makes a big nuisance out of himself. I also want to start exercising again. I

've been taking walks with Zac in the jogging stroller that my friends got me for my baby shower, but I can't maintain enough enthusiasm to walk in Houston for the amount of time I need to get in shape. Running is especially difficult while holding onto a handlebar and trying to navigate traffic and 2ft sidewalks. Mostly, I want to take an aerobic or spin classes. Do 45 minutes on a eliptical trainer while watching the Today show. I want to share my sweat with other people who want to get in shape!!

Certainly, I can hire a babysitter to watch Zac, or even use the childcare facilities at the gym. It's just that he spends the E-N-T-I-R-E day at daycare, around other kids, sharing germs and head butting each other, away from Mommy. Most days, I think he likes day care. He seems to get bored on the weekends when he only has adults and toys to play with. It's just the thought of putting him back into that situation again, even to take care of my body, makes me cringe.

What I really want is someone to share the parenting duties with. I don't want someone to "watch" Zac while I'm not around, I want someone to love him. *Here is where the pity party starts in earnest. You might want to shield your eyes from direct exposure to my self-pity*

I want to be able to say: "Here. Here is my son Zac. He likes to eat at 5:45pm and you should hide all the bananas in the room if you want him to focus on eating dinner. He likes Hamburger Helper and sliced pears. Don't ask me why. He likes to throw balls on the floor and he will expect you to throw it back. Bathe him, love him like he is your own, and put him to bed. I'll be back in two hours." But there is no one there most days and those words die on my tongue, while I sit down to eat another bag of Cheetos.

Tuesday, September 12, 2006


Lately, as I've been carrying my son the distance of half a football field from my front door to my car or (God help me) the dumpsters in the scary part of the parking lot, I've been silently berating Zac for not walking on his own. I said before (and I mean it - dammit - kind of) that he's going to develop in his own time and that every kid is different blah, blah, blah.

Here is the honest truth - I want him to start walking. I'm tired of carrying him. He's 23 pounds of squirming, lump o' toddler in my arms. My arms are weary. It's time.

Last week, for the much anticipated school picture day, I put Zac in a pair of shoes. Shoes I tell you! Before that, Zac wore shoes about as much as President Bush says, "Oops, my bad. I guess there really weren't any weapons of mass destruction". I had read all of the pediactric reports that kids under the age of 1 (or until they start walking) shouldn't wear shoes because it inhibits their motor skill development. "No shoes, then! Just socks!!" and sometimes when his Momma can't find any socks, "No socks! Just bare feet!!" because I can't lose those.

Then the Shoe Nazis got involved. The Shoe Nazis are the kind, competent (if somewhat absent-minded) staff members at the chain daycare center that Zac spends 9-10 hours a day at. From the beginning, they wanted my little man in shoes. I protested, "Look at the research! It all says that kids shouldn't wear shoes, besides, he cries when he has them on. Personally, I too think it's kind of funny to watch him crawl, sit back, and wedge his shoe up his diaper, but it seems to make him mad. No shoes!" They relented, only slightly.

When I brought him in with shoes last week, they started salivating. "This child owns shoes," I could hear them thinking, "his Mother just chooses NOT to put them on him. We must change this situation." For the next three days, I was persuaded and urged by the Shoe Nazis to give in and put my son in leather uppers with rubber soles. Then, I got a call at 4:45pm that went something like this:

Shoe Nazis (SN): "Um, NSP, this Misty from the big chain daycare center......"

Me: "Is Zac ok? Why are you calling me? I haven't forgotten him. I'm getting off of work soon"

SN: "No, no, Zac is fine. I just wanted to let you know that he fell *long pause*"

Me: "Is he bleeding? Have you called the doctor?"

SN: "Oh, no, it's nothing that serious. He fell trying to get out of his chair and slipped on the lineoleum. He was wearing only his socks..... (Apparently, it's easier for underpaid, overworked SNs to clean vomit and poop off lineoleum than it is carpet. While I understand, it's certainly not surprising to me that these kind of accidents occur). He bit through his bottom lip and he's crying. We put some ice on it and filled out an accident report."

Me: "Is he crying now? How bad is his lip? Did he really bite all the way through it?"

SN: "No, it's nothing major, we just wanted you to know. You know, he really liked wearing shoes the other day. He never fell and he was walking everywhere along the furniture. He seemed so happy. Just wanted to let you know. OK, we'll see you soon then when you come to pick him up"

I imagine this is the occupational equivalent of a prank call. They probably had all the staff members huddled around the phone, trying to muffle their giggles in their cupped hands at my rising panic. If I had listened closely, I might have heard one of them urge Misty to, "Tell her that all the other kids are wearing shoes. Ha! That one always gets them." How could I refuse to put my child in shoes after that phone call?? He's 14 months old and refuses to walk without holding onto the wall or a piece of furniture, what could some shoes hurt at this point? I'm still bitter, though.

Shoe Nazis: 1, Not-so-Pregnant-in-Texas: 0

Monday, September 11, 2006


The answer was "No", I don't want to.

I spent Friday by myself and went out to watch the University of Texas/Ohio State game on Saturday. After four hours of football, chips, queso, guacamole, too many french fries combined with a massive garden burger, and two Shiner bocks, I spent the rest of the evening on my couch, trying to figure out why I can't stop myself from eating sometimes.

I figured it was about time that I updated my budget for August, just to witness the carnage that is my budget vs. actual expenditures. Fortunately, I was paid out for my vacation time at the Houston Food Bank and then managed to get two full paychecks from them and one partial paycheck from my new organization. After all the dust settled, the difference between my income and my expenditures was only -$40.34, quite possibly a new record for me. Of course, I think you are supposed to save money when you get a windfall of it....I'm still working on that. Bear with me.

(Item: Budgeted/Actual)

Food: $250/ $452.11
Gas: $160/ $125.22
Miscellaneous: $150/ $255.41
Clothes: $100/ $392.53
Entertainment: $50/ $45.75
Gifts Given: $25 / 0
Gifts Received: 0 / $100
Savings: $200/ $100

Let's start out with the big one, the gargantuan food expense - $452.11. Last month a number of people commented that they were surprised that I spent roughly $200 on food and hygiene supplies for Zac and I. I was as well. Then I remembered that I went out of town for roughly a week in July and some of my extended family helped with some baby food and diaper purchases. I also had every meal either prepared for me or served to me in a restaurant.

This month? Well, as you can see, the damage is significant. I also decided in August that it would be a good idea to start cleaning. So I bought cleaning supplies - a lot of them. No single household item will destroy my budget faster than carpet cleaner, foaming toilet bowl products, and Soft Scrub combined. Seriously. I also had to buy diapers for the house and diapers for day care. Then there was that whole, eating to stay alive bit, that I try and do.

The other biggie is my Miscellaneous expense, which includes a $100 car deductible from Saturn, Weight Watchers expense, a scale for my bathroom, a pedometer (that never seems to really work right), and some products from the Body Shop. So, yeah, it was a bad month in the Misc. Department.

Gifts received helped out a bit. I spent an hour filling out a survey on "This American Life" for the University of Notre Dame, which kept asking me if I was a Roman Catholic. I kept saying "no" and the stupid program kept repeating the question. I got $50 for completing the survey and Zac got a $50 gift from a relative. YAYYY!!

Friday, September 08, 2006


Advice is welcome. How would you respond to this:

SRG: hey sexy sorry I was out of town on thursday and couldn't e-mail you back, im free tonight if you want to! So as soon as I walk in do you want me to strip naked and start working?

Well? Do I?

Thursday, September 07, 2006


I've never had a really good reason to answer people when they ask why, after all of the mishaps and funny, sometimes humiliating, experiences I've had with on-line dating that I still like to see what's out there in on-line dating land. This is especially true while I'm dating someone. Fortunately, I've found a good reason.

Meet Sexual Reference Guy (SRG - called that because his internet handle refers to the size of another handle he has). These e-mails were traded back and forth over the course of a couple of days and prove why internet dating is popular among the sarcastic, smart-ass crowd – mainly because people in on-line dating land are really funny.

SRG: Hello how r u?

Me: I'm good. Sorry I wasn't available to IM. What are you doing today?

SRG: hey sexy im not up to much, how about you? well I did loose a bet last night with a female friend of mine...

Me: I'm just hanging out.

I saw on your profile that you list your profession as "Stripper". Where do you dance? Are you a student? Do you think of stripping as a career or as a temporary money maker?

What bet did you lose with your female friend last night and what did you have to do as a result of losing the bet?

Me? Well, last night I took some pictures of my son playing in the bathtub to show my friends and family what his new haircut looked like and to show off his new waving abilities. Then I looked at pile of clean laundry I had sitting next to me, tried to get the energy to fold it and put it away, gave up and took a trashy novel to bed with me.

The fun of being a single parent....

P.S. - What is your name?

SRG: yes I am a stripper, I do enjoy it, much fun. I do private shows like b-day and batchelorette parties...well the bet I lost was over a movie, I had to strip naked in front of her and do nude push ups at her feet... (no name given)

Me: I can't say that nude pushups sound that erotic to me. I would rather have you do something like - nude light bulb changing or nude cooking. Housework is truly erotic, especially for single Moms.

I fear that, although you are beautiful, that we will not have much in common. Sorry.

SRG: oh really huh? well maybe one day I could stop by and do some nude house work for ya and see how u like that :)(still - no name given)

Me: There is no doubt in my mind that I would like it - no - love it! In fact, you don't even need to be nude. Maybe just topless.

We should start a naked cleaning service for single Mom's. It would certainly give Merry Maids a run for their money.

Oh - and naked men doing housework in my apartment need to have a name. I can assign them one, but that seems so degrading, especially while they are waxing my kitchen floor.

SRG: Name's D. hehehe - you're really funny. I'd love to come over and try out naked housework.

Me: This is where I'm different from other women that perhaps pay to look at your body. The whole time you were cleaning, I would be wondering, "What is he getting out of this?" if you were stripping and dancing, having women shove dollar bills down your g-string, well, that's one thing - and I'm pretty sure that thing is called fun and attention.

But, naked, folding my laundry? I can't imagine that you would get much fun out of that. Leaving all issues of sexual objectification and the historical legacy of misogyny latent in the sexual trade industry for the moment, I'm not even sure how hygienic it is to clean naked. Moreover, I'm not sure that I'm ready for an indentured sex-slave in my house, whom I trade housework for sex.

I think a meaningful relationship wouldn't involve me pimping you out to other single parents that need their freezers defrosted and their leaky faucets fixed (see - our business is already expanding to include handyman and repairman).

That's all I'm asking for.

SRG: that would be perfect then, i wouldnt ask you to pay me and you wouldnt want sex. It would be a fun experience

See? You can't get this kind of humor from reading MSN or CNBC all day long. Even after all of that, he was still willing to do it. Don't worry - I'm not actually going to have SRG come over and clean my apartment, naked or otherwise....I don't know what's funnier, though, to imagine me saying yes to that proposition or to imagine him actually doing it.

Tuesday, September 05, 2006



I'm back! Although I never really left. Can you hear Madonna starting to swell in the background as I type?

"Don't cry for me Argentina! (Texas) The truth is I never left you. All through my wild days, my mad existence, I made a promise...don't (please) keep your distance"

I spent the weekend watching movies - alternating between four hour naps on my couch and waking up every fifteen minutes throughout the night with Zac, who just wanted confirmation that I was still there. I think I heard him murmur, "While you are up, do you think that you could just rub my back a little? Ahhh...that's nice, thanks Mam...*snore*" He had large quantities of fluid leaking out of his right ear and my Mom was worried that Zac would go deaf while I was walking around assuring everyone that leaky ears were normal for a sick baby/toddler. Her reply was something along the lines of, "EARS SHOULDN'T LEAK!"

Hmmm...maybe she had me there. Self-doubt creeped in, followed by the words, "This could be why Zac isn't talking yet. He could have hearing loss." There is no rational argument to that.

I drove down Saturday morning to the pediatrician by my parents' house and left Z. in the care of a sweaty Grandma and Grandpa, who took him to the doctor after their morning run. I was lucky enough to drive up to the Saturn dealership and spent the next fatigue-laced three hours finishing up, "The Time Traveler's Wife," which everyone should read, and the latest issue of People, which no one should read - ever, unless you've lived abroad and can fully appreciate how asinine the whole thing is.

Zac got better news than my car. The fluid meant that his ear tube was working correctly by stopping the fluid from collecting behind his ear drum and causing an infection. They gave him ear drops, just to make sure that the ol' tube kept up its good work and sent Z. home for a three hour nap. I found out that extended warranty shops take the ENTIRE weekend off for Labor Day. I spent my entire, weary, cranky morning waiting for that little nugget of information. I couldn't get my car fixed, even if I wanted to.

Personally, I've been struggling with some issues for a couple of weeks now. After two months of not getting my period, my beloved pill, is causing me to have some spotting. This normally wouldn't be a big deal, but the hormonal changes that occur while that is happening have caused some problems. I hate to chalk everything up to hormones because all of my underlying issues are still there, they are just exacerbated by the chemical changes. My face has been breaking out, horribly. I've been overeating because -ha!- if, "I'm ugly and miserable, why not be fat too?" I've gained back some of the weight I lost earlier in the spring and summer. Zac's constant need to explore everything, including all objects strategically placed on the tops of tables, has been getting under my skin. He's pushing more buttons than I knew I even had. Last night, he was tired, cranky, and started crying everytime I said the word, "No," which I said approximately thirteen hundred times. I started crying. Then I ate some more pizza and felt sick to my stomach.

Friday, September 01, 2006


Well, it doesn't look like I'll be going anywhere this weekend, although I dreamt of being in New York last night with MNS. Lack of planning, money, and energy are really hampering my dreams of getting out of Texas. It seems that most of my friends already have plans and people that I would like to go and see, live just a little bit too far for me to drive while blowing my nose on scrap pieces of paper I find lying underneith the passenger seat.

For the past two nights, Zac has lost his privilege to be awake. He just comes home from daycare fussy, whiny, and miserable. Then he likes to make me miserable because he is. His new favorite trick is laying down on the ground and putting his head down, crying. He does this until he realizes that I'm not paying attention to him and he'll crawl over to where I'm standing, and lay down at my feet, crying. This goes on approximately three-four times before I pick him and say cheerily (in the "I'm losing my mind" tone of voice), "Well, I guess it's time for little babies to take a bath!!!" Then I fill up the tub and dump as many water-resistant toys in there that I can and watch Zac throw them out of the tumb. Then he stands up and demands (by pointing and grunting, ", eh") that I retrieve the castigated toy from the bathroom floor. He gets one shot at this game. The second time the little plastic men go flying, they are pushed under the floor mat and declared "all gone".

After bath time, I try to wrestle him into pajamas as fast as possible, which only serves to make him as bad as his toddler body can handle before he spontaneously bursts into flames. Then I hug him, take his still quaking body and quivering lower lip to bed. He cries for about ten seconds before he realizes, "Oh thank God. I'm in bed. I can go to sleep".

All of this happens before 7:30pm, at least for the past two nights. Hey - if he needs more sleep, I'm not going to be the one to keep him from getting it. I can get used to drinking an afternoon cocktail and rescuing plastic men during happy hour if he can.