I'm sitting in bed, Brodie sprawled out in the Bee's usual spot and Kingsley at my feet. It rained last night, I can see out the window. I didn't sleep very well but don't chalk that up to the rain. No, I didn't sleep very well because the Bee didn't sleep very well. And because we don't have one of those Swedish-spaceman-wonder-material Tempur-pedic matresses - you know, the one where one person can breakdance and the other can sleep with a glass of wine balanced on their forehead - I felt every time he rolled over to get out of bed. Which was often. When the Bee doesn't sleep well it makes for an especially long day for him and an even longer day for those around him. I pity those stuck in the tunnel with him today at work.
So I'm tired today too. Tired but not grumpy.
Yesterday didn't turn out to be as fabulous as I'd anticipated. But maybe I set my expectations too high? In spite of my good mood and the great weather, I wasn't able to find my motivation to do much of anything. I looked up and saw that it was nearly 1 pm - at that point I'd barely moved from the sofa. I was grungy, Little Man was still grungy, I hadn't Shredded or eaten or anything. The day just sort of got away from me. I found myself running to get things done so that it appeared that I'd accomplished something when the Bee got home from work. I hurried up and popped in the Nazi's DVD and Shredded my way through level two, only to end up with an oddly swollen knee and quite a bit of pain. Damn you, Jillian Michaels! Damn you!
I iced it and took some Advil; by early evening it was feeling significantly better, especially in comparison to the ankle I rolled while limping my gimp ass up the stairs, not able to walk correctly because of my bum knee. But this morning I'm having hardly any pain - things seem to be back to normal. So here in a few minutes I'll tie on my tennis shoes and try again. I was kind of hoping that taking a day off would help relieve the pain in my knees. I don't know if the pain comes from the weight or the exercise; I guess I'll just keep going until the answer makes itself clear. Obviously, if I continue the exercise and lose the weight and find that my knees don't hurt - then it was the weight causing the pain. If after continuing the exercise and losing the weight, my knees still hurt, well, then it's the stupid exercise that caused the pain and I'll sue Horse Face for all she's got. (Which would be a good plan except for that huge fine-print message at the beginning of the workout that basically says, "If this causes you pain, knock it off. If this causes you pain and you don't stop, we're not responsible for your injuries, dumb ass.")
I did set up two interviews for this coming Monday. Both are with temp agencies. I was sort of depressed about this until I realized that my interest in any job they offered would be temporary at best, fleeting at worst. I have no long-term career goals anyway; maybe I shouldn't be looking for long-term work?
Interviewer: "SuperJanel, what is your short-term career goal?"
SuperJanel: "Get paid."
Interviewer: "Oh. And your long-term goal?"
SuperJanel: "Don't get fired."
When I started the interview process at Giant Conglomerate Bank, I knew from someone that worked there that they often gave away gaming consoles and trips and money as incentive prizes for people to come to work and do their jobs. So when the HR rep that called me asked why I wanted to work there, I was pretty honest: "I want a Nintendo Wii." And I STILL got hired. But I never won a Wii. Which I probably should have put on my exit interview paperwork as the main reason I left. Oh, wait. I never went to the exit interview. But that's because I was never asked to go to an exit interview, the bastards. I wouldn't have gone anyway, but still, it would have been nice to have been invited.
Oh well. It's now 7:32 in the a.m. I've got to go take my daily beating before I shower and head to Chubby Kids for my weekly session of public humilation.
"Thank you, Jillian. May I have another?"
30 July 2009
29 July 2009
Oh happy day!
Today is going to be a good day. I can just feel it.
It's Wednesday, hump day. Doesn't that just sound dirty? I mean, I know that the hump is referring to the middle of the week and not camels or, you know... I guess it's just the third grader in me that giggles whenever I hear the phrase "hump day."
I just woke up in a good mood this morning. And that usually makes for good days. It's sunny outside, warm but not hot, clear skies - all that makes for good days too. Maybe later I'll round up the MiniBee and we'll go for a walk. (Round him up - duh. Like I don't know where he is at all times...)
Want to know who is not having a good day?
Jailbird Kingsley
Kingsley. Kingsley is not having a good day. Kingsley decided very early on that he was going to be a jerk today. He's usually obnoxious in the morning - it's like he's so excited to be awake he can't help it. He runs up and down the stairs, off the sofa and back again - and I generally don't mind nor do I get in his way. But this morning he added a new facet to the routine and started barking, right in Brodie's face. Not cool, Pootie. Not cool at all. Now Pootie is in puppy prison, for at least part of the day.
So I guess it's not universally a good day. Good day for SuperJanel? Indeed. Good day for Pootie? Not so much. Good day for Brodie? It's always a good day for Brodie; this kid hardly ever has a bad day. Good day for the Bee? I'm not sure; he's always grumpy in the morning and that makes it hard to tell. Good day for that Harvard professor and the cop that arrested him? Not today but tomorrow they're getting drunk with the Prez, how can that be a bad day? Good day for Brett Favre (Faaaahhv-re)? Eh, probably not, he's staying retired. But ask him tomorrow, you never know.
Anyway.
Yesterday, I did not Shred. I did not do anything. (I feel like Dr. Seuss here. "I will not eat green ham on a train, I will not eat green ham on a plane...") Mega-Nazi bizzo Jillian finally won - she strained my left knee to the point of no motion. I felt extremely lazy and my appetite was out of control. You know, I'm not sure if no exercise and a ravenous appetite are related, especially in such a short amount of time, but it weighs heavily enough on my mind that even a false connection stands as a great motivator. Exercise = no cravings = less food = fewer calories = losing pounds = successful weigh-in at Chubby Kids. Although really, I could break that down to exercise = successful weigh-in at Chubby Kids and save myself a lot of time and thinking. So today I will Shred. And probably go for a walk. If the dog isn't still in doggie jail this evening I'll take him out for a long walk; he's a good walking buddy. Definitely more entertaining than most people I know.Did I tell you Brodie's exciting news? He rolled over on Sunday morning. I'm pretty sure the crying that ensued was due to my excitement and yelling, not the act of rolling over. I didn't even get a picture, I was so busy clapping and screaming. It wasn't the most graceful movement but it was definitely a roll over. He's getting so big! Then Monday night was our first night of rice cereal. He's had cereal in his bottle before (he used to really enjoy it and then he started refusing his cereal bottles, I'm not sure why) but this was his first time with cereal from a spoon. And I consider the entire operation a success - more cereal stayed in his mouth than came back out. And he slept like a rock that night and pooped twice the next day. Go Brodie go! Last night he fell asleep just as the six o' clock news came on because he didn't nap all day and stayed asleep until 3:30 this morning. His schedule will be a little off today but we ought to be better by tonight. He's getting to the age where he's really a lot of fun. I get to watch him experience things for the first time - his facial expressions are priceless. He loves to talk and coo and laugh, especially at Mommy. He loves to give kisses and suck on his thumb and he really likes his bathtime. Being a mom is more than I ever thought it could be - I can't even put it into words.
One of Little Man's favorite places to be: his lights and sounds activity gym. Not that you can see the lights or hear the sounds; trust me, it lights up and makes noise.
Brodie's not quite sure what to think of rice cereal.
Brodie and Daddy hanging out. OMG, they look alike.
Grandma gave Little Man some vanilla pudding. :)
And now I'm off to get busy. I have to Shred and give MiniBee a bath and take the dog out and pick up yard bombs and feed the baby (after I wash my hands, of course). So much to do, I'm so very busy.
Ha.
25 July 2009
Do you hear that?
It's completely quiet here this morning. Well, completely quiet except for the dog tipping over the trashcan in the bathroom and the ceiling fan and the neighbor's kids are screaming. But it's still pretty quiet. No lullabies, no mobiles, no baby cooing, no drill sergeant Jillian Michaels... It's nice and quiet.
It's just me and Pootie home this morning. The Bee and the MiniBee took off for his cousin's house early and left me home alone. I feel weird, like there's something I should be doing but I'm not sure what it is. I did my Shred this morning (day 11 - woot!) and then went for a bike ride, came home, talked to my momma, made some breakfast and now I just don't know what to do with myself. I miss the MiniBee (and the big Bee too, lol). I've never sent him out to play with Daddy before - I'm a little nervous. But I'm sure they're fine.
I fell off the Chubby Kids wagon hard last night, to the tune of beer and martinis and pizza and ice cream cake. I guess that's what weekly points are for but holy cow. I can't be doing that very often. It was Mark's birthday and we all got together at West Glen to celebrate. We ate at Graze; I'd never been there before. Their menu is all appetizers, which is kind of different, but all so very good. Remember that I said the Bee would never eat ground chicken? I lied. If I could make ground chicken taste like the Food Guru makes ground chicken taste, we'd eat it all the time. Freaking amazing.
How does one get the moniker of "Food Guru" anyway? I want to be a "Something Guru" where something is replaced with something awesome, like food. What kind of guru could I be? How about a cheese guru? Or a waffle guru, I do like me some waffles. Although Chubby Kids has pretty much done away with my enjoyment of most cheeses and waffles, unless you count the 2% cheese I've been eating (which is SO not the same; cheese should not bounce like Jell-O) or the Eggo Nutri-Grain Low-Fat waffles I heat up in the toaster (which pretty much suck but aren't as many points as toast). Some days I just miss food. And then I think about the weight that I've lost and where I'd like to be (in terms of pounds, not location) and I can hear my mom's voice: "There is always another pizza." I have moments where I'd like to stick a virtual sock in my virtual mom's mouth and eat the damn pizza but mostly I just resign myself to eating half-ass cheese and cardboard waffles because that's what the Mega-Nazi Jillian would want me to do.
I have nightmares about that woman. *Shudder.*
Anyway. I'm going to go turn the radio up, clean my kitchen, maybe vaccuum and take a nice long shower. And then I'll wait for my baby to come home. :-)
It's just me and Pootie home this morning. The Bee and the MiniBee took off for his cousin's house early and left me home alone. I feel weird, like there's something I should be doing but I'm not sure what it is. I did my Shred this morning (day 11 - woot!) and then went for a bike ride, came home, talked to my momma, made some breakfast and now I just don't know what to do with myself. I miss the MiniBee (and the big Bee too, lol). I've never sent him out to play with Daddy before - I'm a little nervous. But I'm sure they're fine.
I fell off the Chubby Kids wagon hard last night, to the tune of beer and martinis and pizza and ice cream cake. I guess that's what weekly points are for but holy cow. I can't be doing that very often. It was Mark's birthday and we all got together at West Glen to celebrate. We ate at Graze; I'd never been there before. Their menu is all appetizers, which is kind of different, but all so very good. Remember that I said the Bee would never eat ground chicken? I lied. If I could make ground chicken taste like the Food Guru makes ground chicken taste, we'd eat it all the time. Freaking amazing.
How does one get the moniker of "Food Guru" anyway? I want to be a "Something Guru" where something is replaced with something awesome, like food. What kind of guru could I be? How about a cheese guru? Or a waffle guru, I do like me some waffles. Although Chubby Kids has pretty much done away with my enjoyment of most cheeses and waffles, unless you count the 2% cheese I've been eating (which is SO not the same; cheese should not bounce like Jell-O) or the Eggo Nutri-Grain Low-Fat waffles I heat up in the toaster (which pretty much suck but aren't as many points as toast). Some days I just miss food. And then I think about the weight that I've lost and where I'd like to be (in terms of pounds, not location) and I can hear my mom's voice: "There is always another pizza." I have moments where I'd like to stick a virtual sock in my virtual mom's mouth and eat the damn pizza but mostly I just resign myself to eating half-ass cheese and cardboard waffles because that's what the Mega-Nazi Jillian would want me to do.
I have nightmares about that woman. *Shudder.*
Anyway. I'm going to go turn the radio up, clean my kitchen, maybe vaccuum and take a nice long shower. And then I'll wait for my baby to come home. :-)
23 July 2009
It's Thursday, I got nothing
I have to give credit where credit is due. I have to thank Jillian Michaels' for her hand in this week's spectacular weight loss at Chubby Kids - I lost 3.8 pounds. I haven't done much different as far as my eating habits or my points so unfortunately it seems that exercising in her stupid little six-minute circuits seems to be doing the trick.
Hey, I just said I had to thank her. I didn't say I had to be nice to her. She may have aided in my weight loss this week but she's still a horse face bizzo that sucks the fun out of my mornings.
I took Pootie with me to Dairy Queen tonight. And before you all start calling me a big hypocrite for going to Chubby Kids and Dairy Queen all in the same day, I had a slushie, damn it. Back off. (LAY OFF ME, I'M STARVING.) But the great thing about driving around with the Pootie is watching him stick his head out the window. His cheeks flap in the wind and his tongue hangs out and looks all funny. It's great. If I weren't busy driving and balancing my slushie and the Bee's Blizzard, I'd have tried for a picture. Alas, it was not to be. Maybe next time.
The Bee and I have been at each other's throats all week. He's stressing about money and tired from work; I'm stressing about finding a job and started that stupid Shred DVD. We're both cranky and pissy and just plain mad about life in general; the only thing we can agree on is that MiniBee is awesome. Except for when he poops beside his diaper and not in his diaper; we pretty much agreed that that was not awesome. By the time that was over we were all covered in crap and Brodie was the only one happy about it. I still don't know how that works exactly but that's what happened.
Anyway. I'm tired of complaining and just plain tired in general. MiniBee is down for the night; I think I'm going to turn in early.
Hey, I just said I had to thank her. I didn't say I had to be nice to her. She may have aided in my weight loss this week but she's still a horse face bizzo that sucks the fun out of my mornings.
I took Pootie with me to Dairy Queen tonight. And before you all start calling me a big hypocrite for going to Chubby Kids and Dairy Queen all in the same day, I had a slushie, damn it. Back off. (LAY OFF ME, I'M STARVING.) But the great thing about driving around with the Pootie is watching him stick his head out the window. His cheeks flap in the wind and his tongue hangs out and looks all funny. It's great. If I weren't busy driving and balancing my slushie and the Bee's Blizzard, I'd have tried for a picture. Alas, it was not to be. Maybe next time.
The Bee and I have been at each other's throats all week. He's stressing about money and tired from work; I'm stressing about finding a job and started that stupid Shred DVD. We're both cranky and pissy and just plain mad about life in general; the only thing we can agree on is that MiniBee is awesome. Except for when he poops beside his diaper and not in his diaper; we pretty much agreed that that was not awesome. By the time that was over we were all covered in crap and Brodie was the only one happy about it. I still don't know how that works exactly but that's what happened.
Anyway. I'm tired of complaining and just plain tired in general. MiniBee is down for the night; I think I'm going to turn in early.
21 July 2009
I never thought I'd say this...
It's time to go back to work.
Do you have any idea how much I hate saying that? It goes against every fiber of my being to admit that I need to get out of the house and go to work. Obviously, there are financial benefits to working, like being able to pay our bills. But secondly, and almost as important, I need a little interaction. Don't get me wrong, Brodie is absolutely fascinating. But he's not much of a conversationalist. (Yet, anyway. I have a feeling one day he'll open his mouth to start talking and won't ever be quiet again.) I spend the majority of my days reciting nursery rhymes, making bottles, washing nipples, folding laundry, and harvesting my Facebook farm. It's an enviable life, I suppose, but I'm starting to get bored. Which is why I'm saying it's time to go back to work.
I'm actually kind of disappointed that I'm not cut out to be a stay-at-home mom. I thought I'd be good at this. And maybe I'd be better at it if we didn't have the financial stress that we have right now. I love being home with Brodie, I really do. But I feel guilty for not working, for not helping provide for the household and for putting that kind of pressure on the Bee.
The problem is that I find work just as boring as being at home. I've had a bazillion jobs and only really enjoyed maybe two of them. It used to be the topic of many a humorous tête-à-tête that I'm truly a jack of all trades and a master of none until I realized that I don't really find it that funny. If I were to be honest while writing my resume not only would it be about 9 pages long and have only three solid references (two of which are family), it'd be incredibly depressing. I mean, do you know anyone - other than me - who's had more jobs than she is years old? Think about that - I might as well hand a potential employer a piece of paper that says, "Don't hire me. I'm flaky, irresponsible and suffer from an adult onset of attention deficit/hyperactivity disorder, self diagnosed. Please save both of us the time and effort and turn me down for [insert job title here] immediately." But, in spite of a fantastic job record and an equally impressive attitude, I keep plugging away, applying for this and that, here and there, under the guise that someone will eventually bite.
Ugh. I'm tired of stressing about this. I'm going to talk about something else now...
Today is Day 7 of Jillian Michaels' 30-Day Shred. Cheesalicious as this might sound, I actually can feel myself getting stronger. I can do push ups now. Not very many of them and I'm sure my form is pathetic but it's more than I could do a week ago. I still hate jumping jacks and I think her bicycle crunches are the stuff of Satan but I have to admit it's doing something for me. If I can do this anyone can do this. I'm as uncoordinated and unfit as they come. Plus I have a baby that giggles at me, a dog that won't leave me alone when I lie on the floor and green beans for hand weights. (I still haven't broken down and bought actual weights - I should probably do that sometime soon.) I'm still out of range of a Presidential Fitness Award but I do sense improvement. And I guess that's the point.
I'm making Blue Cheese Burgers for dinner tonight. Well, the Bee is making Blue Cheese Burgers for dinner tonight - he's the grill master of the house. I refuse to use the grill, it's a charcoal grill and I've seen him come inside too many times reeking of gasoline and burnt hair. Anyway. The recipe calls for ground chicken but I know I'll never get the Bee to eat ground chicken burgers. So we're making our burgers with hamburger instead. But I suppose I should get off the computer and get myself cleaned up and get to the store. I need a shower, the baby needs a bath, the Pootie needs to go outside. Things to do, things to do...
Do you have any idea how much I hate saying that? It goes against every fiber of my being to admit that I need to get out of the house and go to work. Obviously, there are financial benefits to working, like being able to pay our bills. But secondly, and almost as important, I need a little interaction. Don't get me wrong, Brodie is absolutely fascinating. But he's not much of a conversationalist. (Yet, anyway. I have a feeling one day he'll open his mouth to start talking and won't ever be quiet again.) I spend the majority of my days reciting nursery rhymes, making bottles, washing nipples, folding laundry, and harvesting my Facebook farm. It's an enviable life, I suppose, but I'm starting to get bored. Which is why I'm saying it's time to go back to work.
I'm actually kind of disappointed that I'm not cut out to be a stay-at-home mom. I thought I'd be good at this. And maybe I'd be better at it if we didn't have the financial stress that we have right now. I love being home with Brodie, I really do. But I feel guilty for not working, for not helping provide for the household and for putting that kind of pressure on the Bee.
The problem is that I find work just as boring as being at home. I've had a bazillion jobs and only really enjoyed maybe two of them. It used to be the topic of many a humorous tête-à-tête that I'm truly a jack of all trades and a master of none until I realized that I don't really find it that funny. If I were to be honest while writing my resume not only would it be about 9 pages long and have only three solid references (two of which are family), it'd be incredibly depressing. I mean, do you know anyone - other than me - who's had more jobs than she is years old? Think about that - I might as well hand a potential employer a piece of paper that says, "Don't hire me. I'm flaky, irresponsible and suffer from an adult onset of attention deficit/hyperactivity disorder, self diagnosed. Please save both of us the time and effort and turn me down for [insert job title here] immediately." But, in spite of a fantastic job record and an equally impressive attitude, I keep plugging away, applying for this and that, here and there, under the guise that someone will eventually bite.
Ugh. I'm tired of stressing about this. I'm going to talk about something else now...
Today is Day 7 of Jillian Michaels' 30-Day Shred. Cheesalicious as this might sound, I actually can feel myself getting stronger. I can do push ups now. Not very many of them and I'm sure my form is pathetic but it's more than I could do a week ago. I still hate jumping jacks and I think her bicycle crunches are the stuff of Satan but I have to admit it's doing something for me. If I can do this anyone can do this. I'm as uncoordinated and unfit as they come. Plus I have a baby that giggles at me, a dog that won't leave me alone when I lie on the floor and green beans for hand weights. (I still haven't broken down and bought actual weights - I should probably do that sometime soon.) I'm still out of range of a Presidential Fitness Award but I do sense improvement. And I guess that's the point.
I'm making Blue Cheese Burgers for dinner tonight. Well, the Bee is making Blue Cheese Burgers for dinner tonight - he's the grill master of the house. I refuse to use the grill, it's a charcoal grill and I've seen him come inside too many times reeking of gasoline and burnt hair. Anyway. The recipe calls for ground chicken but I know I'll never get the Bee to eat ground chicken burgers. So we're making our burgers with hamburger instead. But I suppose I should get off the computer and get myself cleaned up and get to the store. I need a shower, the baby needs a bath, the Pootie needs to go outside. Things to do, things to do...
18 July 2009
What the hell happened to the driveway?
The Bee is cheap. (Well, about some things.) It's one of his more endearing qualities.
"What are you buying? Well, I heard we can save four cents if we drive across town and buy 17 of them..."
I've learned that the best way to deal with him is to indulge him on occasion.
"Really? If we buy 26 rolls of paper towels they're only $2.24 instead of $2.29? That's a heck of deal!"
Never mind that we rarely have room for 26 rolls of paper towels, the giant 50-pound bag of dog food, the 1,380-cup industrial size canister of coffee. That's just a technicality. We will expend the energy to live around whatever it is we can get on sale just to save a few bucks.
Prime example: Right now, the Bee is out in the driveway changing the oil in his truck. We had to spend $61 to buy the supplies to change the oil, not to mention the kitty litter we have to buy to sop up the puddle of spilled oil in the driveway, the shirt that was ruined in the removal of an oil filter and decimation of the neighbor's tools (because when the job is messy, it's better to use someone else's stuff and not your own).
All to save $19.95.
And then there are things the Bee is not cheap about. Like bacon. The Bee will not buy cheap bacon. We can't buy whatever bacon is on sale, we have to buy the $7 package of bacon, because expensive bacon is obviously better. I don't know. I just nod and smile and say, "Okay," because it's easier than the argument that ensues if I don't.
The sacrifices we make for relationships.
"What are you buying? Well, I heard we can save four cents if we drive across town and buy 17 of them..."
I've learned that the best way to deal with him is to indulge him on occasion.
"Really? If we buy 26 rolls of paper towels they're only $2.24 instead of $2.29? That's a heck of deal!"
Never mind that we rarely have room for 26 rolls of paper towels, the giant 50-pound bag of dog food, the 1,380-cup industrial size canister of coffee. That's just a technicality. We will expend the energy to live around whatever it is we can get on sale just to save a few bucks.
Prime example: Right now, the Bee is out in the driveway changing the oil in his truck. We had to spend $61 to buy the supplies to change the oil, not to mention the kitty litter we have to buy to sop up the puddle of spilled oil in the driveway, the shirt that was ruined in the removal of an oil filter and decimation of the neighbor's tools (because when the job is messy, it's better to use someone else's stuff and not your own).
All to save $19.95.
And then there are things the Bee is not cheap about. Like bacon. The Bee will not buy cheap bacon. We can't buy whatever bacon is on sale, we have to buy the $7 package of bacon, because expensive bacon is obviously better. I don't know. I just nod and smile and say, "Okay," because it's easier than the argument that ensues if I don't.
The sacrifices we make for relationships.
15 July 2009
Day 1: Complete
I hate Jillian Michaels. If I could find the receipt, I'd take this DVD back. She makes me feel fat and flabby and she has horse teeth. I hurt in places I didn't know I could hurt, although I think that means that there are still some muscles under all my extra weight.
I shredded today. I jumping jacked and push-upped and lunged my way around the living room (as much as someone of my stature can do, anyway), stepping over the dog and ducking out of the way of the ceiling fan when necessary. I looked like a damn fool and felt pretty stupid too. Jillian is a no-break-taking, 20-minute workout Nazi and she'd roll my ass if she saw the lackadaisical approach I was taking to her shred. I wasn't even using real hand weights, I was using green beans. (She ought to be thankful for that. If I were using real hand weights I'd have chucked those SOB's through the tv. She's lucky; I won't waste green beans.)
But I figure, some shred is better than no shred and if it turns into 60 days (or 90 or 120 or 733 days), what's the harm? It's more than I did yesterday (hell, it's more than I did all last week) and if I stick to my Chubby Kids and keep walking the dog, it's definitely an improvement. I asked the Bee if he wanted to shred with me. He laughed. But after having done this I realize that our living room floor probably couldn't take the both of us doing jumping jacks at the same time. Oh well. He'll be jealous soon enough.
I'm going to go collapse now.
I shredded today. I jumping jacked and push-upped and lunged my way around the living room (as much as someone of my stature can do, anyway), stepping over the dog and ducking out of the way of the ceiling fan when necessary. I looked like a damn fool and felt pretty stupid too. Jillian is a no-break-taking, 20-minute workout Nazi and she'd roll my ass if she saw the lackadaisical approach I was taking to her shred. I wasn't even using real hand weights, I was using green beans. (She ought to be thankful for that. If I were using real hand weights I'd have chucked those SOB's through the tv. She's lucky; I won't waste green beans.)
But I figure, some shred is better than no shred and if it turns into 60 days (or 90 or 120 or 733 days), what's the harm? It's more than I did yesterday (hell, it's more than I did all last week) and if I stick to my Chubby Kids and keep walking the dog, it's definitely an improvement. I asked the Bee if he wanted to shred with me. He laughed. But after having done this I realize that our living room floor probably couldn't take the both of us doing jumping jacks at the same time. Oh well. He'll be jealous soon enough.
I'm going to go collapse now.
14 July 2009
SuperJanel enters stage right
I'm waiting for my coffee to kick in before I really get my day started. I hate coffee. I hate the way it tastes. But I've found that with a lot of ice (and a fair amount of fat-free French vanilla creamer) it doesn't taste like coffee but I still get the coffee drinker's energy boost. Plus, there are no points in coffee or fat-free creamer. Bottoms up.
It's grey outside today and supposed to rain. I love summer storms. But it makes it hard to do much with Mini Bee when it's pouring outside. I don't have much to do today: we're going to lunch with Mom and I have to go to Target and the post office, blah blah blah... My one goal is to track down "Jillian Michaels' 30 Day Shred." After listening to the testimonial given by my best good friend Libbeth (who has never been one for exercise) and reading the testimonial of Benjamin's mommy (who claims to have zero willpower) I figure the least I can do is give it a try. Especially since it's on sale at Target this week. The other thing I have to do is track down a cute lamp for Mini Bee's room - I decided last night after about breaking my neck, tripping over the fan, that we need a better source of light. Plus I'm only a mediocre diaper-changer in broad daylight - in the dark I tend to put diapers on backwards. Poor Mini Bee.
Kingsley came home from Grandpa Donnie's Doggie Day Camp this weekend. Did I tell you that already? I think I did. But after spending the day with him yesterday I think he's depressed. Or maybe he's just really tired. He spent all day yesterday and all of this morning so far just sleeping. I did take him for a lo-o-o-o-o-ong walk last night; it's a good excuse for me to get out of the house and clear my head. Plus he just loves to walk. One thing he learned at day camp was how to properly walk on a leash, sort of. As long as there are no other dogs, people, kids, bicycles, roller bladers, strollers, cars, motorcycles, trees (do you see where I'm going with this?) within a 50-foot radius of the Pootie on his leash, he's great. The rest of the time I have to keep him reeled in.
Between Pootie and a nearly 14-pound Mini Bee (and Jillian Michaels) I am going to have super buff arms by the end of the summer.
So yesterday I had a job interview. It's hard to judge how those things go. Short of being hired on the spot or being forcibly removed by security, you really have no idea what kind of impression you leave on people. I went to a local Chevrolet dealership to interview for an F&I position. And for those of you that don't know what F&I is, it's the person in the dealership that no one really wants to talk to - it's the person that makes you pay. You either have to hand them a check or hand them your personal information so they can judge your financial history and stability. Either way, the F&I person is never too popular. And they're usually pretty crabby, because they're surrounded by idiot customers that have no idea how the car buying process really works and they're required by management to be at work about 900 hours a week. However, the F&I person generally makes pretty good money which makes being disliked (and a crappy work environment) a little easier.
Anyway, my interview went like this (paraphrased but definitely not embellished for entertainment purposes, of course):
Scene: A sleek, modern car dealership, full of natural light and glass offices - I like to refer to those as people aquariums. Enter Interview Guy, a lifelong slick city car dealer with the hair to match, wearing perfectly pleated khaki pants and a moderate scowl. He greets Superjanel, wearing the only pre-pregnancy pants that (almost) fit, a head-full of massive and unruly curly hair and a big orange Swatch watch. (Hey, love me or leave me, I yam what I yam.) They walk to his particular people aquarium; he ushers her to sit in a straight back wooden chair with leather wrist cuffs attached to the arms while he wanders around his seven acre desk to sit on a throne of silk and satin throw pillows in various jewel tone colors. There is a young woman holding a fern fan and a plate of grapes in the corner and an Irishman in a kilt playing the bagpipes near the window.
Interview Guy: "So why did you leave your last job?"
SuperJanel: "I didn't leave, I escaped. I was a cog in the machine of Giant Conglomerate Bank. I busted outta there, broke outta my chains, took as many people as I could with me, all the while screaming 'This way to freedom! Follow me if you want to be free!' But I kept my parking pass, the bastards. I showed them. WOOT."
Interview Guy: "...?"
SuperJanel: "Okay, so yeah, I had a baby."
Interview Guy: "Um, yeah. That concerns me."
SuperJanel: "Me too. I don't want to work 900 hours a week. I'd like to see my baby from time to time. Plus I get crabby when people expect too much from me. I don't really like people. Or work."
Interview Guy: "Then you don't want this job. And I can tell you that you don't want this other job; you're too smart and you'll get bored. Then you'll just leave and I'll be looking for another employee and that takes time. And my time is the most important thing in the world because I am the most important person in the world."
SuperJanel: "So..."
Interview Guy: "It's actually quite hard being me. I'm very important. I have many leather-bound books and my apartment smells of rich mahogany. I have to have my teeth bleached on a weekly basis and sleep in a tanning bed to maintain this John Bachman-like appearance."
[Note to readers: For those of you not familiar with WHO-TV, the NBC affiliate here in the Des Moines area, John Bachman is a 643-year-old television newsman, pumped full of formaldehyde and kept in a UV light radiation chamber when he's not on the air. He's like a local George Hamilton.]
SuperJanel: "Um..."
Interview Guy: "But I can see that you understand being awesome. Your resume, all 14-pages of it, and your references - both of them - speak volumes for your job stability, your intelligence and overall awesomeness. So let me tell you about this other position we have available..."
SuperJanel: [Zoned out, focusing solely on the large piece of lettuce in Interview Guy's teeth and silently agreeing that she is pretty freaking awesome]
Interview Guy: "...Let me get my office manager down here so she can bask in your awesomeness for a few minutes."
SuperJanel: "Let's get this show on the road."
And that's pretty much how it went, sort of. It's not the position I applied for, it's not even the position I interviewed for. But if it's meant to be, it will be. I'm not going to stress over it. I liked the place, I liked the people that I met. I actually went to school with one of the salespeople. ("Wait! ...a minute!") So I'm going to take the "wait and see" approach rather than the "run around like a chicken with my head cut off and my panties in a wad" approach.
Who knows where thoughts come from? They just appear.
Okay. I've obviously been caffeinated. I'm going to go get busy now.
It's grey outside today and supposed to rain. I love summer storms. But it makes it hard to do much with Mini Bee when it's pouring outside. I don't have much to do today: we're going to lunch with Mom and I have to go to Target and the post office, blah blah blah... My one goal is to track down "Jillian Michaels' 30 Day Shred." After listening to the testimonial given by my best good friend Libbeth (who has never been one for exercise) and reading the testimonial of Benjamin's mommy (who claims to have zero willpower) I figure the least I can do is give it a try. Especially since it's on sale at Target this week. The other thing I have to do is track down a cute lamp for Mini Bee's room - I decided last night after about breaking my neck, tripping over the fan, that we need a better source of light. Plus I'm only a mediocre diaper-changer in broad daylight - in the dark I tend to put diapers on backwards. Poor Mini Bee.
Kingsley came home from Grandpa Donnie's Doggie Day Camp this weekend. Did I tell you that already? I think I did. But after spending the day with him yesterday I think he's depressed. Or maybe he's just really tired. He spent all day yesterday and all of this morning so far just sleeping. I did take him for a lo-o-o-o-o-ong walk last night; it's a good excuse for me to get out of the house and clear my head. Plus he just loves to walk. One thing he learned at day camp was how to properly walk on a leash, sort of. As long as there are no other dogs, people, kids, bicycles, roller bladers, strollers, cars, motorcycles, trees (do you see where I'm going with this?) within a 50-foot radius of the Pootie on his leash, he's great. The rest of the time I have to keep him reeled in.
Between Pootie and a nearly 14-pound Mini Bee (and Jillian Michaels) I am going to have super buff arms by the end of the summer.
So yesterday I had a job interview. It's hard to judge how those things go. Short of being hired on the spot or being forcibly removed by security, you really have no idea what kind of impression you leave on people. I went to a local Chevrolet dealership to interview for an F&I position. And for those of you that don't know what F&I is, it's the person in the dealership that no one really wants to talk to - it's the person that makes you pay. You either have to hand them a check or hand them your personal information so they can judge your financial history and stability. Either way, the F&I person is never too popular. And they're usually pretty crabby, because they're surrounded by idiot customers that have no idea how the car buying process really works and they're required by management to be at work about 900 hours a week. However, the F&I person generally makes pretty good money which makes being disliked (and a crappy work environment) a little easier.
Anyway, my interview went like this (paraphrased but definitely not embellished for entertainment purposes, of course):
Scene: A sleek, modern car dealership, full of natural light and glass offices - I like to refer to those as people aquariums. Enter Interview Guy, a lifelong slick city car dealer with the hair to match, wearing perfectly pleated khaki pants and a moderate scowl. He greets Superjanel, wearing the only pre-pregnancy pants that (almost) fit, a head-full of massive and unruly curly hair and a big orange Swatch watch. (Hey, love me or leave me, I yam what I yam.) They walk to his particular people aquarium; he ushers her to sit in a straight back wooden chair with leather wrist cuffs attached to the arms while he wanders around his seven acre desk to sit on a throne of silk and satin throw pillows in various jewel tone colors. There is a young woman holding a fern fan and a plate of grapes in the corner and an Irishman in a kilt playing the bagpipes near the window.
Interview Guy: "So why did you leave your last job?"
SuperJanel: "I didn't leave, I escaped. I was a cog in the machine of Giant Conglomerate Bank. I busted outta there, broke outta my chains, took as many people as I could with me, all the while screaming 'This way to freedom! Follow me if you want to be free!' But I kept my parking pass, the bastards. I showed them. WOOT."
Interview Guy: "...?"
SuperJanel: "Okay, so yeah, I had a baby."
Interview Guy: "Um, yeah. That concerns me."
SuperJanel: "Me too. I don't want to work 900 hours a week. I'd like to see my baby from time to time. Plus I get crabby when people expect too much from me. I don't really like people. Or work."
Interview Guy: "Then you don't want this job. And I can tell you that you don't want this other job; you're too smart and you'll get bored. Then you'll just leave and I'll be looking for another employee and that takes time. And my time is the most important thing in the world because I am the most important person in the world."
SuperJanel: "So..."
Interview Guy: "It's actually quite hard being me. I'm very important. I have many leather-bound books and my apartment smells of rich mahogany. I have to have my teeth bleached on a weekly basis and sleep in a tanning bed to maintain this John Bachman-like appearance."
[Note to readers: For those of you not familiar with WHO-TV, the NBC affiliate here in the Des Moines area, John Bachman is a 643-year-old television newsman, pumped full of formaldehyde and kept in a UV light radiation chamber when he's not on the air. He's like a local George Hamilton.]
SuperJanel: "Um..."
Interview Guy: "But I can see that you understand being awesome. Your resume, all 14-pages of it, and your references - both of them - speak volumes for your job stability, your intelligence and overall awesomeness. So let me tell you about this other position we have available..."
SuperJanel: [Zoned out, focusing solely on the large piece of lettuce in Interview Guy's teeth and silently agreeing that she is pretty freaking awesome]
Interview Guy: "...Let me get my office manager down here so she can bask in your awesomeness for a few minutes."
SuperJanel: "Let's get this show on the road."
And that's pretty much how it went, sort of. It's not the position I applied for, it's not even the position I interviewed for. But if it's meant to be, it will be. I'm not going to stress over it. I liked the place, I liked the people that I met. I actually went to school with one of the salespeople. ("Wait! ...a minute!") So I'm going to take the "wait and see" approach rather than the "run around like a chicken with my head cut off and my panties in a wad" approach.
Who knows where thoughts come from? They just appear.
Okay. I've obviously been caffeinated. I'm going to go get busy now.
13 July 2009
Monday morning musings
The Mini-Bee is 10 weeks old today. He's been smiling all the time and cooing. He puts together a vowel and a consonent sound (ooh-ga, usually) and tries so hard to laugh - you can see it in his eyes when he's laughing - it won't be long before we hear him giggling. He hasn't rolled over yet but I think that has to do with the fact that he doesn't spend a lot of time on his tummy and hasn't developed those muscles. He's not a big fan of tummy time and I'm not a big fan of making him cry but we're working on it.
I have a job interview today. I'm nervous about this interview, more so than others I've been to. Does that mean that I want this job more than I want other jobs or does that mean it's been a long time between interviews and I'm just nervous about interviewing in general? I don't know. What I do know is that if I don't get a job soon I'm going to go bonkers. I'm in need of some adult conversation, some big people interaction. I find myself hanging out at Target, lingering in the laundry aisle, desperate to make conversation with random strangers.
No, not really. But it won't be long...
I should really lay off the coffee; I'm nervous enough as it is. If I keep up the coffee drinking I'll be Parkinson-ing my way through my meeting with my potential employer and then he won't want to hire me because I'm awesome, he'll hire me because I fulfill two minority categories - female and disabled AND I'm awesome.
The weekend was sort of a bust. The Bee and Mini-Bee and I went camping with the Bee's family. Again. For the second weekend in a row. And I was miserable. I couldn't sleep. I got attacked by a 12-pound mosquito and was surrounded by frogs and had a huge, sweaty, snoring Bee drooling on my shoulder in the 212% humidity all night. I didn't sleep at all. So Saturday morning I got up and declared that Mini-Bee and I were going home. I'd had enough. I was sweaty and itchy and frizzy and dirty and oh-so-tired. I was miserable and I was making people around me miserable and I wanted to go home. So we did. And you'd have thought I hauled off and kicked the Bee in the shins and broken his favorite toy given the look on his face. But he did have a good time, a much better time than he would have had with me there.
Pootie came home yesterday. I had to get him a new collar and it took an hour of scrubbing in the tub to get the kennel smell off of him, but he's home and seems to be happy. Is his attitude any better? Eh... He still doesn't listen for crap but he seems a little calmer; maybe that's what happens when you get your balls clipped off. (Poor guy.) When he first got home he was mad at me - he wouldn't come to me at all and wouldn't look at me in the bathtub. But I put his new collar on him and he's now my best bud. I missed that little wrinkly face.
I think I hear Mini-Bee waking up. The full-size Bee's almost sister-in-law is coming this morning to watch him while I go to my interview. I should probably get in the shower so I'm a little prepared when she gets here. I have a much better chance of getting a job if I don't smell like a foot.
Wish me luck.
I have a job interview today. I'm nervous about this interview, more so than others I've been to. Does that mean that I want this job more than I want other jobs or does that mean it's been a long time between interviews and I'm just nervous about interviewing in general? I don't know. What I do know is that if I don't get a job soon I'm going to go bonkers. I'm in need of some adult conversation, some big people interaction. I find myself hanging out at Target, lingering in the laundry aisle, desperate to make conversation with random strangers.
No, not really. But it won't be long...
I should really lay off the coffee; I'm nervous enough as it is. If I keep up the coffee drinking I'll be Parkinson-ing my way through my meeting with my potential employer and then he won't want to hire me because I'm awesome, he'll hire me because I fulfill two minority categories - female and disabled AND I'm awesome.
The weekend was sort of a bust. The Bee and Mini-Bee and I went camping with the Bee's family. Again. For the second weekend in a row. And I was miserable. I couldn't sleep. I got attacked by a 12-pound mosquito and was surrounded by frogs and had a huge, sweaty, snoring Bee drooling on my shoulder in the 212% humidity all night. I didn't sleep at all. So Saturday morning I got up and declared that Mini-Bee and I were going home. I'd had enough. I was sweaty and itchy and frizzy and dirty and oh-so-tired. I was miserable and I was making people around me miserable and I wanted to go home. So we did. And you'd have thought I hauled off and kicked the Bee in the shins and broken his favorite toy given the look on his face. But he did have a good time, a much better time than he would have had with me there.
Pootie came home yesterday. I had to get him a new collar and it took an hour of scrubbing in the tub to get the kennel smell off of him, but he's home and seems to be happy. Is his attitude any better? Eh... He still doesn't listen for crap but he seems a little calmer; maybe that's what happens when you get your balls clipped off. (Poor guy.) When he first got home he was mad at me - he wouldn't come to me at all and wouldn't look at me in the bathtub. But I put his new collar on him and he's now my best bud. I missed that little wrinkly face.
I think I hear Mini-Bee waking up. The full-size Bee's almost sister-in-law is coming this morning to watch him while I go to my interview. I should probably get in the shower so I'm a little prepared when she gets here. I have a much better chance of getting a job if I don't smell like a foot.
Wish me luck.
09 July 2009
Don't bother. This post is boring.
I can't sleep.
It's nearly 2 a.m. and I'm still awake. Yup, I'm still awake as in I haven't been to bed yet this evening. At this point, I'm trying to stay awake because Brodie generally wakes up around 2-2:15 to be changed and fed. And to fall asleep for 30 minutes would just be painful.
I hadn't blogged in a while, going on three weeks, and then I blogged the other night in a fit of self-pity. It wasn't pretty. It was so not pretty that I took it down the next morning. That post won't be coming back soon. It's not that I don't have time to blog; I do. It's not that I don't have things to talk about; I do. I just don't seem to have my words lately - nothing seems to flow like it used to. My conversation, in person and online, seems to gravitate towards the Mini Bee, and rightfully so, he's terrifically interesting. (At least I think so.) For those that aren't related to us, and probably for some that are related to us, that probably gets old. Hell, sometimes I think I've given all the Mini Bee related news and then I open my mouth and surprise myself with more.
A lot of that has to do with the fact that I'm currently home on what I'm still referring to as "maternity leave" even though that insinuates that I've only temporarily left somewhere, not left somewhere on a permanent vacation, which is a little closer to the truth. And being on "leave" is fantastic; I enjoy being home with Brodie. But let's face it - he's not much for conversation just yet. I talk ALL THE TIME and get no response. So when I'm around adults I find myself gabbing away. Sometimes I'll listen to what I'm saying and have no idea what's coming out of my mouth; I guess I get pretty excited over a little interaction among big people.
The point is that I could come here every day and bore you to death with the mundane details of life with a two-month old. Or I could post sporadically, when the urge strikes and I have something fabulous to say.
Unfortunately for you, dear reader, this post is neither. Because as I write it, and as I'm sure you read it, it's boring as poo. There is nothing fabulous occurring here. I admit it.
*Sigh.*
It's tough being mediocre. Good thing I don't have to experience that on a regular basis.
We're going camping this weekend. We consists of myself, the Bee, and the Mini Bee. We're heading to Lake Rathbun on Friday afternoon and we'll be home Sunday morning, the earlier the better. That boils down to about 40 hours of camping. I keep a mental countdown running at all times; it makes me feel better about the idea of sleeping in a tent.
This won't be our first camping trip this year. Last weekend we were at the lake for a couple of nights - the first night was great, I slept like a log and Brodie slept in the camper with the Bee's parents. About the time I got attacked by the tree frog in the shower house was when things started going downhill, at least for me. The Bee got pissy when everyone went to bed at 8:30 on Friday night and he realized that drinking alone in your campsite while your campmates sleep is actually pretty pathetic. Top that off with 18 hours of pouring rain and that makes for crabby campers all around, especially those that sleep in a tent. A leaky tent. More specifically, a tent with a leak directly above my forehead. Water torture, anyone?
Bueller? Bueller?
That's what I thought.
We're camping (again) with the Bee's family. His parents have a fifth-wheel trailer with air conditioning and a flat screen tv. If only they had wi-fi, it'd be perfect. But last weekend I sat in the camper, warming up something to eat and watching Regis and Kelly while sitting in the a/c and laughed at myself for calling that camping. I've stayed in hotels that weren't as nice.
But in exchange for this weekend's camping trip I have gained the Bee's word that we will be viewing the new Harry Potter flick next week, come hell or high water. I've seen every Harry Potter movie on opening day in the theatre - there were showings where I was not only the oldest in the room but also the tallest. And *yes* - I've read the books. And *yes* - I know how it's going to end. But I still want to see it. Consumerism in the flesh.
It's now 2:10 a.m. and not a peep from the Mini Bee. I think it would be stupid to wake him up but I know as soon as I drift off he'll start to whimper. Or, I'll sit here all night, waiting for him to wake up and it'll be one of those nights he sleeps all the way through.
Doh!
I'm hungry. But it's now officially Thursday and I don't eat on Thursdays until after chubby kids weigh-in and that's not for another 8 hours. I think I'll lie here, wait for the Mini Bee to wake up and think about waffles and peanut butter. And milk. And ice cream. OMG. I think I may starve.
It's nearly 2 a.m. and I'm still awake. Yup, I'm still awake as in I haven't been to bed yet this evening. At this point, I'm trying to stay awake because Brodie generally wakes up around 2-2:15 to be changed and fed. And to fall asleep for 30 minutes would just be painful.
I hadn't blogged in a while, going on three weeks, and then I blogged the other night in a fit of self-pity. It wasn't pretty. It was so not pretty that I took it down the next morning. That post won't be coming back soon. It's not that I don't have time to blog; I do. It's not that I don't have things to talk about; I do. I just don't seem to have my words lately - nothing seems to flow like it used to. My conversation, in person and online, seems to gravitate towards the Mini Bee, and rightfully so, he's terrifically interesting. (At least I think so.) For those that aren't related to us, and probably for some that are related to us, that probably gets old. Hell, sometimes I think I've given all the Mini Bee related news and then I open my mouth and surprise myself with more.
A lot of that has to do with the fact that I'm currently home on what I'm still referring to as "maternity leave" even though that insinuates that I've only temporarily left somewhere, not left somewhere on a permanent vacation, which is a little closer to the truth. And being on "leave" is fantastic; I enjoy being home with Brodie. But let's face it - he's not much for conversation just yet. I talk ALL THE TIME and get no response. So when I'm around adults I find myself gabbing away. Sometimes I'll listen to what I'm saying and have no idea what's coming out of my mouth; I guess I get pretty excited over a little interaction among big people.
The point is that I could come here every day and bore you to death with the mundane details of life with a two-month old. Or I could post sporadically, when the urge strikes and I have something fabulous to say.
Unfortunately for you, dear reader, this post is neither. Because as I write it, and as I'm sure you read it, it's boring as poo. There is nothing fabulous occurring here. I admit it.
*Sigh.*
It's tough being mediocre. Good thing I don't have to experience that on a regular basis.
We're going camping this weekend. We consists of myself, the Bee, and the Mini Bee. We're heading to Lake Rathbun on Friday afternoon and we'll be home Sunday morning, the earlier the better. That boils down to about 40 hours of camping. I keep a mental countdown running at all times; it makes me feel better about the idea of sleeping in a tent.
This won't be our first camping trip this year. Last weekend we were at the lake for a couple of nights - the first night was great, I slept like a log and Brodie slept in the camper with the Bee's parents. About the time I got attacked by the tree frog in the shower house was when things started going downhill, at least for me. The Bee got pissy when everyone went to bed at 8:30 on Friday night and he realized that drinking alone in your campsite while your campmates sleep is actually pretty pathetic. Top that off with 18 hours of pouring rain and that makes for crabby campers all around, especially those that sleep in a tent. A leaky tent. More specifically, a tent with a leak directly above my forehead. Water torture, anyone?
Bueller? Bueller?
That's what I thought.
We're camping (again) with the Bee's family. His parents have a fifth-wheel trailer with air conditioning and a flat screen tv. If only they had wi-fi, it'd be perfect. But last weekend I sat in the camper, warming up something to eat and watching Regis and Kelly while sitting in the a/c and laughed at myself for calling that camping. I've stayed in hotels that weren't as nice.
But in exchange for this weekend's camping trip I have gained the Bee's word that we will be viewing the new Harry Potter flick next week, come hell or high water. I've seen every Harry Potter movie on opening day in the theatre - there were showings where I was not only the oldest in the room but also the tallest. And *yes* - I've read the books. And *yes* - I know how it's going to end. But I still want to see it. Consumerism in the flesh.
It's now 2:10 a.m. and not a peep from the Mini Bee. I think it would be stupid to wake him up but I know as soon as I drift off he'll start to whimper. Or, I'll sit here all night, waiting for him to wake up and it'll be one of those nights he sleeps all the way through.
Doh!
I'm hungry. But it's now officially Thursday and I don't eat on Thursdays until after chubby kids weigh-in and that's not for another 8 hours. I think I'll lie here, wait for the Mini Bee to wake up and think about waffles and peanut butter. And milk. And ice cream. OMG. I think I may starve.
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