Behind the scenes of a life in progress...

Lofty goals: Taking my bite out of the juicy peach of life.

2011-09-02T11:06:00.000-07:00

Well, on the day of my 28th birthday, I am facing the stark realization that my life is nearly a third over already. I have done some significant shit in the first third pushing a kid out of my snatch, etc..), but I should really get crackin' if I want to really do this life thing right (and by "right" I mean "with mad flava"). I want to be able to look back when I am about to croak and say "That was nice, kinda fucked up at times, but it sure was funny as hell."

I was going to write a bucket list. I was going to attempt to complete the bucket list before I die. There is only one problem...I can't think of anything good to put on the bucket list. Sure, I could go on and on about my travel dreams, animals I want to touch, people I want to touch and wild and crazy adventures I want to have...Blah blah blah blah....*yawn*.....WHO THE HELL CARES? I hardly do and it's MY bucket list. I'm all about life experiences, but I need to take baby steps.Traveling to Europe or molesting the rich and famous are all well and good, but having them rot away on a stagnant, idealistic list is not good for my morale. I need some instant results. Let's do this one thing at a time.

Here is my first item on the agenda:

#1. BREAK INTO THE EUGENE COMEDY SCENE.
Ha! I bet you didn't even know that we had a comedy scene here. I throw the term "scene" around loosely seeing as it seems to consist of a ~~comedy club~~ small room attached to a bar downtown. Every Wednesday the up and coming comedic "talent" of Eugene and it's outlying areas comes out of the woodwork to try their hand at making a small group of people laugh. It's free, painful to watch and inspiring, at times.

Now I like to think of myself as a fun lady. I think I might even make people laugh every once in a while. So, naturally, my morbid obsession with embarrassing myself has gotten the best of me. I want to try open mic night. Just typing this makes me want to wet burp a little from jitters....

I am giving myself 5 weeks to grow a pair. I will keep you updated on my progress. Maybe.

T to the J to the M-A double X: Bitches who play with big silverware get stitches.

2011-08-28T17:03:00.000-07:00

Sometimes you go to TJ Maxx looking for a slutty dress and find everything but....

Take, for example, this sack of glitter skulls. Perfect for when just one glitter skull won't cut it. They come in this great mesh sack so they are easier to take home on the bus. The contents of the sack can clearly be seen so no one assumes you bought something frivolous. (like food for your children.)

This could be useful. No one can say they weren't warned. Can't sue me. You should have read the pillow.

These were actually normal sized pieces of silverware. We were just shrunk when a baseball we threw through the window triggered the eccentric neighbor's shrinking machine. (I don't care if that wasn't funny. I have always wanted to make an obscure "Honey I Shrunk The Kids" reference. )

Things turned dangerous real quick. I was lacerated by the silverware. They really should have posted some sort of warning that fighting with items in the middle of the store could lead to injury. I was given a band aid before I could spread any blood borne pathogens about the store. I was NOT given, however, any free items or discounts to compensate me for my injury.

What is this? My assumption is that it is a candle holder....of a hand assuming the conventional position for giving manual pleasure to a male. I know, I know...how could I post such filth? Easily. If you have learned anything about me by now, it is that I AM FILTHY. My grandma doesn't have the Internet, so it's O.K..

So of course I had to ask myself "Is this $8 funny?"
The answer was yes. And now I have a banana holder that I affectionately refer to as "Handy Jay". Get it? He's handy because he he holds bananas and his name is Jay. Duh.

Jessica O., Rn : The jail nurse.

2011-08-26T22:51:00.000-07:00

It is my divine pleasure to introduce you folks (ALL 5 of you) to Jessica. Who is Jessica? She is My cousin. My cousin, the RN. Why am I introducing you to her? Part boredom, lack of things to write myself and an obligation to expose the seedy world of being a nurse behind the walls of the Lane county jail.

So I asked "Hey Jessica, What happened at the jail today?"

Her response (If it looks like this, it's me chiming in and interrupting like an a-hole):

"Today at the jail I thought of you while straddling a drunk fellow (Naturally, she would be thinking of me) faking a seizure. I struggled to keep him held down so he didn't flail about hitting someone or himself as I gripped him tightly by his jail scrubs and held down with all my might. Great upper arm workout, FYI (good to know, Jessica. Can we make jailhouse exercise videos?) He was a very great actor ... thrashing about, foaming at the mouth, held his breath and drooled all over my shoes. I held tight standing there comforting him and trying to calm him, he finally was still (exhausted from his acting job) and the first thing out of his mouth was "I need a beer" . (I hear ya, man) I walked away at this point and told them to send him to the hospital went back to my cave and cleansed my drooled on shoes.

This leads me to about an hour later when my heart starts to pound at the sound of the code alarm, the second time it went off in the past hour and a half! They call and say they need medical RIGHT AWAY in the sally port outside, we grab our gear and start heading out at a fast pace (I notice you didn't use the word "run") thinking this just has to be fake seizure guy back from wherever. But no, this was going to be the real thing I thought because halfway there a deputy sees us and says "The crash cart is already out there!" ( I am assuming this is a big fucking deal)

My heart started to pound even faster and all I could think of was, dear God, I'm going to have to give CPR to someone, please don't let them be too dirty (hey, I've frenched bums, it's not so bad. Has an earthy taste). Another nurse and I start to run like some drunk bum's life depended on it (most likely literally) I get out side and what do I find but a tiny woman in a moo moo with bright colored Hawaiian flowers going crazy on the ground. (Not me, for once. Oh, and I thought it was "mumu".)

She literally looked like she was plucked from her house in the middle of frying some chicken up for her old man (YUM! Lucky guy!) when perhaps their level of drunk got to a point were the cops were called and they had to pull this tiny chihuahua woman off him (all speculation and my great imagination of course). I rush over to start assessing her worried she's on the verge of dying, when I'm hit with a barrage of profanities from this tiny woman's mouth. I was impressed I gotta say, she strung words together like a dirty drunken poet. (oooh...perhaps I found a new guest blogger!) I figured great at least she's with it (sort of), I furiously look her over trying to find the problem...

Still cuffed she was a fighter, 6 deputies and a cop surrounded her (A personal fantasy of mine, BTW) , I ask "What's going on?!" That's when this giant hole of disappointment ("giant hole of disapointment". How some could describe my bedroom skills...) washed over me, they all looked up at me and one of the deputies answered "That gash in her head is going to need sutures isn't it?" I looked down at the meaty gash (I'll show you a meaty gash. SORRY!) and agreed. I however was still at the ready to put my nursing skills to the test further, I started to pull out the blood pressure cuff, was searching for some gauze for the wound when the deputies around her said "That's all we needed to know thanks." I looked up and asked "That's all?!" "Yup, that's all."

I sadly walked my fat, hot, sweaty self (Let's try not to give everyone a boner, Jess. Tone it down.) back to my cave and quietly cussed to myself about that moo moo wearing fool. I guess the lessons learned for me were two things:

1. If I'm going to where a moo moo to fry up some chicken for the old man and shit starts going down put some pants on underneath for later so the world doesn't see anything whilst I'm thrashing about (surprised this didn't occur to you before this. I guess this was your wake up call.)

2. I learned how to spell moo moo. (Still to be determined if this is correct.)"

Thank you, Jessica! I will be waiting on pins and needles for more tales from the jail.

Cereal dating.

2011-08-19T08:55:00.001-07:00

We met at Target. It was just my typical 3rd or 4th trip there that week. This time was different. I had more than $15 in the bank and I was feeling like a high roller with lady luck on her side.

I decided to treat myself to some food. What could be more luxurious than breakfast cereal?

I browsed past the usual suspects... Cheerios didn't do it for me (boring). Lucky charms don't suit my lifestyle (too flamboyant). Frosted flakes are overly sweet and I am pretty sure that tiger still lives with his mom. Cinnamon Life and I had a regular thing back in the day and I just couldn't bring myself to go crawling back. Oh well. Perhaps I'll go check the bagels out, I thought...

Then I saw them.

Mini wheats. These aren't your mom and pop's mini wheats. These have a "touch" of fruit in the middle. Not a "blast". Not "stuffed to the max". Just a "touch". I knew from the moment I saw them them that I wanted them to touch me. On the inside.

Upon returning home, I hastily poured myself a bowl (serving size is 21 biscuits, by the way). I couldn't even wait until breakfast.

I shoveled 21+ fruit touched biscuits into my pie hole. It. Was. Glorious. A symphony of textures and flavors exploded in my mouth. Each bite was better than the next.

When it was over, I wiped the beads of sweat from my brow and reflected on what had just happened. If I was a smoker, I probably would have lit up. THAT WAS DELISH.

It has been a few days now. We have seen each other every morning...even if it hasn't been exclusive (breakfast sandwich and I still have a little thing going on). This could be the start of something beautiful...

The things I have learned since high school.

2011-07-30T06:16:00.000-07:00

In no particular order of importance:

Never wear a turtleneck.
Perms are a mistake.
Overalls are not a good look.
I can't think of anything else.

This, my friend, is my inner conflict involving ice cream.

2011-07-21T16:46:00.000-07:00

I have reached a crossroads in my life. The ice cream that I have been abusing reached it's end today. Where do I go from here?

I have every urge in the world make a quick run to the store to stock up. Just one more time. Maybe even purchase a few other things to fool myself and others about what I really came there for. One more sweet, sticky, mind blowing time. Life's been easier with ice cream around. I think it even cured a migraine today.

Or... I could just enjoy the time we had together. I should come to terms with the fact that every naughty spoonful I shoveled into my mouth wasn't meant to be enjoyed every day.

While fantastic in almost every single way, something tells me that a long term, daily encounter with ice cream would surely be detrimental to me. After all, there have been some side effects.....

Aside from the instant guilt and stomach aches, it has also prevented me from eating other food. It has had nearly my full attention. How can I possibly make room for things with better nutritional value when I have already binged (while still standing in front of the freezer, mind you.) on a bowl of vanilla bean with whipped cream and chocolate sauce? My appetite for what I should be eating has left. Should it continue as it has, I would surely fall victim to massive weight gain, deficiencies of various types, heart disease and possibly even diabetes (Or "the sugars" as I like to call them). Hell, if anything, after a few weeks it would probably start giving me the shits.

This would make me hate ice cream in the long run. I really don't want to hate ice cream. Ice cream is perfect in small doses. Ice cream will be there for me when I need it but we will have to live our separate lives. We can hang out at parties 'n' stuff.

It's for the best, really. I love ice cream but I hate being fat. I have my high school reunion in two weeks and it would be cool not to be asked when my next child is due. I would hate to have to explain that I am not, in fact, pregnant but rather a poor example of self control and self medication. That's just uncomfortable for everyone involved.

Confessions. (title to be read in a breathy whisper for effect)

2011-07-20T11:21:00.000-07:00

Here are some little known secrets about me. Hope we can still be friends after you read this.

For few days in a row now, my breakfast has consisted of at least 2 of the following: Whipped cream, Ice cream, chocolate sauce and vegetarian corn dogs.
A mental funk and lack of funds has created the perfect storm for (ahem)...alternative food choices. If God thought this was wrong, he would have brought me an egg McMuffin or a pack of waffles. (I am 97% positive that this is written somewhere in the scriptures.)

I have no idea what is going on in politics or the world.
I can tell you what one of my facebook friends had for dinner last night or what funny thing their kid said. I can't tell you anything about a debt ceiling (besides the fact that people on twitter keep talking about how Lionel Ritchie should dance on it). I am OK with this. Judge me. Hate me. Just don't try to explain anything to me. I can't pay attention that long. I know how to google stuff if I need to.

There is a live wasp in the window by the couch today. This will keep me out of the living room indefinitely.
Will someone with a healthy sized pair of balls come take care of this situation for me?

I don't know how to hula hoop. Never have.
I will never be the hot girl next door who innocently turns everyone on by gracefully keeping that hoop around her hips. I, instead, am the short, fat, awkward girl that seems to be humping the air wile the hoop falls to her feet. This may not seem like a big deal, but it is. How I handle a hula hoop represents my lack of ability and tact in so many other areas of my life.

When I was in middle school, I was convinced I was part cat.
A whole summer with hardly any social interaction and access to national geographic specials on VHS will do that to you. My parents were far too accepting of me. I also had a crush on the kid down the street that liked to set fires and torture animals. Not a shred of disapproval from my parents, still.

I don't think all babies are cute.
This one is a shocker, I know. I value all babies and I know that life is more than looks, but sometimes I am left speechless by the bug-eyed wrinkly sack of skin that came out of someone's uterus. Looking back, even my child looked a little like the crypt keeper when he was fresh out of the oven. I'm not saying yours isn't cute. But if I haven't said it is, well...

Maybe that's enough for now. It's been real.

BINGO (part 2): Winner winner, your kitty eats too much dinner

2011-06-20T14:18:00.000-07:00

Being slapped in the face by lady luck and shunned by the regulars the first time couldn't keep us down. We took our rightful place in those vinyl covered chairs and stared the Bingo gods right in the face and said "Eh. I guess we have nothing better to do. Why not?".

I was ready to win. This time, to be a Bingo winner, I had to think, eat and live like a bingo winner. In the quiet moments before leaving my house, I sat alone eating a frozen meal and watching a recorded late night t.v. program. I chased this with a single serve weight watchers dessert. I can only assume this was the pre-game ritual of the seasoned vets.

I gathered up some refreshments, a lucky charm, did some deep stretches, psyched myself up in the mirror and I was off.

I walked in like I owned the place. I shoved a few people out of the way and walked up to the counter.

"I'll take it all." I confidently said.I clutched my 3-ons and 6-ons like long lost friends.

The original crew plus some new faces were there.( It wouldn't be a good sequel without the introduction of new characters.) We set up camp and dug in for the long night ahead.

The first half is a blur to me. I am on a bingo high. Daubers are flying balls are rolling. I think a couple people in our group win a game. I smile and congratulate the lucky ones, but inside I hate them. I want to say "BINGO!" so bad.

After each game we sign the back of our stupid loser bingo cards so they may be entered into a drawing for some junky prize. Jilted by the evening already, I sign the back of the my cards with such names as"boobies", "boobarella", "tractor" and various drawings...including a cat. (seen here in this computer generated reproduction)

Intermission came and went. The din of the bingo crowd seemed more lively than last time. Besides being glared at by a bulldog-faced woman, everyone seemed to tolerate and (dare I say)...accept our wild crowd. I hardly noticed that the drawing for the junky prize had begun.

The caller manhandled the piece of paper, paused and leaned into the microphone.

"ummmm...Somebody drew a cat."

It didn't register completely at first. I got flush and felt the warm glow of a winner come over me. I got real hot and sweaty. I leaped from my seat, stumbled on some crap on the floor and began to run to the front. The crowd was going WILD. This was MY moment! What will I say? should I make a speech?

"You stay there. We will bring it to you" The caller said. I deflated a little and sat my perspiring ass back in the chair.

A man wearing a crew neck sweatshirt with a wildlife scene on it brings me a stack of "bonanza" cards. It's kind of an elite bingo thing. I won't bore you with the details.

At some point in the second half the wildlife sweatshirt man taps me on the shoulder and croons "I want chicken, I want liver-"

And I, in my very best singing voice complete the phrase with "Meow mix, meow mix please deliver..." Aaaand the crowd goes crazy again. I really am a hit.

Later I meowed at him and he made a b-line for our table. You could tell this was his time to finally open up to someone about his life.

"you know, I have a cat at home that is so fat. She's so fat and she has tiny legs. I have tried to put her on a diet but she eats so fast then she just...she just begs for more!"

"Sounds like she has a food addiction." I respond. Little does he know that, I too, have a big hairy pussy cat at home. It's a secret I have kept from the bingo crew until now.

Well...The bonanza cards were all losers, too. A juicebox, a bag full of lollipops a "lucky" pig and TWO trolls that smelled like pee couldn't help me. But I had my moment. The fleeting feeling that I could be touched in that special place (you know...where the swimsuit covers) by the hands of fate.

I think our bingo careers may not resume any time soon. We will always have the kitty. Here's to you, fat pussy. I will never forget.

BINGO (part 1)

2011-06-20T12:21:00.000-07:00

"Oooh! we should try BINGO!" Summer says.

"Sure! Let's do it." I say, wide-eyed and innocent.

My head is filled with images of rowdy fun with nonstop action. Maybe this could even be lucrative? How hard is it really?

So, with fresh pedicures (Summer's feet not only received a pedicure but a vigorous stroking and a spanking as well, but I digress...) we waded into the seedy underbelly that is the bingo scene accompanied by a few other fantastic friends. We quickly realized that we were in over our heads. This is no game. This is not a sport. This is obviously a lifestyle chosen by those pulled in by the siren call of the bingo caller that, for the life of her, cannot pronounce F*$%ing "V" sounds or "T" sounds (some know how furious this really makes me).

We walk up to the counter. On display are the daubers. Slightly phallic bottles filled with ink and squishy tops. So many different colors, sizes and... smells. Some with illustrations, some with profanity (which, ironically, is strictly prohibited by this establishment.) I am overcome with a feeling of inferiority, because we have only dollar tree daubers lacking any sort of bells or whistles. The woman behind the counter awaits our request. We are slack jawed. A sea of intimidation washes over me and I crumble to her persuasive pitch to buy "the Party Pack" .

"It's got all your 6-on regular games 3-on special games" She explains. "It really is the best deal."

What the F%@# is that supposed to mean?!? Do I look like one of these ladies with a fanny pack and a caddy FULL of daubers?

"mmm hmm...wait what? can you explain all that?"

She rattles on about something, but my undiagnosed ADD has gotten the best of me and I refuse to ask again for fear of alienation and ridicule.

We find a seat at one of the 30 foot tables. The hall has the decorative charm of a community college cafeteria with the eerie hush of a library. One of our group pulls out his good luck charms. He obviously plays for keeps.

For 3 straight hours we giggle like kids every time anything even remotely resembling sexual innuendo is said. This can only be explained by the fact that non of us has developed past the intellectual development of a 12 year old. I'm sorry, but when someone says "6 way on your 6-on" I am going to, out of obligation, respond "Oh I'll have a 6 way on your 6 on". Every. Single. Time. And don't even get me started on "O69". We are the recipients of glares and shushes from patrons with long faces and glazed over eyes. You can't socialize too much. Bingo moves fast. If you don't keep your head on a swivel, you are done. We aren't here to make friends. We are here to win.

"BINGO!" is called all around us but non of us are blessed enough to yell these words out on this night. And you know what really gets me? These people aren't even that excited when they win! Do they have ice water coursing through their veins? With each passing game a part of me dies a little. I know that if I could only win I would finally be a somebody. I would instantly be younger, more beautiful and better at math. While Each Fran, Betty and Barbara wins, Marie goes unrewarded for her diligence and quick learning. The troll has failed everyone at the table.

We walk away feeling accomplished in spirit. Or was it defeated, poorer and exhausted? One would think that we would leave it at that...Will my day come where I can bask in the florescent spotlight? Stay tuned to find out....

Dramatic portrayal.

2010-06-07T17:30:00.000-07:00

Me: Hey, uh, what's up?

Blog Reader: What's up? WHAT'S UP?!? You haven't had anything to say since SEPTEMBER, and all you have to say is "What's up?"!??

Me: Yeah sorry about that.

Blog Reader: Whatever.

Me: Why you have to be like that, baby? I just got a little busy, that's all. You know I'd never leave for good. Someone had to go out and earn a living and take care of the baby. We both know you weren't paying me to sit around and write for you.

Blog Reader: It's just that, well...never mind....

Me: You can trust me, Boo, it's me...

Blog Reader: I just haven't had much to look forward to since you've been gone.

Me: I Know, I know. I am really funny, witty, good looking and never boring. I guess I just wasn't thinking about anyone but myself. I was wrong. Will you ever take me back?

Blog reader: Probably not.

Me: Is there someone else?

Blog Reader is silent, looks to floor

Me: Oh. I see. Just tell me it's not the lady that blogs about her cat's hairballs. Please.

Blog Reader remains silent

Me: Oh come on! She's crazy!! You really think she's better than me?!

Blog reader: At least she's there for me! Something new to read every day, maybe even a photo or two.

Me: Sick. I hope you two are happy. I don't need you. I have plenty of new people that would love to read me. Just go...I can't stand to see you anymore. All I see is you....reading that... that TRASH! GO GET OUT!

Blog Reader turns and leaves, slamming the door.

I fall to my knees, sobbing.

Me: Whyyyyy!!?!?! (still sobbing uncontrollably, shaking fist towards the heavens)

Me: (drying tears) From this day forth I will never leave my Blog readers for so long. Maybe. We'll see how it goes.

Fade to black

2010-06-06T09:30:00.000-07:00

He makes everything we do about a million times more exciting.

Ho ho ho...

2009-09-23T20:15:00.000-07:00

Dear Santa,

You may be wondering why I am writing you in September, months before your "peak" time of year. This year I have many many wishes I would like you and your elf slaves to grant and I thought it only fair to give you plenty of advanced warning.

I would like you to make sure Parker gets the best first Christmas ever. He deserves it. He Sleeps almost 12 hours a night.
Make sure my grandma gets to have an 80th birthday. That would be cool.
I want some boots. good boots. Boots that instantly fix any outfit. I also want them to give off a vapor that makes people forget how often I would wear them so the cool factor is never lessened.
Please give me some lightning bolts to throw at those who choose to tailgate me on the freeway. I have a baby and a limited income, I do not want to get in an accident or get a ticket. therefore I drive the speed limit. Don't do it for me. Do it for Parker. His first words probably shouldn't be "get off my ass, douche bag!"
On behalf of our dog, Joey, Please send some sort of "anti-wiener dread lock" potion. Despite our best grooming efforts he still gets them. it's sick and awkward.
An oil change for the car. (yeah...still haven't done that....)
A force field to protect Parker from all toddler related injuries. And a force field for some of our more expensive belongings to protect them from all toddler related injuries.
A time machine would be nice. I would go back to my middle school years and tell myself how to do it right. After that I would visit high school me and tell myself not to go through with that perm. And that hair dye job.
Move all of my best friends next door. This whole across the state, across the country and across the world thing isn't working for me. I miss them terribly. Make it sound like a really exciting adventure with lucrative opportunities so they do not resent me for making them move to Springfield.
New underwear. I could easily fulfill this one, but I thought I would ask.

Be a peach and do your best. I thought that if your crap could pop into stores before Halloween, it wasn't too forward for me to write so early.
Sincerely,
Marie.

P.S. To return The favor, here are a few people for your naughty list: Rush Limbaugh, Tyra Banks, Glenn Beck, Local TV weather people, My insurance company, Comcast and my neighbors who park on our lawn and let their dogs use it as a toilet.

Let's get this out there before I forget it...

2009-09-21T07:03:00.001-07:00

I had a dream that I was in taiwan with allison and jeremiah. I was being attacked by carnivorious snails, which we also had to eat.(jeremiah said they were the only thing available that tasted like bread) I was able to fend them off by distracting them with gummy worms. Allison then told me I was lucky because most people couldn't afford the gummy worms to keep the snails away and would just have to let them latch on. Also, they had to wash their clothes in a dishwasher with the dishes.

Cousins...

2009-08-30T22:12:00.000-07:00

This week josh and I had the pleasure of having our nephew, Ethan, for a special day and an overnight stay. He was so much fun and so easy going! Parker loved having him here too...how do we swing getting parker a BIG brother? I know that Josh and I are excited to watch Parker grow up and hopefully him and his cousin will become good buddies.

I don't like that tuesday....back after a little break

2009-07-21T17:55:00.000-07:00

This week I am just going to come out and say that I do not like bra shopping.

I was talking with my grandma about the problems that a girl of my, ahem...endowment, has finding a decent bra. So, my Grandma, being the most generous and concerned grandma in the world, wanted to take me to a specialty shop here in town to get fitted and to pick out a booby holster that could hold my ladies adequately.

First, we walk in. I instantly get the impression that rarely does anyone under 50 shop in this establishment. I feel as though I am engulfed in a maze of panties and girdles. I don't even know where the cash register is. Apart from all of the unmentionables, they had a wide assortment of clothing fit for the aging art teacher types with a penchant for sequins, rhinestones and flowy gauzy skirts.Oh, and lots of swimsuits with skirts. lots. Then, working at the hidden counter is a lady who was "let go" from my work for basically being bat sh** crazy (basically a female version of Milton from "office space"). Not a good sign.

Luckily she doesn't seem to recognize me and she scurries off to find someone who can tell me how big my ta-tas really are. Soon after, a woman emerges from the boulder-holder jungle to help me.

This woman is a bit over middle aged and wearing a scrunchy in her hair. She whips out her measuring tape, hardly smiling or conversing with me. It is quickly determined that I am a 38 DDD. No that is not a typo. That is 3 D's in a row. I tell her I would prefer a nursing bra and she is off to dig around for some in my size.

After, what seemed to be, a long search she yields just two choices for me. One is a beige number made of spandexy material. Very sexy. Sexy like a sheet of blank copy paper. The next is composed almost entirely of lace and has a giant bow in the middle. Even sexier. I can tell already, that one will make me look like I am trying to smuggle a prom dress under my shirt.

I try on the exciting beige one. Comfortable. A bit "nipply" with the thin material but effective nonetheless. I wait for her to come back and check on my progress ten minutes later she comes in. She asks how I like it. I tell her it could give a little more lift but the lady said she could shorten the straps. Not sold on it, though, and for the money I am definitely not going to settle. Next comes the lacy one. good god no. no no no no no. First of it seems to be sewn for someone with boobs shaped like kermit the frog's face. or SUPER puffy nipples. I have neither. The lady comes in and I tell her I do not like it. She says there is nothing else for me there besides 70 dollar ones. Yeah right.

I want to slap her for being so obviously indifferent to my plight and eagerness to up sell me. I am on the verge of yelling "Aren't you supposed to be some sort of titty whisperer?!?! Help me find a F***ing bra! Get creative!".

All of these thoughts are going through my head as it is just her and I alone in the dressing room. Her in her shapeless hot pink button down shirt, me in a hideous bra and my pants. I thought this couldn't get more frustrating when....her cell phone rings and...SHE ANSWERS IT! WHAT? OH NO SHE DIDN'T!

She starts talking on the phone in the room with me then pushes her way out of the curtain of the dressing room, leaving it open so that my bosoms may be exposed to one and all. I close the curtain, get dressed and walk back out into the store. I am boiling inside.

She comes walking back up to me and assumes I am Going to buy the beige one. not so fast my friend. I tell her I don't want it. I wanted to say "I am going to pass on your merchandise despite your wonderful salesmanship." But I just politely give it back, crestfallen, and make a bee-line for the exit with my entourage. I would rather continue to wear my 15 dollar bra from target that is about two D's too small. Not to mention it has a brown stain on the boob from when I unknowingly dropped a chocolate chip down my shirt while eating a trail mix bar the other day and it melted in there.

I guess the search will have to continue.

P.S. perfect name for a bra store: "titty city" can also be used for a strip club if need be.

F bombs on a sunday morning.

2009-07-12T08:18:00.000-07:00

Dear Blogger post editor and Photo uploader,

F*** you. I know my computer doesn't always play nice with you but today it's all you. All I wanted to do was upload two pictures and write a few words. Now all I can do is write words. Nasty words to you. I am going to do some some s*** today. When I come back, have your junk together.

-marie

how to be the worst best parent.

2009-07-10T16:24:00.000-07:00

It's five months into it and I would consider Josh and I to be doing a pretty bang up job rearing the little sprout so far. Do I think we should be perfect parents....no. Perfect is boring. Perfect yields little learning opportunities. Plus has anyone ever known me to be an over achiever? Absolutely not. My high school "C" average was O.K. by me.

For those of you who are striving for absolute perfection, I have devised a few hints, tips and tricks on being less than perfect, so that you may be the best you can be. Make sense? No? Does it have to?

Fussy baby? tried everything you can but still he/she will not stop crying? Gently bounce them on your knee. Notice how their voice changes pitch or tone when you bounce? Get a good rhythm going and try to re-create your favorite catchy tune. A favorite of mine? The Super Mario Bros. theme song. Why not? you've tried everything. Might as well enjoy yourself instead of diving off into the crazy pool.

Try mocking your young child in a loving and sarcastic manner when they fail at trying a new skill. It will take all of the pressure off of them because they will focus on how funny and witty you are instead.

Be O.K. with not having perfect instincts. I once used Parker as a human shield. So what if my first reaction when I hear "HEADS!" at a softball game is to cover my head with my infant son. As long as the end result is a safe and happy kid, don't beat yourself up about it. I guess he will have to learn what that means someday anyhow.

Don't worry if your child isn't as advanced as someone else's kid. Your kid may enjoy licking his hand rather than recite the alphabet, but he will be much much more fun at parties when he is older. take that, "smart" kids.

Forget trying to top all of the other parents with all of the latest trends in baby gear. You don't need a fancy car seat when you have rope and a U-Haul box. Duct tape it to a skateboard and you have one of those "travel systems" that includes a stroller. Don't have a baby bjorn? Cut air holes in a back pack and wear it on the front. Spend your money elsewhere.

Take your infant to the movies and fancy restaurants, especially when they are over tired and really cranky. Talk about their poopy diapers loudly so others can hear. It's OK. Everyone loves babies. And poop.

I hope some of these have helped you. If you are taking this list seriously and you have become offended and extremely concerned, you lack the basic social skill of recognizing humor and you have hopefully chosen not to reproduce.

I don't like that tuesday....

2009-07-07T19:18:00.000-07:00

Again. Here we are. It's Tuesday so it must be time to complain about something. I missed last Tuesday due to a monster migraine (Probably numero uno on my list of dislikes), and I almost forgot to do IDLTT this week! Hmmm what should be this weeks subject? Let's see, let's see....ummmmmmm...how about....

The past two weeks.

They can be described as: Blah, frustrating, Unproductive, weird and at times stressful. Here are a few things that have bothered me recently:

Parker getting hives...

ALL OVER HIS BODY. Nothing like being

a first time mom discovering that underneath his footie pajamas one morning

, lay large, red , swollen hives. He seemed perfectly happy. EVERYONE told me that he was fine and that, unless he started to have trouble breathing he was fine. I held out for two days. Even after talking to nurses and a doctor who told me to give him

benadryl and that he would be fine soon I still worried. When they started turning purple, I took him to urgent care. To make a long story short, he WAS fine, it was probably viral related he got a prescription for an additional antihistamine and slept really really well for a couple nights. The whole thing cleared up a day or two later and he is back to normal.

Celebrity deaths.

It's just weird. I really want Billy Mays back. Hardest working thumbs in the biz.

p.s. Michael Jackson was not god. Sad. Not earth altering. And surely not worth 24 hour a day news coverage.

Hot weather...

And by hot I mean anywhere from 79 degrees and up. Sticky thighs are not sexy.At least mine are not. Also, try breastfeeding in the heat. Parker sweats when he eats on a comfortable day. On a hot day it's like having a sweat sock sucking on your boob. He looks like he ran a track meet.

I wish I could go swimming. However I do not have a swimming suit. Nor can I afford one at this time. I hope when I do get one and I do go swimming, I do not have to touch the bottom of the pool.

Not having good ideas for IDLTT...

I have plenty to complain about still. Don't worry. I just don't have a funny bone in my body these days. not even that weird one in my elbow. Go ahead. Hit me there. I'll feel nothing.

I don't like that tuesday....

2009-06-22T10:52:00.000-07:00

this week...

Water.

Maybe not water itself, but gross things in water that I may accidently touch or ingest. blech...

swimming in natural bodies of water. What the hell is touching my foot? Why is the water brown?

touching the bottom of a swimming pool. I am gagging just thinking about it. And I just peed my pants from a bad case of the "willies". This has not bothered me in the past and has progressively become a stronger and stronger "gross out" for me. it's a shame because I love swimming. I just need my own swimming pool so I don't have to worry about touching someone's old band-aid with my toe.

Unknowingly having debris in a drinking glass. mmmm...ice water is one of my favorite things of all time. One little speck of anything not ice or water and the pleasure quickly fades. I check every time I take a new glass out. I check when I take a drink from an existing glass. I even discretely check when someone else brings me a glass. Should there be anything, time for a new glass. This has made me go thirsty at many a friends house and restaurant.

"I don't like that" tuesday! (with a special guest!)

2009-06-16T09:41:00.000-07:00

Just to really throw everyone into a tailspin, I am going to start this week's "IDLTT" with something I DO like. I guess it's not something, it's someone... her name is Shauna Rogers. many of you know her and read all of the luscious mind nuggets she sprinkles on her blog. She was eager to contribute to IDLTT about something I agree with her whole-heartedly about:

Unicycles and the people who ride them.

I don't even know how I excluded them from the group I ranted about last week that included magicians, ventriloquists and jugglers. I am not a malicious or violent person, but i see a unicyclist and I instantly wish for an earthquake or a very strong gust of wind.

Shauna has been especially scarred by on of these one-wheeled douchebags and, as part of her therapy, she has composed an open letter to the person that has caused her trauma:

Dear University of Oregon Unicyclist,

You are not a hot shot. You think you are. It has been 5 years since our encounter and I still hate you. I still hate the thought of you, all high and mighty on your stupid unicycle. With your dumb helmet and incredibly bulky and unsexy elbow and knee pads, that were all scratched up. (Proof that you are not such a hot-shot... you fall! I see your scratches!!)

You are the reason I absolutely hate unicyclists and kind of always want to throw sticks in their spokes. It all comes down to you. Do you remember why? Do you remember what you did to me 5 years ago, on the University of Oregon campus, in April, while I was walking to class? Do you? Let me refresh your unicycling-fog of a memory.

I was walking to class. It was by the Knight Library. I was on the right side of the path, minding my own business. Someone else was walking towards me, but they were on the correct side of the path as well. We were going to walk by each other just fine, not even a brush of the fingertips. We were a perfect distance apart, walking at a perfect pace. We were both amazingly attractive and smart looking.

And then I felt goosebumps on my neck. Something was going to happen. And in 0.45 seconds, it did. There was a nasty hand on my shoulder, in a fingerless leather glove. Make that pleather glove. I am sure it wasn't real leather. YOU, unicyclist, tried to ride your damn unicycle AKA dork mobile in between me and my innocent fellow walker. You braced yourself so you wouldn't fall, and so you could make the tight squeeze between us, on my SHOULDER. You touched me. And you didn't say sorry. And like the dork-tard you are, you rode off, leaving me and said-walker confused, shaking and vulnerable. You touched both of us. And you didn't fall. I wish you did.

Guess what is worse? You were in my class. You RODE your unicycle into the classroom and then took off your helmet and shook your head like you were on a Pantene Pro-V commercial. Your dandruff sprayed the people sitting a row in front of you. You parked your unicycle on the railing of the ramp of the classroom and I glared at you the entire class. For the rest of the term.

I still know your face. If I see you again, you will know it. I will know it. The world will know it.

It's because of your hot-shot maneuvers that I hate everything attached to the unicycle. You could be the hottest person in the world, but the moment you get on a unicycle, to me, it'll be like you are missing 1/2 your face and your reproductive organs. I am not interested.

I'm going to get you!

Shauna

She is so brave and eloquent.

Once upon a time...

2009-06-12T21:52:00.001-07:00

I found a rock on the beach that looked like lady parts.

THE END

"I don't like that" tuesday

2009-06-09T09:50:00.000-07:00

Well, apparently I have not had much to post in between Tuesdays. I do, however, have a topic that I am very passionate about. I feel that this subject is much like cilantro or avacados, people either LOVE them and can't get enough or HATE them and are reduced to red faced anger monsters whenever confronted with them. I am talking, of course about.....

Magicians.

Many of my good friends know of my disdain for this genre of entertainment. Many of my good friends love magicians. I am sorry, Shauna, I won't clap for them. I am not impressed by "slight of hand".

Top hat? cape? Fine. I can handle that. it's almost classy. Bright colored vest, parachute pants and wild hair? kill me now.

I am having a hard time writing this because I have so much hate in me about it I cannot pinpoint the exact words to describe it best. I am repulsed by the exaggerated finger and leg movements they use to be "showy". I always feel like they are trying to lure their audience into a windowless van so they can show them their "magic rabbit".

"What about street magicians, Marie? They are kinda hip and cool and rock and roll, right?"

No. Even worse. David Blaine can suck it. I don't care how intense your stare is. I hate your profession.

I also lump jugglers and ventriloquists into this disdainful group of people. Really, if you feel you need to wear a vest or wacky tie during your performance I probably hate you.

I am not even going to apologize for offending anyone during this edition of "IDLTT". I am fed up.

P.S. anyone interested in being a guest writer for "IDLTT"? Send me your dislikes (mbarcellos1@gmail.com) and, if I agree with them, your opinion can be part of this ever popular feature. and by popular I mean my mom may read it every once in a while.

"I don't like that" tuesday!

2009-06-02T16:19:00.000-07:00

Dear people who wear cartoon character clothing,

I hate you. I am sorry. I do. Please know that I don't need the tazmanian devil across your chest telling me to "back off". I am probably well aware already of my lack of desire to be near you. I also don't need eyore, winnie the pooh, tigger, minnie or mickey saying something "witty" to me as I pass you in the grocery store, because more often than not it only makes me want to ram my cart into you. I know you mean well and it may be the last resort at being "cute" . I find it only fair to inform you that it's not working. I could ignore it. but I don't think they make any of that clothing in any size less than xxxl so it would take tremendous effort to miss. Next time you see a sale on a tweety t-shirt that says "100% cutie" at walmart, put it down. please. thank you.

-marie.

p.s.

I am really really sorry if this offends you. You can let me know your feelings in a message tee from hot topic. then any guilt I feel will quickly melt away.

see. even sandra bullock automatically weighs 300 pounds when she puts on a tweety shirt. 100% blonde my ass. shame on you sandra. shame on you.

introducing....I don't like that tuesday

2009-05-26T12:33:00.000-07:00

some of you may be familiar with "gimme that Thursday" on my awesomely great friend's blog. Shauna will pick some things each week that she covets and write glowing reports of adoration about them. We were discussing this when I was there last week and I thought, just to balance out the world, someone should pick a day and devote that to reporting on things they do not like or want (all in good fun, of course). I guess that someone will be me.

So...I hearby declare this day to be "I don't like that tuesday"! as will all tuesdays from this day forth as long as I have nothing better to do on a tuesday...

for the first installment I choose...

Glade commercials

Give me a F!@#ing break. Being unemployed for the time being, my t.v. consumption is a little higher in the recent days (I am not going to pretend that I am too wholesome to have the t.v. on in the background for much of my day.) and I tense up with annoyance every time a glade commercial comes on. Their spokeswoman is always trying to trick people into believing that her glade smells are the real thing. And then, at the end, after all her pals are shocked and in disbelief, she says "and yes, it's glade" while she stares at the camera without blinking. Just shut up. no one cares.

sorry I've been away...

2009-04-18T07:32:00.000-07:00

So, needless to say, I haven't "blogged" in a while. Blogging probably isn't even cool anymore. I blame my endless struggle with procrastination for my lack of, well, doing pretty much everything. Just so everyone doesn't take it personal (all six people who follow this) here are a few things I have not done that need to be done that an otherwise normal person would have:

change the oil in my car. a year overdue? no. that would be too responsible of me. try two.
hang up my clothes. I am thinking about this and I realize I probably haven't touched a hanger since Parker was born. Josh has, thank goodness.
clean out the car. it no longer has carpeting it has a junk mail coating at the bottom of it. Joey likes to eat receipts so at least there is less of those hanging around in there.
Call some friends back. now this is not funny to those of you who have called with wonderful intentions only to never hear back from me. please know that I want to talk to you, however, I am usually doing a lot at one time and I feel guilty calling people and not really even listening fully. I blame Parker fully for this one. so don't get mad at me, please. get mad at him. (how could you guys be so cold getting mad at a little baby?!?)
Put things on my walls. we have lived here since September and the living room has nothing up on the walls. the kitchen does but pretty much everywhere else is bare. I have a fear of committing to picture placement. if it can't be done perfectly I am not going to do it at all. actually...apply that theory to the next few things too.
organize my workspace at home.
clean my desk and cupboards at work.
Start Parker's baby album. This one makes me want to cry a little because he is growing SO fast. I want it to be perfect and beautiful. so of course I have a fear of disappointing myself so I just haven't started. which disappoints me. go figure.
many many more things that I have put of to be done at a later, undetermined time... but I tell you guys about those later. maybe.

I have not put off enjoying being a mom, though. I am trying to enjoy every second of parker's babyhood because I know it won't be here for long. Just his little smile makes me tear up with happiness and I don't want to miss anymore time with him than I absolutely have to. he is the best baby anyone could ask for and so much more...

12 little nuggets of knowledge.

2009-02-25T08:43:00.000-08:00

I never realized to silly kids like josh and I could make such a cute kiddo!
I don't think that I would have gotten to the one month mark without josh. For some reason he becomes more wonderful everyday and I do not thank him enough.
We have AMAZING friends and family. Thank you for all of the visits, calls, meals, household help and packages in the mail! Parker is so lucky to have all of you!
Suddenly I don't mind being pooped on or cleaning up poop sprayed on the wall. ( I guess I DO mind but not when it is from parker)
I have more understanding for why parents do the things they do.
Showers are a gift that should never be taken for granted.
Same goes for eating a meal, getting dressed and cleaning. yes, cleaning is a gift. to me.
The constant sobbing stopped about a week and a half ago. Now I am afraid it is turning into constant nagging. working on it!
I am torn about going back to work. it will be nice to have a break but I am pretty sure 8 hours a day is too long of a break.
Parker is finally getting the hang of living on the outside. He is starting to be like clockwork. A clock that will probably change every week.
I swore I would never be ok with touching parkers boogers or bulb saringing his nose. funny how I did both those things without blinking an eye.
I wish I had time to take more pictures.

already I am slacking!

2009-01-15T06:38:00.000-08:00

I've only had a blog for a few days and i have already sort of lagged behind in posting. Being 9 months pregnant is a good excuse for being lazy, right?

what does a typical day look like lately?

5:45 A.M.- get up and eat breakfast with josh

6:30 A.M.- subject josh to an episode of baby story on TLC. (who doesn't want to watch a birth when you are eating waffles?)

7:00 A.M.- joey and I situate ourselves and go back to sleep

10:00ish- i get up and drag joey off the couch so he will eat his breakfast

10:00-? ANYTHING I FEEL LIKE

I'm gonna enjoy it while I can!

Let's get this motorboat in the water....

2009-01-09T10:34:00.000-08:00

My name is Marie Barcellos. I am 25 years old.

I live with my WONDERFUL boyfriend of 3 years, Josh.

We share our home with Our 2 year old dog, Joey and multiple cats that I am sure everyone will hear about later so I will not make any individual introductions quite yet.

Our house isn't quite complete though.... We are expecting a baby boy, Parker Lawrence Walworth in just a couple weeks (if not earlier)!

I started my maternity leave from my job as a preschool teacher about a week ago and I have to admit that it is really nice to be able to relax and do some things I enjoy before my life changes completely! I have always wanted to be a mom and I am extremely excited for parker's arrival. At this point I am VERY done being pregnant and I just want to meet the munchkin that has been kicking me in the ribs! I am not so sure about people who say they love being pregnant. I suspect they may have a few wires loose. or maybe it is me with the loose wires.

well...there is my VERY short intro to my life. Don't worry, there is more to come. I just thought I would hit the major "bullet points" today. I am off to tackle some dishes and a major headache!

midnight in the living room of good and evil....

2009-01-09T00:06:00.000-08:00

well...it has been a few hours of turmoil (o.k. maybe an hour at most), but I have managed to start a blog. I am bleary eyed and drained but my sense of accomplishment remains. Unfortunately, I am unable to post anything of substance due to exhaustion. Thanks to a recent surplus of free time more will come soon.... goodnight all!