Thursday, June 28, 2012

Eff You, Thursday.

If I could ultimate punch today in the throat, I would.  Twice.

Instead I choose to mope around my house and throw myself the most epic pity party in the history of ever.

I'm sad.  And extremely irritated on multiple levels.

That's what happens when my shitty uterus fails me for the 48239048932048930th time.

A year and half of negative pee sticks, and you'd think I'd be use to it by now.

But I'm not.

I blame the treadmill.

Wednesday, June 20, 2012

Pardon the Construction, or Lack Thereof.

Remember that one time I spent 8490328493208432943 hours trying to revamp the ol' blog?

And it still isn't cooperating.

I've mentally kicked the inventor of HTML in the balls about 19 times.

Yeah.  It's kinda like that.

Monday, June 18, 2012

That One Time I Bought A Treadmill That Gives You Cancer*

Once upon a time, Shawn went on a fishing trip to Lake Powell for several days with his dad and some other guys from his family.  When Shawn goes out of town without me, there at least two things that will happen every time: 

I'll watch an embarrassing amount of Netflix
I'll buy crap. 

Every time.  (Especially when I'm watching series like Grey's Anatomy, that have 5829048932432 seasons.)  And then there's things that I don't do.  You know, like shower or brush my hair or wear a bra.

I digress...

Since I was alone, and bored, I decided to check out my newest crush, Groupon Goods.  Because they have the most random crap in the entire world - crap that I would probably never buy at the store.  Or, you know, crap I wouldn't buy ever.  Like a Justin Bieber singing toothbrush.  Anyways, I was browsing all the items and came across a treadmill for $150.  I was elated.  I had been dying to get a treadmill, mostly because I hate running through neighborhoods and on streets.  Because you know that people are totally judging the shi out of you, and thinking, "Look at tubby go!  Good for her!"  (That's what they say in my world, anyway.)  And then there's the jackasses that think it's fun to honk as they drive by.  So obviously a treadmill would solve pretty much all my problems.  You know, minus the fact that I really just hate running in general.

This particular treadmill was a nice, small magnetic treadmill.  I admittedly had to Google 'magnetic treadmill', because I had no idea what the heck it was.  From the reviews I gathered that it didn't have a motor, and actually was more similar to running outside because you have to run to get the belt to move.  I found this infomercial type video for it:

So, of course I'm thinking I've hit the motherload of all treadmill jackpots and wasted no time in purchasing it.  When Shawn got home from his trip, I let him know I bought a treadmill online.   Let's just say he wasn't nearly as thrilled and proud as I was.

A couple weeks and a lot of eyerolls from Shawn later, it finally came in the mail.  I was so excited.  Like, Christmas excited.  I proceed to tear open the box, and the most terrible fume fills our entire house and instantly makes me sick to my stomach.  I hardly even know how to describe the smell - it was just really bad.  I tried to ignore the nauseating smell, and ambitiously open the instruction manual to see if it's something that I could assemble myself.  (Pffft.  Yeah, right.)  And the first thing I see is an enormous warning that says:

"WARNING: This product contains a chemical known to the State of California to cause cancer, birth defects, and reproductive harm."

Um, what the hell?!  I'm immediately paranoid that I've somehow managed to inhale this chemical through the smell that was swallowing my house, and that I was going to get vagina cancer and have a three headed baby.  After taking all the parts out of the box, I decided that I didn't really want to risk having a baby with 5 legs by putting it together I probably wouldn't be able to assemble it by myself.

When Shawn got home, he was welcomed by a wave of plastic-y smelling crap, and treadmill parts strewn from hell to breakfast.  I immediately informed him to hold his breath, or he'd get penis cancer and all his sperm would die.  We decided to risk our lives, and assembled the treadmill together.  After it was complete, I tested it out.  And let's just say we learned pretty quickly that it was a poorly judged purchase - which is probably a gigantic understatement, if you ask my husband.  If you weren't holding onto the handles, you had to haul some serious ass to keep from flying off the back of it.  Not all slow and graceful like the stupid blonde on the YouTube video was doing it.  The magnetic dial thinger didn't really seem to change a damn thing.  So after literally 10 minutes of it being assembled, we listed it on KSL classifieds and carried it into the garage. We haven't touched it since.

Shawn has since, very lovingly, told me that I probably shouldn't buy anything off Groupon Goods without talking to him first.  Except that I completely ignored him, and bought Toby and Bob the funnest fountain bowl drinker thing ever a few weeks ago (wife points!) - because what dog and cat doesn't want to drink out of a fancy bowl with a fountain (even though Toby apparently still thinks the toilet is fancy enough)?  And.  It won't give them cancer.  So there's that.  And I won't even talk about the big fake diamond earrings I got for $9.  Or the fact that I just got an email that they have heart rate monitor watch thingers for $10.  Sigh.  I may or may not have a teensy problem.  I just love getting presents in the mail, what can I say?  (You know, other than SORRY, HUSBAND!)  

That said, anyone want to buy a treadmill?


*I promise I'm not a gigantic moron.  I know the treadmill probably wouldn't give us cancer.  And the warning was just for all the sue-happy people.  But exaggerating is fun.  

Monday, June 11, 2012

Vitamin C, Bob on Drugs, & My Butt

So, I had an enormous laundry list of crap to blog about, because I'm organized like that.  But I somehow managed to shred it, because apparently I'm not organized.  So you'll be lucky if I even remember two things that I had written down, because I'm probably the most senile 24 year old you'll ever have the pleasure of knowing.  That said, here are some bullets for your viewing pleasure.

-My dad is finally back home!  He came home on Friday, and he said being at home was a "slice of heaven."  So it's nice to have him finally out of the hospital.  /dadupdate

-I'm finally off birth control... again.  We're doin' the same song and dance this month as we did last time.  Clomid, trigger shot, IUI, and vagina bullets.  A woman in my parent's ward told us to not drink caffeine, and to take extra Vitamin C.  And we figured, what the heck - can't hurt anything.  So we've done that.  Normally I'm fine taking pills, but my prenatals and Vitamin C are damn horse pills.  It takes some serious concentration to swallow them - and there are times where I'll panic and swallow all the water in my mouth, but not the pill.  And you know what happens when you don't swallow your vitamin in a timely manner.  Your mouth tastes like asshole for hours.  No one wants that.  That said, I actually Googled Vitamin C & Fertility (of course) and it actually can help... Especially for women who are taking Clomid as well.  So if by some miraculous act of God, I do get pregnant this month - I will go to my grave saying it was the Vitamin C.

-Related: Three things I don's suggest for women with broken baby makin' pipes? Watching What to Expect When You're Expecting.  Mistake.  I literally looked away from the screen for about the last 20 minutes of the show, because I knew if I started sobbing, I probably wouldn't stop - because I'm a gigantic boob.  Second?  Going to the zoo.  I've never seen so many freakin' strollers and adorable children in one place.  Third?  Going to sacrament meeting on Mother's Day.  I was snotting all over the damn place as the primary kids sang and waved to their moms and as women gave talks on how what a blessing it is to be a mom... yadda yadda yadda.  I'm sure motherhood is glitter and sunshine, but for someone who's wanted to be a mother since I was literally 4 years old, it's not all particularly easy to digest.  I promise I'm not bitter.  I just don't plan on attending church on Mother's Day until I have spawn of my own.

-I went to the dentist and had no cavities.

^That.  I asked the dentist a bunch of questions about Invisalign - because I've never had braces, and would kind of love to get my teeth straight.  When I talked to Shawn about it, he said, "But I love you just the way you are!"  Which is manspeak for, "Hell no.  Too expensive."  Sigh.  

-(This bullet is a gigantic overshare - and not of the vagina variety.  You were warned.)  So several weeks ago I had my first encounter with what I now know were hemorrhoids (which, by the way, is one of the top 10 most disgusting sounding words ever - fitting, I suppose).  Because apparently I'M AN 87 YEAR OLD, DISGUSTING MAN.  Seriously.  What on Earth?  My first indication was... well, blood.  And after realizing it couldn't possibly be the normal kind of bleeding - I immediately Googled 'bloody stool' (because I'm sophisticated and use the fancy term for poop).  After reading no more than two websites, I called my husband and informed him I was pretty sure I had butthole cancer.  Then I talked to my good friend, who laughed and told me that she had had the same thing, and it was probably hemorrhoids - and mine were probably caused by stress.  Because apparently stress causes hemorrhoids?  (Also, turns out sitting on the toilet for too long can cause them too, which I thought was the funniest thing ever, because I'm 5.)  I immediately told her that my butt didn't itch, because I've always assumed that was the main symptom of hemorrhoids - an itchy crack.  Needless to say that particular conversation was rather enlightening, in the worst way possible.  My friend proceeded to tell me that they have ASS BULLETS to help get rid of it.  Okay, vagina bullets, I can handle.  That's a God-made entrance.  My butthole?!  Exit. Only.  Leakage.  Shudder.  And I knooow hemorrhoids can be a pregnancy thing - but I'm not pregnant, nor a fat dude that sits on the toilet too long, so I'm a little appalled.  The good news is it's all gone, and I can go back to be a feminine woman who's ass isn't plagued with crusty old man hemorrhoids.  So there's my disgusting story for the month - just when you thought there wasn't a line I haven't crossed.  Also, I don't think I'll ever misspell 'hemorrhoids' ever again.

-I started my Jillian Michael 30 day Shred video... again.  I've done it 5 days in a row, which honestly equals a measly hour total - but I'm still pretty impressed with myself.  I'm determined to lose some weight, or inches, or something.  Once I get done with the 30 days, I'll probably move on to something a little more lengthy than a 20 minute workout.  But for now, it works.  Because I'm really out of shape.  Unless round is a shape.  Badum ssssssssss.

-I started watching Grey's Anatomy while I work.  I've made it through to Season 6, and other than One Tree Hill, I don't think I've ever cried so much during a TV show.  Not that that's saying much, because it doesn't take much for me to start bawling, especially when I'm jacked up on Clomid hormones.

-We got Bob declawed.  You may think we're terrible people, and if so, blame Shawn.  He made the appointment.  But he was destroying our leather couches and carpet... And that's kind of an ass move if you ask me.  I took him into some animal hospital in the ghetto.  No one had their dogs on leashes.  Some completely random cat walked into the lobby, then sauntered out.  There was a Mexican dude with a British accent.  The woman running the front desk was at least 100 years old.  She asked me what Bob was in for about 17 times.  And every time I told her, I got a collective judgmental glare from everyone in the room.  We had to leave him there for a few days, and when we picked him up they gave us some pain killer juice for him.  One night when we gave him the feel-good sauce, I was working pretty late, and I looked over and saw Bob staring at the ceiling.  He literally stared up at the ceiling for 45 minutes.  The only time he ever looked away was when I said, "Kitty!" in this really riveting video I'm about to show you.

Bob was trippin'.  And it was creepy and hilarious all at the same time.

And even though I could probably come up with 18 more bullets - I think we're probably good, eh?  Moral of the blog?  Take Vitamin C and don't sit on the toilet for too long.  

You are welcome.

Monday, June 4, 2012

That One Time I Planned The Most Ballingest Baby Shower Ever*

So, after an all-time record high of traffic to my blog for the last month - I'm going to try and slowly ease back into regularly scheduled content, because I'm sure you've all been dying to know about the super interesting things I've been up to for the last month.  And for those of you who aren't real positive what "regularly scheduled content" includes - read here and here - and that should give you a fairly good idea of the extremes you're in for if you decide to continue following along.  Obviously I blog about more than just my waxing escapades and my quest to make a person.  The dog, the cat, and my husband get a pretty good amount of face-time too.  But don't say you weren't fairly warned about my chronic oversharing. 

For those of you who are just here for my dad, he is doing SO well.  He was moved to the rehab floor, where he continues to regain his strength a little bit at a time.  They finally took out his feeding tube, and he can eat real-person food now - so that's pretty great!  They're hoping to have him out of rehab and back home sometime this week.  Hooray!  If there are any other major updates, I'll be sure to make it known - however he is doing well, and sincerely appreciates all the love and support everyone has shown him and our family.  So once again, thank you.

Anyways, I threw a baby shower for one of my good friends this last Saturday.  I've talked to some people who were initially pretty shocked that I'd volunteer to go to, let alone host a baby shower.  But I'm proud to announce that I threw it without having, what I was sure would be, the most epic meltdown in the history of ever. On top of that, I think I did a pretty damn fine job of the whole thing.  

This was our basic set up, plus several balloons all around the room.  I pretty much felt like a Martha Stewart ninja when I made the tissue poof ball thingers.  That's right, I made them (after ripping a few, chucking them across the room, and throwing a mini tantrum when they didn't look absolutely perfect.).  And Shawn hung them like a champ.  I told him we should start a baby shower business, because we're baller at decorating - and after an eye roll from my husband, and an ultimate punch from both my ovaries - I decided our baby shower business could wait.

After weeks of stressing about what I should feed people at the shower, I finally had a glorious epiphany: Crepe bar & fruit kabobs!  We were running totally behind the day of the shower (so late, I didn't even get to do a damn thing with my wet hair - real classy), so I have to give a shout out to my in-laws and husband who did everything you see here, short of purchasing the ass-ton of fruit from Costco.  (I mean, seriously.  I need a single cantaloupe, Costco says I need 3.  I need three lemons, and Costco says I need 30.  What the hell am I going to do with 30 lemons?!)  We ended up making about 24 crepes, and had enough fruit to feed a small country for 10 years - so needless to say we had a lot of leftovers.  But unless everyone was lying their faces off, everyone really enjoyed the crepes and the sherbet drink (which I went to three different stores to find freakin' raspberry sherbet.  What the heck?).  Also, that punch bowl?  Originally $30, and I got it for $5 - because I effing rule.

 This is the diaper cake that I spent way too much freakin' time on.  And I hope the genius that decided receiving blankets make a good "frosting" steps on a Lego.  Or 7.  I filled it with a bunch of baby stuff, the majority of which were obviously diapers.  And I gotta say, even though diapers are just a product that contain baby pee and other fun explosions - when they're the size of my hand, they automatically turn into the most precious, adorable thing ever.  That being the case, I kept all the leftover newborn diapers for myself.  Because some day I'll have a cute, teeny tiny bum to use them on.

  I also made her a scrapbook to keep "advice and wishes" for her baby from the guests.  I had to cut down all the paper to fit, and then glue the advice paper things on - and that took a good chunk of time.  The top picture was just a draft - the final product looked a little more cute than that.  But between that, and having the guests bring baby pictures of themselves to guess who everyone was - it seemed to keep everyone busy and not have to depend on more awkward, cheesy baby shower games.

These were the favors I had for everyone.  And as people were leaving, I pretty much had to scream at them at least 5 times to take the freakin' candy home.  I even made a card.  This isn't the time to be dainty and take two M&Ms home.  Man the hell up and shove a handful in your pocket, for all I care.  Just make it disappear.   Unfortunately, we still ended up with about 80% of the candy.  And I'm pretty sure I have diabetes now. 

The rest of the shower was good - inappropriate conversations about role playing, sex costumes, periods, birth control, and the gory, terrifying details of  labor and child birth.  Angela opened all her gifts and there was a collective squeal and
every time she pulled out a little outfit, headband, or anything else that was super tiny.   It was a lot of fun, and I hope everyone enjoyed themselves.  I've got another baby shower to plan next month - and luckily she's having a girl as well.  So I've pretty much got it down

Anyways, that barely scrapes the surface of things I have to blog about.  Periods, hemorrhoids, treadmills, fancy pet water dishes, Bob on drugs, movies I shouldn't watch... etc.  But I desperately need to shower, so you'll just have to wait for all that action for next time.  

Happy Monday, yo.

 *I use the term 'ever' extremely loosely.