Panera's Wi-Fi Loss Prevention Owes Olivia

She went ahead and had another febrile seizure this morning. Which totally screwed my plans to steal Internet in the Panera parking lot. You are welcome, Panera.

She is fine. Totally passed out in a drug-induced slumber.

I wanted to post about annoying people at the gym, but I've been totally thrown off track by the male nurse wearing HEAD TO TOE STONE WASHED DENIM SCRUBS. And? AND! A Fannie Pack. I kid you not.

So. Happy Friday. I'm sitting at home with a sick baybee. I expect another seizure, because Olivia is trying to clinch her spot as the Only Child. She's very Wiley.

Let Me Just Go Grab My Checkbook...

(Sorry for the repost of my Guest.  I want to have it on my blog, too!  New post coming tomorrow, while I steal Internet from the Panera parking lot.)

That was my response to Jillian Michaels a few weeks ago.  When I first started the 30 Day Shred.  "You don't get abs like these for free, people!"  She yells, as she helps someone do crunches.  Someone with abs that would probably break your face if you looked at them wrong.

Yeah, well, at that point, I was ready to pay someone to shred my abs while I soaked in a nice bubble bath.  Preferably, someone good looking, muscular, who loves my jokes and wants to feed me chocolates instead of encouraging me to work out.

I want to hate Jillian Michaels, just on principal.  Workout videos are obnoxious.  I hate when people try to motivate me, it just annoys me.  I also hate when people with perfect bodies try to tell me how easy it is to jump around for thirty minutes.  And I can't watch The Biggest Loser because all of the grunting and crying makes me want to claw out my own eyes, or just change the channel to something more respectable.  Like Jersey Shore.

So many valid reasons why I should hate Jillian.  But the truth is that I have a strange girl crush on her.  I've been doing The Shred three days a week for almost a month, and I must say...that bitch means business.  There is a whole side-lunge thing combined with an arm exercise that has me  all sweaty and groaning like something dirty is happening in my living room. 

Yes, I groan and grunt like a 400 pound Biggest Loser contestant.  It is about as attractive as it sounds.

BUT, I have lost about 5 pounds.  And the workout that once made me leak profanities from the blackest part of my soul?  Is not so hard.  I still have more rolls than a bakery, but I can notice a difference underneath the dough.  And I've been able to work in three days a week of running on the treadmill along with Jillian.  I'm like two workouts away from being able to give my husband a piggy back ride to the Taco Bell drive through.

Why am I hogging up Beverley's blog to tell you this?  Well, because I am a slutty whore.  That's why.  Because I'm a slutty whore, and I'm ready to change it up and cheat on Jillian.  And I'd like your help, because you are smart and pretty and your ass looks fantastic in those pants.

What workouts do you love?  What workout gurus do you love to hate?  Do you make naughty noises while you workout? 

A Party Girl's First Party

I'm trying to make good on my Fan Page Friday question from Kim only, oh, four hundred years ago.  She needs first birthday party ideas.  Maybe you could leave her some comment love?  Let her know what you did?

Or you could always become my Facebook BFF and post it on the Maybe If You Just Relax page!

The Invitations
I ordered the invitations from Etsy. I picked the design for the cake first, and got lucky enough to find this digital photo card at Invitations, Ink by Kottage on 5th.  It was personalized and sent to me within 24 hours, and uploaded to and printed them from Shutterfly.  Any smudges are my editing - I took out my address and phone number, because I don't need any of you crazy crackers peeking in my windows...

Everything printed perfectly and looked adorable.  I will definitely shop Daina's shop again!

The Dress
I got this dress at the Carter's Outlet after Christmas sale for $6.  It was originally $34.  It looks like just a tutu, but it actually has a really adorable bodice.  Too bad I forgot to take her bib off - I don't have a single picture of her in just the dress.  She also wore footless white tights from Target.

The Decorations
I don't like character themes for birthday parties.  That sounds snotty, and I know that I will have to get over myself in the very near future.  But for right now, I can get away with just picking a color scheme and going with it. 

I knew I just wanted a happy birthday banner, and a few other decorations, with matching balloons.  I planned to buy something from Etsy, but my coworker's cousin is a crafty little whore, and agreed to make me something.

This is a Happy Birthday Olivia banner.  I'm going to keep it, and even if I don't ever use the happy birthday again, I can hang the Olivia up in her playroom.

I also asked for two signs to hang in our kitchen; I left the wording up to her, and loved her ideas.

And, of course, a little decoration for the birthday girl's throne!  It says, "I Am 1."  I was pretty bummed that it got frosting all over it, because it was really cute and I would have loved to keep it.  But, once I post the After Cake, you will understand why it didn't survive.

The Cake

The cake was the inspiration for the entire party.  I found a blog with tons of cake ideas, and used this cake to design our cake, invitations and decorations.  I asked for that design, with Olivia's name instead of a bow, and no cupcake topper.  I'd say I got exactly what I asked for, right?

And the best part is that my little cousin Val made the cake for me.  She's just getting her business started, but she does a fantastic job!  It was adorable, and DELICIOUS!  And I don't even like cake, but I ate no less than seven pieces before my abdomen exploded and I gave birth to the smash cake.

(Not really.)

(I mean, I did eat like seven pieces.  I just didn't give birth to a smash cake.)

You could always go check out Val's cakes on her Val's Cakery Facebook page if you want some ideas, or hire her if you live in our neck of the woods.

This is the smash cake.  Or, as Olivia may know it: Demolish Cake.

Some kids are very polite with their smash cake, and some kids are very messy.  All one year olds are adorable, no matter what, but I'm not lying when I tell you that I really hoped that Olivia would totally dig into her cake.

As you can see, it started out totally polite and refined.  Then she remembered who her mom is, and she dug in. That's mah girl!  She sat in her high chair for about 20 minutes while we all ate.  We gave her a spatula, and she flung cake all over the kitchen and talked to herself.

Happy birthday, indeed.

-----

One Year Ago: Titty Quitter

Two Years Ago: Side Effects? Yes.  Fun? Not So Much

The Fury and The Hand Mirror

On my way to work, I was word vomiting in my head over a post about how My Aunt Florence and how someone should drag her into the street and beat her sensless.

This will probably make you very sad, but I completely lost my train of thought when I got stuck behind a rusty old van doing 50 in the fast lane. Not just the fast lane, but the fastest lane in three lanes of rush hour traffic. And everyone behind me was passing him on the right, so I was stuck looking at his driver's side mirror.

The mirror on any other day would have been annoying. But today it was infuriating. It was infuriating because I was being ripped in two by period cramps on my way to work. And it is Monday. Florence makes it so that I am filled with fury much more easily than normal. (which is pretty easy in general, if we're being quite honest.)

So anyway, I was filled with The Fury. That's what I want you to know at this point. Because of my peeerrrrriooood. You are welcome.

This van, driving in the fastest lane and totally killing my 75 mph turnpike mojo, had apparently lost its driver's side mirror.

BUT! DO NOT FRET!

Ever resourceful, this speed demon used duct tape to secure a hand mirror to the place where his side mirror should be. Upside down, handle in the air, woot woot!

I know I'm not supposed to swear. But seriously? A motherfucking handmirror? COME ON NOW!

Because, really, how much could a new mirror cost? I'd almost rather a person go to Auto Zone and steal a mirror before pulling this sort of maneuver. Plus, I hate duct tape anyways because the boss at my first job used duct tape on EVERYTHING. And he always wore sweatpants and his buttcrack showed when he bent over, which was like ALL THE LIVE LONG DAY.

Of course my completely warped brain starts to form a ridiculous scenario. Like, some filthy hairy disgusting mid-40's guy, sitting on his toilet and flipping through a Farmer's Alminac from 1997, thinking about how to fix his mirror while taking a monstrous toilet-clogging dump. And he's just totally stumped until he looks to his right and sees the mirror he was using to get a better view of his backne and UREKA! Problem solved!

I was so tempted to take a picture with my phone, but I was too busy focusing my death glare directly into his rearview mirror. I was really hoping that he would take my same turnpike exit because I really wanted photographic proof. And I wanted to give him the finger. No such luck.

You'll just have to take my word on it.

In Which I Hog Another Blog

I did a guest post for Beverley, on her blog A Baby? Maybe.

Go check it out...I need some assistance. I'm trying to be a slutty whore. I think you might be able to help.

No Longer Single Momming It.

I've been waiting for him to come back to tell The Internet, but Mark just got back from a three week business trip in Baltimore.   And I restocked my fridge with Bud Light Lime.

Not that anyone cares enough to come to my house and kill me because I called myself fat on The Internet, or because I go to work.  But, you know, there is a distinct possibility that I could end up with flaming bags of feces on my porch and then I would have to use my new shovel to put out the flames.

(Mark would like you to know that I had to use my shovel to clear our driveway when we got three separate blizzards during his business trip.  He finds this to be amusing.  I find it to be amusing that I am going to punch him in the weiner when he isn't expecting it.)

This business trip started the day before Olivia had her ridiculous seizures and was admitted to the hospital.  It ended Friday, the day before Olivia's first birthday party.  And while we got an obnoxious amount of snow in Northeast Ohio, it was nothing compared to the FIVE FEET of snow in Baltimore.  Nothing is more infuriating than the desire to throat punch an Alberta Clipper, because snow storms don't have throats and my Go Go Gadget Arm is not long enough to reach Baltimore.  Good thing he was able to get home, because I would have been a total twatwaffle baby if he wasn't here for Olivia's first birthday weekend.

But the point is: OMFG U GYZ, WUZ SINGL MAHM! 

I survived.  Olivia survived.  Baxter and Milo (our dogs) survived.  But, I've got a lot of unanswered emails, a neglected blog, and a Google Reader that has been Marked As Read. 

Olivia hasn't stopped celebrating since Mark got back!  She's totally out of control at this point - here is proof:

Welcome home, Dah-Dee!  Will celebrate by double fisting a cup of Pediasure and a cup of Pear Juice!

 You know what they say: Pediasure before juice, keeps your stool loose...hey! anyone wanna dance?!

 Duuuude!  We should totally get some Taco Bell!  Or, puffs.  Whatever.

Apparently, One is the new Twenty One, and Pediasure and Pear is the new Cosmopolitan.

----

One Year Ago:  Got Thunder?

Two Years Ago:  My Aunt Jane Knows More Than My RE

Valentine's Day is Cancelled - You May Only Celebrate Olivia's Birthday.

Dear Olivia,

There are a lot of things I could never imagine myself doing or saying, that I now do or say. It is all your fault. Like this, for example. Writing you a letter. On the Internet. I haven't finished it yet, but I bet it's corny and full of embarrassing cliches. 

(Also?  Freely rejoicing over consistent bowel movements.  I swore I'd never do that.)

Having a newborn is hard. I remember thinking, on several occasions, that you were trying to kill me. Or, at the very least, drive me to the brink of insanity so that someone else would kill me just to avoid my sleep-deprived nastiness. Don't take that personally. I think every first-time parent wonders why anyone would do this more than once during those first couple months.

She looks harmless, but will hurt you with her...adorable sleeplessness.

Still, you were the most amazing thing, ever.  Are the most amazing thing ever.  Every month, I say to everyone, "this is the most fun time - this time is my favorite!"  Because it always seems like you could not possibly be more adorable and fun.

A favorite phase: my ability to put large things on your head and your inability to resist.

It doesn't matter what you do - we think you are a genius - which has got to be annoying for other people.  It all started with your pooping.  You always knew the exact right time to take a dump - the exact right time being as soon as we took a dirty diaper off of you but before we could get a new one on.  The problem escalated when you started to smile. 

Smiles!  At 2.5 Months!  Clearly, she is clearly advanced!  Filling out the Mensa application right this very second!

And don't even get me started on baybee thighs...I think chocolate bunnies should be replaced with chocolate baybee thighs, so that I can realize my dirty fantasy of nibbling them.

NOM! NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM!

Your father and I didn't really have an exciting life pre-Olivia.  I mean, a wild night for us was sitting on the deck and playing scrabble.  Sometimes - and I hope you don't think that we were irresponsible - we would even stay up until TEN AT NIGHT!  So I guess you could say that you did change everything about our lives, but you haven't really held us back from doing anything that we want to do. 

My parents took an hour out of their Scrabble schedule to take a bazillion nearly identical pictures of me!

Losers.

The major change is that we live our lives around your nap times, because you can be a little bit of a...shadookie head...when you are tired. (AND, we have to say things like Shadookie Head, so that you don't swear on your first day of Kindergarten.)  But your shadookie head is other babies good mood, so I'm not complaining.  You really only cry when you're hungry or tired.  Most of the time you play and laugh and just generally charm the pants off people.

ZOMG!  Put your pants back on!

You walk EVERYWHERE.  You are into EVERYTHING.  You love to be chased, and to throw your toys and chase them.  You laugh a lot.  You like to socialize, but sometimes you are shy.  You love to tear everything out of the kitchen cupboards, then put it all away in different places.  You try to play with the dogs but they are so not buying your crap and are holding a grudge from all the times you tried to snatch their testicles.  You just cut your first tooth last week, and it is adorably crooked.  You've got the most spectacular baybee mullet I've ever seen.  Your facial expressions have been known to cause me to belly laugh.

You are so perfect.

When I was desperately trying to get pregnant, I was furious at anyone who was pregnant by accident. Or pregnant the exact month they wanted to be.  Or anyone who complained about their kids and took them for granted. I had this vision in my mind of how happy they were - all laughs and smiles and big fat baybee thighs, 24 hours a day. Basically I imagined unicorns pooping candy rainbows all over the place on the daily.

Hang on...I'll try to poop some candy rainbows for you...

Do you know what the crazy thing is? It's that I'm stepping in unicorn rainbow candy poop all over our house. Every day. You make me so happy, every single day.  You make it impossible for me to have a truly horrible day. I'd say that you are everything I ever imagined, but that's not true.

You are better than I ever imagined.  You are worth every road block, every injection, every emotional outburst, every ache and pain. 

It's mah first birfday partee and I'll drink Pediasure if I want to.

Happy first birthday, Olivia! I love you so much, it's almost embarrassing.

----

One Year Ago: Olivia Audrey Knepper
Two Years Ago: Happy Valentine's Day: I got my period!

Shucky Darn?

I totally have to stop swearing.

Olivia? Is going to be one this weekend. ONE. As in, an entire year old. I can not believe it, and I'll tell you who else can not believe it: My Lady Business. She has not stopped bitching about the trauma of her birth, what with her I'm So Dry and Ouch Ouch Scar Tissue routine. A real complainer, that one. It's like, she produces the miracle of life then expects everyone to treat her all special.

But anyway, I was tempted to make my first line, "holy fuck, you guys, I have to stop swearing." But then I thought better of it, because you know, I do have some self control. Not to mention standards.

Paragraph 3, it is!

Seriously, though. I love to swear. I love it. I love to swear, and mix swear words to make new swear words. I love to make fun of people who say Fudge and Shucks and Darn by calling them Assholes and possibly giving them the finger.

Except I have a one year old (!!!) and she is starting to imitate the noises we make. And it won't be long before she's all, "I can't stand Jay Leno, he is a total twatwaffle." And then I'll laugh, and she'll know it's funny, then she'll go on a playdate and call some other kid a twatwaffle, and then they won't want to be friends with the lady whose kid says Twatwaffle.

But there is hope, because the Internet is helpful and you guys leave me really funny comments so I know that I can count on you to help me find satisfying, kid-friendly substitutes for my favorite swearz.

My Favorite Cusses:
OH.MY.HELL.
Douchebag.
Flaming Douchebag.
Douche-a-rooney
AhMahFuckingGah
Shut the fuck up.
Shiiiiiiiiit.
Oh, offuckingcourse.
Bitch face killah! (I honestly have no idea why.)

Dear, sweet, pretty, skinny, perfect-skinned Internet friends - help me replace my favorite swears!

---
One Year Ago: Next Pregnancy Will Be Jimmy Dean's Love Child

Two Years Ago: Fun With Drug Paraphernalia

She Walks!

Is there anything worse than hearing your own voice?
I don't think that there possibly could be anything worse.

Plug your ears and watch Olivia be a big grown up baybee!

Question to which you no longer need an answer.

Fanpage Friday would be a great idea.  If I could get my shit collected enough to actually follow through.  Which I cannot, obviously. 

If you'd like to suggest blog topics for me to use in a very untimely manner at my own delayed discretion, you can become a Facebook fan by clicking here.

Suggested by Kim: First Birthday Party Ideas

Let me get back to you about that!  I'll be throwing a tiny first birthday party in a few weeks.
OH MAH GAH, MAH BAYBEE IS ONE.  My vagina and I can hardly believe it has been an entire year since she was born.

Suggested by Kristin: "Why a select few should be allowed to have grenade launchers on our cars."

I'm into this idea, but only if I am involved in choosing who gets said grenade launchers.  And, if I have a car that is grenade-proof.  Not sure how to get this done - write my Congressman, maybe?  I also think there needs to be some free pass for launching grenades a giant ass-wrangling SUVs.

Suggested by Laura: people who mix uPpErCaSe & LoWeRcAsE letters when they write/type.  i sooooo do not heart that.

Hmmm...yes, this is infuriating.  Even just reading what you wrote made me want to kick something tiny and harmless.  Also infuriating?  A little design around whatever they write/type.  For example:

**~~**:::::**I aM a ToTaL dOuChE**:::::**~~**

Suggested by Sara: What about when you give people who are letting their children play with/ruin/destroy your stuff laugh and tell you "Oh, you'll understand when you have your own children." What?! I'm pretty sure I still won't let my own kid ruin my $4000 TV, so get your slimy kid's hands cleaned and off of my stuff!

AAAAAHAHAHAHAAHA! AMEN!

* ahem *

Wait. What?  Nobody I know does that.  But, you know, let's just say that they did.  For the sake of argument.  And by argument I mean this blog.  Purely fictional. 


Anyway. 

Olivia started walking.  Like, really walking.  She has been taking steps for a few weeks, but she actually walks now and it is wobbly and totally cute.  She is totally amused with herself while she does it.  I'm working on getting it on video - I've only managed to catch a few steps.  Here's a picture of her, making a ridiculous face:

God, Mom, do you think you could change my soaking wet shirt? 

Yes, I can walk, but I'm still not tall enough to reach the clothes in my closet. 

You freaking lazy whore.

I wish I had something to say, but I'm tired and busy and blah blah blah.  Aren't we all tired and busy?  Perhaps I will be more amusing in the future.  Probably not, but it's nice to dream big.