Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Today I had my first official meltdown at work. Like, straight up sobbing. Super embarrassing, right? Needless to say I was mortified. We've been getting crammed with information for the last 3 weeks - all really general information, might I add. And today was my third day on the phone with customers, and I somehow manage to feel like I've learned absolutely nothing in the last month.
Why was I such a blubbery hot mess? I told some old lady the wrong information. Twice. And naturally she got all impatient and testy with me. I even blurted out that it was my first week taking calls, hoping that she'd give me a little sympathy for being such an idiot, but no such luck. Naturally she wanted to talk to my supervisor - so as soon as I got someone else on the phone for her, you'd have thought someone had just slaughtered my dog. I. Lost. It. Luckily the girl, while I'm sure was beyond stunned, was really nice about it. She probably understood about two words that I said between all my gasps for air. At least she'll have something to talk about over dinner. You're welcome, nice crew support lady.
This on top of the fact that I've been waking up at the ass crack of dawn every morning, makes me nice and extra hormonal. Which is, you know, super fun. Everyone keeps telling me "Don't worry, it'll get easier." Which, sure, is great advice in hindsight. I do know that it will get easier eventually - but right now it's hard and apparently exhausting me to tears. So there.
I apologize for not being a good blog buddy lately - I literally have zero time to slum it around the web like I used to at my last job, and by the time I get home all I want to do is sleep forever. (And I mean that in the least suicidal way possible.) I'm still lurking around when I can - pinky swear.
I hate to leave on such a depressing note - but eh, life's kind of a bitch like that sometimes. So all you can do is take a 5 hour nap, eat a bag of Starburst Jelly Beans and hope things get better. You know, or whatever.
PS - I found this picture while Google Imaging (that's a verb now, right?)
Am I a bad person for wanting this for my kid? Kind of hilarious.
Friday, April 15, 2011
So the husband is currently on yet another Scout camp. The only issue I have with these monthly slumber parties, is that they always take my Jeep and leave me with the BMW. And while a lot of the issue is due mostly to my completely atrocious manual shift skills and me almost throwing up every time I'm stopped on even the slightest of inclines while driving - the even bigger issue is that, without fail, when Shawn brings back my car it smells like pure, unadulterated ass. Imagine the smell of the body odor of a prepubescent boy, mixed with old campfire smoke, mixed with a dead animal carcass, mixed with male pattern flatulence, mixed with some stinky butt morning breath - and then multiply that by 1,700 dirty diapers - and my Jeep would still smell worse. And that may or may not be a bit of a dramatization - but good holy Hitler, it does not smell pleasant. If there was ever a time when I wished the internet had scratch and sniff capabilities, this would be it. Because I know ya'll would secretly take a whiff. Don't even lie.
A hand fan. That's what I need.
Anyways - so I'm sitting at home, alone. Because apparently without my husband, I'm virtually friendless. Well, that's a lie. Technically if we're speaking in virtual terms, I have lots of friends. Thanks, Internet. But seriously, I'm kind of a loser. But it kind of works in favor of my ever-progressing agenda to get knocked up. Having babies = instant friends. Hello. (This is on top of the more sex, and bigger boobs arguments - solid, right? Why am I not a lawyer?)
I actually don't really have a problem being home alone - I rather enjoy it, truth be told. The only thing I don't like about it is all the ominous chores taunting me while I lay on the couch and watch
I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant/Oprah/Are You Smarter Than a 5th Grader quality television and play Words With Friends. I feel like when I'm home alone for the night, I need to have the house squeaky clean when husband returns from his stink fest. Instinctual wife thing, I suppose. Sometimes I'm amazed at the mess just two people can make - and sometimes it's so embarrassing that I just blame it all on the dog. (It's mostly embarrassing because half the time it's all my crap that is scattered from Hell to breakfast, let's be honest.)
(Ignoring the fact that Shawn may or may not die when he sees that I've posted pictures of our messy house on the internet.)
This is my kitchen right now. It looks 10 times cleaner in the picture than it does if you were standing in it. (Aside from the mess, isn't my kitchen AWESOME looking?)
This is the medicine/frosting/baking/spice/candy/crap cupboard that gives me anxiety every time I open it. With people living in our basement, cupboard space is limited. Obviously. But this cupboard is sad. You should have seen the inside of my fridge a few days ago - moldy goolosh, old breakfast quiche... we're not very good at leftovers, apparently.
This is reminiscent of all the messes my dog really does make in the house. It is unbelievable. Apparently we don't feed him enough, because he can't get enough of those blinds. Last time I checked, babies don't eat blinds, or couches, or wedding shoes? Cough.
This is the literal dog mess that is currently plaguing our backyard right now. I'm pretty sure you can't take 3 steps without stepping in dog crap. The good news is we just bought a nifty pooper scooper, I just don't want to be the one that has to use it. And yes, I felt super awesome taking this picture. Only refined, classy people take pictures of dog poop and post it on their blog.
Bathroom messes are 90% mine. I never put my stuff away after getting ready in the morning - and it drives Shawn insane. I always tells him that if it bugs him so bad, then he can do it. Wife points. Instead he just puts everything in the sink. Nice. And the wipes? They totally embarrass Shawn for whatever reason, and he hides them whenever he knows someone is coming over. You'd think I had a vat of vagina cream on the counter. I tell him there's nothing to be embarrassed about, people will just be confident that we have clean butts. Because obviously people are concerned about that kind of stuff. (Plus? Wipes totally save toilet paper in certain situations. Just saying.)
Sometimes it amazes me how much stuff we manage to cram into a garbage can before someone finally caves and takes it out. All of those paper towels are from cleaning up dog urine - well, except for the full roll of paper towels. That is from when my genius husband threw it in the toilet to be funny. I think it goes without saying that I wasn't amused. Just in case you wanted an analysis of our garbage.
If the bathroom isn't my downfall, then it's the clothes scattered all over the floor. Sometimes I'll try on 5 outfits before I find the one. And sometimes the previous 5 outfits end up on the floor. Or on the dresser. Or in the dirty laundry - even though they're clean. That way when Shawn questions me, I just bat my eyelashes and tell him that I already wore that outfit, so it's obviously dirty. Then I hurry and hang it up before he notices otherwise. You know, or I just wash it again. Because who likes the "putting away" part of laundry anyways?
And then there's the bed. Which I think I've only ever made on Saturdays and maybe Sundays.
And there you have it, a bunch of nonsensical rambling and my messy house that I should probably be cleaning. All my whining about cleaning aside, it's nice to be able to get it all done by myself once in a while - because my husband is usually the one who does a lot of it, all without complaining - because he rules. Look at us, taking turns. Fer cute.
Talk about airing your dirty laundry.
Have a super weekend, Internet!
Monday, April 11, 2011
So this past Friday we celebrated a full year of marriage - which, when you're married to me, is probably more of a feat for my husband. As I've mentioned in the past, I'm pretty certain Shawn deserves some sort of medal, award, or gold statue of himself, dubbing him the Jedi Master of wedded bliss. People always told me that the first year of marriage was the most difficult - and I suppose I'm lucky enough to say that if that was the hardest it'll ever be, then we're in for a treat. You know, until we bring screaming, pooping, keepmeupallnight children into the world - I'm sure that's when things will get really fun.
The day before our wedding birthday, my husband in a somewhat panicked tone asked me if people get each other presents for anniversaries. If I was a llama, I probably would have looked something like this...
Unfortunately I'm not a llama, or the situation would have been way more amusing. Anyways, I responded with a, "Well, you don't have to..." while simultaneously thinking of all the ways I could punish him if he forgot to get me at least a flower, a back rub, or something. Luckily I didn't marry an idiot - and when I woke up in the morning was surprised to find that he had installed a new shower head in the shower while I was sleeping - which sounds super lame, and maybe even kind of awkward - but it was one that I had wanted. (Mostly because I'm not a huge fan of showering together, because one person is always freezing their ass off in the corner while the other one is rinsing.) Anyways, it was one these kind...
So now there's water for everyone and I don't whine like a 3 year old when I'm not under the water for more than 6 seconds. WIN.
While I was getting ready for work, he went and bought me McDonald's for breakfast - and even though I probably knock a couple days off my life every time I eat their food, it was delicious.
When I came home from work, I opened the door to find this handsome scene...
In't he cute?
We went and got massages (and I'm pretty sure my masseuse was trying to kill me. Or pierce my back with her fricking elbow.) And then went to a restaurant called Market Street Grill. A client from my previous job gave me a gift card for the restaurant last Christmas, so we figured we'd give it a go. Worst. Idea. Ever. My 30 dollar salmon was absolutely terrible. It was dry and tasted fishy. (No crap, it was a fish, right? But you know what I mean.) Not to mention the atmosphere felt like a dangerously crowded Sizzlers. I'm not a huge fan of sitting so close to the people next to me, that I could pick food off their plate. The best part of the meal were Shawn's french fries. Which I ate half of - because my baked potato tasted like ass. So basically the moral of that story is if you live in Utah, do not eat there. Unless you enjoy terrible, expensive food. Then go for it. And bring me back some french fries.
I wasn't sure what the plan was after that, because Shawn is all about the cryptic surprises. So we head out in the absolutely ungodly weather (Thanks, Utah.) to our destination. I kept my eyes closed most the time, not because I was tired, but because driving in super dark snow storms absolutely terrifies me to death. Terrifies me almost more than the thought of swimming in the Amazon River.
We finally got to where we were going - and it was the same resort we had stayed in the weekend after we got married. Preeeeeeesh. Brought back lots of good times. (Like the time we thought it would be a good idea to put bubble bath in the jetted tub... Snort.) Such a great surprise. I forgot to take pictures of the place when we got there, which is why the bed isn't made. I couldn't be bothered to remake it with all the thousands of decorative pillows it originally had. Plus, I hate making beds. So there.
At least we know it got used, eh?
Anyways, we had a good time. We drove back home (after Shawn cooled off after noticing that someone hocked a loogie on his car. You know, the car with a BYU decal on the back.) and went to The Original Pancake House because I was hankering for some fruit crepes. NOM NOM NOM. We waited 45 minutes to sit down, they're that good.
I bet you're thinking, well you suck Chels - you made such a fuss about not getting a present, and you didn't even get Shawn anything. Fear not, Internet. This picture should speak for itself.
Every day that he hasn't had an iPhone, he's died a little inside. So he finally got one - and he's as giddy as a school girl. And apparently it isn't in my husband's blood to go to the mall and not come out with a bra from Victoria's Secret. And I ended up with probably one of the most lacy, fru fru bras I've ever owned in my life.
Also good for lamp decorating.
Oh yeah. I just posted a picture of my sexy bra on my blog. New level. Anyways, maybe that's the kind of bra that normal women wear all the time - while I slum it around in my Wal Mart bras. But you know, whatever. Moving right along.
Some time last year, I got a super awesome deal for a stay at Anniversary Inn - and we actually reserved a room there a few months ago to stay the night after our actual anniversary. (Because the rooms available on our actual day were sucky.) So we got to stay at a another place the next night. SWEET. We stayed in the Romeo and Juliet sweet... And because I know you're dying to see...
Anyways - needless to say we had a lovely time. I'm actually semi-embarrassed to admit we haven't actually tried our wedding cake yet - because it's rather soggy and melty. Which scares me a little. But we will at some point, I'm sure. And if not, we definitely thought about it. And that's what counts, right?
It's been a wonderful year with Shawn - I couldn't have asked for anyone better to spend the rest of eternity with. He's a saint for dealing with all my crap. For real. And while I realize not all our anniversaries will be as extravagant as this particular one was, it doesn't even matter. As long as I have my wonderful husband to celebrate anniversaries with, life is good. And presents never really hurt either.
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
It's amazing how much less I'm on the internet, now that I actually am doing stuff at work. And by doing stuff, I mean sitting at a desk for 8 hours a day for three weeks learning how to correctly do my job
and trying my darndest not to punch a certain irritating, know it all brown noser in my training class square in his man treasure. Nevertheless, I obviously haven't showed the blog much love lately. And unless you want to hear me pout about my deprived uterus, I'll grace you with, yet another, all-elusive survey. When I probably should be writing a paper for school. Rejoice.
Three Ways I'm Still a Kid
1. I laugh at farts. Or any bathroom humor, really.
2. I throw the occasional temper tantrum.
3. Takes a lot of convincing for me to do my chores. (The saddest part of this, is it's the one my husband came up with.)
Three Ways I'm Already Old
1. I start getting tired at 9pm.
2. The thought of having to go to a high school reunion gives me anxiety.
3. My butt is 75% cottage cheese.
Three Things I Want To Do
1. My husband would be immensely disappointed if I didn't have him listed here.
2. Ride an elephant.
3. Have babiesssssssss.
Three Ways That I'm a Stereotypical "Boy"
1. Nothing says "I'm a dude" more than my sexy manstache. Or the fact that I may or may not have used my husbands electric razor to tame said whiskers. Embarrassing? Only kind of.
2. I read/text/Tweet/check my email all from the comfort of my toilet.
3. I may or may not occasionally snore like a freight train.
Three Ways That I'm a Stereotypical "Girl"
1. My toenails are always painted.
2. I blame virtually everything on PMS/birth control/my uterus.
3. My ovaries do back flips every time I see a baby.
Three New Things I Want to Try in the Next Twelve Months
1. Friends. Preferably fat ones. (All my friends are skinny ass little twigs. C'MON.)
2. Florida. (Thank you, jobthatgivesmefreeflightbenefits.)
Three Things I Like About Myself
1. My ability to sleep like a rock.
2. My spelling/grammar skills.
3. My excellent choice in husbands.
Three Things I Strongly Dislike About Myself
1. My flabby areas.
2. My laziness.
3. The fact that I'm taking so long to do this survey while my husband does the dishes.
Three Things That Scare Me
1. The Amazon River
2. Dead baby dreams
3. Showering at night when my husband isn't home.
Three of My Every Day Essentials
1. Toilet paper
Three Characteristics of the Opposite Sex That Appeal to Me
1. Good sense of humor - as in, they think I'm funny.
3. Okay with being wrong.
Three Things I Just Can't Do
1. Win any sport.
3. Pee standing up.
Happy Tuesday/Wednesday/You know, whenever.