Babies and pickles. no, it's not a weird craving.

I'd like to start off today on a serious note. I recently read something very interesting in "The Week" magazine. (And I have no idea if magazines are supposed to be in quotes or not. I can't keep all those rules straight. So sue me.) It reads: "Throughout the world, 164 out of 168 nations surveyed guarantee paid maternity leave to working mothers. The four who do not are Papua New Guinea, Swaziland, Lesotho, and the United States." I'm sorry, but WHAT THE FUCK? What the HELL is wrong with this country? If you won't or can't get a job, you can sit on welfare and food stamps as long as you keep cranking out babies, but be gainfully employed and a contributor to society, and well, better not breed cause if you do, too bad for you! Between that and the fact that it costs your left nut to get healthcare in this country, it has me wondering exactly what kind of land of opportunity we're running here. Makes a person want to move to Canada. Too bad I can't stand the cold.

Now for the lighter side of me, I have a funny story to relate. Yesterday, my Lawrence and I went to Scarborough Faire, ya know, like ya do, and towards the end of the day we decided to buy some jerky. I was also wanting a pickle, but I hadn't mentioned it to Lawrence, because he'd already bought me so many foods that day, I didn't want to seem like a blood sucking mooch. We got to the jerky stand, and I saw that they ALSO sold pickles! Serendipity baby! The guy manning the stand went to the pickles, tongs in hand, ready for the word. Lawrence said, "We'd like some jerky, please." A look of confusion flitted across the jerky monger's face, but he set the tongs down and came over to dole out the jerky. He was just about to tell the cost when I couldn't take it anymore. "I'd like a pickle also," I said. "I KNEW IT!!" he exclaimed, "I had you pegged the moment I saw you! I knew you were a pickle princess!" He cackled gleefully to himself as he retrieved a pickle from the barrel, wrapped it in paper, and handed it to me. "Pickle princess!" I laughed. I wondered exactly how he could tell that I harbored an unsettling love for pickles. Does he realize that I always ask for extra pickles on my burgers? Is it a certain kind of person who loves pickles? Could you do a personality test around pickles? Maybe he just saw me eyeballing the pickles and read me accordingly. Maybe it's something more. Who knows? All I know is that I thank God everyday for the brave miners who risk their lives day in and day out to bring pickles from the dark, dank, and dangerous pickle mines far beneath the earth. Hours are spent delicately prying each individual pickle from it's spot nestled between other less precious rocks and gems. They are the most valuable and precious substance on Earth, and this is why burger places only give a scant two slices per burger. Even at that, those two slices are where most of the cost for the burger comes from. So next time you callously toss aside those priceless green jewel slices, close your eyes and think of the brave brave pickle miners, and me, the Pickle Princess.

Men

Today I was thinking about how weird it is that the one guy I've been engaged too (and had a child with) and the guy I'm going to marry both go by their middle names. Isn't that weird?

I was also thinking about when I was pregnant and trying to think of baby names. David was involved in the process at first, but he wanted to name the baby after him, something that I feel is the ultimate and most unflattering form of narcissism. I obviously refused. Then he displayed a penchant for boring names, so I removed him from the naming process. After that I found that, being as how I was a single woman and all, every man on the face of the planet tried to talk me into naming my unborn child after him (assuming it was a boy of course). Isn't that weird? Seriously. They would spend hours creating extensive arguments as to why I should name my child after them. Juan, Nathan, and Wade were the worst, but not the only contenders by far. Nathan even claimed that I actually did name my baby after him. Nathan/Ethan. I tried to explain to these guys that if I spent lots of time with them (which I did) and then named the baby after them, everyone would think they were the father. They didn't seem to mind that. Men are weird.

Today I was screwing around at work, and I found a love compatibility horoscope, so I decided to check it out. I did it first for Cancer and Taurus (that's what Lawrence is) and here's what it said:

Love Compatibility of Cancer with Taurus
Cancer and Taurus are the ultimate domestic duo. You lovingly whip up breads, pies, cakes, cookies and muffins, and your Bull is all too happy to help you eat them. Taurus, also a good cook, will gladly return the favor anytime. You two are happy at home, but you can get so cozy with each other that you forget there's a whole world out there, full of friends and family who would like very much to spend some time with you. Taurus is more stable and grounded than you are, and can adjust to the ebb and flow of your emotional tides easier than most signs.

Then I decided to reverse it and see what advice it gives Taurus who want a cancer. Pun intended.

Love Compatibility of Taurus with Cancer
Cancer knows the way to your Taurus heart - through your stomach. This Crab will woo you with domesticity, and you'll be more than happy to be on the receiving end. You both strive for luxury and comfort in your surroundings, and together, you could create a living space that would be the envy of your friends and neighbors. Cancer needs security first and foremost, and luckily, that's your middle name. When you meet, you'll trust each other almost immediately. If you hit it off early in the relationship, it's a good sign you're headed for forever.

All in all, I'd say I like. Right on the mark. Especially the part about cancer's moodiness. SO I'M MOODY! SO WHAT?!? I don't believe in the zodiac and horoscopes, but they're fun to read, and when the tell me what I want to hear, more the better. so YAY!

Sudden old age onset

I am officially getting old. I think I might be getting arthritis. My hips and knee hurt sometimes. And sometimes my left shoulder. But worst of all, lately, my right ankle-you know-the one that got a stiletto heel through it once-it has started hurting. Often. It creaks and cracks when I move it. It gets cricks in it, which is a really strange thing, getting a crick in your ankle. Both of my parents have ostheo-arthritis, which is genetic. Yay! Mom has a little rhuematoid as well. I don't think that one is genetic, but really I'm talking out of my ass here, so I could be wrong. How very annoying. I don't care about being old, I just don't want to be a cripple.

the oldest profession: advertising

My friends, I gather you here today to discuss commercials. Specifically, the New AT&T Yellow Pages commercials. There are several that I know of. There is one on television where a couple is walking around with the phone book in hand, using it to find a pizza place. Upon arrival, they discover, not a pizzeria, but a store that exclusively sells engagement rings. The girl, thinking that her boyfriend has staged a proposal, jumps for joy and hugs him gleefully as he stands with a stunned look on his face which then transforms to a look of dawning horror. The implication, of course, is that if they had used a more up to date book, this wouldn't have happened. There are also two radio ads for said book. One features a man who has hired an organic pesticide exterminator. It turns out that this exterminator uses rocks. Rocks that he throws at everything in sight, including the cat and the image of sasquatch on the television. The other advertisement has a minister of some sort trying to conduct a wedding ceremony while a photographer loudly and constantly talks and snaps pictures in a most annoying fashion. These ads state that if these people had used a "more complete book" they would have been able to make better choices on who they hired. Now I have a problem with these ads, and it has been bothering me more and more with every passing commercial break. The television ad can indeed make the claim that their book is up to date. But I have a hard time believing that it will still be up to date in December. So, really, it can only be called the most up to date book for a week or two after publication. I seriously doubt they will reissue a book every single time a business closes or changes location or something. But really, it's the radio ads that bug me the most. Are they trying to say that their book contains ads that say things like, "Exterminator-I throw rocks and am so dumb I can't tell reality from roaches." Or maybe, "Really obnoxious photographer for hire: I'm loud and annoying and will completely ruin your big day!" Seriously. Their ads are put into their book by the advertiser, just like any other phone book. What are they trying to pull here? I, for one, am outraged! From now I on, I will not use the AT&T yellow pages. I will continue using the Verizon yellow pages! Which actually really works out, because I am in the Verizon service area.

Don't even get me started on Emergency rooms advertising. Really.

Get your motors running. Head out on the Highway!

You know how I've been cursed to share a truck with my dad, taking away my freedom and cursing me to spend hundreds of dollars on gas all the time? Well, no longer my friends. No longer. I finally bit the bullet and plunked down cold hard down payment for a car. It is a gorgeous 2005 Chevy Impala. It's been driven by people at the company, but never been owned. Until now. It will get much better mileage than the truck, and it drives faster too! I will be broke forever. Here is a picture of my wonderful car. It looks blue sometimes and purple sometimes. It is very roomy. I am taking suggestions for what to name it.

Yeah. I'm screwed up. I'm dealing with it.

I've had several ideas on what to post about, and invariably, before I am able to get to the computer I forget. Possibly because it was so hot in my house yesterday that my brain actually melted and recoagulated after it cooled down.

You know I've been having crankiness problems. I have also been having serious serious doubts about my relationship with Lawrence. Mostly due to it seeming like he's not really dedicated. Mostly that stems from the fact that he hasn't proposed. I was so upset and filled with doubts that I was thinking about breaking up with him. and so I was talking to him about all this on Monday, and it struck me. I realized where all these problems were coming from. It's a lifelong problem I've had that stems back to the sixth grade. You see, in sixth grade, I had no friends. Then one day, a girl named Stephanie Stinson befriended me. I was so happy! She even came with her own lackey, a yes girl named Ginger. Stephanie was smart and fun and not at all weird or smelly. (Which is always a concern in elementary school.) She was my first friend since third grade and I thought life was finally looking up. Six weeks went by, and suddenly she turned on me. It turned out she had befriended me to get dirt on me which she then used against me to raise an even bigger wave of mocking than had ever transpired before. So, for some reason, it seems that I still have trust issues years later. You probably don't know it (well Josh does. And Joe. And maybe some others. But not everyone! OH NO! Not EVERYONE!), but when I make a friend, this friend has to pass a series of tests. I don't even do it on purpose, it just happens. And if they make it through the tests, there's a probationary period where I watch them very closely, and if it seems like they are wanting out of the friendship at all, I quickly come up with a bazillion reasons why I don't want to be friends with them and shuffle them out of my life. Everyone who I know face to face who I call friend has passed through this gambit, whether they were aware of it or not. (Especially you Kiera-I'm always much harder on girls. Job well done!) I really don't do it on purpose, I promise. But there it is. And Monday when I was talking to Lawrence, I realized that I was doing it. I was looking at things he was doing (like not proposing and not calling me as much-only once or twice a day now!) and saying, Oh! He stopped liking me, time to run for the hills before I get hurt! We discussed it and he assured me that he is not going anywhere. So now that I've identified my hidden psychological problems, I feel much better! No more doubt! No more flight response! Yay! No more crankiness! Yay! Except when I get so hot my brain melts. That still makes me cranky. But all in all, far less crankiness. Geez. Why does anyone put up with me? That's rhetorical, by the way.

cranky old lady random rantings

I've been cranky today for no good reason. The irony is that I slept for approximately 5 1/2 hours in the middle of the day. I should be on top of the world.

I don't know what to do about Ethan. He wants to come back next year really bad. If I get married in the middle of the school year, I would rather him stay up there so he doesn't have to switch schools a bunch of times. Also, in the selfish bitch category: well, he's doing really really well up there and my life's a whole hell of a lot easier. This is one of the many reasons I am a terrible person.

My contacts keep drying out. I need new ones, but can't really afford them.

I wish people would update their blogs more often.

I like Little Debbie Cosmic Brownies. But I think I like them more in potentia than in reality.

I'm getting sick of having a gecko. I've been seriously considering letting him go in the back yard. I don't do it because I think he would get eaten.

I want to get married dammit. I wish Lawrence would hurry the fuck up and propose.

I'm sick and fucking tired of dieting. Maybe I should just resign myself to eternal chubbiness. One thing's for certain; if I ever do lose all the weight, I'm bombing the mother fuckin Slim Fast factory.

Sometimes I get tired of being Mormon. I get sick of having to work hard and strive and always do the right thing when everyone else in the world is coasting along doing whatever the hell pops into their little brains. It doesn't seem fair sometimes.

I'm sick and tired of having to go to work all the damn time. Who thought up this crappy system anyway?!?

I don't like studying. I like knowing things, but I hate studying, so I wish somebody would get off their duff and invent a brain jack so I can just plug in and download information into my brain already. What's the hold up on that?

I used to learn a lot more quickly when I was young. Getting old sucks. Even if you don't look it. I also think I might be getting arthritis.

I'm going (back) to bed.

yay for change!

So I got my hair done professionally. I still wasn't able to decide what color I wanted, so Misti (my hair dresser) and I discussed it and decided on a reddish brown base with red highlights. She put on the brown, trying to go one shade lighter than my roots and it looked, well, black when she was done. We were both pretty dismayed. She said that it would fade some, and the highlights would help, so we plowed on. She did the highlights, and they turned out much lighter red and blonde than she expected. Apparently my hair is unpredictable;e. But, while she was concerned because it wasn't what we discussed, I love, LOVE, LOOOVE it. It's actually, well. . .It looks as close as you can get to my natural color without it actually being natural. It's like I spent lots of money to get what God gave me. LOL. Oh well. It looks really really good. And she had to whack the ends. It went from waist length to bra strap length, but it feels healthy and looks good, and the length will come back eventually. I have a pic that I took, but it's really dark so you can't really see what color it is. I will put it here any way. Here you go. Man I don't photograph well. *sigh*

PS-I told Jared that I couldn't have him in my life any more. Thought you'd be pleased to hear that.

Scarborough

Ok, I just want to say that I'm in a kinda pissy mood today. There is no good reason for this pissy mood. Just one of those things.

So now that that is out of the way, let me just say that on the way home I saw the weirdest thing. There was a dead deer on the side of the road. Just laying there on the grass. Being dead. WTF?!? I've never seen a deer in this area until now. Crazy shit.

Saturday I went to Scarborough with my boyfriend, (you'll have to forgive me, I just really like saying the phrase 'my boyfriend') and there were several interesting goings on. We went to look at costumes for me, (yeah-I know. But hey, it's a chance to wear a pretty dress and look like a princess, so whatever.) and the salesperson at one of the places was quite clearly a man. Tall, deep voiced, masculine. But in a dress and makeup and with ample AMPLE cleavage heaving. Um. Confused. Transgendered? In the process? Drag queen with implants? Really really good push up bra? Yeah. So, that was a little off putting for me, simply because I had no idea how to refer to this person. He or she? I settled on she, but me mind keeps saying he, because seriously, she/he was manly. So anyway. I didn't like their costumes, but he/she simply insisted I try one on, so I did, and when he/she laced up the bodice for me, it was so tight I really thought I was going to pass out. Plus, it made me uncomfortable, because for the experience, I had to take of my undershirt and bra, and so there I am in an outfit that is way more revealing than I am comfortable with, and there's a sales "girl" manhandling me and barking commands at me. She/he told me to "bend over and fluff the girls. We want a perfect plumbers smile without letting the puppies show." Ok, so that was funny, but by that time I was seriously fearing for my poor brain cells that were no longer receiving oxygen, so I wasn't really gung ho on laughing right then. I went and escaped from the torture device and soon after had to do my inhaler to return my breathing to normal. We did not get a costume for me, needless to say.

Later, Lawrence and I were walking through a field, and a be-costumed man walked straight up to me and said with a completely straight face, and with an accent none the less, "Did I tell you, milady? You could do better." I ripped out a quick witty response of *blink, blink.* My mouth hanging open, I had no idea what to say. Thank you? No I can't? Sez you? Without another word he turned and walked away. I was flummoxed. Then Lawrence started laughing, and I found out that he and Lawrence are friends. So I guess he was joking. At least I think he was.

But I do get that a lot. People are always telling me that I could do better. Even Lawrence says that. Lots. In a way, it makes me a little angry, because it belittles Lawrence, and it belittles me for choosing Lawrence. Another thing is, um, ok, let's look at my major dating choices of the past. An Indian man who was 12 years older than me and married and a womanizer. A guy who was constantly breaking up with me to date other girls and kept coming back to me when he was horny, eventually to leave me a single mother on my own. (I'm exaggerating for effect, but not by much.) A guy 9 years my junior who's also a womanizer and was most likely just trying to get some play. (And I suspect he would be a selfish lover.) Now let's compare them with Lawrence, who maybe not be as cute as some of the guys in the world, but is honest, kind, loving, thoughtful, would never purposefully hurt me, will be a good provider, is established with a home and car, thinks I'm beautiful and wonderful despite all evidence, likes to buy me things, opens doors for me, is a perfect gentleman, is a member of my religion who actually honors his convenants and beliefs, and is eager to please. He even cooks! And I think he's absolutely adorable. So how can I do better again? Another reason it makes me angry when people say that I can do better is because, and this is the worst part, it make me feel like maybe I can do better. It makes me feel like maybe I am slumming and I should realize my true worth. And I hate feeling that way. I hate how I am so susceptible to doubt and influence of others who don't even know anything about anything. So there. So this is where Kiera jumps in and tells me how perfect Lawrence and I are for each other. At least mom tries to help. The other day she says out of the blue, "I think Lawrence is too good for you, you're too mean for him, he deserves someone better." I can always count on mom to keep my feet on the ground.