Wednesday, January 16, 2013

Quoting the Princess Bride

It became clear to me tonight that I may have made a very serious error in my choice of mate. 
This is the conversation that took place between my husband and I tonight:

Me:  "My name is Inigo Montoya.  You killed my father.  Prepare to die."
Him:  "lol" (ok it was via text....while in different rooms....of the same house)
Him:  "What's that from?"
Me:........................ (picks jaw up off the floor)
Me:  "I do not envy you the headache when you awake.  But for now, rest well and dream of large women."
Him:  "No idea."
Me:  (out loud)  WHAT!!
Me:  "Vizzini:  Finish him! Finish him your way"
          Fezzik:  Oh good, my way.  Thank you Vizzini.  What's my way?
          Vizzini:  Pick up one of those rocks, get behind a boulder.  In a few minutes the man
                        in black will come running around the bend.  The minute his head is in view
                        HIT IT WITH THE ROCK!!!
          Fezzik:  My way's not very sportsman like."
Him:  "What the hell?"

Oh my god.  Can I really have married a man who can't quote Princess Bride?  Or at least know it when he hears it?  I mean, Come On..... the "you killed my father, prepare to die" bit can usually be picked up even by people who haven't seen it 500 or so times. 

How could I have been this stupid?  Think of all the lost humor.  All the references to iocaine powder that will never be giggled at.  If i say "Sleep well, I'll likely kill you in the morning" he won't get it. 

But worst of all, is this:
Me:  "Well, you could bring me up some ice cream and we could watch it, since you don't seem to remember it that well."
Him:  "Ok, in a little bit."
Me:  "Oh honey.  I set you up so nicely.  You could've answered with "as you wish".  It would've been epic."
Him:  "Why?"

Kill me.....

Oh Just STFU

The most ridiculous, righteous, most twat-ish thing that I have heard come out of some one's mouth lately is this little gem:  "I love being pregnant."
You what? 
Now most sane women would think that this was said with a sarcastic air. 
No such luck friends.  This psycho was completely serious.
She followed it up with "don't you?"
No, sunshine.  I don't.  I'm not sure what you think there is to love.  Were you bulimic in the past?  So now you have a totally excusable reason to barf up your whipped cream and pulled pork binge lunch, and thus you're stoked?
Do you have small boobs and so you are excited that your A cup is going to swell to a near bursting C cup?  Fuck the pain, blow up these ta tas!!
Let me guess, it's all about the super fast growing hair and nails, and that "pregnancy glow". 
I am as un-stoked about pregnancy as it is possible to be.  I spent the first 3 months not-puking.  I was just nauseated from week 4 to week 16, without end.  It's a very strange feeling to be sick to your stomach and ravenously hungry at the same time.  It was to the point where I wondered if I made myself vomit would I maybe feel better.  I actually first had a hunch that I was pregnant because I spent 80% of my honeymoon feeling queasy.  That's a good time my friends.

I spent most of the first trimester so fatigued that I would come straight home from work, make dinner, and go lay down.  I was out cold by like 7:30 most nights.  As a result, I spent a lot of time being sedentary, as opposed to the fairly active lifestyle I was used to prior to getting knocked up.  The sum of these two aspects of pregnancy is that any muscle I had built dissolved into fat in no time.  At this point I think my 10 year old is stronger than I am.

By far, the best (sarcasm....this is what it looks like) weird pregnancy symptom that I have been blessed with thus far is that due to the swelling in my hands and feet, my carpal tunnel syndrome has elevated from like a level 2 (slightly annoying but not bothering me enough to actually do anything about it) to a level 36 (holy shit, cut off my arms!! I don't need them anymore, cut them off!!!)
Every night I wake up because my hands have surpassed numbness and moved on to a burning pain that reaches up past my elbows.  There is no going back to sleep.  There is nothing to be done about it.  I wear wrist braces to bed, and that means I'll only have to get up once or twice because of my hands.  I'll get up 2 or 3 more times either because I have to pee, or because husband face sucks to sleep next to.
I told my husband that if this isn't temporary....if it doesn't go back to normal after I pop the kid out....then I am going to have to get the surgery done.  I absolutely cannot live like this if  I can do anything about it.  The only reason I get through it now is because I'm already miserable in so many ways, what's the difference?  That, and I know that I can't fix it now.  Not with my little parasite in there.
Then there's my husband......ugh.
I love him, I really do.  Having this kid might get him killed.  
It doesn't help that I have crazy prego hormones, and I'm already chemically imbalanced, as I had to stop taking my anti-anxiety meds.  He must have a death wish.
In short, no sweetcheeks, I do not love being pregnant.  I think you're crazy if you do.  Stay away from me and my children you fucking weirdo.

Wednesday, January 9, 2013 I'm making a testosterone machine

Well, if anyone cares to know, I'm having a boy.  Yippie??
Yeah great.  I wanted a girl.  I know, I know....I have a girl already.  I don't have a clue what to do with a boy.  Everyone says to me "boys are great.  They're so loving and sweet and fun...".
Blah, blah, blah. 
Boys are boys.  Boys are stupid.  I think of all of the things that my husband does that make me grip my forehead and wince while shaking my head in consternation, and think to myself "oh great, now I will get double of this".
There is nothing exciting for me about having a boy.  Girls are pretty, their clothes are precious, thier activities are endearing, and I am one so I can relate.
A boy?  My color choices are blue, and blue.  My decor choices are footballs and sailboats. 
No fun.
I think of all the things my brother did while we were growing up and I shudder.  Breaking things to see how they worked.  Throwing himself off of things because it looked like fun.  All kinds of cuts, scrapes, burns and stitches.  There were road flares involved.  :::Shudder:::
I never did anything like he did.  I had too much respect for pain, death and authority (til my teen years, but that's another story).  
My daughter is smarter than all that.  She doesn't do things that she shouldn't because she knows she shouldn't.  Boys don't work that way.  At least, not in my experience of boys.  They say "hey that looks fun" and jump out of a moving vehicle.  They don't think about the moving vehicle part, or the road rash part, or the possibility of death or dismemberment.  No. 
Because......boys are stupid.
Even naming this boy sucks.  There aren't any sweet, adorable boy names.  I'm not having fun with boy names.
People have asked me, "Are you upset that it's a boy?"
Of course I'm not upset.  It's not like I placed an order for a girl and got a boy instead.  You don't get a choice in the matter.
So instead of a room decorated in purples, I get blues.
Instead of adorable dresses I get cable knit sweaters.
Instead of dress up I get action figures smashing together in battle.
Instead of gymnastics and ballet I get football and wrestling.
And most unfortunately, instead of an easy choice in schools I get to fight with my husband about public school vs. private school.
So it begins....

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Shouldn't You Be Working by Bethany Davenport is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License.