The Worst Things About Living in an Apartment

I was inspired to write this post while sitting on my couch and listening to the loud ass mofos outside screeching with wanton Friday night glee. SHUT UP, ASSHOLES, AND STOP REMINDING THE REST OF US THAT WE ARE OLD AND IN PAJAMAS AT 9 P.M. ON A FRIDAY.

Here are the worst things about living in an apartment, in no particular order, because I’m lazy.

1. That awkward moment when you cross paths with someone in the hallway that you’ve seen coming and going for the entire 3 years you’ve lived there but don’t know their name. “Oh hi… You…! How’s that…. Dog…cat? Child? Of yours? OK BYE”

2. Hearing the shower upstairs run at the same time that you are taking a shower. Both of you are naked right now. Eeeewww.

3. Worrying about a fire. What if those damn rock n’ roll loving heathen kids upstairs leave their bong on? EVERYONE IS INCINERATED. THANKS A LOT, CAPTAIN DOOBIE OF THE U.S.S. REEFER.

4. My goddamn upstairs neighbors and their elephant-dog. I’M SERIOUS. This thing is a magical creature. A freak of nature that shouldn’t exist. I will catch a rare glimpse of it in the mornings as it’s pissing outside. It looks like a sweet little boxer pup. Aside from this dog’s morning tinkles, it only awakens between the hours of 11 P.M. and 1 A.M. and when it does, it is suddenly an elephant. That’s tap dancing. With shoes made of lead.  And then it throws bowling balls across the floor.  HOW IS THIS DOG SO LOUD? Sometimes, I think the residents themselves start on one side of the room and run, full-speed, to the other only to crash into the wall and onto the floor. *stompstompstompstompBANGTHUD*

5. The swimming pool. I took Nellie to the swimming pool last summer and she loved it. I loved it! Fun pool times for everyone! Then I went swimming in my sister-in-law’s pool, and realized that her water doesn’t have a weird oily film on the top of it. Wait, you mean all swimming pools don’t make you itchy after you get out of them? MY SUMMER WAS MADE OF LIES.

6. Sharing physical space with someone when you are checking your mail. Those little mail areas are tiny, and I always dread having to walk into the little hallway when someone else is there. It’s even worse when their mailbox is near mine. I don’t like making small talk – it doesn’t come naturally to me – so I just give them this weird awkward creeper half-smile and avert my eyes to the ground. What the hell am I supposed to say anyway? “Ohhhh, cable bill, huh? What do you watch? Oh, really? Honey Boo Boo? Eeeerrrrr….. I left my humidifier on and I think it’s burning my apartment down.”

7. People who park thisclose to your car. All I can say about that is this: A;SLKDJF;ALDFJ;LAWUOI4UTAKJGMDN,N!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

8. Bugs. Let’s face it, even if you keep a clean place, you are sharing a building with many other people who may not be as tidy as you. Sometimes, bugs happen and sometimes, they make you piss your pants because they’re so close to the light switch when you reach around your door to turn on the light at 2 A.M., you almost touch them and their revolting little exoskeletons from hell. ….I mean ….

9. You don’t really know the “history” of your apartment. Who knows what could be hidden in the walls? Cockroaches, mold, fungus, dust, bodies – there is just no telling.

10. Drunk college people stumbling home at 2 A.M. and screaming at each other. Hey, guys. I get it. I used to be you, believe it or not. Just because I sit at home on the weekends in my oversized a capella chorus shirts and watch Downton Abbey doesn’t mean I was always lame as shit. And really, I’m not THAT lame. I love that Thrift Shop song, and I am pretty sure that makes me cool. But seriously, folks. PIPE THE FUCK DOWN IT’S 2 A.M. AND MY CHILD IS SLEEPING. IF YOU WAKE HER UP I WILL BASH YOUR KNEECAPS WITH HER TOY SWORD. LET’S SEE YOU EVACUATE THE DANCE FLOOR WITH BROKEN KNEES.

Those are my least favorite things about living in an apartment. What are yours?


This Post Makes No Sense.

Hi! So remember when I blogged the other day about the marathon sickness that had gripped my household? Well, Nellie’s croup is better and she’s waking up less and sleeping better. Hooray!

The not so great news? I’ve contracted some sort of horrible virus from hell and am sick. No fever anymore, just a lot of stuffy congestion, general fatigue, swollen glands and oh yeah – THERE IS A FUCKING DRAGON LIVING IN MY THROAT.

I’m not joking, guys. My throat hurts so bad, it’s like there’s a Hungarian Horntail waiting to defend its golden egg in the Triwizard Tournament in there. And I’ve tried everything to kill the bastard. Pain medicine. Cold medicine. Hot tea. Warm soup. Ice cream. Gargling salt waters. Sacrificing goats. EVERYTHING. The only time my throat feels like it’s NOT on fire is the precise moment something warm, or something cold is being swallowed by me.

THIS SUCKS, Y’ALL. It is almost 1 in the morning while I’m writing this. I’m on the couch in the living room so my poor husband, who has to get up and work tomorrow, doesn’t have to hear my constant shifting and getting up and down. I finally resorted to taking a full dose of Bendaryl, which I never do because I’m very sensitive to it, in the hopes that it will render me unconscious and by proxy, render the fire breathing creature in my throat unconscious as well. I will probably regret the Benadryl in the morning, as it always seems to make me feel funny and hungover the next day.

I’m not even sure why I’m writing this. It’s probably the Benadryl talking. I’m going to try and pass out. FUCK YOU, THROAT DRAGON.



Hungry Hungry Headband

While trying to be fashionable and hide the fact that it’s been a while since my last haircut and my ‘do is starting to resemble a shag carpet, I have added headbands into my accessory rotation. I bought one cute one that’s brown and has a little knot on it and is whimsical, or something. I don’t know. It’s almost 10 at night as I’m writing this and I suck at adjectives sometimes.

I also bought just a run of the mill brown headband with adjustable by-your-ear thingies, because I don’t know about you but when those things don’t bend they hurt like a motherfucker.

One signature trait of headbands are those little teeth they have that makes them stay in your hair. Or something.

Anyway, the other day I dropped Nellie off at daycare. Every morning, the first thing she must do is wash her hands.

I swear, all of this eventually has to do with headbands.

She insists that I go to the bathroom with her and watch her wash her hands. So in I go, because she is my dictator. After she finished washing, she ran out of the room to play with a toy. I bent down to beg my overlord for a goodbye hug and kiss. She allowed me to kiss her on the side of her nose, which I thought was pretty generous. She  turned away to her toys, so I stood up from my crouching position and —


My head hit the top of a loft that they have in her classroom for the kids to rappel from   throw each other off of   play in and explore. I stumbled a bit from the force of the blow and shook my head while biting my tongue so not to spew forth a couple of MOTHER FUCKING SHIT EATERS in front of my daughter’s teachers. I found my way out to my car, gingerly feeling my scalp and fully expecting to pull back a hand covered in blood and sinew and was ready to drive myself to the hospital (no, I’m not dramatic, why the fuck would you ask me that?).

I found no blood so I carried on with my day. It wasn’t until later on that I was scratching my head when my fingers grazed the sore spot from whacking myself senseless on a toddler loft. It felt crusty but also kind of peculiar, so I headed to a mirror where I saw this:

The teethmarks + important brainthings happening in my thinker

Remember those headband teeth I was talking about earlier? When I hit my head, the teeth DUG INTO MY MOTHERFUCKING SCALP. See those dots? Those are from my headband’s hungry little stabbing teeth of misery and pain. I’ve been branded by Goody. My scalp belongs to them forever. I think they’ve actually got some kind of tracking device implanted in my brain now, and I will probably end up being forced to compete in the Hunger Games. Which sucks, because I have zero survival instincts and I’m fat and can’t run.

So the moral of the story is: don’t wear headbands with teeth, because you never know when you will be a fucking dumbass and whack your head on something that you knew was there to begin with but weren’t thinking about, because all you could think about was getting to Starbucks for a pumpkin spice latte before you were late for work. And also, do cardio regularly because, you know. The Hunger Games and zombies.

Let’s Post About ALL the Things!

OH HI! I am just a little bit excited tonight because all sorts of great things have been happening. Here’s a list:

1. I passed my GED test and found out today that I’m eligible for grant money for school.
2. We finally got a 2nd car, which is freaking awesome because we have shared a car our entire relationship – which is almost 9 years. 9 YEARS, 1 CAR. That sounds like one of those freaky ass internet videos your friends trick you into watching and then you can never get the image out of your head because it’s seared there PERMANENTLY.
3. I HAVE THE INTERNET AT HOME. This may not seem like a big deal to you, BUT IT IS TO ME. This is because we have been without internet at home for almost a year now. A YEAR. Do you have any idea what it’s like for a blogger to not have access to the internet AT HOME? I will tell you what it’s like.


That is what it’s like.

That’s all I really have to say for right now. I will leave you with this:

image source Damn Cool Pictures



So here’s the thing. I hate geese. I’m terrified of them. I think they’re horrible, evil creatures that want only one thing, and that’s my blood. Mine, personally. I’m not sure if I wronged geese as a species in a former life or what, but they hate me and I them.

I’m actually okay with geese – as long as there is a pane of glass, a cage, or a very large man separating me from them. Yesterday at work we noticed a whole family of geese waddling through our parking lot. There were several adults and a few cute fluffy little goslings. I gushed over how cute the geese were and took pictures of them – through the window, from the safety of my office.

I pulled up to work this morning and noticed the whole flock was out in the front yard. The little goslings were all eating some flesh some grass or something and the adult geese were there as well. I thought it was so darn adorable I snapped a picture.

I watched them for a while and then got bored, and collected my things getting ready to walk into work. It was then that it dawned on me that the tree they were all gathered around was directly in front of the front door, and that I’d have to walk by the whole damn bunch of them to get to it. Visions of screaming and feathers flying through the air while I was honked and bitten to death filled my head and I froze.

What was I going to do? Suddenly, I had an idea. I took what was left of my blueberry muffin, slowly opened the door and began throwing it at the geese. They stopped and looked at me. One hissed, and I might have peed my pants a little. They began waddling after my offering and I slowly made my way out of the car. I walked to the passenger side, one eye on the geese and the other on my destination. It was then that they ran out of muffin and all of their evil, horrible little heads turned to look at me. They started inching toward me and I freaked out. I threw more muffin at them. I think it mostly just made them mad because they sent this asshole to come get me.

I leaped back into the car, slamming the passenger door behind me. I frantically texted my husband, letting him know that geese were after me, that I loved him, and not to let Nellie forget me. The goose disappeared from sight for a moment until reappearing right outside the window.

I pretty much resigned myself to the fact that I was going to get eaten alive by geese when this one finally waddled away and I could actually plan my escape. I quickly gathered my belongings, exited the car and sprinted to our back door, where I prayed my key worked in the lock. Luckily for me, it did and I am alive and well enough to tell the tale of how I almost got killed by geese.

The moral of the story is: geese suck and I’m a big fucking wuss. The end.

I Can Haz Blog?!

Oh, hi! What’s up? Not much. Um. So, I haven’t been blogging much lately. For one, there was that whole me-going-to-Chicago-with-a-toddler thing. Which, by the way, was so not as terrifying and scary and hard as I thought it’d be. And I also had a blast in Chicago (and Milwaukee). And I’m glad to be home, even though I had a great time. And I will post pictures soon….ish.

So, yeah. I’ve just been kind of trip-detoxing, working my tail off at work and spending time with my husband and wiggly, hilarious toddler. I’ve been kind of on a different planet and blogging hasn’t been at the front of my brain so I apologize for the silence. Soon I’ll blog about the trip to Chicago, my own tips for traveling with a wee one, and a post about feeding bread to ducks with scary red faces and screaming like a little bitch.

Lucky you.


Whose Boobs Are These, Anyway?

I’ve never been big-chested. In fact, I’ve always lamented about how small the girls are. At my thinnest, I was an A cup. At my biggest (pre-baby), I was barely a B. It seemed nature’s cruel joke that when I gained weight, my boobs were the last place to fill out yet when I lost, they were the first place I shrank. WHAT THE ACTUAL EFF, MOTHER NATURE? What kind of wonk-ass logic is THAT?

I digress. When I became pregnant, my boobs grew as tends to happen. Preparing to nurture your baby and whatnot. I went from a 36A to a 36C overnight. Seriously. I went to bed an A, and woke up and my boobies were all, “OH HAI, LOL. WE’RE BIG NOW.” Suddenly I knew the joys of gratuitous boob sweat (because I was also an oven when I was pregnant). Oh happy day. It turns out that having larger boobs isn’t all fun and games. For one, my boobs were sore through my pregnancy and when they got bigger they just got heavier and MORE painful to lug around. They also got freakishly veiny and had random hairs sprout all over them. Weird, right? Aren’t you glad you decided to read this post and learn all about my ta-tas?

So now that I’ve gained weight and am the proud owner of back fat, my bra size has increased yet again. It’s not in the cup so much as it is in the circumference. My chest is now an impressive 40C. The other day I was carrying the laptop into the bedroom. I looked down at my computer and my boob had tried to create a Facebook event. I had to quickly exit out of the event before my other boob decided it wanted to join the fun and ended up inadvertently starting a flash mob or some shit.

I know that 40C is not the biggest bra size ever but holy fuck is it hard to find cute bras in that size that don’t cost the same as a Cadillac. Seriously, bra makers. SHOW THE BIG GIRLS SOME FREAKING LOVE. This is a disturbing trend not only seen in bra manufacturers but in clothing companies in general. They seem to think that only big women with lots of money want to look cute and fashionable; the rest of us are content wearing mumus and t-shirts that are actually made from old plantation home curtains. I have a newsflash for you, clothing companies: PLUS SIZED WOMEN ARE NOT SCARLETT O’HARA. I DO NOT WANT YOUR CLOTHING MADE FROM DRAPERIES. KTHXBAI.

Anyway, my bigger chest would be nicer if my waist were smaller. Now that I’ve been using John Cleese and am trying to lose some weight, I know that my boobies are going to shrink faster than any other part of me because that’s just how it goes. I’ll be a little sad to see the girls go, but the back fat will not be missed.

Oh, Look. I Have a Blog.

I’ve been Internet AWOL for a few days. So much in fact that one of my best friends, Megan, texted me today.

I’m sure you’re okay, but you’ve been quiet online so I wanted to check in.

Two things. One: Megan is awesome and an amazing friend. It’s too bad she lives all the way up in Chicago. She did come visit around New Year’s though. She actually spent her birthday here, and rang in 2011 with us. Two: I think this means that I Internet too much, no?

I remember this happening around my due date with Nellie. I’d go a day, sometimes even just a few hours, without being on Twitter or Facebook and suddenly my phone would blow up:

Are you in labor?
Did you have the baby?

I was simultaneously flattered at the concern of my friends, and a little embarrassed that I Internetted so much. But as I mentioned in a previous post, Internet + Me = BFF. Megan was right though, I haven’t been online much lately. Thanks to our awesome friends (and part-time Nellie sitters) Ryan and Michelle, we now have a second vehicle. The entire 5 1/2 years that Josh and I have been married, we have shared a car. And let me tell you, that’s fun. Let me also tell you, that was sarcasm. Sharing a car wasn’t too bad when it was just us but when we threw conflicting work schedules and a baby into the mix? WEEEEEEE. Ryan and Michelle had a car they weren’t using and were going to sell. They are awesome, and told us we could use it until we were ready to buy it. Because they rock. With the acquisition of a second vehicle comes more hours at work for me, which leaves less internet time! Once I get home from work, we’ve got to do the dinner thing and spend some time together, we’ve been taking walks and then by the time we get Nellie to bed we are both tired. I’ve also been reading She’s Come Undone (which is a complete and utter lesson in emotional exhaustion, let me tell you) so that’s been taking up a lot of my free time.

But here I sit this evening, Josh is off playing Warhammer and Nellie’s in bed. I had dinner and am relaxing and trying to catch up on blogging. I’ve got a few exciting things happening regarding my blog and work and hopefully will be able to share them with you soon! BlogHer 2011 is just around the corner. I’ve got to secure my funds and get my things booked and start shopping for a few cute outfits! I’m so excited! San Diego here I come!





I mentioned the other day about our eventful and stinky trip to Olive Garden.

Unfortunately for my family, that was just the first incident of diarrhea that we were about to deal with. Thursday night, my husband and I were hit with the stomach plague from hell.

Without going into too much gory detail, Josh and I both got sick Thursday night with him getting the brunt of the sickness. Because Fate loves us, Nellie slept through without making a peep while Josh and I were busy running to and from the bathroom (we have two, thankfully) puking our guts out and sounding like angry dragons. I had eaten a few Doritos for dinner and I’m not real sure I’m going to ever be able to eat one again.

We woke up yesterday feeling puny as hell and begged Josh’s mother to come get Nellie and keep her for the day. Because she rocks, she obliged and we promptly crawled to bed and passed out. Midday, Josh was clammy and felt like death so we went to the Physician’s Care where he was diagnosed with severe dehydration and a stomach bacterial infection. EXCELLENT. He was given some Phrenegran and we were sent about our way. We put Nellie down for an early bedtime around 6:30… During the night Nellie woke up once – she had vomited all over herself & her crib. Let me tell you, bananas sure aren’t appetizing after they’ve come back up. Especially when your groggy toddler is covered in them at midnight. We cleaned her up quickly and put her back to sleep. She didn’t wake up until 10 AM. I had to creep in there at one point and check to make sure she was okay. She stayed awake for an hour before getting insanely cranky so we put her back down.. And she took a 2 and a half hour nap. She was up again for an hour before Lady CrankyPants showed back up. Back down she went. She’s been sleeping for an hour and a half.

I’m feeling okay – very weak from lack of eating but my stomach no longer feels like there is an angry ferret running about and chewing my stomach lining so.. Thumbs up to that!

I think that if it’s still relatively warm out when Nellie wakes up we’re going to try and get out and get some fresh air. We need it!

Rambling, Douchecanoes, & Tapeworms Named Seth

You’re in luck. Do you know why? It’s a Friday night, I’m completely sober, and I’m bored as fuck. That means that you get a rambling, pointless blog post from me.

Holy shit. Someone just revved up a motorcycle, or car, or helicopter outside and I’m about to go out and punch them in the throat. Nellie just went to bed.

Why do people have to be such douchecanoes? Like, I get that you have a vehicle with a motor. Do you really have to sit in the parking lot of an apartment complex and rev it? What are you trying to prove? I would like to wait until approximately 2 A.M., find where you sleep, creep into your room and bang cymbals directly in your face. Then spray you with silly string. Then run away laughing.

I really have nothing of importance to say here tonight. I ate half a thin crust pizza earlier and I’m still not full. I think I have a tapeworm. I think I’ll name it Seth. Seth is a good name for a tapeworm.

Seth is a wino.

Where was I? Oh, right. I’ve been trying to get off the internet for like, an hour now. I keep saying I’m going to go read and then I never do. My book is sitting right next to me, waiting for me to open it and read. It’s not that I don’t want to, it’s just that Internet is seducing me with its’ wiles.

Speaking of douchecanoes, I just had to let my cat in. He is King Douchecanoe. In hindsight we should have named him that but instead we named him Hannibal.

Wow. This post has gotten really out of control and is pretty much just an excuse for me to screw around with Picnik. I think I need to go now.