My confession: Lately I've been thinking that my mom is so sick because I was too lucky. Like, I have had such a nice life - amazing parents, easy childhood, got to go to good schools, travel, have a beautiful wedding. Have a great extended family, two beautiful children - I've never faced any real adversity. So maybe losing my mom is payback. I know this is incredibly self-centered. I also feel horribly guilty because I feel like I've inflicted this on my mom, and dad, and sisters.
We had a shitty time visiting DHs family and DH and I are both disappointed that we wasted our PTO. We did make arrangements with our favorite cousins to do Thanksgiving with just our two families. DHs parents will be pissed when they find out but I'm gleefully shopping for a cabin in Pigeon Forge this week.
One time I had a boob hair. Not a nipple hair, a BOOB hair. And we were out at a friend's graduation party, and I was wearing a low-ish cut dress, and Thor thought it was a cat hair, and then he realized it was GROWING OUT OF MY DAMN BOOB, and his eyes got real big, and I could tell he was debating whether or not to tease me, and I looked at him with murder in my eyes, and said (through clenched teeth), "Yeah. It's fucking attached. If you know what's good for you, you'll shut up and never mention it again."
He shut up and never mentioned it again. It's rare that I get a tone, but when I do, it's scary.
Confession (possibly flameful?): H sometimes plucks my boob hairs for me.
why can't you pluck it?
I try my best to avoid having my H see the couple of really intense boob-hair that show up, you know, keep the mystery and all that LOL
Because it hurts? Same reason I get my eyebrows waxed instead of doing it myself. I don't like causing myself pain. If we're laying around and H notices k one he'll lean over and pluck it out for me.
It's natural to look for meaning or order in things, especially tragedy. I keep thinking about how I named Joanna after my grandma, and how my dad also had Scott in his name, and now both of them are dead. Or, I was always worried about curbing racist comments from family members around J, and now the people who were most likely to say them are gone. Like it is somehow my fault that they are gone.
Post by deanlicker78 on Jul 9, 2013 14:42:47 GMT -5
My MIL left her cake plate over here since she made SD's birthday cake. It was covered in frosting and I was being petty and refusing to wash it. The cats got in the kitchen yesterday and went to town on the plate (yes, I know frosting is probably bad for them). H and I were having a bit of an argument and we didn't notice. Then the enormously fat pregnant cat that we rescued jumped on the counter and as H and I turned toward the noise the fat cat knocked the plate off the counter. H did this slow motion attempt to catch the plate but he was too far away. I was right there and I just kind of watched it fall. She really loves that plate. I had this thought process "I should maybe, probably try and catch tha..... whoops, too late."
I don't think that had H not been in the room when it happened that he would believe the cats broke his mom's plate. This annoys me. Hell is going to come knocking when she finds out her cake plate is broken.
I bought my dog one of those Kong toys. We somehow managed to start calling it a bong. I'll tell the dog "Bring me your bong" and H and I laugh over it. We're weird
Anyway, I went to PetSmart today to get her a new one. I went right up to the clerk and said "Can you tell me where you keep the bongs?"
YES! She told me basically I need to lose weight, be happy, eat clean and I should just pop up pregnant. Nevermind the endo, blocked tube, short luteal phase and sperm issues.
I've been wanting to tell this story for a while, but didn't have a place for it.
I have a little jar on the sink next to the toilet with tweezers, small scissors, and a needle in it. Its my body hair jar. H has never touched anything in my special jar. I never told him what I used it for because he never asked. Friday night my scissors were sitting on his desk. I asked him what he was using them for and he replies "I've been cutting my pills in half with them, they're the perfect size." My eyes got huge and he asks WHAT WHAT!?! and I say "Those are my pube scissors..." He screamed like a girl and threw them across the room! Then Sunday night he's sitting on the couch plucking his nose hairs (YUCK!) and I said "Were those out of my little jar?" he says yes and I just start laughing. He got so mad and said "THESE ARE PUBE TWEEZERS?!? OMIGOD!!" and stomped up the stairs and slammed them down into my little jar. He'll never touch anything in my little jar again. lololol
Laser hair removal. How much? How long does it take? How painful?
Go for the Groupons. You'll save hundreds.
Depends on what area you're doing and a bunch of other factors. You can't do it if you're at all tan, or planning to be tan, or were tan less than 4 weeks ago, so I'm stunted for the summer. It's something best done from November - April.
Pain also depends on the area. Lip and chin? No sweat. Brazilian bikini? Ow.
It's natural to look for meaning or order in things, especially tragedy. I keep thinking about how I named Joanna after my grandma, and how my dad also had Scott in his name, and now both of them are dead. Or, I was always worried about curbing racist comments from family members around J, and now the people who were most likely to say them are gone. Like it is somehow my fault that they are gone.
Its totally normal to think this way, even if it is not a great idea. When my Mom died, part of me thought it was that she was "taking" my husband's "place," if you will, like, one of them had to go, and it was somehow decided by the heavens that it would be her. I know it makes no sense. I had to remind myself that I am not nearly that important to the universe.
I have a handicap license plate. DS likes to throw epic tantrums, and at age 5 and 40 lbs, it's fucking hard to drag him from the store all the way to the BFE parking spaces. I told his doc about this, he filled out the paperwork for us to get the plate.
If that isn't flameful enough, I sometimes use handicap parking even when DS isn't with me.
Should I call the fire dept. for the flames that will be coming?
You're only allowed to use the handicapped plate if you are training for a marathon.
I have a handicap license plate. DS likes to throw epic tantrums, and at age 5 and 40 lbs, it's fucking hard to drag him from the store all the way to the BFE parking spaces. I told his doc about this, he filled out the paperwork for us to get the plate.
If that isn't flameful enough, I sometimes use handicap parking even when DS isn't with me.
Should I call the fire dept. for the flames that will be coming?
so your doctor got you a handicapped tag because your kid has tantrums? Is there something more to this or just tantrums?
We have to do this. All stair entries to other floors are locked with special key codes. You can go down the stairs to the lobby and you can only enter your own floor from the stairs. Dumb.
My MIL left her cake plate over here since she made SD's birthday cake. It was covered in frosting and I was being petty and refusing to wash it. The cats got in the kitchen yesterday and went to town on the plate (yes, I know frosting is probably bad for them). H and I were having a bit of an argument and we didn't notice. Then the enormously fat pregnant cat that we rescued jumped on the counter and as H and I turned toward the noise the fat cat knocked the plate off the counter. H did this slow motion attempt to catch the plate but he was too far away. I was right there and I just kind of watched it fall. She really loves that plate. I had this thought process "I should maybe, probably try and catch tha..... whoops, too late."
I don't think that had H not been in the room when it happened that he would believe the cats broke his mom's plate. This annoys me. Hell is going to come knocking when she finds out her cake plate is broken.
Dude, the conversation goes as follows:
"So, MIL, we treated your plate with all the respect you treated our daughter's emotional well being. In short, we broke it into pieces. Thanks for the cake!"
We have to do this. All stair entries to other floors are locked with special key codes. You can go down the stairs to the lobby and you can only enter your own floor from the stairs. Dumb.
I have a handicap license plate. DS likes to throw epic tantrums, and at age 5 and 40 lbs, it's fucking hard to drag him from the store all the way to the BFE parking spaces. I told his doc about this, he filled out the paperwork for us to get the plate.
If that isn't flameful enough, I sometimes use handicap parking even when DS isn't with me.
Should I call the fire dept. for the flames that will be coming?