SEX, SEX, AND MORE SEX!!!!

Did that title catch your attention? I know it did, but I'm sorry to report that it was all a scam. There is no sex here today. Well, you know, not on my blog at least. Hehe.


So...yeah. I'm slacking again. I know. What a loser. (About the lack of blogging, not the sex)

But I know that none of you are close enough to actually kick my ass into gear, so HA!

I'll be back soon, if anyone cares at this point...

Love you, and I bid you adieu.

For now.

A Pain in the Head

I've been having headaches for about a month straight now. Every day, across my forehead and between my eyes, my head pounds.

The first week I brushed it off to lack of sleep and the changing weather, because usually the weather really does affect me. By the end of week two, a friend of mine scolded me for not having gone to the doctor yet.

I shrugged it off, thinking it must just be something silly, but decided to ask my mom (the nurse) about it that weekend. She went up one side of me and down the other, telling me what a tool I was for not having gone to the doctor yet.

Then miraculously after that weekend, my headache was gone! For two days. Then it came back.

And it's been holing up in my brain ever since. And now my head hurts so bad that half the time I'm feeling nauseated too. Even the pills I was prescribed for my migraines when I was pregnant aren't making a difference.

So...I called my doctors (I have two, since I'm currently making the switch from one office to another), and as luck would have it, they're both on holidays till mid-November.

I could go to a walk-in clinic...which are disgusting, and dirty, and where I'll have to wait hours for a doctor to go "Hmm, I dunno. I can't find anything physically wrong with you..." or I can go to emerg, which is just ridiculous, because there are people with far worse problems than a stupid headache.

What to do? What to do?

I think I'll just hang in there for either my lesbian (and not in a sexy way) doctor to come back from holidays and feel me up so that she can check my head - she strips me naked for everything, even a sore throat, which is why I'm switching doctors - or else wait to see my new, located across the city, Spanish cowboy doctor.

Yep. But I have a feeling the cowboy will win.

A Call from the South

Last night, at approximately 5:45pm, the phone rang. Ellery was in her crib, strongly protesting the nap she so desperately needed, the husband was sprawled out on the couch watching the news, and I was curled up in a chair, debating going to grab the shrieker out of the crib, when the phone rang.

Ring, Ring.
(that was supposed to be the phone, but our phone actually plays an Irish jig song when it rings)

"Who is it?" I asked as I flicked my eyes over to the husband.

"I don't know...the area code is 704" he mumbled.

I squished my face up and said "$*&@ing telemarketers!" Then I hit the call end button on the phone, so I wouldn't have to listen to the ring anymore.

A few seconds went by as our machine picked up, and then I heard a man's voice. "Hey guys, it's Reg...we're just calling to..."

And then I jumped off my chair and yelled "That's Reggie!!! Answer it! Answer it!" But before husband had a chance to react I was already yelling into the phone "Hi hi hi hi hi hi! We're here!!!!"- probably giving poor Reggie a mild heart attack.

Once I calmed down a bit I talked to Reggie for a moment, then Gigi and I gabbed for a bit, then Reggie needed to discuss football with the husband, then I was back on with Reggie, and then I spent the rest of the time talking to Gigi.

*sigh*

I love those two.

Seriously. Their accents make me happy right down to my toes, and it makes me laugh to hear Reggie in the background harassing Gigi about everything she says (so something I would do to the husband). And for the record here Reggie...I do NOT have a hard time understanding Gigi's accent!

So we talked a little about Ellery, and about some recent landscaping going on around their place. Gigi talked to me about her dad, and she told me that sometime they want to come up here and take the passenger train across Canada. I think there was some mentioning of them wanting us to move down there, or at the very least to come for a visit :) and there may have even been some mention about them adopting us as their own, which made me giggle uncontrollably.

Now that I know who that area code belongs too, I'll try to tone down the potty mouth and sound a little more cool when I answer the phone. And call us any time!!! We love to hear your voices.

Seriously Gigi, call me whenever your pretty little heart desires :)

The Absolute Bane of My Existence

This table.

This mother@*%$er of a table causes me more stress and pissed off moments than it's worth. For the life of me, I can not keep it clean. It's like some sort of weird vortex that sucks up every miscellaneous piece of junk lying around our house, and displays it in this explosion of garbage.

I've actually given up trying to clean it up before we have company now (unless they're staying for dinner), because everyone who knows me, also knows about the issues I have with this table. No sense trying to hide it, they all know I would have just cleaned it off for them anyways, so who cares?

It's been clean a total of about 10 times since we got it a few months after we got married. That was over 7 years ago. Appalling, isn't it?

Usually when we have friends over for dinner I'll do a mad house cleaning, then when I get to the table I just take everything off, pile it in a laundry basket or bin, transfer the bin into the bedroom or laundry room, wipe the table down with a cloth and ta da! Good as new, and it looks great!

The problem with that, is that I never ever get back to all the stuff I cleared off the table in the first place, so it becomes a problem elsewhere in the house. Plus, usually by the next morning the table is mysteriously sporting a newspaper, a water glass, some loose change, a jacket over one of the chairs, a cell phone bill, a hydro bill, some random piece of clothing...it's very peculiar.

So I know, you're all thinking "Ali! If you hate it so much, and you obviously don't eat off it, then why the hell don't you just ignore the stupid thing, and let it be messy if it wants to?"

My answer to that, is this:Yeah, see her? Well in a few weeks time, that little monster is going to be sitting in her brand new highchair, trying her first bite of infant cereal. And then will come the veggies, and the fruits, and all the rest, which means that the husband and I are going to have to be sitting at that table with her. I just can't justify starting my kid off eating in front of the tv (which is where the husband and I usually eat now). Because then, you know, in 12 years or so she'll be this chubby little nightmare, and we'll be on Maury, and she'll be this out of control, obese hellion, who is yelling at me "I don't have to listen to you bitch, you're not the boss of me!" and we'll end up sending her to boot camp...and you know, I just don't want to be the cause of that just because I let her sit in front of the tv to eat.

You know?

I'm thinking of just setting the table and everything that's on it on fire, then buying a new, smaller one, so there is less space to pile crap on, thus making it easier to keep it clean...

Some Feelings of Guilt from a New Mom

Anyone who has been reading this blog for any great length of time knows about the struggle we had to get pregnant with Ellery. You know about the pain, the losses of babies and body parts, and about the repeated broken hearts that the husband and I both suffered.

So now she's here. She is the absolute love of my life, the reason for my existence, the bounce in my step, and a dream come true. Being with her every day is one of the best jobs I could ever ask for, and I wouldn't trade it for anything.

At his job at the hospital, the husband works 12 hours shifts - from 7:30 to 7:30, so is usually gone almost an hour before he starts, and is home about a half hour after his shift. That makes for a long day.

Often times when he's working a weekend I'll pack up Ellery and we'll go home to my parents' house in Ontario, since because of the lengths of his shifts, he leaves when she's sleeping and gets home when she's sleeping, so it's not like he could spend any time with her anyway. We come back into the city when he's going to have a couple days off, and usually spend time together just the three of us, which I love.

On the weekends when he goes back to Ontario with us, sometimes he'll go out for a few hours, or even an entire day, fishing, or golfing, or visiting friends he doesn't often get to see. Now he doesn't do this all the time, and in fact he never goes without asking me first, but herein lies the problem. I don't feel like I can ask him not to go. If he stays at home with me there isn't usually anything really exciting going on, just visiting family most of the time. If I tell him to go I feel almost angry at him, because that means he gets an entire day to himself, not to have to work, or take care of Ellery, but just to do what he wants.

See? Now I'm sitting here bawling because I feel like a bad person for even confessing that...

When he's off for a few days in the city I'll ask him if he can watch Ellery for a few hours, just so I can get out. He always tells me that of course he'll watch her, and to go out and relax and do whatever I want. I used to go and have to be back within a couple hours, because I was breastfeeding, but now I can stay out longer if I want. One day I even spent about 7 hours away, and it was great, but I couldn't help but feel guilty when I got home after being out the whole day.

I keep thinking that he's the one working, so why should I ask him to watch Ellery alone on his days off? Even for just a few hours?

If he has to work the next day I never expect him to get up to feed her in the middle of the night, and even when he's not, I usually get up with her before he has a chance to. Plus, he's pretty much dead to the world at night, so he never hears her. But then when I'm sitting there in the dark, giving her a bottle and falling asleep, I'm angry at him for not getting up. And sometimes he really doesn't get a chance before I'm out the door, so I don't know how I can be mad about it.

Now I know that to any mom out there, and even to most fathers, this sounds stupid. I know (especially you moms) that staying home with a child every day absolutely IS work, and I'm an idiot for thinking that somehow his work is more important than mine. I'm with her 24 hours a day, 7 days a week - I know her better than anyone else.

The thing is that I love being with her. I never, ever resent her, or feel like I don't want to be with her, not at all. But I just miss being able to go out and do mindless things, like shop or take a walk. I miss the chance to exercise my mind by doing freelance work. I miss spending time with other people, ones that I'm losing touch with simply because they are not in baby mode.

Why is this such a difficult thing? Why do I feel so guilty about it? Why do I get mad at the husband for wanting the same things that I do? Why is it easier for him to do those things?

*sigh*

Alright, I'm done. Time to go get the little shriek-monster ready for the day :)

Titillating Conversations of a Married Couple

Last night at around 10:30 pm...

I'm in pink, the husband is in blue.


We need to have a good conversation so I can blog about it.

Okay, what do you want to converse about?

I don't know...

Well, have I talked about anything funny in my sleep lately?

No.

And usually I'm just pissed off at you all the time lately, so I can't write about that. (laughing)

Don't sneer.

Apparently I sneer...so he says.

He totally ignores me for awhile while he watches tv.

What are you watching?

The end of a baseball game.

Are you really excited?

He looks about as excited as a wet mop.

Can you tell?

Well you're sitting like a tool! (more laughing)

Well I want to go to bed, why don't you come to bed?

He stands up, but is sort of hunched over like an ogre.

Hey????

Oooh, that's a super sexy stance...

He starts swaying his hips back and forth and gyrating a little.

Yeah, you see this????

Rolling my eyes.

Fine, let's go to bed.

And I just typed this.

Typed what?

This conversation.

What?

He thinks for a moment.

Did you talk about my moves?

Me laughing that he thinks what he was doing was "moves".

Oh yeah!

Meme Time!!!!!

Mkay, TZ over at Zimmerhouse tagged me about a week ago to do this meme, so without further ado...

Six Quirky Things

1. I love blueberry muffins; in fact, they may be almost my favourite kind of muffin. But when I eat them I pick the blueberries out and throw them away. Don't ask.

2. When I burn a cd from my music collection, I usually make up a story using the song titles and artists, which I write on the cd, instead of just writing what music is on it.
For example: One night I saw Paris behind a Bush in great Misery. She found out Joan Jet had Walked the Line with Duran Duran while in El Paso, gazing at the Harvest Moon. Now Paris was riding the Subways, and with a Rebel Yell had decided one thing; She Wants Revenge.

Either that, or I have to draw pictures pertaining to the band all over them.

3. I love meme's. Love them. I think I may be the only one though.

4. Being an editor, I'm all about the words. Spelling in particular. I know I occasionally slip up, but really, misspelled words make my skin crawl. And the one that bothers me most? Tomorrow. Why, oh why can people not spell that correctly? Especially when there is spell check on everything these days!? Usually people spell it with two m's instead of two r's, which I can kind of understand - but I have a girlfriend that spells it - are you ready for this? - tomowrow. I don't know how she gets that w in there every time, but she does. Eeeek!

5. I re-arrange furniture at night. I have no idea why, but it's usually at around 8pm when I will get a sudden burst of energy, then throw in some laundry, clean the entire kitchen, file paperwork, then decide that some room needs to be re-arranged. Husband just shakes his head. He's finally quit trying to convince me that daytime is a better time to work.

6. I am constantly feeling my cell phone vibrate in my pocket, even if I'm not wearing pants. I usually have it on vibrate, and most of the time keep it in the front pocket of my jeans (and that is in no way intended to be dirty - lol). However, since I have been carrying it there for years, I often experience "phantom ringing", where I would swear I just felt my phone vibrate, thus smacking my hand on my hip to check, only to realize that I'm wearing pj's or underwear and that my phone is being charged, or in my purse.

Anyone else that wants to play is welcome to it!

Duuuuuuuuuude

Okay, I know this is getting really old.

I'm posting about as often as I change the sheets on my bed - which I freely admit isn't often enough.
(And no, we're not sleeping in dirty sheets, just "broken in" - lol)

Life has been utterly exhausting lately, and even though you might think that must mean I have endless blog-fodder, sadly, it does not.

Let me put it to you this way; I'm so tired right now that instead of going in and posting one of the 18 posts I already have written, I decided it would be less work to type this new post, instead of having to reach over and use my mouse for anything.

Pathetic, hey?

Anyways, I just rolled back into town tonight, after 4 days in dial-up land, and I'll be up early in the morning working on some freelance, so I absolutely promise to write a decent post tomorrow...which is...uh, Tuesday I think.

Love and kisses - don't give up on me!

Do dee do dee do

I've been sort of M.I.A. lately, sorry about that gang.

Last Friday we took Ellery for her 4 month check-up (which was actually closer to 4.5 months, but whatever), and it wasn't exactly a fun visit. She had to get two vaccinations, and then when we had her measurements done, she was quite a bit under for where she should be for weight.
She's right on for her skill level, height, head circumference and all that jazz, but the poor little thing was only 10 pounds, 9 ounces - and considering she's almost 5 months, and that some babies are born that weight, the doctor decided we had to do something about it.
So...enter formula and the bottle. And forget about breastfeeding. That was pretty traumatizing for both her and I, so this weekend was spent coaxing her to take the bottle (she cried when I wouldn't feed her, I felt so bad), pumping her full of Tylenol since she was fevering from her vaccinations and teething up a storm.

And then with all that, we had already made plans for my mom to come into the city on Friday night so that the husband and I could have a date - so I didn't want to cancel on her when she had driven 3 hours to be there for us. So, we went out, and had a great time, but apparently Ellery cried right up until she went to bed - my poor girl.

This weekend we tried to get out as much as we could, because she loves being in the Snugli, so we ended up going out to the St. Norbert market (a huge market just outside Winnipeg with fresh produce, and chickens, and jewellery, and crafts - all handmade in Manitoba), then on Sunday we went to the zoo. Considering what a hard weekend it was for her, Ellery handled it like a champ.

A white black bear.

A black bear.

A cute monkey...I don't remember which kind.

And E giggling at me as I was doing this sort of shimmy shake dance for her while we walked around the zoo.

Oh, and she is now taking the bottle without a fuss (Hallelujah!) and already looks a teeny bit chubby.

Yesterday I left her with the husband for the entire day, and I went out and spent 7 glorious hours all by myself. I went and did a little shopping, but spent most of the day at the beach - where it was chilly, and nearly deserted - but I took tons of pictures, and walked forever, and had an absolutely amazing day.

There were leaves all over the beach, and I loved the way they left their imprints in the sand.

I love the beach.

A mossy bench along the trail through the woods.

Tomorrow husband heads back to work after nearly two weeks off, so Ellery and I will have to get used to basically being alone again for most of the time. It's been great having him home, and a little weird, and a bit of a pain in the ass :) but mostly great.

Sorry I don't have any more exciting news for you, I've just been living life.


AGH! And gross! I just realized that I somehow switched my camera settings to take the shittiest quality pictures!!! Damn it! Oh frickity...now I'm grumpy...boo...

How to Make An Ass of Yourself in Walmart

After Miss E was in bed tonight I hit the town for an evening of solitary pampering and shopping...

...which in reality turned into me sprinting out for an hour to look for a new fall jacket, but instead spending that time looking at baby stuff, and buying a bunch of new stuff for E.

Just as I was about to head for home, the Walmart sign caught my eye, and I decided that since it was already 9:15, most of the inbreds would be gone home for the night, so I could run in quickly and grab some essentials.

I called home and the husband asked me to pick him up some body wash..."whatever you think smells good." Okay. Whatever I think I want him to smell like - sounds easy enough.

As I sauntered through the parking lot, I got my mental list ready and prepared to crank it into high gear upon walking through the doors - get in and get out, keeping my time in that hell hole as brief as possible.

I careened down the aisles at breakneck speed, throwing in what I needed and wasting no time. As I made my way to the "personal hygiene" aisle and stopped in front of the manly scents, I stared up at the wall blankly. Arctic Ice? Sport Fresh? Sex Panther? London Gentleman?

(And on a side note - who comes up with these lame-ass names?)

I decided the only way to find something that I liked, and that the husband would smell good using would be to smell them all myself, so I started going through them all, popping the top, gently squeezing them, and taking a whiff. Some were not bad, some made my corneas burn, and others made me want to puke, but I soldiered on.

Halfway through my sniff test, a man walked up beside me and began looking at the wall as well. It was about that time that I was thinking that I should just ask him what he wore, then grab it and get out of there. After a moment though, I realized that he wasn't there for his usual scent, and was perusing for something new.

Finally I finished sniffing, and decided that I would go back to re-sniff a couple that I didn't mind. As I grabbed the first one, I realized the man was watching me (by this time he probably thought I had some sort of body wash fetish), so I coolly flipped the lid open, squeezed the body wash, and promptly squeezed it straight up my nose.

As I shrieked in surprise, I reached my hand up to my nose to try to wipe some of the body wash off, and a giggle escaped my lips. And that one little giggle opened up the flood gates, and I lost it, giggling hysterically - and when I looked up, the man was laughing out of control too. I kept wiping at my nose thinking to myself "You ass! Stop laughing! You should be totally mortified!" But in that moment, I knew how funny it was, and so it didn't even bother me when the guy actually reached over and wiped the side of my nose.

So we stood there and laughed, not having said anything to each other, just laughing, and then I announced "He's just going to have to pick his own damn body wash!" and I walked away.

I Charge More For Incisors

A couple days ago I was over at Slyde's blog, where he'd written about his mad math skills, and the conundrum he'd gotten himself into while playing the role of Tooth Fairy.

Despite his overpayment, his original plan had been to pay his son 5 bucks a tooth. Thinking that wasn't too shabby, I was quite surprised when when most of the comments were people in shock about the amount of cash the Tooth Fairy was dishing out.

I've heard other people talk about what they got from the tooth fetish fairy, and it was always something along the lines of a quarter a tooth, a buck a tooth, and for the really overpaid - 2 bucks a tooth. And until now, I always kept what I got to myself...

...but I used to get 10 or 15 bucks a tooth (I'm sure my dad was the one giving 15), plus maybe a cassette tape I'd been wanting (think Roxette or Vanilla Ice) and usually a book or toy. I had this little tooth pillow where the cash would be deposited, but then the rest of my haul would be sitting on my night stand.

But in light of everyone else sharing what they got, I'm beginning to understand why people thought I was spoiled. But did I mention I was an only child till I was 12?