Adventures in Real Estate

On Wednesday, we had another Get Out of the House Situation so that people could come and view our lovely home.  Which is good.  You want people to view your lovely home when it is for sale. 

You know what else is nice?  When people want to buy your lovely home.  Or, I imagine it is nice.  I have yet to experience it, but I bet it feels like rainbows and unicorns and success all rolled into a giant happiness-filled burrito.

So we're out of the house and we have to stay out past Olivia's bedtime.  Which, you know.  You already know.  I won't make you want to stab your eyes out with further description of the obvious horror of the situation.

Truth be told, I was feeling pretty good about the situation.  We were eating at Applebee's (because we are super fancy) and everyone was just generally adoring our attention whore cute, well-behaved daughter.  AND it was half price appetizers.  I mean, it simply does not get any better than a attention whore well-behaved daughter saying DUCKY! to other customers sitting patiently while you tear into some half price mozzarella sticks  enjoy a small side salad.

Until Olivia starts grunting.
And at first I'm all, oh that's funny she's grunting.
Then her face turns red and her entire area smells like a cow pasture.
Oh noes.  She pooped right here in this very Applebee's.  That is not fancy at all.  And I'm pretty sure we were dealing with The Smelliest Diaper Ever Soiled.

I realize that public poop in itself is not a crisis.  I did bring a diaper bag, so all was not lost.  And, there was one of those super sanitary koala changing stations so clearly I lead a charmed life. 

I try to pull out a paper cover from the dispenser, but it's crammed so full that I can't get one and keep ripping tiny chunks.  So I take the cloth changing pad out of my diaper bag and prepare to super mom the shit out of The Smelliest Diaper Ever Soiled.

Oh, my friends.  FAIL.  Colossally.

I'm telling you, this child has not shit up her back since she was 2 months old.  Until today.  There was shit everywhere.  And of course Olivia is completely tired and hyper and rolling all over the place with her shitty back and her shitty shirt and her shitty shitty bang bang oh-my-god-i-am-going-to-die-at-an-Applebees. 

I wouldn't be surprised if someone recorded me in the restroom and posted it on You Tube because I?  I don't even know what I was saying.  Probably something along the lines of "shitty shitty bang bang" in a high-pitched freaking out voice.

I bet that you already guessed that I only had 4 wipes in my diaper bag, and that the wrapper was partially open so they were completely dry.  And that I had to carry a bare-assed toddler out in front of me to get paper towels in order to finish the job.  And that I had poop in my fingernails and got everything around me wet trying to hold Olivia while I washed my hands.  AND that I stress ate about 4000 more calories afterwards.

And our house is still for sale.

Life Coach: I Haz One

At the beginning of April, I found out that I won a blog giveaway.  I don't often enter giveaways.  I find it totally obnoxious to tweet/blog/facebook/tattoo on my forehead to enter a giveaway.  Maybe it's just that I'm lazy, but no thanks and plus I don't really know how to tweet anyway, so there.   

But this giveaway was easy to enter - just leave a comment!  Well.  I'm a piss poor commenter.  I must have felt ambitious that day or whatever, but I left a comment and I'm so glad I did.

I won a six week session with a life coach.

What exactly does a life coach do?   I had no idea.  From what I gather, in a nutshell, a life coach helps you reach a goal.  Whatever goal you decide on.  The life coach helps you work through the kinks so that you can do whatever you're trying to do.

This is good for me.  This is potentially disastrous for her.  Heidi is her name, and her website is To Be Luminous. I want to make sure to tell you this because I know that you all Pity The Fool who has to deal with me and my neuroses for the next six weeks in 45 minute intervals.  She lives in Prague now but plans to move back to the  US in June.

I'm afraid I will change her mind, is all I'm saying.

I suck so thoroughly at life lately.  I feel like I'm in a constant sprint and even when I have free time I can't get caught up because my ass is drawn to my couch like some sort of enormous magnet.  It's not that I'm really unorganized.  That's not true.  I have lots of help from Mark.  I'm just busy and kind of being a baby about it.

As a matter of fact, it took me two weeks to schedule a time to speak with her.  Because, you know, typing a two sentence email and hitting send is just way too much for my delicate psyche.  And then to think of what I want to work on?  Really? 

This required pulling my head out of my own ass.


My only actual workable idea was to be more healthy.  I eat like shit 50% of the time, and then spend the other 50% of the time eating healthy and wondering why my pants are too tight.  I do exercise, but it really means nothing when I'm shoving a super sized fry into my mouth and daydreaming about a large DQ Blizzard for dessert.

So for the next six weeks, every Saturday morning, Heidi gets to listen to me babble on about my various neuroses in an attempt to help me make better food choices, exercise, and just generally be a more healthy person.  My accountability partner.    I'd love to lose 5 pounds, but I'm trying to focus on being healthy instead of feeling skinny. 

But skinny would be nice, wouldn't it?

Also.  I'm planning to be stuffed full of frozen embryos sometime soon, and I think a lower weight and good workout routine will help with The Diabeetus.  I'm sure I'll still have it because God Hates Me but maybe I will be able to drink milk and eat fruit this time without falling to the floor into a diabetic coma.

 And since I know you've all been missing Wilford Brimley, here you go:

Diabeetus!  Diabeetus!  Diiiiiiiaaaaaabeeeeetuuuuuus! 

Diabeetus. 

--

One Year Ago:  The End of the World As We Know It
Two Years Ago:  Infertility Pants

This is why I have 285 pictures in my April folder.

I am completely incapable of deleting anything. I've been through my April Shutterfly album at least 5 times trying to delete some pictures and I can't. Because MAH BAYBEE! And NOM CUTE NOM!

Example: These pictures are nearly identical. If they are not identical, they are kind of stupid. But can I delete the picture of her cheesing so hard that her eyes close? No. Can I delete the serious Get Out of My Face I'm Trying To Play picture? Um...also no.

Perhaps I would have more time to blog if I spent less time looking at 285 imperceptible toddler expressions?

So now you're pissed, and you're all, "I clicked over from Google Reader for this?" and if you read this blog I bet you're just the type of person to give your computer screen the finger. 

But maybe those baybee pictures will make you feel guilty or at least a little more forgiving?  And then you'll come back tomorrow(ish) when I tell you about how I have a Life Coach for the next six weeks?  Maybe?


Please?
Kthxbai.

Zoo Rip Off

Our house is for sale.  Has been for about three weeks.  If you'd like to do me a solid and buy it, let me know.  Kthxbai. 

It has been super fun trying to get two adults, a baybee, and two dogs out of the house for an hour.  Especially since anyone we know well enough to impose upon during dinner time on short notice lives too far away for us to impose upon.  So we try to Go Places.  Going Places is a good plan when it is nice out, but hi, we live in Ohio and so it's only nice out like 30% of the time.

Anyway.  Last week we had a showing from 6-7 on a weeknight.  So we're all Yes!  Easy!  We'll go to the park, twill be great! 

Except it rained.  Which, of course it rained, right?  Hello, Ohio Weather.   Since it rained, that means there were only two choices:

1. Shoot myself in the freaking head, or
2. PetSmart.

I don't have a gun.  So we went to PetSmart.  It's pretty much the only inside place that allows dogs and also has Many Interesting Things for a baybee to see.  It's, like, a zoo.  Sort of.  A zoo rip off, but whatever, there are animals so shut up.

Riveted by birds. For three entire minutes, which is like three entire hours in adult time.

(In the interest of full disclosure, she is also riveted by the green light on the smoke detector in her bedroom.  That thing gets more smiles than Elmo these days.)

Riveted by fish.  For about sixty seconds.

Fish: they are no smoke detector light.

She is just so NOMable.

100% Baked Pork Skin Bones: A Close Second to Smoke Detector Light

Everyone had a great time - Milo pooped in the store, Baxter ate some sort of debris off the floor, Olivia was riveted by crappy animals.  And we all lived happily ever after, in our same house, that is still for sale.  The End.

BAMSKY!

Sometimes I read blogs while I'm at work.  On my work computer.

And by sometimes?  I mean just the two times I'm going to tell you about.  That is all.  I'm usually very busy doing other things that involve being very busy and very...serious.

Last week marks the second time that I got surf controlled at work because I tried to access something pornographic.  On my work computer.

You guys, I KNOW.

I know what you're thinking.  That I'm going to be a terrible waste of an unemployment check when I get fired sometime very soon.  For trying to look at pornographic materials on my computer.  Oh.mah.gad. 

The most important thing for everyone to know is this: it was an accident.  I promise I do not like pornographic material.  I like...shopping.  Candy.  Shoes.  Nachos.  I like baybees.  LOL Cats.  I do not like to watch people Do It.  I'm totally serious. 

A couple of years ago, I was thinking about signing up for Weight Watchers Online.  Because, you know, I needed to lose three pounds and that just seemed like the rational thing to do (I also could have stopped stuffing food in my Nacho hole, but that would be free and also no fun).  I had a little free time at work and thought it might be a nice time to check out the Weight Watchers website.

So, do I Google Weight Watchers like a normal, upstanding citizen?  No.  I do not.   I know more than Google so I go ahead and just type in www dot ww dot com.

The Weight Watchers Website?  Is NOT ww dot com.

I repeat: the Weight Watchers Website?  Is NOT ww dot com.  It just isn't.  Trust me.  Trust me completely, especially if you are at work.

So I type in ww dot com, and BAMSKY!  Surf control, pornographic material, you ignorant slut.

And then I died, the end.

That was a couple years ago and now I've learned to just Google things.  I know that you are all very intimidated by my Smarts right now and I beg of you: Please don't leave!  If you work really hard you can be as smart as me.  Someday.  Probably.

Last week I was reading a new blog that is very hilarious.  However.  I made the mistake of clicking a link on the sidebar that was named something completely normal, like Bunnies and Puppies or something, I don't know I don't remember.  Because then, can you guess what happened?

BAMSKY! Surf control, pornographic material, you ignorant slut.
(P.S. Shouldn't you be doing work?  Useless whore.)

And about a half hour later, someone from our computer department called began a conversation with me, as follows:

Me: * insert work phone greeting here*

He: Ah, Jennifer.  Yes.  I don't know exactly how to start this with you...

Me: * insert death.  destruction.  woe.  begins to pack desk.  about to say, "I swear I don't like pooooorn."

He: Do you know about such and such boring work stuff not at all related to surf controlling or porn?

Me: * insert such relief that I almost make a dirty-sounding noise. *

I suck at life.

--

One Year Ago:  My First Period
Two Years Ago: What are my plans for April?

A sure sign of spring.

Exhibit A: itty bitty baybee boo boo

In all my Easter Posting Glory, I forgot to tell you that I was totally negligent on Friday and let Olivia fall, go boom boom, in our driveway.  Result is one delicious and chubby skinned knee.

No, she didn't cry.  She did give me a dirty look.  I don't blame her, because there was blood.  And scab. 

But yay for spring!  And baybees in dresses and shorts!  Unless they are boys, then maybe not the dresses but hey it's your kid do what you want!

Honorable mention but not worth labeling in this photo:

1. Mah bra.

2. Mah roots. 

3. Mah strange post-baby hair regrowth: the bangs that will not grow past two inches dammit.

 

Should have purchased three sets of ears.

But I didn't, so my Easter gift to you is three separate ridiculous picutres of The Kneppers in bunny ears.

Jen: Dis Stoopid

Olivia: Gimme Dem

Mark: Wants Divorce

Olivia: Nevermind; dis stoopid.

And since you so politely took the time to click on this post, here are some delicious baybee pictures.

Easter dress: check

Bow on practically bald head: check, surprisingly

Frilly Socks: oh, you bet your ass check

$10 baybee shoes to be worn once: uh huh, check.

NOM?: NOM.

Zebra Wearing Red Tennies: Hilarious, in case you were wondering.

Why I never get anything done...how could you resist picking her up?  HOW?

This kid always has food in her hair.  Probably because it is hard to eat with one tooth, and so she has taken to smearing food on her head as some sort of coping mechanism.

(We are working on FIVE teeth.  It's been about as fun as...well.  It turns out that it has not been fun and I cannot think of analogies when I have been up every two hours because boo hoo hoo teeth the end.)

Happy Easter!!  I hope you don't stain your clothes when you tear into your chocolate bunny!

(I hope that for myself, too.)

 ---

One Year Ago: Mister Yuck, Look Out

Two Years Ago: The Longest Post in the History of Infertile Whining