Tag Archives: Miscellaneous

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The Joys of Sickness and Feeling Fat

Sure, that title could easily describe me these days but I’m not the sick one I’m referring to. My darling husband, who is never sick, ends up with a nasty infection leaving him to stay in bed for 5 days of misery. He’s recovered nicely, and now I can get back to writing here. Yes, the flu is minor to him, he needed something more. It rattled him enough to want to get a flu shot next year, so I guess in retrospect I won.

During his sickness, it was either out of concern of me catching his illness or the fact that I’m in refusal of leaving the house, I was forced out with my lovely friend to attend a Jack and Jill. At first, no big deal it could be fun right? Only nothing fits me, nothing except this one pair of maternity pants that I had to buy for the fact that nothing fit me, and an ill-fitting shirt that made me look more fat than pregnant. I realized that in that moment of feeling disgust, that next time I hear a skinny non-pregnant person refer to herself as “fat”, I can’t guarantee I won’t punch her in the face. You don’t know the meaning of “feeling fat” until you’re pregnant. And I’m only 2 months in, I’m pretty sure I’m not going to last 9 months.

It was good to show up at the Jack and Jill though, it was like a mini middle/high school reunion. I remembered a few things though. Firstly, I remembered I hated high school. Secondly, I remembered I hated social events. I think I spent more time making fun of the band and how awful they were than I did actually doing anything else. In my defense though, I could play better music and I don’t know how to play an instrument. I hope that proves to you just how awful they were. Another sign? A band that plays… sorry, pretends to play rock music should not play a Lady GaGa song. It never ends well.

The moral of the story is the lesson I learned is that I shouldn’t leave the house under normal circumstances; I’m a bitter and sarcastic person with a distaste for other people. Being pregnant and not in the “glowing happy stages” of it, I probably should stay home because I’m a lot worse.

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That’s a Bandwagon Worth Hopping On

SOPA SOPA SOPA. This bill seems like something that is being quietly pushed through while many people are focusing on the upcoming elections. I understand the fact I’ll get those arguments of “well the Democrats pushed through the healthcare law the same way”. That’s ok, because I live in Massachusetts, we have it here already. My only argument really to fight those people is that “well you didn’t want the government to have too much power over you then, why do you allow it now”. The main difference is the amount of money they can probably pocket from the movie and recording industry in passing SOPA. Yay corrupt politics.

I don’t like the idea that this bill could hypothetically start a dictatorship-esque control over our internet content. I especially don’t like this idea as someone who writes my content, with the fear that I write one thing someone doesn’t like and I could get in legal trouble. This is mostly because it’s quite likely I have and will continue to post things that people don’t like. I’m sure if they really wanted to stop piracy as they claim they do, they can figure out a less Nazi like approach.

It makes my head spin, it really does. I’m starting to wonder what people are thinking. They preach in one breath on the podium how the government is getting too much power over us, but we can’t allow things like gay marriage or abortion. So, the government can control what we do with our bodies, but giving us healthcare to help people is bad? What about government control law enforcement and safety? Why do you want to control the internet if you have too much power over us? I think these are fair questions that the politicians really should be answering, instead of spending 80% of their time attacking their opponents.

We need to see how much control the people really have. We elect these politicians and they do whatever they want. Here are 2 petitions you can push through if you haven’t to help a cause and see how much say we really have. https://action.eff.org/o/9042/p/dia/action/public/?action_KEY=8173 and the Official White House site has one you can get access to by clicking on the open petitions link.

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It’s a New Year

As the New Year’s countdown began, I could only think of one thing: why did Justin Bieber feel the need to ruin “Let it Be”? Even seeing the great Carlos Santana couldn’t save my horror and the feeling that the upcoming year was something that I should run from. Alright, I’m kidding… mostly. It was a disaster, but New Years is something more exciting than watching a teen idol ruin a classic. It’s really going to be exciting, I hope. So here’s my run down for the upcoming year.

1)      The year of the babies. I don’t just mean my up and coming fetus, but everyone and their sisters seem to be pregnant. My own sister included, (I don’t like using “in-law”, she’s my sister) with her child only due a few weeks ahead of mine as the count goes now. Exciting, they can practically be siblings. This is probably the biggest excitement of the year, becoming a mother and aunt again.

2)      Did I finally finish a book? Well book might be overstating it, at only 15,000 words it’s a mini-book at best. Hopefully in the coming weeks it’ll be up on Amazon EBook and I can finally say I finished it. This definitely ranks #2 on my list, which would’ve been my biggest accomplishment if my planned surprise didn’t surprise me first. Either way, that will hopefully not be a complete embarrassment and I can rest assured I followed my dreams anyways. Slowly crawling behind that, my short story collection will be up later this year finally, as I started work on that long before my precious novella. Don’t worry, when it’s listed for sale, everyone will hear about it.

3)      Anything else that comes my way. I appreciate surprises, like when I heard the Taylor Swift song for The Hunger Games movie. I suppose I’m still trying to adjust to my love of not just a country song, but one she sang. The best part of a new year is that you really don’t know what’s coming, and I’ll quote internet meme “Come at me, bro” to show my feelings for it.

I don’t believe in resolutions. I hate broken promises, and let’s face it, that’s all resolutions really ever become. I do believe in starting the year off with an open mind and an acceptance that this year might not be better than the last, hell it could be a lot worse than last year, but that it’s another year you’re alive to experience things. So Happy New Years readers, I hope the best for you.

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The Ginger Asian

For a while after we got married, my husband and I started talking about children and all that fun stuff that married people talk about someday procreating more of us. We affectionately nicknamed this future fetus to be “the Ginger Asian”. We planned it would happen when it happened, and such is life, it happened far sooner than I anticipated though I’m no less overjoyed by this.

Yes, you read correctly. Another me is entering into this world, as long as nothing horribly bad occurs before then. My husband was far more excited about it than I thought, and I often wonder if he’s more excited than I am. I worry though, I always worry. I have a nasty habit of staying realistically pessimistic until I’m proven that things will work out. I’m still happy though, everything will happen as it’s supposed to.

So for the holidays, we gave our families a special gift: the announcement that a new baby will grace them with their presence. They clapped, and smiled and cheered for joy. We held them to secrecy, until today’s doctor’s appointment would confirm it because the last thing we wanted was a false positive that ended up to be cancer. Yes, that would be my luck.

I hope the world is ready for you, Ginger Asians, I’m sure you’ll take the world by storm.

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Goodbye Old Friend

Before we get into the post of sappiness ahead, I’d like to take some time to wish you all a “Happy Holidays”. I’m sure our family is going to have a great one. I’ll be back on Monday in full swing of things.

Wednesday I called in sick to my posts, so my apologies. But we’ll ignore that fact and pretend that my error was on purpose to make a splendid post in honor of the first man of my life: my father. Any girl would be lying if they didn’t admit that they were in some form of being a bit of a daddy’s girl. I’m the only daughter; it would be a total lie in denying it.

Today is his first day of enjoying the rest of his life in retirement, just in time for the holidays. I’m sure it’s a bittersweet moment for him, but he deserves it. My father always worked when I was a kid, but he did it for us. He worked hard so all of us could be happy and have things we wanted or needed. I used to joke, and still joke now, that he worked so much to get away from my family. Except me, I’m awesome; my brothers are a different story entirely. He received a fitting goodbye from his co-workers of a man who was admired by them. I don’t blame them; I still admire him every day.

They don’t see him fully in his element. At work he is their supervisor that did his job well, but at home he raised a decent enough family and adores his grandchildren. I only hope now that in his retirement, he can enjoy them to the fullest. Though I bet in a week he goes crawling back, this place is an animal house sometimes. I’m kidding… maybe. But if it wasn’t so crazy, we wouldn’t be nearly as interesting.

All joking aside, I’m sure my brothers can agree that this was a long time coming and no one ever thought he’d actually retire. Now, he’s young enough to enjoy the rest of his life and I hope he has a while longer with us. I speak for all of us when I say, you rock and thanks for everything.

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Why Men Should Listen to Women More

Also, a lesson in what not to buy for a work party gift swap, and for another note to read before reading, I’m not a feminist I’m a realist.

Last Friday was the work party for my husband’s work, and due to feeling a bit under the weather, my first time attending sober. I’m sure those bottles of red missed me, but we live and we learn and I won’t make that mistake again. That’s not why men should listen to women more, but when it comes to knowing what to do when you’re doing the Yankee Swap. (Or the White Elephant, whatever you call this game, it’s all the same principle.)

During the game, I eyed a few different gifts to steal. My husband refused saying, “you can’t take their gift”. Well sweetheart, the game says it’s not their gift until the end. One of the gifts included a Dunkin Donuts k-cup box and a gift card. “Take that or the iTunes card” I tell him. He assured me that he had this, he knew his plan. His plan was the suspicious looking brown Dunkin Donuts bag. After telling him what a terrible idea this would be, he ignored me and got the gift he wanted and wasn’t prepared for having to open it up in front of everyone to see something they would want to steal. This is where the story gets fun.

Upon further investigation, he turned red and realized that his precious bag had a dirty little secret. By dirty little secret, I mean it was a bag full of sex toys. At first, my mind was empty. I was mortified enough for the both of us, while listening to the hoots and hollers of everyone in the room. I eventually got over that, and wondered why someone would get a bag of sex toys for a work party. Sure, I’d probably do that for a party at a friend’s house, what’s a few toys among friends? But at a work party where there are only a handful of twenty somethings and the rest are easily 10 years above that? I ended up more embarrassed for them, then myself. It ended up the gift got stolen from us and we ended up with Swedish fish vodka.

So, the moral of the story is, when it comes to gifts and present games requiring a bit of thought you should let your female friend make the decision. In fact, anything that requires some degree of thought you should, just for safe measures.

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Goodbye Flame Hair

I know I was all about change a few months ago when I impulsively went blonde. Ok, I’m still about change, but that doesn’t mean I can’t sit back and wonder what I was thinking. I tried something new that is a feat in itself since most people I know refuse to even try something that’s a minor tweak. Sure, I took this lesson of change a little too extreme but that’s me. I can go a little on the extreme side.

With that said, after months of staring in the mirror wondering what I did to myself, I went back to where I belong with lovely red hair. Sorry blonde, we weren’t meant to be. It’s silly to think that something so minor as a hair color could change my attitude and perspective on things. I hated the blonde hair but on my principle of “it just needs a few days”, I left it. I went out with a hat on, if you could even convince me to leave the house. Admittedly, I was over dramatic and extremely self-conscious of it. I refused to even take a picture of it for Facebook. Yep, I was that embarrassed.

Now that I’m back, I feel like myself again. It’s silly when you think about it, but really sometimes even the slightest change is something that can change your attitude. I felt off and out of sync. I never thought of stupid things like “that make up won’t look good on you now”. Really, why does whoever created women hate us? It’s not bad enough we have to get periods and go through the agony of childbirth, now we need to decide what make up and colors match our hair changing whims. I give you the finger, whoever you are.

Blondes, I’m sorry but you don’t have more fun. I think the gingers have it right. (Team Ginger?) We’re fiery and passionate people who just do what we want and don’t care. Go us. Also next time I get a crazy idea with my hair, I would really like it if someone stood up and called me an idiot for it and tell me no. Even though, I probably won’t listen and do it anyways.

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Too Much… Information. Seriously.

My husband has a work party approaching, and I don’t go out too often so when I do I like to look nice and dolled up. In trying on the nice outfit I got for pretty much a steal, I showed it off to my mother in joy of how nice and mature it was. (Mature in comparison for my usually wearing ripped jeans and my chucks.) I was excited anyways; until she pointed out that I looked a little flat in the chest area. Now I’m definitely not flat, in fact I’ve always been proud of those lovely 32cs. I attributed this to the bra I was wearing and decided to head to Victoria Secrets to find a new one. I regret this decision fully, and not just because it pains me to spend that kind of money on a bra. I do, because I’ll be damned if I can find my size anywhere else.

After walking around the store for a bit with my ever so patient husband, who watched his droid the entire time, I couldn’t find a nice strapless bra in my size. Against my better judgment, my husband urges me to ask the nice little clerk to help me out. So, I did and she gave me this line about being sized every so often, blah blah blah. Yep, all I heard was blah. Until she said “You’re not a 32c, you’re a d. Congrats.” As if being told that you’re never ending growing boobs wasn’t embarrassing enough, you’re told it after a strange woman ogled them and announces it in the busy store. Then she sends me off to the fitting room to work to find me the perfect bra. Why couldn’t she just hand me one and send me on my way?

This is when I noticed the direct correlation between me returning to my red hair and my knack for sarcasm and bitterness. A too perky to not be high woman escorts me into a room and starts tossing bras at me, and of course just to add to my embarrassment, my stall was right near the open area of the cash registers. It was then this specialist informed me that the person who sized me was wrong. Victory was mine; I didn’t have a balloon chest after all! Except my victory escaped me when she informed me I was actually bigger. Thanks, now I have floatation devices. In hearing DD being said, I looked in the mirror and I swore I saw myself as Dolly Parton.

I’m fairly certain we walked through the mall and I complained the entire way of how freakish I was. Then I realized who I was complaining to: my husband. It was probably like Christmas to him. Today, 3 days later I’m still embarrassed. I’m not entirely sure if I’m more embarrassed about constantly growing parasites on my chest, or that so many people I didn’t know spent their day inspecting and touching them. It was almost like an appointment with my woman doctor, you know it’s for the best but doesn’t make you feel less violated after.

Yes, I did just blog about my boobs. The title was more of a warning.

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The Church of Bacon

The Church of Bacon

In glazing over the entertainment news, I saw giant headlines announcing that the Duggar family miscarried their 20th baby. My personal feelings on their ideals escaped me; no one should go through that. It did start my odd thought processes of religion, and though I promised myself I wouldn’t write about religion again I couldn’t help it. I will always write about what’s on my mind. The family started their baby machine after they felt their first miscarriage was a sign from God that they were wrong to use birth control. This isn’t the point of my post, but it’s a great introduction. Okay, in rereading it perhaps it’s more mediocre than great but bear with me.

What I mean to discuss is I keep hearing religious people pointing out how “infallible” God is. Ok, as you’ve seen already I’m uncertain how I even stand on the idea of a God. But, for a second let’s pretend my many years of CCD has stuck and I’m a firm believer. Now with this idea of an infallible God, that would lead me to think that he wouldn’t make any mistakes logically. So to take that one step further, that means everyone was made different for a reason. That means different religions and sexual orientations doesn’t make a person a mistake, so therefore shouldn’t be treated as lesser people. Gay marriage shouldn’t be “anti-God”, because God made gay people and we all know by this logic that God is never wrong. All those wars fought for religion may seem pointless, because God created different religions for his people to practice, and of course God is infallible. Right? Sure, you could argue that it’s not God’s mistake, it’s human error. But didn’t he make us in his image?

It’s no wonder I gave up on organized religion, it doesn’t make sense to me. I don’t understand how you can tell me that this person is evil for this reason and this person is good for that reason and then tell me we were born the way God intended, but then tell me I’m different therefore I’m a mistake. It makes me want to drink all their wine to try to understand the thought process ahead of mass, because I wonder if you have to be drunk to understand it. You know who lets you drink in the afterlife?

That’s a group worth standing behind: the Norse. Let’s die and go to a tavern-like banquet hall when you die? Oh yeah, I think I choose you. Throw in all the bacon I can eat guilt free, and I’ll love you more than you know. Bacon and beer, that’s worth fighting for. Plus, if Thor looks anything like he did in the movie that’d be an extra bonus. Maybe I should be more realistic. If I created a Church of Bacon, where you could be whatever you wanted to be as long as you kept us with bacon. Get enough of a mob mentality and anyone can start a religion or a religious movement.

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It’s so cute… and cuddly.. and murderous?

In time for Christmas, I look at my son’s Christmas list and see a game entitled “Naughty Bear” on it. I chuckled, not knowing what the game was and assuming that with a name like that it couldn’t be that bad. Then, my husband walks in and starts getting upset over it. Apparently the game was far from what I thought it was, and immediately we both crossed it off his list.

In researching it, we find out it’s a video game that has a serial killing teddy bear. There’s over the top violence, which it’s a cartoon we see it in cartoons all the time. I think even cartoons have a line. That’s not what really upsets me about the game, and the main reason we disallowed it in our household. In the game, you’re supposed to torture fellow teddy bears into killing themselves. There’s not much that offends me but that definitely brings me close, especially considering the state of affairs today with teens being bullied to a point of suicide. I would be lying if I didn’t admit that this sickened me a little, especially for a game that’s rated Teen. We spoke to him about it, and he nodded in understanding and went on his way like nothing happened.

This isn’t talking about how video games are too violent and shouldn’t be made. I appreciate video games as an art form, and think that they can create as they want. It’s not the video game companies’ responsibility for what they produce; it’s the parents’ responsibility to make decisions on games that are appropriate or not to play. As avid gamers ourselves, we watch what we play in his presence as well.  I don’t look at ratings when I pick games for my son, I look at content. Parents should research the games and be vigilant in what they allow them to play. Those same parents that refuse to educate themselves try to pass of blame on the companies. It’s not right. We have the same problem with television shows and movies. Parents want things censored so they can ignore their kid and let electronics babysit them, and when something goes wrong they look back and refuse to blame themselves. If you don’t want your 9-year-old to play Modern Warfare 3, don’t buy it for them. Last I checked, as parents you should have control not the kids.