Pregnant Humor

I am currently six months pregnant. Almost twenty-five weeks without a buzz, without a cigarette, without feta cheese or an Italian sub. I have replaced my vices with chocolate and craziness.

Until last week (although others may beg to differ), I have been an absolute psycho. I knew it, but I don't think I could ever fully understand the extent from an outsider's perspective. My sister recently called me out for completely changing the mood of a room when I announced, quite seriously and devoid of any emotion on my face, that I "hate skinny people right now." I thought I was just making a general observation. Then, my therapist told me that not everyone needs to know exactly what's going on in my head at any given moment. That there are actually things (thoughts) I should keep to myself. Is there anything else I should restrict myself from during pregnancy? I mean, if I can't even use my word vomit as an outlet, what do I have left? I swear, when I was allowed to drink the alcohol at least slowed my response time, so I didn't always say everything I thought.

This week, however, I have rediscovered my humor and the power of a good laugh. I also try to convince myself that I am burning calories every time I chuckle really hard, so I am motivated to at least do it for my physique. On the other hand, laughing is becoming increasingly painful due to my huge belly.

Something my husband and I laughed about for an hour last night:

"It sounded like you just unzipped death."
After he farted really loud during a movie last night.

There have been more, and I have to admit often at the expense of other people, but I am trying to keep my sense of humor about this whole business of gaining twenty-two pounds with three months to go, finding a new pocket of cellulite on my thighs each day, and mistaking scratches on my stomach for stretch marks (is it ironic I original typed "stress marks"?). I apply the stretch mark lotion so much my clothes are sticking to me. Further, I apply it to my thighs believing that the collagen will help to reduce my ability to cultivate cottage cheese on them.

Overheard

(I admit I have not kept up with writing a new post each day about Christmas.... Projects, papers, research, and finals have gotten in the way.)

For a little comic relief today, I thought I'd share some interesting things I overheard people say.

Community College student bragging to his two friends:
"I can write a two page paper whil on heroin and still get an A!"

Young twenty-something offers confessional to his friends (not the people he needs to confess too):
"I still feel bad about lying to my parents about the car. Telling them it was a hit and run is giving them problems with the insurance company."

Another highly ambitious college student:
"I can't believe I have to write a nine page paper! Bachelor degree programs are tough!"
How about a thirty or forty page paper for your BA? That was my experience.

Female student on cellphone: "You went to the mall without me, you filthy hoe?"
Her male companion: "That's not how you talk to your mom!"

And, I saved the best for last. I got up from my lunch table to discard my trash. I am pregnant. As I was coming back, I heard one of the young men sitting at a table in front of me say,
"Pregnant chicks are hot. You have to handle them with potholders."
Unfortuantely, by "hot" he probably meant "bitchy/crazy" because earlier I had given him and the people he sat with dirty looks based on their use of language throughout my meal.

24 Days Until Christmas!

I am going to try and blog each day about my thoughts (sometimes funny, sometimes sad) about Christmas.

Today I am feeling most excited by the shear thrill that Christmas is so near! I hope that there is snow for the holiday.... One of my friends says I am "romantic" simply because I wish for a white Christmas.

This afternoon I killed some time looking up various Christmas cookie recipes. There are so many taste bud tantalizing treats, I just don't know where to start. I probably should have spent the time walking on the treadmill instead of stuffing my face with Wheat Thins, dreaming that the salty treats were Chocolate Fudge Bars and Cran-Almond Bark.

After the first three nauseating months of pregnancy, I have been obsessed with baked goods. I never had a sweet tooth before, but now I find myself craving each delectable delight I come across. The only thing that saved me from the bake sale that was happening at work today is my hypochondria and paranoia that the baker could have been sick and then I will enjoy my bake sale item only to wind up with their germs.

During Christmas when I was growing up, my Oma (German for "grandmother") would make these incredibly buttery-sweet sugar cookies in the shapes of horses, Christmas trees, and wreaths. I would love to indulge in her special treat, however I dare not ask as she has her hands full with my aging grandfather. This is one of the more sad realities we face each year we get older and have Christmas gatherings with our families: There may be an empty seat at the table, or we have to watch the ones we love struggle with their ill-fate. During those reality-checks I try my best to hold back the tears. I want things to be as they were, forever. But, now that my husband and I are expecting our first baby, it is time we give him the best memories, just like the ones I hold dear to my own heart.

Word Vomit

Today is one of those proverbial days. People everywhere are either still comatose from their turkey dinner, still hungover from partying with college-bound friends who came home, or just plain stupid. I decided to enlighten you all on the ignorance I have faced today.

This morning, while in one of my classes, the instructor decided to offer some sound writing advice before she handed back our first writing assignment of the semester. I just love it when instructors pay students the courtesy of offering a rubric AFTER the fact. The instructor is one of these controlling types, who laughs at her own jokes, making the entire class feel really uncomfortable. Anyway, back to the afterthought advice given. Out of the eleven guidelines or so she scribbled on the bored, the one she emphasized the most and I found the most disturbing was regarding the use of "I" and "me." According to her, we should not use "I" or "me" unless we are sophisticated writers. This is a college, 500-level course comprised of mostly seniors. Also, the assignment was a book review where we were instructed to take a clear stand. I owe it to my audience to avoid generalizing that my comments are anything but my own, therefore I assumed "I" and "me" were appropriate. Nonetheless, I received an A- on the paper, however I felt her lesson in grammar was too little too late. It really disgusts me when instructors don't allow students to voice their opinion on assignments, and fries my eggs even more when they offer grading standards while they are handing out papers. I like my eggs over-easy, not well-done.

Part of my current job requires I research and promote current trends in online learning. Some faculty, who may serve better in retirement, are reluctant and often outright rude about accepting online pedagogy. I am often, conveniently enough, within earshot of some of these disgruntled old-school instructors as they voice their opinion about 21st century learners and online learning. Today, as a seventy-something faculty member walked by my desk, he said, "Online learning is festering a generation of screw-ups. And you can quote me on that." Great, I just did. Thank you for valuing the job I somewhat loathe yet do with pride because I try to have a good work ethic, despite ignorant people like you.

Lastly, I am currently five months pregnant, completely stressing that although I have worked my booty off for the past four years as a non-traditional student in college, financing my own education, earning a 4.0, I realize when my little bambino arrives I will have to take maternity leave (unpaid). Further, landing a job with a baby bump may not work out right now, if I could even land an interview with someone. What do I want to do? I want to write. I want to at the very least work at a college advising non-traditional students in the evenings while I work on my writing. I do not want to go back to cutting hair, which I did reluctantly for the past eight years and thought I finally snipped my last dead-end months ago. Instead, I feel like I am at a deadend. While discussing my lack of money, my future lack of money, and all my stresses, someone very close to me suggested I go cut hair or get a waitressing job part-time, in addition to my twenty-nine hour a week job and while I finish my BA, but only until the baby is born. I'm sorry, I know many people have it worse than I and have to do a lot more while pregnant or in worse conditions, and I know I have a lot to be thankful for. But I'm tired of trying. I'm just plain tired because my little bundle of joy is sucking the life out of me and I barely have the energy to satisfy my own needs, let alone those of complete strangers. The point is I feel like I can't get ahead and I am watching everyone around me (often much less educated) land awesome opportunities. Maybe it's just me. I'm starting to take offense.

Anyway, I needed to ramble and decided to use this blog and not my primary blog to do so. Thanks for listening, now let me go get some Lysol to clean up my word vomit.

Boating

Last night I dreamt that my father, my partner, and several of our friends, embarked on a journey, traveling in this massive ship. The setting was someplace very warm, with crystal clear, calm, waters. Everyone was trusting anyone. We all took turns navigating and manning the ship.

After a long travel, we eventually ran into some natives from this land, and the time came where we had to switch from this large ship to a smaller boat. No one was upset by this, it was simply part of our adventure. I remember the feeling of the ship making this enormous turn, it felt as if it could simply roll over. My dad was laughing nervously, as this could have been a catastrophe had the ship rolled. I remember thinking that even if it were to toss us recklessly into the ocean, the water was warm and clear, and a swim would not be so bad. I was very confident that we would not be seriously hurt.

As with most dreams, all of a sudden I am the first one who has been transferred to the smaller boat we will take the rest of our travels in. I am sitting at the very front of the boat- it was almost like an over sized canoe, white in color- and it is wildly bobbing from side to side. It is spinning. My tummy has butterflies, flying madly around. I am not scared though. I close my eyes, and enjoy the ride. The others are still on the large ship, and are shouting to me how strong I am to not be scared. They are laughing- but not at me, with me. I can hear their shouts of encouragement to hold on, the giddy laughter, with my eyes closed. I can feel my body- left, right, left, right,- this boat is still bobbing from side to side. I open my eyes, the water is still very clear below me, and I know it is warm. I think again, a swim would be welcomed, thus, so what if this boat throws me over?

I don't think I ever land in the water, I eventually wake up. There is another part, later in my dream, I remember now, where I am concerned that my partner has been let down by my father, and this distresses me. My father was to take him to a football game- he promised- yet it never happened. I told him that my partner gets let down all to often, and he better make it up to him. When I confess my protection and advocacy to my partner, he is angered, and walks away. We are at our old high school, he is walking ahead of me, and as we get back on the boat, I feel as if everything will still be OK, despite his embarrassment over my advocacy on his behalf.

Frustrating....

I am currently enrolled in a course which focuses on the short stories of Margaret Atwood and Raymond Carver. It is a course designed to thoughtfully consider the meaning behind the stories, which I thought would be a great break from textbookey academia. I was wrong.

At least with a course based on theory and fact, there are right and wrong answers. Apparently, for the other students in the class, this is the case. My interpretations- despite the fact that others agree with me, and are congratulated on their efforts while I am told I need to dig deeper- are scrutinized and criticized to a point where I do not even feel like participating. There are only three students, and I have been the one singled out, which is very frustrating.

If the purpose is to study the material and conclude the meanings based on our own observations, which will be affected by our past experience and background, I do not understand why there is a definitive right answer. Well, only in my responses that seem to be the case. At one point I mentioned that I suppose everyone has their own opinions, to which I was told that really was not true, there was a right answer. Then, moments later, the students and myself learn that there are many different critiques with many different theories on the interpretation of these short stories. Needless to say, I scream internally.

Courses like this are difficult anyway, bringing me back to my days in high school. How are we to know for sure that the author meant anything more than what is printed on the page? How am I to enjoy a story when it takes me two hours to get through ten pages because I have now become neurotic about looking up every reference, to find a clue about the correct interpretation? Also, and I am not being disrespectful, but Carver was an alcoholic, who admittedly spent much of his time drunk. We all babble incessantly when we are drunk, and more times than not, without much thought or purpose. Of course I can not say that in class.... Although I did.

....because the topic came up....

I just want to be sure it is posted on my blog, and that it is known I said it: Facebook Ruins Lives.

(My paranoia about not being quoted properly comes from a slew of expressions/phrases/words that I truly believe I created, never patented, and then found in magazines or other forms of media long after I had used them!)

Another one: I am not holding up a foam finger for Facebook ("Facebook" has often been replaced with anything or anyone I do not like.)

Blame it on the Alcohol, right?

WRONG. This past New Year's Eve, I chose to stay sober, for the most part. Sober, for myself, is consuming one to three glasses of wine, over a five to seven hour time period. This was the case. What I noticed was partially hysterical, but mostly annoyingly disturbing.

People get really stupid when they get drunk. It was very uncomfortable to see people I knew act in ways which I know I have acted right along with them. You think you know someone. Now I know how annoyed and somewhat entertained my husband must be when I am throwing back the liquid and he is sipping his first or second beer, hours into our adventure.

It is a strange feeling, to watch people who are otherwise super cool behave in ways that make me feel embarrassed to know them. I mean, nothing crazy happened, nothing out of the drunken ordinary, however, watching a once quietly committed and always reserved friend dance and say things that don't make any sense, was quite a turn off.

Some people are able to disguise their intoxication, and I used to be one of them. Then, there are others who simply don't care, and don't feel the need to prove anything to anyone (that they can handle their liquor), and de-stress from their daily life (by flying off the handle after a few drinks). I have fallen into the category of the latter lately, and I openly blame it on stress. Why be perfectly in control at all times?

Well, there are reasons, and I do not need to go through them. For example, we met a new girlfriend of a friend of ours. Someone he has been dating for about a month, and seemed pretty serious about. She was pretty deep into the sauce when we first met up, and really took advantage of the truth serum excuse. I just found out yesterday that he has broke it off with her. This seems unfair, as he was acting just as drunkenly foolish as she was. Who is he to judge?