Say No To Crack

What happens when you mix a husband assembling new furniture, a bored wife, tools, and a butt crack?

Major wife points.

And a hilarious picture.

(Have I mentioned that I have the most patient husband in the entire universe?  Well, I do.)  

Cooperative Ovaries, Beds, & Short-Lived Hobbies.

I tried to look for an amusing GIF to start off the bullets, but I couldn't find anything worthy enough. 

 Maybe next time.

-I went and saw my specialist on Tuesday to see if the cyst on my ovary had shrunk or gone away so I could get this baby makin' show back on the road.  My ovaries must know it's almost my birthday, because the cyst was gone.  Hooray!  I'm not real sure how I would have reacted if my doctor told me the cyst was still there and I had to take the birth control for another month.  Probably would have broken her stupid vagina ultrasound wand in half and thrown it out the window.  And I may or may not be exaggerating.  So the plan for this month is similar to what I was supposed to do last month, before my ovaries bitched it up.  Lots of Clomid, an HCG trigger shot, an IUI and progesterone suppositories.  And for the curious-minded, an IUI is more or less champion sperm in a turkey baster that they shoot right into my uterus.  It will increase our odds about 4%, which is a pretty flimsy statistic.  But it's better than 0%, so I'm not really complaining.  I am complaining about the $740 balance I just paid off at the specialist's office.  Barf.

-I just discovered the band Fun. - and I kind of love them.  I'm a little obsessed with their 'We are Young' song.  And not because it was on Glee, I just really like it.  They remind me of Queen a little bit.  I like 'em.

-Shawn and I decided that we're getting a new bed for our anniversary in April.  And by 'Shawn and I decided', I mean I decided and let Shawn know what he was getting me for our anniversary.  Our current mattress is really squeaky now from all the... bouncing - and it drives me nuts.  Luckily he seemed pretty keen on the idea.  We decided to graduate from a Queen mattress to a King.  Wooooo!  I went to Ikea and picked out the bed frame and matching nightstands.  The furniture in our bedroom gives me major OCD flareups.  None of it matches.  And there's only one nightstand.  And our headboard is the headboard Shawn has had since he was like, 7 years old.  I'm not much of a re-do old crap and make it cute.  I'm more of a, throw old crap away and buy new stuff.

-Remember when I started Real Estate School?  I took about a 6 week break, because I'm a huge slacker.  And also because the classes are the most boring classes ever.  I just started taking them again, not on any specific schedule.  Just when I get bored of learning/sucking at new hobbies, or screaming at my asshole dog for destroying my entire house.  As long as I finish within the year, it's all good.

-I'm still allergic to Bob.  I switched from Claritin to Zyrtec, and it works so much better.  He's getting fat, but is still super adorable and spazzy.  He falls asleep in really amusing positions.  I caught him and Toby snuggling - they were pretty embarrassed, naturally.

-On one of my days off, I was well beyond extreme boredom.  I decided that I needed a hobby to pass time.  In an act of premature ambition, I decided I was going to teach myself how to crochet and drove myself to JoAnne's and spent about 17 hours picking out yarn and needles.  I even bought a stupid book hoping it would help a little - which it did, for the first row.  Then I moved on to YouTube, because I was not getting past the first chain.  I finally figured out how to move on to the second row, and when I couldn't figure out how to move past that, I gave up.  That project lasted about 2 days before some severe ADD kicked in.  I'm sure I'll pick it up again at some point - I'm just not positive when that point will be.

 (I'm pretty BA at making a single chain.  You know that's right.)

 -I made the unfortunate mistake of starting to watch The Secret Life of the American Teenager while I was monitoring Twitter at work one day (did I mention that I love my job?).  Most ridiculous show ever.  If you want to know why teenage girls keep getting pregnant, it's because of TV shows like these.  They claim that "teenage pregnancy is 100% preventable" - but sex is all they talk about on that show.  It's absurd.  Not to mention the whole idea of teenagers getting pregnant the first time they ever have sex irritates me on a completely different level.  Freakin' fertile teenagers.  And then I hear rumors about trashy skanks like Snooki possibly being pregnant?  What in the hell is wrong with the world?  

-Oh, did I mention that my birthday is tomorrow?  I have absolutely nothing planned.  I informed my husband that that was his job this year - to which he responded, "How am I supposed to plan anything, you hate people."  So I did the mature thing and called him an ass and stomped off.  He just left the house with a cryptic smirk on his face a few minutes ago, and I'm just going to assume he's getting me presents!  He set the presents bar pretty low when he gave me a PlayStation and a book of sex moves a few years ago (yeah... right?) - so I'm pretty excited.  Though I do have to say, birthdays aren't nearly as fun now as they were when I was younger.  But I still love my birthday.  Mostly because I can get away with lots of crap I normally wouldn't get away with.  And that's always fun.

Aaaaaaaand that's about it!  

Chelsea's Packin' Heat, Bitchessss

Yeah, not really.  I mostly just enjoy saying 'packing heat'.  Because now I sound badass, don't I?  

Right. Anyways. 

Shawn has a shotgun, and we've gone shooting a few times.  And let's just say that aiming isn't my forte (Holy understatement, Batman.).  I haven't killed or shot anyone in the face yet, so I suppose I can't be that bad, right?  I blame my terrible shot on the fact that I can't focus on something without my right eye going crossed.  I can barely put on makeup sometimes, let alone shoot a flying orange frisbee in the air to smithereens.

I kept telling Shawn that I was pretty sure that I'd do better with a handgun.  I had never actually shot a handgun before, so it was all naive assumptions at the time.  This last weekend, we finally got to go to a handgun range.  And I was stoked.  We got all our equipment, and the gun dude taught us how to not kill anyone, and sent us on our way.  We were using pretty standard, simple guns.  A 22 and a 9-inch, I think?  Geez, I don't even know what they were called, nor do I really care - because I felt pretty bitchin' in my ear muffs and safety glasses holding a handgun.  

BAMF.

We got the targets ready on the moving thinger, (which was my third favorite part of the whole experience)... And we started shooting.

Lo and behold, the results of my first target shoot were probably the most embarrassing thing in the history of ever.

Yeah.

Three bullets hit the paper.  Two of them weren't even on the damn target.  I'm not even going to tell you how many bullets I shot total.  

My second round wasn't any better.  In fact, I blew the shi out of the clip that was holding the paper up.  And all the big, macho men next to us cracked up.  Mortifying.  

Betcha can't guess where the clip was.

I started getting semi-peeved that I was sucking so bad.  So I started to pretend that instead of shooting a target, I was shooting crap I hate.  Like infertility, and sucky drivers, and snow, and birth control, and bills, and flooding toilets, and just all-around shitty people in general.  And whattya know...

Worked like a charm.

My final round was my best one, naturally.  Not really anything to brag about.. at all.  Nevertheless, I was pretty proud of myself, considering where I was three rounds before.

I can totally see why people go to shooting ranges to let off steam.  I felt pretty dang good afterwards.  My husband was probably just a teensy bit concerned at just how much I liked it.   But I did.  And I fully intend on returning - and someday shooting a machine gun (speaking of badass).  How could that not be on my bucket list?  Chelsea shooting a machine gun?  Awesome.  I'll save that one for a really bad day.

So my advice to you, if you're ever feeling overly steamed (or you know, if you're bored): Go to a range, and shoot guns.  And if you suck, it's okay.  Because I probably suck more.

Stellar advice, eh?

Happy My Birthday Eve Eve Eve, Internet.

(Note: Chelsea may have used the third person a little more than usual.  You should probably just go with it.)