No, no-one pissed in my cheerios, I'm just 8 months pregnant.

Now it's so obvious I'm pregnant and not just fat all over, I'm getting stopped by strangers who curiously want to know my due date.  I say "July 2nd" every time, hoping that the original due date, will actually come true (even though baby is measuring mid June) the more I say it, the more I make it so.  July 2nd is perfect for several reasons, it starts a long weekend, it's perfect for out of town family to be around when baby is born and I also get a $3,000 pay out from Aflac if I can hold the sucker in until then.....See, I signed up for additional coverage from Aflac when Mr. Price and I were going to go for #2.  Long story short, according to the policy I signed in September, I cannot deliver on or before July 1st if Momma's gonna get paid.  No need to go into it further, but us Price's are cutting it close. Duct tape and sedentary lifestyle are at my beck and call.  Walking from my car to my office chair is as much as I'm gonna do.  Keep your fingers and toes crossed.

Mmmmm, lunch with a side of tums, please.

I've got gastric reflux for the first time in my life.  I'm maxing out my tums allocation each day and the munching of the chalky pathetically flavored discs in my mouth, is marginally soothing.  I'm not sure if it's heartburn, acid reflux, or whatever, it's something that's supposed to be staying down, coming back up and stopping me from eating like a horse at all times of the day and night.  I want to eat, but reflux says no.  So mostly I just keep eating and complain all night long, along with sleeping with seven pillows.  Mr. Price has every right to be a jealous husband, those pillows (especially the ones in between my legs and my back) provide me with so much comfort and pleasure, the only thing they'd need to do to out rank my hubster, is offer me mini eggs on a platter and foot massages until I feel asleep each night.

I'm not going to get graphic, but I look down and only see my baby belly. Shaving... anywhere that I used to shave has become not only a hassle but a down right yoga type experience with legs and and things positioned in a way that would make the karma sutra look like sitting on the couch.  Oh yeah, and then I can't shave, so my legs are all over filled with unexepcted patches of tiny hair pricks, but also the dry party has come to town and there's not enough aloe or moisturizer in Bath and Body Works to satisfy my flaky skin.  I'm apparently part snake, as each day I shed old dry skin.  Gross.

The view from up here.  Nice for resting the Xbox remote on, not much else.

I need a pedicure so badly I think there's at least three different colors on my toes as I sheepishly try to cover up the previous coat with a darker newer coat, knowing that I have between 30 seconds and 2 minutes before I pass out from not being able to breathe by bending over my baby belly, so precious time cannot be wasted by removing a previous layer of polish, I only have time to do one or the other.  Nail clipping is a priority, I don't like those babies to get nasty, but it's tough and it makes me want to whine some more, more of what Mr. Price loves to hear.

I'm running out of clothes.  I'm determined not to buy clothes for only 2 months left, but my bump has a long way to go.  Stretchy dresses are a must have and there's nothing cute.  I can't go for cute when getting dressed each day, I can only go for what fits.  It's depressing.  Not that I was ever able to put that much thought into what I wore each day (sleeping was always a much higher priority) I just don't even have the option now.  I can always put more make up on.  But that's truly putting lipstick on a pig.

I actually want to exercise, like go walking and maybe work up a litle sweat, but I'm so convinced that sitting and watching Family Guy re-runs is my only golden ticket to my $3K, that I calmly sit my ass back down.  I WANT to lose some of that kankle fat, but money's more important.

There's cellulite in places I didn't think it could actually be.  It's devestating to look at your wrists and think that they're fat, but still the skinniest place on your swollen body.  That, along with my arm flap fat that could have me join a flock of geese at any moment but my less than aerodynamic shape and sheer weight would prevent me from doing so.

Sleep is for people who have nannies.  Waking up 7 or more times a night to pee, or getting back in bed, then immediately turning around again to go back as baby decides to rest on your bladder again, is a common occurence.  I'd be great for my neighborhood watch program if I wasn't so forgetful these days.  I could see my police report now.... "It was 2am, no, wait 2:30am, no, the fourth time I got up to pee, which would have been around midnight, but it wasn't a long pee, just a short one to help get me back to sleep, so it was definitely the second time I went at 2:30, because the blue, I mean, red, well, it could have been white Honda, or wait, was it a silverado truck, squealed out of the driveway before delivering donuts to my mother's house...  oh wait, sorry officer, that was a dream I had.  I'm not really sure I saw anything... ..."  On a night I get up to pee only 4 times, is the closest I'll ever get to a good night's sleep for a long time.  Of course it doesn't help with the five gallons of water I have to drink after my nutella sandwich midnight and 3 am snack, but still, life is cruel at this moment.

If anyone is going to write "It's all worth it in the end."  I'll drive to where you live, maybe knock on your door or ring your doorbell, before punching you in the throat.  Of course it is you moron. I know that.  Life's about the journey, not the the place where you get to when you're done with 9 months of puking, feeling miserable, and fat and taking everything in general out on your usually mostly undeserving husband.  But I don't care.  I'm pissed, I'm 8 months pregnant and it's all so close, but still so far away.

I've reached the home stretch, but the last mile is all uphill gravel and I lost my shoes and will to live about 3 miles ago.  Somebody carry me.  Please.

Working with Clowns.

Do you commute to a place everyday, that may or may not have children present, that may or may not have windows or walls, but there ARE chairs and office equipment present, pens, computers and paper?  You have a job.  And it doesn't have to be in a cubicle, or even at a register, it's a job and clowns walk amongst you.

It's like the silent serial killers, everyone knows they're next door (and if you've been proactive enough to detective-style "scout out" sex offender websites, you know EXACTLY where they are in your neighborhood and you've eye balled them from a distance..) but the clowns, they walk amongst us everyday, in the hallways of our offices.

Clowns, man.  With or without makeup, they're still creepy.

I worked for the circus.  True story.  I really did.  For about 3 months, I worked for Feld Entertainment, Ringling Bros. Barnum and Bailey and Disney on Ice.  It was totally great.  My immediate supervisor and I had a personality conflict - meaning that I was much more interested in going about my work day in an un-orthodox manner and she was amm..err..ammm..(God, I wish there was a way to say exactly what you feel without not worrying if you could get sued...(like people actually read this blog anyway)). not cool like me..... but I digress. I have largely  nothing but fantastic things to stay about my 3 month stint there and the other people I worked with.  To put it professionally, the timing was not right, I was newly married and living the high flying life (for someone terrified of flying, not really a good mix), based out of Atlanta, working from home in Lexington, KY, was not ideal for me, or them, so we parted ways, sooner, rather than later.

Getting through a week on average where I flew four times and on one occasion had to hold a flight attendants hand on arrival one night because of bad weather and turbulence, would grab one of them pre-flight and ask for a bottle of wine, before first class and there was an extra $5 in it for her, along with talking incessently about my fear to random strangers that immediately regretted being sat next to me and wondered when it would be appropriate to tell me to shut up or to ask the attendant if they could switch seats away from the crazy.... which ALSO meant at least the equivalent of 4 bottles of wine and 8 Xanax, left me not only exhausted, excited and confused, but with a loss of my short term memory that I still to this day, can't seem to get back.

...What are we talking about again...?

Oh yeah..

I worked with Clowns.  I had them in my office when the circus was on tour.  I went drinking with them, in their half arsed attempt to wash the white cake make up and red lips and sad eyes from their faces, usually only ever one female clown and mostly male clowns.  Funny how that seems to resonate in the real work place.  Clowns are usually of the male disposition, the females, are largely, just bitches.  And I know, I'm one of them. (the bitch kind)  They acted like clowns when the lights came on, then they acted like serial killers when the lights went down.  Clowns with and without their make up are just creepy people.  Oh and they're also mainly Russian or Eastern European, so creepy clowns with inaudible accents with knives in their pockets (I'm making that part up but I swear I can see them there) is who they are.  There's that one guy that's from the U.S., that was probably the class clown, never said a word to the moderately attractive girl he had a crush on all throughout High School, but could make everyone in the room laugh through slap stick comedy and just offend or make their math teacher sigh as she/he tried to get the attention back of the classroom on less exciting topics like fractions and algebra.


I work with clowns.  Only these guys have no sense of humor.  They actually aren't around to MAKE me laugh, but they do, in a pitiful kind of way. They're the Sad Face Clowns.  Business is bad, let's make cuts.  I'm half expecting one of them to walk in with a cheery yellow flower on his lapel, honk the horn he carries around and then squirt me in the eye with water with the "trick" flower.  (Wow that whole sentence was a "that's what she said" arsenal!)  The sad face clowns, you don't feel sorry for them, they're just pitiful.

The Happy Face Clowns.  Both types of clowns are morons.  I started to type "intellectually challenged", but isn't that the nice term we give to much cooler people who actually have a disability so we don't call them retards anymore?  I didn't want to offend them.  They too walk around the hallways, their curly red hair disguised under a fake black sharp business hair cut.  Their tiny little bicycles are crammed into the secret compartment they have in the trunk of their brown buicks.  Their large feet stuffed into normal looking shoes (think Roald Dahl Witches here...) and they have flesh colored make up on to hide their painted on black large cartoon looking eyelashes.  They stride the hallways like they're walking into a crowd filled room ready for their first banana peel slip-and-fall opening act.   They're mainly in management positions, and in charge of making decisions, which means a lack of, or the wrong ones.  These clowns always get the high paying jobs.  Why is that again?  Probably because they're busy getting a cup of coffee which LOOKS like work, while I'm sitting here blogging.  Dammit.  I gotta work on my faking techniques.

They SEEM Harmless....

Working with clowns has it's challenges, since they aren't really around to make you laugh, but sometimes you just can't hold it in out of the sheer unbelievable nature of their statements.  You've got to recognize them, in the hallways, their big yellow flower isn't going to give them away, they're smart enough to wear disguises to the office.  You've got to be careful.  But clowns are silly, before you need to detect them, they will make themselves known to you and you'll have to work on working with them.  Just like you would when public speaking, imagine everyone naked, you'll have to gaze through their clown conversation they're holding with you and envision them juggling bowling pins, or better yet, chain saws and the juggling act going horribly wrong.

But you don't want to get distracted.  Stay wary of the clowns, and don't ever feed them.  That's what their storm-drain homes are for and lost puppies.  Working with real clowns or real decorative fake clowns is what we all face everyday, elephants or not.
But I've got a pie.
I've got a pie with extra whip cream saved for the day I get to hurl it at a clown and get away with it.  I'd jersey shore fist pump the sky with satisfaction that it hit not only hard, but rest in true self assuredness of the cream pie in facial orifices that will take weeks to get rid of the sour cream smell.

I've got a pie and an extra can of Reddiwhip.  Just in case.

Going Green and The Wool Coffin; Increasing the actuality of the Zombie Apocalypse

Alternative Title:  A Wolf in Sheep's clothing.

As another Zombie-free Earth Day approaches for 2011, (April 22nd) the reports on how to live a greener lifestyle increase all over the internet.  Change a CFL lightbulb, unplug your phone charger... blah blah blah, we've done it all or we've heard about it and just plain ignored it.  How about thinking outside the box, err.. coffin box?  Even in death, it turns out, you can choose to be GREEN and even though you won't care (you'll be dead) you can leave your NOT lasting impression on this earth by reducing your very last carbon footprint.  Laying to rest in your very own wool/cotton/cardboard blend, coffin.

However, I'm less concerned about the impact on the future generations (in the GREEN sense), and more concerned about the impact these "pliable" coffins have on assisting the probability of a Zombie attack.  In fact, the green coffins have a more terrifying impact than the carbon footprint Al Gore has us all anxious over and the melting ice caps, something more devestating, that we all should be worried about for future generations.  Screw the environment, the Zombies are coming.  Future generations and attack by Zombies have just walked into the near future, hand in hand with the assistance of environmentally friendly coffins.

It's simple math really.  Cute little sheep, earth friendly coffin, equals zombie apocalypse and screaming people.

  

Maybe if generations of the new millennium are more aware of the probablity of the Zombie attack then they will be more prepared?  I think not.  It's obvious anyone born today knows NOTHING, especially of working hard or preventing a Zombie attack.  Our generation, today, must take a stand, to protect our children and our childrens' children.  After all, we are the ones raising them and I'm not sure we can rely on our parenting skills, time outs and deep and meaningful talks after we're dead and gone and our children are in charge of sustaining the human race.

It's not easy being green, damn straight, Kermit.  But there's right ways and then there's the wool coffin.

Read up on the Green Coffins here and  here.  "In addition to local wool and sustainably sourced cotton, the coffins are reinforced with 100 percent recycled cardboard. As a result, they are biodegradable, which meet the growing demand for green burials."  

Courtesy Greenbiz.com.  Looks like an edible Styrofoam cup, eh?

 

Cardboard.  How often do we use the phrase "Couldn't talk herself out of a wet paper bag"?  Turns out, getting out a a wet paper bag, in any situation is a very easy thing to do.  Laying 6 feet under, after the first heavy rain, and clawing your way out of a wet cardboard box, is very easy to do.  

Going green, could be good for the environment, but bad for the human race. 

With good intentions we lay these undead humans in the most comfortable coffin box ever, practically handing these soon-to-be Zombies awaiting the uprising, the key to the cardboard deadbolt and laying out the red carpet for the brains feast and human mutilation that awaits them on a silver platter.

The Wool Coffin aka:

"comfy cocoon of death"
"wooly tomb"
"snug-cophagus"

"six feet under wear." 

-Courtesy Greenbiz.com

If we are going to give them a wet cardboard box to get their beauty sleep in while we naive humans (at least those of you who haven't made preparations for the Zombie Apocalypse), walk around top soil side, going about our daily errands, for every wool coffin box sold, each survived relative should be awarded a semi automatic with at least 4-5 rounds shot gun, as like a twofer deal.  Semi-bury the dead, get a shotgun for when you really need to get rid of them.

I say, if you are more worried about being green and less worried about the Zombie Apocalypse, then first, you have your priorities wrong.  And second, focus on changing your damn lightbulbs and get cremated.  Unplug your bloody cell phone chargers and get toasted down to a char, like your typical morning slice that you try to butter and jam before it disentegrates on your plate from spending too much time in the toaster.  Turns out, burning these wool coffins actually emit less carbon monoxide than toasting a typical wood coffin, so go green, then get blackened.

Do your part, go green and get wise.  The Zombies are coming.  Don't be less prepared, be PREPARED.  As everyone else buries their "dead" in these green coffins, get yourself an extra round of ammo.  You'll need it to protect your family and those who put you in this position, where Zombies rise from the graves as easily as morning wood.

I'll leave you with an illustrated reminder of how to rid yourself of zombies, simple three step process.  Don't screw it up.  Your brains depend on this.

My little Mini Egg Poem

This is part of a larger "Ode to Cadbury Mini Eggs" post that I will complete via my OurCupsRunnethOver.com/blog post in April, but since I am eyeballs deep in Cadbury Mini Egg season, I can't let it escape ANYONE how much I love mini eggs.

So I wrote a poem about them.  Dr. Seuss style.  Ahem.

From there to here,
from here to there,
I like mini eggs everywhere.
I like mini eggs in a car,
I like mini eggs with a martini in a bar.
I like mini eggs at night,
Won’t you think mini eggs are alright?

Cadbury mini eggs are so fine
I will eat them all the time.
Mini eggs are always gone too soon.
Even a lorax, would consume.

Sam I am likes green eggs and ham,
The Cat in the Hat is a fan.
One fish, two fish,
mini eggs and blue fish.
A foob a gellar, a jiboo, a huffle,
all love mini eggs, in a kerfuffle.

10 mini eggs up on top,
10 mini eggs on top of Pop.
10 mini eggs in a tree,
10 mini eggs inside of me (in my tummy with 100 other mini eggs).
10 mini eggs, don't you see,
10 mini eggs aren't enough for me!

Oh the places you'll go,
to get these chocolately delights,
I'd wander this earth,
from morning 'till night.

Don't you like mini eggs,
don't you like them at all?
If you don't, then your name is Paul.
Eat them all, them all, I shall
I painted a face on a mini egg and it was my pal.  (until I ate him)

Cadbury Mini Eggs,
How I do love thee, let me count the ways...
Mini eggs, Mini eggs, oh do, please STAY!
All year round, don't go away
you're only here once a year,
even Santa sheds a tear.
You're better than Christmas,
better than fall
You make Easter
a time for all.
Forget Thanksgiving, forget them all
I just want mini eggs, mini eggs, mini eggs DAMMIT!

Why won't retailers understand?
Why don't we mini eggs lovers take a stand?
We demand them January through,
If you're a mini egg lover, join the crew!

I eat mini eggs by the cup,
I'd eat mini eggs beside a putz.
I eat mini eggs by the fistful,
I'd eat mini eggs in a thistle.
I eat mini eggs by the bag,
I'd eat mini eggs with a colostomy bag.
I eat mini eggs by the truck,
I'd eat mini eggs while I duck, under a short, bridge.

Mini eggs while walking,
mini eggs while stopping,
mini eggs while driving,
mini eggs while texting,
mini eggs, mini eggs, all while expecting.

Mini eggs on the carpet,
mini eggs behind the couch,
mini eggs under the car seat,
All are mini eggs, I'd still eat, no doubt!

Mini eggs are a wonderous thing,
I’d wear mini eggs (and then eat them) as rapper bling.
Mini eggs are so simple...
it’s easier to enjoy than popping a pimple.
I love mini eggs, night and day,
I love mini eggs more than anything, I’d say.

Mini eggs, I won’t share.
Get your own mini eggs, I declare!
Mini eggs, mini eggs all day long,
mini eggs, mini eggs, I’d write a song.
I meant what I said,
I said what I meant
I love mini eggs,
Two thousand percent.

Amen.