The Good, the Bad and the Smelly

We all know how I feel about my job. It has its perks, but is ultimately incredibly boring and lacking in challenge and opportunity for growth and professional/personal development. After much contemplation, I have effectively whittled down the personalities of three staff members who work at my fitness center (myself included) into a witty Clint Eastwood movie title spinoff.

How clever am I?

The Good? Well, duh. Obviously me. I come to work on time, I know my stuff and I follow the rules. Can you say model employee? Sure I surf the net and harass the innocent employees of the company whose fitness center I run staff via email and beg them to accompany me to the cafeteria since apparently I'm incapable of walking there by myself. But when the day's over, my work's all done and my ducks are happily sitting in a row. I meet my (few) deadlines, errors in print media I put out are minimal (if existent) and my stuff makes sense (for the most part) to anyone capable of reading at or above a second grade level. I also have the neatest handwriting of my colleagues, and smell the second prettiest (BS takes first place on that one after he douses himself in Axe).

The Bad is also a no-brainer. Blank Stare has obviously lost interest (if there ever was any) in maintaining a respectable display of what we adults call work ethic. He shows up for work late consistently. This wouldn't be a big deal if we lived in Cube Land where each person is responsible for his own crap. But when I get there 10 minutes before the center is scheduled to open so that by opening time, all the equipment is turned on and all opening duties have been completed, and BS strolls in 5 or 10 minutes AFTER opening ALL THE TIME, it starts to irk me. And that's putting it mildly. He surfs the net all day (big deal, we all do) but he has the audacity to search and apply for jobs online on company time. This is, of course, after he spends the first hour and a half of his day working out, but before his first shower of the day. In which he takes longer than I do because, according to my sources, he takes the time to flex in front of the mirror. (And people wonder why I have so many guy friends at work...the information they give me is priceless!)

Again- would this all be a really big deal if he carried his weight in terms of getting crap done? Not at all! But he does bare minimum. He has very few responsibilities, and they are rarely completed on time. When they are completed, the fliers and posters are riddled with typos and errors and sentences that either don't make sense, or aren't true. Seriously, how can strength training take years off your life? And I'd like to know what resource he found that documented that there are actual carbohydrate-laden foods that lower your blood sugar levels (as opposed to just resulting in less of a spike)?

I could go on forever. But to save you the agony of reading my rants about BS, I'll move on to the final part of the Work Trinity.

The Smelly. Oh Lord, where do I begin? The Bossman is a great person and a wonderful director. We get along well and I absolutely love my work time with him. Unlike BS, he gets his work done, but is able to laugh and joke and have fun while doing it. But he has one flaw. He takes his sweaty, smelly shoes off while sitting INCHES from my chair.

Seriously, that is one nasty funk. It's not the typical foul male shoe/sock/sweat odor. This is the ultrastank that is produced only by the sweat glands of someone on a very unhealthy diet, who works out incessantly and never washes his shoes or socks. Or showers.

Not to say Bossman doesn't shower, or wears dirty socks, but the stench that emanates from his feet is nasty at best.

Yet he keeps taking off his shoes right in front of me. And, lucky me, today he even peeled down the back of his sock to reveal a smelly old nasty dry cracked peeling heel because he's been complaining of pain there.

Then, get this, he asks me to RUB IT.

Who the HELL deserves to be subjected to that kind of abuse at work?

I tried the pregnancy card, saying I was more sensitive to smells and couldn't take it. I think I even gagged a little today. But he's in denial and told me it wasn't that bad. NOT THAT BAD? His sense of smell must be as bad as his hearing, because it was a lethal odor.

Anyway, so there we are. A motley crew at best.

But you gotta love us.

At least The Good and The Smelly.

Treated Like a Stepchild

One of my all-time favorite things to do is ponder the dysfunction that is my family. Holidays provide the perfect opportunity to sit back and watch said dysfunction in action.

Yesterday, for Easter, my mom, brother and sister-in-law came over to watch SB hunt for eggs, then have a family meal together. They were actually all on pretty good behavior, aside from the normal freakishness. My mother, who was only supposed to bring a turkey (because I absolutely refuse to stick my hands inside a turkey carcass to get the stuff they stick in there out. You know, the giblets and all that crap), brought 3 boxfuls of food, specifically JUNK food, including: 4 chocolate bunnies, an unnaturally yellow chocolate duck that looked like it belonged in the bath tub, 4 bags of different flavored potato chips, a jar of salsa, a tub of nacho cheese dip, a tub of onion dip, 2 trays of baklava (her specialty), 3 unopened bottles of salad dressing (even though no one had prepared a salad) and a cherry cheese cake. Plus boiled asparagus. My brother arrived in his typical fashion- about 20 minutes late. His wife, as usual, knew everything about everything.

It's inevitable that at some point, argument (albeit good-humored and judgment-free) ensues. This time, my mother and brother were arguing about when my brother acquired his first computer. My mom announced that it was a first communion present, so age 7. My brother Joe disagreed, claiming that he already had a computer before she bought the Commodore 64 that was his first communion present.

As they went back and forth, recalling completely unrelated events that occurred in relative proximity to the first communion, I wondered what I had received for my first communion. If Joe got his own brand new computer, then I must have gotten something really special too! I remember getting ready for the big day, my mom dragged out her curling iron that I was only allowed to use for special events, to straighten my curly bangs (seriously, Mom, who gives a kid with curly hair bangs? That's just cruel.). I remember the dress I wore- a white frilly number with a red velvet belt. But I didn't remember any present.

So I asked. And was answered with a blank stare (and believe me, if anyone recognizes a blank stare, it's me after working for nearly 2 years with the master of blank stares). Then the following conversation commenced:

"OH MY GOD, MOM, YOU NEVER GOT ME A FIRST COMMUNION PRESENT, DID YOU?"

"Well, you had your first communion in Illinois, they let you come back for it."

(Ignoring that her last statements made no sense whatsoever)"WHO CARES WHERE I HAD IT, YOU NEVER GOT ME ANYTHING! AND YOU GOT JOE HIS OWN COMPUTER!"

"We moved to Maryland right afterwards." This was said in a tone of voice that implied that it was supposed to make me feel better.

"SO THAT WAS MY PRESENT? MOVING TO MARYLAND? BEING WHIPPED AWAY FROM MY SCHOOL AND ALL MY FRIENDS TO SOME STRANGE PLACE? WHILE JOE GOT A FREAKING COMPUTER? NO FAIR!"

By this time, my mother, completely unaffected by her blatant lack of fairness, was laughing too hard to formulate a response. I'm glad that the double standard that she called parenting was funny to her.

"You owe me a computer."

Technically, she owes me a lot more, because this was 23 years ago, so some kind of interest should apply. She better pay up. Or else.

It's a Dangerous Life

Yesterday was a loooong day. After work I grabbed The Intern and headed down to my old stomping grounds Towson University to give the Exercise Science majors in the practicum class a piece of my mind. Actually, I had been invited to talk with them about life in corporate fitness.

Last year I spoke with the class about my career in general, since I'm fairly unique in that I've worked in a lot of different settings within the fitness industry. Unfortunately, out of all of my experiences, corporate fitness seems to be my least favorite, as it's the least challenging. And the pay sucks compared to other settings.

So it was hard work to be honest about my feelings about it while trying to provide invaluable advice to the youngsters, and at the same time trying to promote our internship program.

After monologuing for an hour and 15 minutes to a sea of blank faces, The Intern and I sat and spoke with The Professor for a little while. I was hoping that The Professor could serve as a resource for The Intern, who is looking for more opportunities to gain experience in the industry, now that her time here is pretty much finished.

The Professor was a great help and we looked over job opportunities that she had been contacted about, and discussed the possibility of The Intern playing a role in the much-needed promotional efforts of the Towson University Wellness Center. This is something I personally would have been interested in, had I been on speaking terms with the Department Head who is also in charge of the Wellness Center. But that's a whole nother story!

While sitting in The Professor's office, we suddenly became aware of a loud recorded voice advising us to evacuate the building. We stared at each other with saucers for eyes before The Professor casually shut the door of her office, explaining to us that the alarm was fake and that they'd been doing them all day.

Relieved, The Intern and I ignored the alarm and went back to looking at job postings and discussing what opportunities were available for her to gain experience without committing herself, since she was kind of hoping for a job with the company for which I work.

About a half hour later, we wrapped up our meeting and mosied out to my car. As we exited the building, I noticed about 4 fire trucks, 2 ambulances and a smattering of police cars, lights flashing, parked in the drive just in front of the building. My eyes came to rest on three policemen who were standing directly in front of the mess, glaring at the three women who had just exited the building a good half hour after the alarms started going off.

We made our way delicately through the front lawn of the building and intentionally off to the side (to avoid the glaring cops) where a group of teachers/staff were gathered. Nonchalantly, we turned and glanced up at the building from which we had just emerged, to see if there was smoke emanating from it, or blazing fires pouring out of windows. Thank goodness, we saw nothing of the sort.

The gaggle of teachers made some comments about who was the last person to exit the building while The Professor defended her near-murder (by locking me and The Intern in her office, claiming the alarms were false) by attesting that the alarms had been going on all day, how was she supposed to know it was real?

The Intern and I said our goodbyes, made our way through the random crowds of students and faculty gathered around the perimeter of the building, and left the premises before we could get reprimanded by the angry-looking cops who, in our defense, were not doing anything but standing there staring at the building with their arms crossed.

But before I left, I snapped the following photo. Just because I'm a big nerd and had a feeling I might be blogging about it.

I Get Around

I don't mean it like I'm a slut.

I mean I've moved a lot in my life. I was born in Hindsdale, IL. Shortly after I was born, we moved to Springfield, IL. I attended kindergarten at Blessed Sacrament, then we moved from Illinois to Maryland (because of my dad's job- he worked for the Department of Energy).

In MD, we settled down in a house on Natic Court in Silver Spring until I had completed the second grade. Then we moved back to Springfield to live in a townhouse-type thing for my first half of third grade. Coincidentally, I attended Blessed Sacrament again, and had the exact same teacher I had in kindergarten, Mrs. Russell. Freaky.

Halfway through my third grade year, we moved back to MD, where we lived in a high rise apartment somewhere near Silver Spring, just off Georgia Ave. I completed my third grade year there before we moved to Gaithersburg, MD. This was a brand new school, my fourth grade year was the first year it was open. I went there for 4th, 5th and 6th grade before being whisked off to Frederick, MD.

Once in Frederick, my family didn't move again. I completed middle and high school, and graduated from CowTown High in 1996. I stayed at home and went to community college for a year, then moved to Towson so I could attend Towson University. I graduated from Towson in 1999. During my time there, I lived in 2 different apartments- one in Towson and one in Cockeysville.

Just before my last semester in college, I moved in with TB, who lived in a duplex in Hamilton. Then in 2001 we bought our house in Reisterstown.

And now we're trying to move again.

So when I moved into my current house, I was 22 years old (I moved in spring and my birthday is closer to the end of the year) and had lived in 12 homes. Since we're doing the math, by the time I graduated from high school, I had attended 8 schools (if you count preschool - which I did because apparently I started early because I was pottytrained early - and the fact that once in CowTown, I went to CowTown Middle, then CowTown High).

And people wonder why I have such a hard time making and keeping friends...every time I made one I was whisked away to another state!!

Anyway.

So we're trying to make our house super pretty for the appraiser who's coming next week so we can get tons of money for our house and be able to buy one with 3 floors and a garage.

This prettifying involved me cleaning out my closet the other day. This is another post in and of itself, but as I lay in bed that night, admiring the fact that I could actually see the floor in my closet, a memory surfaced that I had completely forgotten.

Which I will now share with you.

In the Natic Court house (1st and 2nd grade), my brother's room and my room were back to back, in such a way that our closets lined up. Somehow, we got the bright idea that it would be cool to carve a tunnel from his closet to mine, I guess so we could visit each other without having to walk out the doors of our rooms. Nevermind that he was two years older than me and we rarely got along, and even more rarely visited each other's bedrooms. I can't even remember now what his bedroom looked like at the time. But that's all beside the point.

We wanted this tunnel. So, armed with- and I might be remembering this wrong, but I'm pretty sure that's what it was- a plastic knife, we each started carving out a large square in our closet walls. If I had to guess now, I'd bet that our holes didn't even line up. But again, beside the point.

I don't remember how far Joe got, but I know I got at least 2 sides of the square carved out. I think. Knowing now what a naked wall looks like, I'm not sure what I did about studs...perhaps I worked around them and ended up with more of a dotted line? Or maybe I just carved through the wall in front of them. I don't know.

I also don't remember ever getting into trouble for it, but I can't imagine that my mom never found out about it. I'm sure when she went around before we moved, or when she was ready to put the house on the market, that she saw the damage either in my closet or Joe's. And had to repair it.

Thank goodness that now that we're preparing to move, I don't have to deal with 2 elementary school aged brats who have no respect for other people's things...or houses!

I Should Start Taking Inventory

In order to kind of sort of pretend that we still maintain a somewhat normal life, TB and I hired a sitter the past 2 Sundays in a row to watch SB for a few hours while we go out and eat/run errands. TB has taught both Alec and Erika (brother and sister) for many years and knows both of them, and their family, very well. Their parents are very strict and they both seem to be smart kids. Alec has watched SB in the past and we've been very happy with him, but Erika has recently expressed an interest in watching her, so we decided to let her have a go.

Last weekend was the first time I met her. She came in and started talking immediately- not a shy kid. She asked about SB's allergies, habits, food preferences, and all sorts of stuff, so I felt pretty good about things. While making small talk, she asked me what TB and I were planning on doing. I replied that we were probably just going to get a bite to eat, then run some errands if time permits. She advised me that I should go to Sephora because they had really good body butters. That threw me off, partly because I wasn't sure if she was trying to tell me that I smelled, and partly because what 30-year old goes on a rare date with her husband and drags him to the mall to hit Sephora?

Whatever. The day went on without incident and we decided to ask her back this weekend so TB and I could get a bite to eat and go look at curtains for the bedroom, without bringing SB with us. We totally could have done that with SB, but TB was painting most of the day on Saturday, and prepping most of the day on Friday, so we both knew I would welcome a break from having her attached to my hip all weekend. Since we sometimes hire Alec to help TB do some work around the house, he came with Erika to make our landscaping pretty for when we put the house on the market.

I was alone when they got there, so Alec went right to work and Erika and I hung around the backyard with SB. We commented on the weather, since it was a beautiful day, and I told Erika that we had gone to the zoo the day before, when it was really windy. She told me that she did some pilgrimage with her church. Then she asked me what I did yesterday. She got a blank look from me for 2 reasons: 1- Didn't I just tell her we went to the zoo?, and 2- Who asks some random 30-year old mom what she did the day before? I felt like she thought I was 16 and she was trying to be my bff.

Anyway, she then told me that I should go to Sephora. Major deja-vu. I laughed and said that she had told me the exact same thing last week. She said it's a cool store, and did I ever go? I told her we didn't make it over to the mall, and I didn't think the mall near me had a Sephora. I didn't mention that I wasn't exactly in the market for body butter. She said I should definitely go when I had the chance. I dropped the subject.

SB decided that she wanted to go inside so we both followed her in. TB was at Home Depot and I was just killing time until he got home so we could leave together. As soon as we walked in the door, SB asked me to get the Candy Land game out and Erika asked me for lunch because she was starving.

Huh? I had told her outside that SB had already eaten. By this time it was 2:30 pm- why would someone come to a babysitting job (which was only for 3 hours) starving? Usually we tell the sitters that they are welcome to anything in our fridge, but I don't expect them to come in asking for a full meal! If they are sitting for extended periods of time around a meal, I'll usually bake a pizza and tell them to split it with SB. I'm certainly not against feeding the sitter. But this was from 2-5!! After lunch, before dinner!

I told her there was sandwich stuff in the fridge. She made a sandwich, then went right into our snack cabinet and grabbed a handful of these pretzel chips that my mom had brought for SB (we don't usually buy chips- I'm not even sure how Erika knew to look there for them). I set up the game and retired to my office to start looking at curtains online.

While in my office, I heard Erika help herself to another serving of chips, then heard her ask SB if she wanted some "gummies", which I refer to as fruit snacks. There were 3 packages left (which I know because just that morning I had transferred them from the box to the cabinet to make room for other stuff). SB ate 1/2 of one. When I checked later that night, there were 0 left. You do the math. A few minutes after the gummies, I heard Erika rooting around the snack cabinet again and she came into my office to ask if it was ok if she had the last little box of yogurt-covered raisins.

Upon returning from dinner (we didn't have time to get the curtains because we had gotten a late start) we saw that one of the Lunchables we recently started buying for SB had been attacked. I have yet to see her eat an entire Lunchable, but this one was gone. And somehow, there were 2 juice boxes open (we don't buy juice boxes separately, and each Lunchable only comes with one, so......).

After Erika left and I cleaned the 3 yogurt-covered raisins off the counter (wtf- the girl is like 16 or so- can't she clean up her own raisins?), tossed her juice box and drained her glass of apple juice that she had left on the floor in the living room, TB and I joked about how much the girl ate. We compared her to her brother, who was doing physical labor around the house on a warm day, yet had to be told 3 times before he took a bottle of water from us.

But the kicker came later that night.

I was getting ready to take my prenatal vitamins, and as you may know from previous posts, I need pudding in order to get them down. We had just gone shopping on Friday, and knowing that I was on my last cup of pudding, I had purchased a new 6-pack. I took one cup on Friday to use. Since getting pills down is the only reason I eat the pudding, one cup usually lasts me 2-3 days. So as I reach in to get a new pudding, I realize that there are 2 cups of pudding left. Hm. That's not right.
6(in the pack) - 1 (Friday night) = 2 5.

She ate 3 cups of pudding. SB prefers yogurt over pudding, and TB never touches my pudding because it's practically considered medicine, considering its purpose.

I couldn't believe this. I went downstairs and asked TB if he had been eating my pudding- just to give her the benefit of the doubt. His response was "Don't tell me she ate all your pudding too?!" I told him it was just 3 cups. He put his hand on his head and muttered something about living on a deserted island because we can't find any normal people to watch our child.

So just to reiterate- in the course of about 2.5 hours, this girl consumed (of our food PLUS got paid to watch our child):
a sandwich
chips
more chips
the last box of yogurt covered raisins
2-1/2 packages of fruit snacks
a Lunchables
apple juice
3 cups of pudding

And this is just the food we know about. There was lots more food that she could have eaten that I just haven't come across the evidence yet. We should have guessed something like this would happen when SB informed us last week when we got home that Erika had eaten all of the frozen dinner that I had bought for SB to see if she liked it. Erika said SB had liked it, but SB later told us she hadn't eaten any of it. In this case, I tend to believe SB.

Taking It Easy

My intentions were to keep all the pregnancy mumbo jumbo to the other blog, but that blog bores me so I'm sticking with this one. Maybe that will change later and I can update the other blog with fun pregnancy stuff like "I peed myself a bit when I sneezed today" and "Wow, my hemorrhoids are really acting up". Then after the baby's born I can have a spit-up ticker to track every time I'm covered in baby puke, and maybe offer prizes for every time I find dried puke under the couch, and have post titles like "My Vag Is Healing Quite Nicely". We'll see.

But I feel like venting about my newest pregnancy obstacle here. As I complained about before, I was recently on my death bed ill. My doctor told me no working out/teaching group exercise classes for a week. So I obeyed, because I was pretty miserable and felt I could use the rest. Despite the fact that doing absolutely no physical activity for a week does NOT constitute keeping the same relaxed diet I've been on since high school starting to try to conceive finding out I was pregnant, I didn't do much to alter my eating habits. Being in the middle of my second trimester, to say I am constantly hungry would be an understatement.

But I was still doing ok. I wasn't going crazy with my eating. But I still find myself feeling more and more like a blob every day. And the most frustrating part is not how I look (although that's frustrating enough in and of itself), it's how I feel. Especially now that my restriction has been lifted and I'm allowed to work out again.

Monday's step class was brutal. I was sweating before even finishing the warm up, and could feel my heart beating in my throat. I ran out in the middle of class (I was team-teaching) to strap on my heart rate monitor, and discovered that I was hanging around 180 bpm.

Not good.

My OB had advised me to keep working out (this was before I was sick) but keep my heart rate under 160 bpm. I tried to tone down my workout as much as possible, but still teach the class. The class ended at noon, and it was a little after 2pm until my heart rate dropped below 100 bpm.

I was a little worried, but not out of my head, since when I was pregnant with SB, my heart rate was 166 at rest. Not that that was good, but everything turned out ok, so I figured I'm not killing the baby or myself. Tuesday night, the heart rate only went up to 170 during class. Better, but not great.

So now I'm terrified that my heart rate is going to remain high and I won't be able to work out hard enough to counteract my uncontrolled eating (which isn't that bad, have I mentioned that?) and I'll keep gaining weight and turn into the Blob and never lose it because it's easier to lose it with one kid running around than with 2 and I'll have to quit my job, because who really wants to get workout advice from the Blob?

Pensive Family

OK So I don't have the cold from hell. I have a horrible sinus infection, complete with massive congestion, bronchitis and even a touch of cojunctivitis. I feel like SpongeBob in the episode where he got the Ick and was basically a walking ball of green gook.

Anyway, given the circumstances, I feel like I've been a trooper. I might have complained a bit, but I've been working every day, being a mom every day, and doing stuff around the house whenever I have the energy.

Despite all this, I couldn't let a comment made by my dearest husband yesterday go un-blogged. He said to me,

"The only thing worse than a pregnant wife is a sick pregnant wife."

Such compassion.

Anyway, after I gave him a Look, he quickly said that's not how he meant it. Which I believe. He knows better.

But it should still go up there in our book of awesome parenting quotes by SB's Mom and Dad, along with "Suck! Lick! Don't bite!", the contradicting "Big girls don't suck," and my favorite, "If you want to get high, ask Mommy or Daddy."'

We are definitely a family that thinks before we speak.

Some like it hot...this one does not.

I've been battling the cold from hell for the past 2 weeks (and 1 day). My immune system is more or less nonexistent these days, so anything floating around within a one-mile radios of me ends up all up in my system. I've been sick more times this winter than I was all through my 20's. Right now I'm dealing with a chronic headache that worsens with every cough, a nagging cough that comes in spurts and sometimes leads to gagging, and total congestion with mucous EVERYWHERE- not just limited to my nose, but I have found booger-like junk in my mouth and I woke up with it gluing my left eye shut this morning.

It's snot pretty.

Anyway, on a completely unrelated note, my appetite has been very unusual lately. I'd like to blame it on the pregnancy but sadly I don't really think I can because I'm not really craving anything per se. It's just my taste has changed. For example yesterday I had a bagel for breakfast, another for lunch and one for dinner. And they were onion bagels. I couldn't really smell anything because of the congestion, but I'm sure my breath smelled like a rose garden by the end of the day.

I've also been kind of obsessed with Giant's salad bar lately. I've never been much of a salad person, unless by salad you mean drenched in mayo, as in chicken salad, or potato salad. But in the past 2 or 3 weeks, I've attacked Giant's salad bar at least 6 times. I pile my foil bowl with romaine lettuce (only enough so that I can still call it a "salad"), shredded carrots, peas, chopped onions, baby corn, diced turkey, tomatoes, and croutons. Then I add 3 big beets to the side and plop a generous spoonful of potato salad on the top, squeeze the lid on, hoping nothing pours out the side of my overfilled container, and head home to enjoy.

Really? It's not too bad. The only really unhealthy thing is the potato salad, and it's only maybe a quarter of a cup at most so I don't feel too guilty about it. I add lowfat peppercorn ranch salad dressing to the bottom part (since the potato salad and beets take care of "dressing" the top part) once I get there, and I'm in heaven. The whole thing is inhaled in a matter of minutes.

I got my heavenly salad tonight (sans the onions- they were out) and settled down to eat it. SB was busy munching on her dinosaur chicken nuggets and fruit salad. I was eating really fast, but being congested, I wasn't easily able to breathe and eat at the same time. So I found myself quickly out of breath. But I didn't care. I finished off the potato salad and beets and all the affected parts of my salad. Then I poured some of my dressing on and took a huge bite.

A second later my entire mouth was on FIRE. I couldn't figure out what was going on- one minute I was eating my salad, then the next minute I was literally spitting out a mouthful of lettuce and baby corn because something was biting me or stabbing me in the mouth. WTF??

I ran to the kitchen and drank an entire bottle of water in almost one gulp. It would have been even worse, but for the first time in weeks, my sinuses felt almost completely clear...they had been burned out, I guess. My nose was running and my eyes were watering.

I wandered back to my salad to find the culprit, and realized that instead of my usual peppercorn ranch salad dressing, I had picked up (and drenched my salad in) JALAPENO RANCH dressing.

Why the HELL do we have jalapeno ranch dressing? No one in the family does jalapeno stuff. Then it hit me. My mom.

She and my brother are jalapeno/hot/spicy freaks. My brother eats wasabi straight off the plate with his fork. But he would never think to bring dressing to my house, so I ruled him out immediately. My mom, on the other hand, has a tendency to hoard salad dressings, keeping them until loooooong after they expire- until my brother or I raid my mom's fridge and throw all the dressings over 5 years past the expiration date away. She also has a habit of making salads on holidays, and bringing about 47 different dressings with them, then leaving them in my fridge.

For me to later almost kill myself eating by accident. Jalapeno is bad when you don't do spicy. But it's worse when you're not expecting it!!

SO here was my dilemma: awesome salad covered in death dressing. There was too much salad left to justify throwing it away. Plus I really wanted that salad. So I just poured myself a huge glass of water, covered the poison sauce with peppercorn ranch, and dug in.

By the end, my eyes and nose were running like faucets, and my mouth was completely on fire.

But it was totally worth it.

Beethoven Crap

A few weeks ago I got a new phone. This one is pretty cool, it has a touch screen on top (never mind that my pocket has mistakenly called at least a dozen people...some of which I haven't spoken to in months!), and opens up for quick texting (have I mentioned I'm a texting fiend? Although now I feel like I have manhands because I'm always pressing the wrong keys).

Anyway. My old phone was very personalized. Because I have large pockets of time when I'm supposed to be watching SB, and she has large pockets of time where she doesn't want anything to do with me, but gets upset the minute I leave, I play with my phone a lot.

My old "default" ring was Flo Rida's "Low". If TB called, it was James Brown's "Get Up Offa That Thing", because that's totally something he would say, and has said, to me. If Bucky called, it was They Might Be Giants' "Snail Shell" (I was mad at her the day I assigned it and this was the closest thing to mean I could find or liked to hear 20 times a day when she calls). Maggie's ring tone was "My Humps" by the Black Eyed Peas.

Bucky and TB had their own text message alerts too. If anyone but them texted me, I would hear someone say "Is that a text message or are you just happy to see me?" It cracked me up every time. If TB texted me, it was a recording of a kid's monotone voice from Sesame Street saying "Dorothy, this is how I walk my dog.......come on, girl" only the last part was said in a very depressed manner, like the girl was leading the dog straight to the grave. Kind of an inside joke. And texts from Bucky were announced with her own voice saying "Whatever, you don't know".

I rarely had to even look at my phone in order to know who was trying to reach me. Oh- and my picture message alerts went back and forth between a really annoying trumpet call and my dog barking.

One day Bucky visited me at work. I was in the main office and away from my desk, leaving Bucky alone with some really annoying woman we refer to as The Intern. She has since accepted a position working for the same company, but she will forever be The Intern in my mind. Anyway, she was sitting at my desk and I got a text message, so my phone said either "Is that a text message or are you just happy to see me?" or "Dorothy, this is how I wwwalk my dwwooooog" in a thick Brooklyn accent. Regardless, Bucky watched as The Intern picked up my phone and opened it up!!

OMG!! Bucky confronted her, and The Intern said something about us having the same phone so she thought it was hers. HELLO?? Her phone talks to her? No! Most phones have a beep or something. Admittedly, we did have the same phone, but she also had some retarded cover on hers. So it's not like they even really looked alike. Plus hers wasn't even on MY desk, it was somewhere in her bag. Besides, she was annoying, who'd be texting her, anyway?

That was all beside the point. And what was the point? Oh yeah, my phone is very unique in its noises, and I spend much time making it that way.

This new phone hasn't been as easy to customize. So far, my default ring is Iko Iko. No one has personalized rings yet. I did find the "Is that a text message...." text alert, so that's back on it. But TB and Bucky don't have personalized text alerts yet. So I'm still in the process.

The night I added those two tones, I was just sitting there at home minding my own business when my phone rang. I got up to get it, but it immediately stopped ringing. So I sat back down. A minute later it rings again. This time it keeps going.

Upon answering, I was immediately greeted by Bucky yelling "WHAT THE F IS THAT?" I had no idea what she was talking about.

"THAT MUSIC...WHAT THE F IS IT, IT'S HORRIBLE"

I stammered around for a minute before assuming she meant my new Iko Iko ring tone, and started to defend Iko Iko since it's such a happy song. But she kept yelling something about classical music and I realized at the same time that she was calling me from her car, and therefore could not hear my phone ring.

After several moments of confusion, during which Bucky was ranting nonstop about the
"Beethoven crap" my phone was spitting out at her, I hung up. I texted TB and asked him to call my cell phone (because apparently I'm incapable of picking up my house phone and dialing out) and tell me what he hears. I hear Iko Iko and ignore it, then a minute later I get a text saying it's Vivaldi. Specifically, the Four Seasons.

Apparently at some point I somehow not only got a ring back attached to my phone, but I also, of all things, got all or part of the Four Seasons. From what TB sang to me later, it was Spring, which is my favorite anyway.

But still! I don't know how it got there, or how to get rid of it. I'm too lazy to contact Verizon regarding this, and too apathetic to care what people hear when they call me. The only time I call my own phone is when I check my messages from work, and the phone is turned off anyway so it goes right to voice mail.

Bucky has told me that the Beethoven Crap makes her want to call me less. So far she hasn't really followed through with that threat.

Oh well.

The Great Unwashed

I hate other people's kids. It's not the kids' fault, not at all. I completely blame the parents. But because of the parents, I hate the kids. Mostly, en masse. Individual kids can be ok, but when you get them all together in a place like a park or a bounce house, I don't like them very much.

Not to say that my kid is perfect. She can tantrum, yell, scream and stamp her foot with the best of them. But that's only to us. When in public, she is polite to others and is careful not to step on or hurt other kids when playing.

On Monday, SB was a perfect angel. Well, as close to an angel as we could hope these days. She dressed herself in the morning, went to school without a fuss, and was just a happy, whine-free, obedient child for the remainder of the day. So I decided to reward her with some positive reinforcement and bring her to an Ultimate Playzone in nearby Timonium.

This place was crowded, but big, so she had plenty of room to run around and burn off some energy (yes, I also wanted to ensure a good night's sleep, so there might have been an ulterior motive in bringing her there). Of course, she went into the one moon bounce where she tends to get stuck and make her pregnantly fat mom squeeze in through the birth canal that is the entrance to the bounce, climb up a ladder, slide down a slide, and lift SB up over the wall that she was unable to scale. Luckily it only happened once. Unluckily, I was now in a moon bounce, feeling like a sea cow out of water. Can't wait to figure out how I'm going to squeeze out of that place.

I also re-injured my injured toe. I guess I bounced funny, because the purple swollen toe that had just recently returned to normal color and size was now throbbing, and upon inspection later at home, appeared to be purple and swollen again. The things we do for our kids.

Anyway, we moved on to a moon bounce with a more adult-friendly opening. This one had a sort of ladder to climb in order to reach a slide. This "ladder" was composed of raised blocks about the size of bricks on an otherwise smooth incline. One was supposed to use the raised blocks to support their feet, and had the option of hanging on to ropes on each side of the "ladder". The blocks were a little too far apart for SB at first, so I followed her up and down about 10 times until she got the hang of it. She was still slow, but was able to climb on her own. Satisfied that she was safe and able, I gave my body and toe a break by resting on a bench about 4 feet in front of her moon bounce.

At some point during her gallivants, SB had befriended a little girl who appeared to be around her age, maybe a little older. So this girl was about 3-4 years old. She had originally begged me to let her go down a slide while sitting on my lap, but I politely declined. She said it was "ok with her mom," but since I didn't see said "mom" anywhere around, and wasn't really interested in some weirdo pressing charges against me for touching her kid, plus I didn't really want to have to lift up some 35 lb kid that wasn't my own, seeing as how I'm on a 20 lb lifting restriction, I told her to go down the slide and hold hands with SB. Which they did, and promptly became BFFs.

So now BFF and SB wanted to go up this rock climbing ladder that I described above. No problem there, but BFF decided she wanted to take along this little wooden lady bug thing that was there for kids to ride around the floor. It looked kind of like this:



Actually, it looked exactly like that. Only older and rattier.

So BFF holds it in her hand while climbing this rock ladder. SB follows. BFF is a little quicker climbing the ladder and ends up slightly ahead of SB. I am not comfortable with BFF bringing the ladybug onto the moon bounce, and her parents are still nonexistent. I stand up and approach the moon bounce to take the bug away from BFF. Just before I get there, she loses her grip on the ladybug and......you guessed it.

It falls and hits SB right on the head. SB starts BAWLING. This thing is not small or light, and the wooden part at the bottom is what hits her. I felt horrible. I tell SB to make her way down the ladder and come to me, since there are kids in the entrance and I can't make it to her. As she makes her way down, crying HARD, I reach in and take the ladybug out. BFF holds her hand out to me like she wants me to give it to her. I tell her she's not getting it, and place it on the floor where it belongs. As I do, BFF screams at me "It's ok, I'm allowed to have it!" Like HELL you are!

I STILL don't see any parents. I'm not one to go around reprimanding other people's kids, but there was no way this girl was getting that ladybug back to drop on another kid's head. I told her that those toys were meant to be on the ground, she's not supposed to have it on the moon bounce because it could hurt other kids. By this time, SB was in my arms, and I pointed out to the girl, in case she missed it, that she had just dropped it on SB's head and it hurt her.

BFF was not happy but I didn't care. I brought SB to the bench and comforted her, but she wouldn't stop crying. I felt bad that she was being so loud, and worried that she was bothering the fat little old lady parked next to me at the bench. Not that I really blamed her. I'd be crying too if that happened to me. But I offered to bring her to the water fountain as a distraction.

We walked out to the hallway, and as I helped SB up onto the stool in front of the fountain, I realized that BFF was right behind us, with the little old fat granny from the bench. Which I assumed was her grandmother. Who had witnessed the WHOLE THING yet never reprimanded the child or apologized to SB. OMG.

As this is sinking in (I'm kind of slow sometimes), another lady brushed past me with her son on their way into the restroom. She seemed concerned about SB, who was still crying pretty hard, and asked what had happened. I was touched that she cared, and eager to call out BFF in front of her grandmother. Just in case the GM was blind and didn't really see what happened. So I told the lady that someone had climbed onto a moon bounce with one of the roller ladybugs and dropped it on SB's head.

I hadn't even gotten through the entire sentence when this lady interrupted me to say "Oh, good, I was worried that this one had done something to her", and rushed into the restroom. WTF?? So she wasn't concerned at all about a hurt child, she just wanted to make sure her devil son wasn't responsible? And I couldn't even finish my sentence that was in response to HER question? I hated her almost as much as I now hated the GM and BFF.

As they passed behind me, GM said that was a shame, and she hopes SB feels better. WTF??? Am I in the Twilight Zone? Doesn't she realize that her own freaking grandchild, or at least the child she was supposed to be SUPERVISING had INJURED another child because she did something incredibly stupid and against the rules by bringing heavy piece of wood with wheels onto a freaking MOON BOUNCE and DROPPED IT ON SOMEONE'S HEAD???? Shouldn't she at least be scolded for this?

Poor SB. Luckily the injury wasn't too bad, I think it was more the shock of it than anything else. It hit her right behind her ear, pretty much just at her hair line, so you can't really see the bruise.

I'm not too mad at BFF. She didn't know any better. What upsets me is that she still doesn't know any better, because her GM is completely oblivious. Not only to the fact that she did something stupid, but to everything. I kept a close eye on SB the entire time she was on a moon bounce. I was only a foot away by the time the accident happened- trying to get there to take the ladybug away and avoid the accident altogether, and saw the whole thing. Obviously this GM did not keep an eye on her charge. It saddens me because without a grownup telling her what's appropriate and what's not, BFF is going to go through life not considering the consequences of her actions.

It also makes me mad that I spent $7 and got very little besides a bruised daughter and a re-injured toe.