The Dog Ate My, Er, Blog

Life? Is currently sucking the life out of me. It's constant. The suck, suck, suckling at the teet of Zubeness.

Moving to a new house.

Finishing remodeling the old house.

Trying to make the house we moved into look a little less like a McDonald's playground, colorwise and all. Which means painting.

Sleeping, waking, sleeping and waking. It's not as bad as it was, but I still haven't gotten a full night's sleep since 5/16/07.

Working.

And on and on and on. I'm not complaining, well, okay, maybe a little. I'll say, though, that I'm happily complaining. It's all good. It's just...so...ALL.

Anyway, I've had stories I've wanted to tell, like the time when Zube Boy and I went out to lunch and I was professing my Queendom of all things 80's hair bands, and he said, "Okay, then name a song by Poison," and I said, "Every Rose Has Its Thorn," and he said, "Duh. Name another one."

"She's My Cherry Pie."

"That's Warrant."

"Oh. Warrant. Hey, they sing EIGHTEEN AND LIFE TO GO!"

"Uh, that's Skid Row."

"Skid Row? Like, the Skid Row that sings Runaway Train?"

"Yeah. Or no. That's Collective Soul*. And that wasn't even the 80's."

"Jesus. I give up."

"Poser."

"Whatever."

But I'm just so wiped at the end of the day and all of my bloggy brain juice is in a martini glass somewhere with my bad ass beret wearing writer self. And I get the distinct impression they're laughing at me.

Anyway, things haven't really changed around here. Yet they have. I mean, we're still us. Just different. And more. But, we're hanging in. Hanging on. I'm managing to keep my nose above water, at least. But the blog, she does suffer.

Sorry 'bout that.

*Um, PS - I am a bigger tool than even Zube Boy thought possible. As pointed out by Amy, a commenter who was trying to help a sister out, Runaway Train was sung by Soul Asylum. And that would be what Zube Boy said. I fucked up yet again. Thanks for trying, Amy! I am beyond help!

Jersey Rocked...

Which probably doesn't surprise you. Now, before I get to the meat and potatoes of this post, I wanted to let you all know that I really love my uvula. It's cute, I think.

Now that that's out of the way...

The Scene: Mom's in the kitchen. I'm in the living room. My Belle, her boyfriend, and my step-dad are various distances in between. It's important for you to know that I brought two bottles to Jersey for Zee. You'll see why.

Mom: ZUBE GIRRRRRRRL!

Z-Girl: YEAH?

Mom: ARE BOTH OF YOUR NIPPLES THE SAME?

Z-Girl: UH, LAST I CHECKED! BUT THAT WAS A WHILE AGO!

Mom: *realizing what she just said* Oh my God.

Z-Girl: Heh.

Mom: Ha. I'm washing the bottles. I'm trying to figure out which nipples are Zee's and which are Stan's. That's what I meant.

Z-Girl: Whew. I thought it was sort of a weird question.

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We had a family picnic on Saturday. Moments after huddling around with my cousin and brother and sister discussing our babies' respective ouncely intake, Dad sauntered over. He had himself a little chuckle and said, "You know, just a few years ago, if I'd have heard you kids huddled around discussing three and four ounces, I think I might have had to intervene and let you know that that's quite a bit and you could get in big trouble." Heh. What a difference a few yeras can make.

****************************************************

Well, I'm going to go check out my lovely uvula again. I should take a photo to show you guys. It's really quite sassy.

Photos of the weekend can be found here, for those of you so inclined to take a peak.

Odds and Ends...

-This morning I made a critical decision. Shower or sleep in? Sleeping in won. I am totally regretting that now.

-I am so fucking tired, you guys. I'm going on almost ten weeks of waking up every three to four hours at night. It's starting to wear on me.

-Zee and I are going to kick it in Jersey next weekend. Zee will meet her two cousins. I'm giddy with anticipation. I'm really not looking forward to the flight, though. By myself. With a 10 week old. Eek.

-Moving sucks. In my next life, I'm going to be a rich bitch so I can pay other people to do that shit. Either that, or I'll be a seahorse. I've always kind of wanted to be a seahorse. And I'd imagine boxes aren't involved when they move. That'd be nice. And the men do the whole pregnancy thing. I could live with that.

-Whenever I cook at home or eat at someone's house, I always take the least appealing looking piece of meat when the plate is passed. I've always done this. I don't know why.

-My birthday on Saturday was cool. Pretty chill. Went out for a couple of frothy adult beverages with Zee and Zube Boy. I was that lady with a baby in the bar. But really, it was 4PM and the bars here are no smoking. I didn't feel bad. Some people gave us funny looks, but fuck 'em.

-The other day, I farted and a little bubble got stuck between my butt cheeks. It felt totally weird. I had to do kind of a cross between the jig and the Macarena to release it. I was hoping it would make some sort of 'bloop' sound. It was silent. I was disappointed.

-Zube Boy has gotten me addicted to You Tube. I found this video. It was horrifying to watch the first time. I peeked through my fingers. I've since watched it several times and you know what? It is incredibly heartening. I might've even cried a little a couple of times. The way the coach and the audience all step up to help her through. Maybe the world isn't such an ugly place after all.

-Nothing will remind you of the importance of stretching like a baby. I love watching Zee Baby do her red in the face post nap stretches. I've learned to imitate her and it really, really feels good. You should try it.

Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! Listen!

I'm one of those people who's all, "No, no, SERIOUSLY, it's a GOOD SONG! Listen to the WORDS!"

It's kind of ironic, but since Zee Baby made her debut, the local radio station has been playing the hell out of this song. It makes me cry every time. Not in a bad way. Not in a happy way. But in a, um, I don't know, a real way. I love it. But I'm not going to tell you what the song is about because Zee is sleeping and I have only moments to impart my feelings.

Just know that I LOVE IT. And, if you are so inclined, you'll have to listen to the words to know just why.

I love it because it doesn't stand on a soap box and tell you, or me, how to feel.

I love it because it's raw and honest and doesn't hide anything.

I love it because it speaks to me, even though I could never, in a million years, have written it.

I love it so much I want to hump it.

My relationship with this song, as most passionate relationships go, is a Love-Hate one. I hate it, too.

I hate it because it reminds me that I decided to have an abortion all alone. Like, pretty much, ALL ALONE. There was no, "Hey, let's go out for coffee or have a deep talk on a picnic table at the park or let's hibernate in your dorm room and decide what the hell we do about the situation we created together." There was none of that. Sure, there was, "Well, Zube Girl, we will support you NO MATTER WHAT you do, but as your Mom and Dad, we just can't make that decision for you. Or even, really, with you." I was smart enough to figure that the asshole that raped me wasn't going to be much help in making that decision. I'm a smart cookie like that. It was all on me.

I hate it, too, because it reminds me that, instead of a boyfriend, my Dad brought me to the clinic. And people looked at us funny. He being so much older than me. I could feel their assumptions creeping up my back. It sucked. But I don't ever think I'll be able to thank my Dad enough for being there.

I hate it even more because it reminds me that the abortion is MY secret. It's not really a secret anymore. I've told the whole damn internets about it. But it's mine. My decision that I made all by myself. I'm a little bit of an idiot because I force myself to see the positive side of that. At least I didn't have a boyfriend who disagreed and wanted me to do something else. But 'at leasts' don't assuage the craptasticness of the situation completely. There will be no ex-boyfriend writing a touching song about my abortion.

I hate it because I could never have written it. Not in a million years. Because it just wasn't like that for me. Even though it kind of was.

Now that Zee is here, I've been thinking about stuff. Choice being one of them. I've often wondered at how, surprisingly, the miscarriages, rather than making me less Pro-Choice, made me more so. They made me realize just how personal my ute is and how nobody else needs to be getting their nosy asses up in her proceedings. I figure other people are entitled to feel the same.

The other day, Zube Boy returned home from work. He walked over to say hi to Zee, and at the sound of his voice, she broke into a huge grin and waved her arms and kicked her feet. It was the very first time she acknowledged so gleefully her Daddy coming home from work. A tear did stir in mine eye. And Zube Boy was beyond thrilled, whisking her up and hugging her. It was nothing short of awesome-tastic. A scene I'm sure I'll be able to replay in my mind's eye for many years to come.

I reflect on that moment a lot. I think about how different my life could be. I often hear Pro-Life folks lamenting the children that will never be because of abortion. I can't help but think, well what about the children that wouldn't be here if it weren't for abortion? Because Zee is one of them. And when I see such joyous interactions between her and her Daddy, there isn't a doubt in my mind I made the right choice, albeit a difficult one. Children deserve to be swooped up and showered with kisses by their Dads. Or their Moms. Whether it's one of each or two of both. They deserve loving parents. Zee has that. I could not have provided that for the child of my rapist.

The song reminds me just how difficult it was to choose. And how lonely it felt. But, as with all difficult things, we get through them. And sometimes we don't know their purpose until many moons later. Like, maybe eleven years, three months and some days.

I'm Fairly Certain the Words Stripper Pole Have Never Been Uttered in That Office...Until Zube Boy and I Came Along

In the past two months I've had a baby, had visitors, travelled to Chicago not only to attend a wedding, but also to be in it, and now...

We bought a new house. I forgot to mention to you all that was in the works. We closed on Thursday. This is the third closing I have attended and the fourth for Zube Boy. I think we're pretty fun to close with.

A week or so ago, I subtly hinted to Zube Boy that my birthday was coming up. I said, "Honey, you know my birthday is coming up." He thought for a moment and said, "How about I buy you...a house?" Ha. Sure. I imagine he won't be paying the mortgage alone and that seems to violate the whole gift thing on so many levels. Anyway, at the start of closing, I told the realtor and the closing agent, in my most serious tone, that at the end, they had to sing Happy Birthday to me. They sort of laughed, not knowing if I was serious or not.

In the house we bought, there are two bedrooms upstairs and one downstairs. The previous owners used the two upstairs as one big room. One was allocated as the closet and the other was for sleeping. The realtor asked me if we had figured out where the baby was sleeping yet. I told him that eventually I'd like to have the baby downstairs, but I didn't feel comfortable with that just yet, so for the time being we'd set her up in the room the owner's used as a closet. And then we'd move her a few months or so down the road if I felt a little better about it. Zube Boy chimed in, "So, are you saying that in a few months the baby is going to come out of the closet?" Badum-bum. Ching. I said that if she is to come out of the closet in the future, it would probably be just a few years longer.

We also had to sign a paper that had our aliases listed, promising that those were the only ones we had. Actually, we had none. The realtor noted that sometimes some pretty funky stuff shows up on those reports. I said, "Like stage names from someone's college stripping days?" He laughed and said that we didn't have anything weird. I breathed a sigh of relief and told Zube Boy it was a good thing they didn't find him out.

At the end, I pointed to a post in the corner of the room and said that it must've been very difficult for Zube Boy to keep his pole dancing impulses in check.

Who knew closing on a house could be so fun. It took about two hours.

I'm up to my ears in the maelstrom that is my life these days. Not getting enough sleep. Little Zee is still waking up during the night. Moving. After moving, we have to finish the remodel on our house so we can sell it. The shit is hitting the fan and I'm trying to dodge the flying poo.

Hope you're all well. I'll keep you updated.

Some More Things...Or, Exactly 100 More Things...Circa 2007

Because the other list is aging.

1. Dude? Is, like, my favorite word.

2. I have a cousin. We're five months apart. She's always been my best friend. We call each other Bubbaloo. It started one drunken evening when we were returning from down the shore. We still call each other that. Our husbands think we're crazy. Sometimes I call her when our song is on the radio. Runaway Train. Only we changed the lyrics. Runaway Brain.

3. I have another cousin. He and Bro and I hung out all the time. When we found out My Belle was knocked up too, he sent me an e-mail.

hey think about it. three cousins all the same age. all i have to say is i think this has happened before. rule#1. hide the beer. rule # 2, hide the pot. rule#3, no living in the basement. if everyone follows these three rules the little ones should avoid the perils three other cousins close in age came to experience. oh yeah just because this joke hasn't been used in awhile; rule#4 no michael jordan posters.

I have 97 more things to write. Perhaps I'll tell the Michael Jordan tale in one of them.

4. After my junior year in college when I was all sad and depressed, I moved into my parents basement. My college roommate, D (who is due to have a baby in August, Woot!), lived with me. My cousin, Bro, D and I fucking rocked that basement. Suffice it to say that at the end of the summer when I was about to go back to college, my parents decided to clean the basement out and were surprised to find hidden among all of the basement crap empty beer box after empty beer box after empty beer box. Hee. That was a really fun summer despite my sorrows.

5. I love all of my cousins fiercely. I hope Little Zee experiences the same loving loyalty, though she likely won't live near her cousins. I worry about that.

6. Little Zee, whom we called The Turtle while she was chillin' in the womb, actually makes a turtle face quite regularly.



It's nice to know, after the fact, that we nicknamed her so appropriately.

7. Right now, I'm wearing a t-shirt with dribbled formula all over my left boob and sweatpants with spit up on both legs. I'm such a Mom. It's a great feeling.

8. I want so badly for Painting Chef to get knocked up with a keeper, it hurts. Infertility is not fucking fair. I don't know why I got so lucky while others are still in wait.

9. Little Zee squeaks. Only when she squeaks, it doesn't really sound squeakyish. Zube Boy's sister pointed out, she sounds like a pterodactyl. It's awesome. And appropriate. Since her room is covered in dinosaurs.

10. At night, I like to leave the little lights above the stove on. It annoys Zube Boy because those bulbs are special and expensive. But, he lets me get away with it because he knows it reminds me of sleeping over my Mommom's house as a kid. She did the same thing.

11. I have one memory from when I was about twelve. I was delivering papers on my bike. It was raining. I was at the furthest house on my route. The house was way, way back from the street. I comtemplated just throwing the paper in the yard. But I didn't. I walked all the way up to the house and tucked it inside the screen door. For some reason, my twelve year old self told me I wanted to remember that moment for the rest of my life. And I did.

12. Being pregnant somehow managed to shrink my ass. That bums me out. I had a sweet plump ass once upon a time.

13. When I was about sixteen, I went shopping. I was trying on a purple suede skirt and a colorful sheer blouse. The salesgirl was black. When I came out of the dressing room, she proclaimed, "Damn, girl! How'd you get an ass like that? You got a black girl bootie." I blushed. And bought the outfit. I've been strangely proud of my Zube Booty ever since.

14. The diversity in my little town sucks. There are a few black people from Africa who live here. But not many Americans. There's the one guy who works at the liquor store. And another who dj's. I worry about raising Little Zee in a not so diverse place.

15. I work with a guy from Senegal in Africa. His wives live over there. We argue the merits of having one wife or two. I tell him Zube Boy says one wife is enough. He tells me two wives can talk to each other and bother you less. So far no one has won the debate. Different strokes. Though, I do believe Zube Boy would argue that having just one wife who lives in another country is ideal. So maybe we both win.

16. While we're on the subject, when I was in fourth grade I brought a baby name book to school. My friends and I spent some time looking up the meaning of our names. Melanie, a black girl, looked hers up. It said, "dark and melancholy." She said, "I'm not melancholy!" I said, "But you are dark." All the other white kids gasped and looked at Melanie. She laughed her ass off and said, "That's true." I didn't get what the big deal was. Were we supposed to pretend she wasn't dark?

17. It kind of annoys me when people say they're color blind. But I don't feel like it's my place to be annoyed. I mean, if you're color blind, it also seems to me that you'd be blind to the obstacles people of color face.

18. My head is kind of spinning from going back and forth between past and present so quickly. It's not a bad kind of spinning, but a good kind. Like, when you're a kid and you spin around in circles until you get so dizzy you fall down giggling. It's like that.

19. In my dreams, I've always had two boys and a girl.

20. Sometimes I think, though, that having another girl would be cool. Hoot and My Belle are my bestest friends and I'd like that for Zee. But, then again, so is Bro. I'd like that for Zee, too.

21. My favorite number is 21.

22. Sometimes at work, I'll say I'm in a bad mood. And then I laugh. I'm never really in a bad mood. When someone at the front desk pisses me off? My boss knows they must be a real asshole.

23. I had three miscarriages and only missed three days of work. After the third miscarriage, I said I needed some time to myself. I took off three days. I hate missing work.

24. I tried breastfeeding. It was hard. Really, really hard. One night, while Little Zee was crying and hungry and I was crying and feeling dejected, I decided, fuck this. My kid wants food. I can't get it right with the boob. Breastfeeding is healthier, this I know, but it can't be healthy, the two of us sitting here crying. I gave her formula. And when she looked so sweetly up into my eyes while downing her bottle, I knew that I'd made the right decision for us.

25. Really, I wanted to breasfeed because it was cheap. When it wasn't working, I was surprised by how let down and inadequate I felt.

26. My brother and I were formula fed. My sisters were breastfed. Mom says my brother and I never got sick, while the girls did. I know it's just anecdotal, but it makes me feel better.

27. I live at 9,600 feet altitude. This means that you actually DO have to follow the high altitude instructions when you're baking.

28. It also means that when I go down to sea level, I can outdrink the best of them.

29. The song, "Lean on Me," makes me cry every time I hear it.

30. So does "Leather and Lace." That was Zube Boy's and my wedding song. It is totally us.

31. When My Belle went into labor, I was astounded by the urge I felt to run to her. I don't know if it was because she's my sister or because she's the baby. Or maybe it's a combination.

32. I'm in love with you. You who read me. I still can't believe so many people were out there supporting us during the miscarriages and difficult pregnancy. Those who've been around for a while. Those who are new. Those who lurk. I go back and read your comments from the day Little Zee was born and after and cry. It's an "I Appreciate the Everloving Shit Out of You" kind of cry.

33. A girl named Becca commented here. She had three miscarriages and is pregnant with a baby girl. Her first keeper. I think about you Becca. I hope you're doing well. Feel free to let me know when that baby girl makes her debut! And also feel free to send me a photo of her in her "Worth the Wait" onesie.

34. The instant Little Zee was born I knew that I would walk, hop, skip, somersault, cartwheel, or Zube dance to the ends of the earth for her. I knew that before, even. But I didn't FEEL it until a couple of weeks after she was here. I felt like a really shitty Mom because of that. I swore I'd never tell anyone. But I decided to share it after all. It's not abnormal. It doesn't make you a shitty Mom. It's just that people who do experience it usually keep it a secret because they think they're all alone. And they're not.

35. I really and truly didn't believe I'd have a baby. Not even on the operating table getting prepped for my c-section.

36. Zube Boy and I were prepared for our baby to be relatively quiet after the c-section. Maybe a couple of squeaks. The nurses said that c-section babies are sometimes quiet after they're born because they haven't gone through the exercise of birth. When Zee emerged, she screamed her little fucking head off. It was the best gift she could have given me.

37. Zube Boy said I heaved a huge sigh of relief when I she let out her wail. The biggest he's ever heard.

38. Sometimes I'm still shocked to find that I have a baby. But I never doubt it at 4 in the morning when she's hungry.

39. When Zube Boy and I drive long distances, I do most of the driving. I like driving. And I can't sleep in the car anyway. It works for us.

40. I think writing my first list of 100 Things was easier.

41. The day before Little Zee was born, I bought a pumpkin pie because it was Thanksgiving on the Sopranos and they were eating one. I wanted one, too. I headed out 10 minutes before the grocery store closed and brought my prized pregnancy craving home. I was dismayed to find that it had to bake for 70 minutes and cool for two hours. I decided to make it the next day.

42. The next day, I had a baby. On the way to the hospital at 4AM, I wondered to Zube Boy if I would still want that pumpkin pie when I wasn't pregnant anymore.

43. When we came home from the hospital, Zube Boy had made the pumpkin pie. It was indeed yummy.

44. But not as yummy as I'm sure it would have been if I were still knocked up.

45. I'm wondering if you're still wondering if I'll tell you the story about the Michael Jordan poster.

46. The whole time I was pregnant, I would never read pregnancy or parenting magazines in the waiting room of the OB's office. And it kind of sucked because the only other magazines they had were sports. I found a People and an AARP magazine buried among the others. I read the same ones at every appointment.

47. I just went in for my six week check-up and I starting looking for my old standby magazines. Then I remembered that I had a baby. A healthy baby. And I could probably start reading parenting magazines.

48. Sometimes I wonder if my blog is less of a blog and more of a book. With an ending. I'm not sure if I've sort of come to the ending.

49. I think James Gandolfini is hot. Or, wait. No. I think Tony Soprano is hot.

50. I stopped watching The Sopranos after they killed Adriana. I loved her. And it was the last of a bunch of things to piss me off.

51. The first of which was the fact that Jennifer Melfi's rape was never addressed. Not even in subsequent seasons. I guess I sort of projected my own baggage onto the show.

52. The second was that Ralphie wasn't killed sooner. I hated that asshole. I guess I was supposed to. I was so fucking mad when he killed that poor stripper girl. Fucking cock.

53. I have on DVD the episode where Tony finally killed Ralphie. I've watched it many times.

54. I wanted the Sopranos theme song to be the entrance song into our wedding reception. Zube Boy vetoed that. Maybe that was a good thing.

55. The opening credits remind me of home.

56. I went to the grocery store on Friday after my c-section on Wednesday. People were shocked. I felt great.

57. We took Little Zee and went out for cheesesteaks on Saturday. Zee was four days old. When people asked how old she was and we told them, they tsked us for having her out so soon. We started lying and telling people she was two weeks. Some people still tsked. Fuck 'em.

58. When my Mom was here a couple of weeks ago, I thought she would be holding the baby 24/7. She didn't. She helped a lot, don't get me wrong. But what was kind of cool and what I didn't expect was that she enjoyed watching me be a mom. Now that I think about it, it makes sense.

59. When I was little, I cut my own hair. Then I told my Mom that the girl down the street did it because I didn't want to have to hang out with her anymore.

60. For some reason, I'm thinking I may have already put that story in my first 100 Things. But, I'm too lazy to look.

61. I know for a fact that I mentioned my Mommom coming to me in a dream in my original list. She told me I'd have three kids. What I didn't mention, and what I'd never told anyone because I was afraid to say it out loud, was that she looked sad after she said it and added that there would be problems. And indeed there were. I can say it out loud now because Zee is here.

62. During all three failed pregnancies, my Mommom visited my dreams again. Each one revolved around me being hugely pregnant or in labor. I thought each time that it meant that pregnancy was the one. She never visited me during my pregnancy with Zee. In retrospect, I think she was giving me hope that though that pregnancy would fail, I would someday have a child.

63. After the six week ultrasound with Zee, and being told by the doctor that her heartbeat was a little slow and we'd have to check again in a week, I went out to my car and stood there for a few minutes. I worried that I was doomed to lose her, too. Then, from deep inside, I heard a voice. It said, "I am strong. I am strong. I am strong." over and over again. At first I thought it was me. And I said, "Yeah, um, not feeling so much the strong right now." It wouldn't be shushed. I finally realized it wasn't me at all. It was Zee. I clung to that moment the whole time I was pregnant.

64. Zube Boy can't stand paisley bedspreads. Or flowery ones. This is severely limiting to my inner bedroom designer. We have a tan suedish bedspread now, and lucky for us both, I dig it, too.

65. We got a new king bed a few months ago. It is so high, I have a step stool to get into it.

66. I probably don't really need the step stool anymore. It was imperative when I was hugely pregnant. But, it's cute and I don't feel like moving it. So I still use it.

67. My friend in college had a life sized Michael Jordan cardboard stand up thing. She was obsessed with Michael Jordan.

68. Heh.

69. When we were little, ahem, and big, we always had to call our Mom if we were out and about and an ambulence siren went off, so that she would know we were okay. Sometimes, even now, 2,000 miles away, I still call my Mom when I hear an ambulence.

70. When Mom was visiting, she took Zee for a walk. An ambulence siren went off. She called me at the office to tell me that she wasn't sure if I was as crazy as her but she wanted to let me know that she and Zee were fine, despite the ambulence driving up the street. I told her that, ironically enough, the ambulence was heading to the hotel for my coworker who suddenly lost part of his vision.

71. This same coworker crocheted Zee a blanket.


He's, like, this huge former college football player guy. I think that's rad.

72. He's okay. Seeing some specialists right now.

73. My brother and my cousin used to come and visit me at college. We'd go out and get wasted at all the college parties. I had a blue sleeping bag with pink elephants on it and they used to fight over who got to use it. It was fucking funny.

74. Our renters came by to pay the rent after Zee was born. I asked one about his father, who found out he had cancer just months before. He said that he had died a couple of weeks before. I told him I was so sorry. He said, "One life ends and another begins," and pointed to Zee. I thought that was very wise and very stoic for a 20-year-old who'd just lost his father to say.

75. Zube Boy changed Zee's first poopy diaper. We were in the hospital and I couldn't move my legs yet. Those first poops? Are nasty. He was so brave.

76. Okay, so someone, I'm not naming names, might've sauntered across my friend's college dorm room in a drunken stupor and decided that the best place to take a piss was on a life size replica of Michael Jordan.

77. I'm afraid I might have built that story up to be funnier than it actually was. But what's funnier is having a Michael Jordan poster inexplicably displayed at someone's bachelor party.

78. I always give Zee the tousled hair look after her bath. Well, except that one time when I gave her a mohawk. See, I figure, she has plenty of years ahead of her to worry about her hair. Why start now?

79. When I was a kid, I wanted to be Amish. I thought the outfits were cute.

80. I had a huge mole on my back until I was 10. It was horrible and kids would make fun of me. They'd call me moley. I'd always come back with the response my mother had taught me, "It's NOT a mole, it's a BEAUTY mark." I finally had it removed. Now I have a long slash back there. I tell people it's a knife wound.

81. I also had a small mole on the back of my left leg. In school, kids would unknowingly swat at it as we were climbing the stairs in between classes thinking it was a bug. I had it removed in high school. I actually sort of miss it.

82. A few months after Zube Boy and I started dating, I sat down one night and started to tell him that I'd been raped. He let me finish talking and said, "I knew." He'd read through the mountain of books I had and found a few titles on coping with rape. I asked him why he didn't say anything. He said he knew I would tell him when the time was right.

83. Every single fucking day after school, Bro and I would get home and he'd INSIST on watching either Short Circuit, Space Camp, or the Goonies. I hated all three. Now, though, it's kind of a cute thing to remember.

84. My family came out to visit when I first moved to Colorado. My Belle went tumbling down a mountainside. We laughed hysterically. She started limping. It wasn't too swollen. We told her to buck up and quit being a baby. Three days later, she was still limping, so Mom took her to the doctor. She had three broken bones in her foot. Oops. I felt like an ass.

85. For her birthday one year, I told her not to answer her phone and I called and sang various birthday song messages on her machine. One of them was:

Happy Birthday to you!
You wore one shoe!
When you broke your foot,
And I laughed at you!

86. Hoot has decided that instead of getting married and having kids, she wants to be the crazy aunt. I think that's awesome. I sometimes feel guilty for wanting to add more people to an overburdened planet. When other people have no desire to have children, it makes me feel a little less guilty.

87. I have REALLY ugly pinky toes. They're all turned sideways and the nail is bent in the middle. Ew.

88. When it seems not uncomfortable to do so, I share our fertility struggles with people who ask about Zee. I think it's important for people to know that babies don't come easily to everyone.

89. I feel like I missed out on a rite of passage by having a c-section. That feeling was compounded by the fact that my baby sister gave birth the regular way just a few weeks later. I wonder if that feeling will ever dwindle.

90. But, I won't doubt that we made the right decision because the end result is more important.

91. I'd really like to write a book, but I don't know if I have the self-discipline. Blogging is more my style. And now I'm sucking at that.

92. Recently, I've been thinking about the girl who stared at a bottle of pills, contemplating taking them and ending her sorrows, and I thank her for putting those pills down. I had no way of knowing, back then, that I'd ever find joy. But I had faith that I would. I had to have because sleeping forever was pretty damn tempting.

93. I wore Isotoner slippers almost every day of my senior year in high school. They were so cozy.

94. I also brought a travel mug of coffee every day. And it was confiscated almost every day. I thought it was stupid that I couldn't bring coffee with me to school. It became a joke between me and Mr. F, my Coffee Confiscator.

95. One day I was walking down the hall after school before cheerleading practice. I was wearing leggings with umbros over them (ah, the 90's). The principal stopped me. He said that we were not allowed to wear shorts to school. So I promptly removed them. In the hall. In front of him. After all, leggings back then constituded pants, because we all must have been breathing in some polluted fog that made us collectively fashionably stupid, but anyway. He was not impressed.

96. In third grade, this kid started writing his assignment with a blue pen, though the teacher told us to get out our red pens. He had forgotten his red pen. The teacher stopped class and proceeded to yell at him. "Does that pen write red?" He thought for a minute, and wrote the word "RED" on the paper in front of him. "Yes, it does. See?" He was a troublemaker and everyone kind of thought he was stupid. But that was a pretty smart move if you ask me. I wonder about him sometimes. The teacher wasn't impressed, but I was.

97. We have four jeeps. A 2001, a 1994, a 1995 (all Cherokees), and a 1984 CJ7. Now we have a Jeep stroller. And a Jeep baby carrier. I guess you could say we're a jeep family.

98. When Zee was born, Zube Boy called his buddy at work, The Englishman, to tell him the good news. The Englishman announced that we had a baby girl and her name was Cora Jane. One of the guys piped up, "Is her last name seven?" It took Zube Boy a minute to get what he was saying. Then it finally dawned on him. Surprisingly, we did not name our daughter after his offroading jeep, the CJ7.

99. The night that the video for "Thriller" came out, I was at a slumber party. I didn't sleep all night. Not for fear of having my bra frozen because, shit, I don't think I even wore a bra back then, but because the video was so scary.

100. I'm going to publish this before I reread it. Mostly because once I publish things, I'm far too lazy to edit them. And I'd like this to remain untouched.

Who Needs Google?

Sometimes I wonder about stupid shit. Usually this happens while I'm at work and have, you know, important shit that I should be wondering about. When something particularly stupid is plaguing my overtaxed brain, I usually call my Mom and tell her all about it. Because that's what moms are for if you ask me.

I called her up this morning to ask her a question that I just HAD to know the answer to before being able to update my group reservation files.

Her answer was...

Jim Bob
Mary Ellen
Erin
Elizabeth
Ben
Jason
_________ (I'm leaving this one out because it will TOTALLY give it away)

Any idea what my question was?

We're hanging in there. Sleep deprived as ever. Visitors coming out the wazoo. Baby cuteness everywhere. Don't believe me? Here's proof:





And also?



Okay. I'm going to go throw up now.

What Are the Freakin' Odds?

So, my Mom is visiting. I'm thrilled. Beside myself. Overjoyed. You get the picture. I actually called My Belle on Saturday on my way to the airport to pick Mom up BALLING like a baby saying such mature things as, "I just want MY MOM!"

Anyway, My Belle? Who's the last of the knocked up Zube's due? The one who'll spawn the last of the Zube Grandchild Trifecta of 2007? Is in labor. Three weeks early. Which is no big whoop. Three weeks is not much. But this is what we tried so ardently to plan around when picking a date for Mom's trip. Figures. Anywho, her man and Hoot are there so all is good and it'll be nice to actually have family out here to celebrate with me.

Anyway, the poor girl has been in the hospital since yesterday morning with no food. Her labor has stalled. Would ya'll mind sending some encouraging words to Little Zee's little cousin to maybe speed things up a bit? His Momma is hungry.

I'll keep ya updated...

UPCHUCK...(So, really? That's supposed to say UPDATE. *Note to Self* Do not leave unpublished blog posts unattended when sharing an abode with a Zube Boy...

ANYWHOOOOOOOOOOOO...

Long fucking day. Seriously. Quick news flash in the once, twice, three times a new Zube department...

Little Stan was born at 5:15PM EST. 7lbs exactly, 20 1/2 inches long. Mom and baby are doing well. He's in the special care unit for low blood sugar, but nothing to worry about.



I don't have much else to say because waking up for a baby party hosted by Little Zee this morning at 4:30AM seems to have stolen all of my wit and good humor. We're all weepy and sleepy and happy over here.

One Couch...Free Ninety Free...A Bunch of Jokes at My Expense? Priceless...

We're pulling out of the driveway. Some of you may remember my ex-boyfriend? Named Guy? Who lives across the street? With his wife? Anyway...

Z-Boy: Oh, honey, look! You're LUV-er is giving away a couch.

Z-Girl: *Glances over and spots a couch with a big FREE sign on it in her ex-boyfriend's yard* Yeah.

Z-Boy: I bet there's Zube Ass all over that couch.

Z-Girl: Dude.

Z-Boy: Seriously. Is there stinky Zube Ass on that couch?

Z-Girl: You are not right.

The next morning. Zube Boy is outside working on the deck. He yells to me. I'm inside. Did I mention that he is outside? Where we have neighbors? One of whom I happened to have dated? Anyway...

Z-Boy: HONEY!!!

Z-Girl: WHAT?!?!

Z-Boy: SOMEONE IS TAKING THE STINKY ZUBE ASS COUCH!!!!

Z-Girl: THAT'S GREAT.

Sometimes, the fact that we're now someone's parents frightens me a tad.

This Post Is Brought to You by the Letter Zee

Little Zee has a blog. I'm hoping this will assuage my urge to make The Adventures ofZube Girl all baby, ALL the time. And it will also be a nice way for our far away relatives to keep tabs on the little shit. It will be notably less cuss-wordy over there because, you know, I don't think earmuffs exist on theinternet. And far be it for me to expose Zee to any more cuss words than she already heard in the womb. Anyway, if you didn't see Old School, you didn't get that. It's okay.

The thing is, I have a problem. I'm not digging on the standard blogger template. And I've been out of the bloggy loop for so long, living under my rock over here in Zube Girl Land, that I no longer know who makes templates. I had mine made by Web Divas two years ago, and they are no longer in business, much to my dismay. Because, while I'm lazier than shit, I really, really am attached to my layout here. I can't blame laziness for the fact that it hasn't changed. Anywho, I'm looking for recommendations, just in case you're the type that doesn't get subtlety and respond better to the brick over the head method. I'm willing to pay big bucks for a template 'cause I'm RICH bitch! Or rather, I'll pay a reasonable rate because I'm not, you know, eating out of my neighbors' garbage cans or anything. Talk to me of blog designers oh buddies of mine.

All that said, Zube is returning. I'm feeling more and more like myself. Like I'm emerging from my cocoon pregnancy state and becoming all bitchy and superhero-ish again. It's tickling my toes. Any day now...

Until then...a gratuitous photo...

Greetings From Sleepyville

Dude. You guys are the bestest. Truly. I can't believe we did it! We fucking did it! And you all were integral. I can't tell you how much I felt buoyed by your encouragement, thoughts and prayers. I'm on Cloud 9. But, believe me, it's an exhausting place. I'd love to tell you that fluffy bunny rabbits and skittles tumble out of Cora Jane's little bum and that her vocal chords are capable of tunes that would make the angels envious, but, uh, no. She's a newborn after all. And newborns are hard fucking work. But it's not a thankless task at all, and I adore the everloving shit out of the kid.

I figured I'd share a couple of photos because I'm all Braggy Mom this week. I've earned it. And please don't fret over the oxygen tubes. That's just a way of life when you happen to get borned at 10,000 ft above sea level. She'll likely be off of it after her two week appointment and I absolutely can't wait because I swear I'm going to topple over the cord and land on the kiddo one of these days. She also has a couple of red patches above her eyes that totally freaked me out, but the doctor says those will disappear in time.

I was thinking the other day about a blog name for our newest edition. I've decided that, for the purposes of this blog, she'll be Zee Baby. I think it's cute.

Anyway, I now present to you, Zee (cutest EVER) Baby:






Last but not least, I can't believe I had a baby girl. I totally thought boy. But now that I've got a kick ass chick for a daughter, I'm reminded of the poem I shared with you all a while back. The first verse keeps running through my head:

One day I'll give birth to a tiny baby girl
and when she's born she'll scream and I'll make sure
she never stops.

Hell's yeah.

Introducing...

(This is PaintingChef posting for Zube)

Miss Cora Jane.

Born 5/16/2007 7:50 am.

6 pounds, 3 ounces.

18 inches long.

Reported to scream. A lot.

Pictures to follow. All snark and bitchiness uncharacteristically witheld due to the overwhelming awesomeness of the day.

Congratulations Mama Zube. The words "you've earned it" don't even come close. The internet loves you.

UPDATED with photos from Zube Girl.








Zube Boy and I are smitten. Thank you all! I couldn't have done it without you.

Because My Pregnant (Still!) Brain Can't Be Bothered to Stick With Just One Subject...

First things first. Barring anything crazy, like my stubborn ass kid-to-be deciding to flip over like most other good little babies have already done by now, or the Turtle deciding to make an early entrance, her/his birthday will be May 18th via c-section. I'm pretty sure. There is a small possibility that the kid will be born on May 21st, but I'm hoping and hoping that the surgeon will be able to do it on the 18th. I'll receive confirmation of that next Wednesday. Among other, very sensible reasons, like the fact that then Zube Boy would have an additional weekend to spend with us without having to take vacation time, I think a Taurus kid would blend a little better with my Cancer and Zube Boy's Pisces than a Gemini. But, you know, I really just want the kid to be healthy. That's all.

My god-daughter/niece? Is totally a Zube.



Check out her little hand. Hee. She's a wondermous foul-handed little cutie, that one. And I totally can't believe that MY brother, whom I used to raise bloody hell with is a Daddy. It's bizarre. And I'm sure he's probably going to be thinking the same about me. We have already determined that we're in for it when our kids are teenagers. You know, retribution and all.

I was talking to My Belle the other day, and we got around to the subject of pregnant bellybuttons. And how weird they are. And we were both surprised to learn that neither of us had outies, but rather, flatties. As in, no longer cavernous lint collecters. I sent her a picture of mine over e-mail and she called me and told me it looked weird...



I got all, WHATEVER, dude, I bet yours looks weird, too, on her ass. So, she sent me a picture of hers...



And together we determined that they both look...very weird.

On that note...holy shit. There's the very likely possibility we'll have a baby in just two weeks and two days. My head is spinning.

It Must Have Been So Funny She Just Forgot to Laugh...

The Scene: I'm in the hardware store for, ahem, the THIRD time that day buying plumbing supplies. For Zube Boy. I really don't want to complain though because I'd rather be buying shit pipes than installing them. Anyway, I'm consulting Zube Boy via phone about my potential purchases...

Z-Boy: Okay, I need two 3" couplers.

Z-Girl: Black?

Z-Boy: Yes, black, like all the other stuff you bought.

Z-Girl: So everything will match and be all pretty under the floor?

Z-Boy: Exactly.

Z-Girl: Hmmm...Here's a 1 1/2" coupler.

Z-Boy: Honey, your poo won't fit down that. I need 3".

Z-Girl: *talking to myself* 3" coupler, 3" coupler, for my poo...AHA! Got it!

Z-Boy: Cool.

Z-Girl: So you need two?

Z-Boy: *shuffling stuff around* Umm, you know, maybe I only need one.

Z-Girl: So one?

Z-Boy: Um, I don't know. *shuffling more stuff around* Maybe two.

Z-Girl: So I'll get two.

Z-Boy: Oh wait, nope. I just need one.

Z-Girl: Honey.

Z-Boy: I think.

Z-Girl: Look, I'm buying two because I am not coming back here a fourth time.

Z-Boy: Okay.

*I waddle up to the counter, because that's how I roll these days, and plop my merchandise down in front of the cashier, who recognizes me from being there twice earlier*

Cashier: She's baaaaaaaaack!

Z-Girl: Yup, and I swear if you see me in here again today, I'll be spitting nails. Which would be cool for you because then you could sell them.

Cashier: *silently checks out my items*

Z-Girl: You know. This being a hardware store and all. Heh.

DUDE! I totally thought that was funny! What the fuck? Clearly I have lost my edge. She didn't even crack a smile. Eh well.

PS- No baby yet. However, it looks like the Turtle will be entering the world without a cone-head. In other words, s/he is still breech, and has dropped which will make turning even more difficult, so I'm probably going to be having a c-section. We still have a couple of weeks, so it's wait and see time. So I guess we'll just, wait and see. I'll keep you updated.

Stats for those who are so inclined to care:

As of yesterday, I am a fingertip dilated and 50% effaced.

Ah, But to Be a Fly...in My Soup...

Zube Boy and I have been going out to eat quite a bit in recent weeks. For three reasons, mostly. Reason the first: I really, really don't feel like cooking. In fact, I think I'd rather gouge my eyes out with a wooden spoon than throw together a one pot meal of hamburger helper. Reason the second: I think we're taking a teeny bit of advantage of the fact that we CAN go out to eat quite easily. He calls me up five minutes before he's due off of work and asks if I'd like to go out to eat. I say, "Yeah." He says, "Okay, I'll meet you at Fatty's in fifteen minutes." Something tells me things won't be easy like that in the very near future, goddess-willing, of course. And lastly, reason the third: Recently, it has become quite apparent that when I want a chimichanga right now, well, I want a goddamned chimichanga RIGHT fucking NOW! No time to go buy ingredients or scour the 'net for a decent chimichanga recipe. It's far easier to head out to a restaurant where someone has so thoughtfully put together all of those ingredients already. Just for yours truly.

Anyway, our dinner conversations have had an interesting slant.

Z-Girl: *pushes her half eaten cheeseburger away* That's it. I'm done.

Z-Boy: You full?

Z-Girl: No. I just know that if I finish that burger, I'm going to be up all night with heartburn.

Z-Boy: Heh.

Z-Girl: What?

Z-Boy: Nothing. Heh heh.

Z-Girl: Well, what the hell are you laughing at then?

Z-Boy: I don't know. It's just funny. I mean, you used to be worried about having a little too much to drink at a party and throwing up or not being able to get up in the morning. And now you're declining to finish your cheeseburger because you're worried about heartburn.

Z-Girl: *snort* Man. Makes me feel kinda old.

Z-Boy: You should probably get used to that.

*********************************************

Z-Girl: Dude, that childbirth class was pretty stupid, but at least we get to eat at Ruby Tuesdays while we're in the area.

Z-Boy: Yeah.

*silent happy chowing down*

Z-Boy: You know, I noticed something the other day.

Z-Girl: What's that?

Z-Boy: Well, at work, we have these welding masks.

Z-Girl: Uh-huh.

Z-Boy: And I put one on the other day. And I had to loosen up the straps.

Z-Girl: Okay.

Z-Boy: And I started thinking that I always have to loosen up the straps.

Z-Girl: Yeah.

Z-Boy: And that's after whoever wore it before me already LOOSENED the straps to take it off.

Z-Girl: So?

Z-Boy: So. I have a big head. I'm just sayin'.

Z-Girl: *realizing where this is going*

Z-Boy: Like, a REALLY big head.

Z-Girl: Great.

Z-Boy: Just thought it was interesting.

Z-Girl: I'm ordering dessert.

Z-Boy: You deserve it.

***********************************************

Z-Girl: I don't know if we really have to go all crazy with waterproofing the room, though. Seroiusly.

Z-Boy: But, honey, NEW BED! NEW CARPET! Do you really want your water to break all over that stuff? We spent a lot of money.

Z-Girl: The thing is, though, most people's water doesn't even break until their at the hospital, in labor.

Z-Boy: Most people's?

Z-Girl: Yeah.

Z-Boy: Well, do most people have to take aspirin and progesterone when they get pregnant?

Z-Girl: Um...

Z-Boy: And do most people have crazy cervixes and get bedrested for two months?

Z-Girl: Okay...

Z-Boy: And are most people's placentas in the front?

Z-Girl: Alright...

Z-Boy: And are most people's babies still breech at 35 weeks?

Z-Girl: Okay! Shut up! I'm smelling what you're stepping in.

Z-Boy: And?

Z-Girl: Why don't we get a waterproof sheet for the bed. And I'll keep towels next to it so I can sort of throw them around me like an adult diaper on the way to the bathroom if my water happens to break while I'm in bed.

Z-Boy: Sounds like a plan.

Well Slap My Ass and Call Me a Bird

*Click to Biggify*

I'm nesting like a motherfucker. The feathers are flying.

No Turtle debut yet. And hopefully s/he'll hang on for one more week. I'm 35 weeks today, 36 being considered full term by my OB.

Just thought I'd update.

And now, since I'm arms deep in my laundry room and, er, cat fur, I'll be on my way. This nesting shit is crazy. I've found energy I didn't know I had this late in the game. Yikes.

All About Me...And Then Some (More About Me)

Sometimes, while I'm waiting for ass-puncher carpet installers to show up, I like to play a little game. It's called, "What the Hell Was I Doing a Year Ago Today." So, I clicked on my April 2006 archives and scrolled down to April 11, and what I saw there made me feel like a ginormous ass. See, I had a Superhero Contest, which was awesome fun. And there was a winner. Namely, Phil. And being a winner meant that Phil deserved a prize. And did I ever fucking send one? No.

That's got me thinking about a lot of stuff. Which is good because I have plenty of time because these fucking carpet installers are now two hours late and according to the idiot woman in the office, they're finishing up another job and then they'll be here if they have time, so I've got a whole fucking vacation day to waste waiting for them and thinking about what a self-absorbed brat I've become.

And I'm sorry for it. The self-absorbed brat part. I'm sorry about the carpet asses, too, but they'll be more sorry once I tell everyone and their goddamned brother how much they suck and not to use their useless fucking company EVER. Ahem. But, with regard to the self-absorbed brat situation, I'm simply at a loss as to what to do about it. See, I've been through so much in the past year and a half. Not that I'm telling you all anything you don't already know. Most of you who are still hanging in there with me have been there through it. First miscarriage in September 05. Second in October 05. Third in March 06. And now the Turtle. And all the drama that that has entailed.

There's something I'm trying to say. Something that's itching to get out. And it might take a while to get there because I'm not so sure what it is. So bear with me.

I feel like I've been holding my breath since September 11th, when I got my positive pregnancy test. In hindsight, it was kind of a life affirming thing to happen on such a sad day, but at the time I really had no idea that this pregnancy would turn out any differently from the others. So that life affiirmation was lost on me. Carrying on...Subconsciously I credit my sheer willpower for the success of this pregnancy. Kind of like every time I fly I'm convinced we didn't crash because I willed it not to happen the whole time in air. And both scenarios are stupid and totally false. I know this. But I can't seem to stop my mind from being consumed.

And the end to that means is neglect of, mostly, people in my life. And my work has suffered to. But that'll recover. It's the people I worry about. Friendships I haven't been so good at maintaining because I can't seem to get my head out of my ass. Or my uterus. More likely my uterus. And that worries me. I just hope the people in my life will be around when this kid gets born and I find myself craving meaningul, adult interaction.

I've also neglected my writing. And that sucks. Writing has always been this great escape for me. And I felt that, after blogging quite consistently for over a year, I was really starting to understand the art of using the word fuck. Among others.

I'm a little scared. I'm scared that when I have this kid, that absorption won't stop. The obsessiveness. And it MUST. I am a firm believer in Mom's having lives of their own, ya know? I don't think kids learn squat about what it's like to be a grown-up, in particular, a grown-up woman, when Mom's sole purpose in life is her children. I think that kind of maternal smothering actually says the opposite of what I want my child, boy or girl, to think about women.

So, where do I go from here? I seroiusly don't know. I'm allowing myself six more weeks (or hopefully at least 3) to let this whole pregnancy thing rule my life. And then? And then there'll be a kid, hopefully, who eats and poops and cries. And it'll be completely independent of my body, so I won't have to worry about the chance of me fucking it up. Physically anyway. Heh. I have no doubts that my kid'll be at least a touch fucked up as a direct result of me. I mean, everyone's screwed up a little because of their parents, aren't they? I just hope I can be honest about my shortcomings.

I guess what I'm saying, and taking fucking forever to do so, is that if you'll hang in there just a little longer while I keep sucking, there is a light at the end of the tunnel. Now, if you were a male on the receiving end of a blow job, I'm sure you wouldn't mind one bit. But given that that's not the situation, your mileage may vary.

I'm hoping that someday soon I'll remove my pregnancy blinders and be able to take note of the other Super Heroes in my life. Because life outside my box, erm, eh, heh, I mean, the box, is lovely and insane. And I'd miss me if I stayed away much longer.

Now, if that made a bit of sense to any of you, I'd offer up a prize for your super hero understanding skillz. But, just ask Phil, I suck at giving prizes. So I'll just say, damn. You're good. And even if you didn't get it? Damn. You're still good. 'Cause neither did I. And damn, I'm good!

What's on My Mind...

Dear Mom,

Yeah, yeah. You need a vacation and all. I know. But really? Couldn't you go somewhere where the cell phone reception doesn't suck all hell? Because as much as I feign annoyance when YOU worry because you haven't talked to me in a day, it's, well, the feeling is mutual. My 7am Colorado time, 9am Jersey time phone call to you is sorely missed. How the hell am I supposed to know if my vocal chords work first thing in the morning if I don't have you to call and confirm?

Anyway, hurry back.

Love,
Zube Girl

*****************************************

Dear Vermont,

Um, I think some more cell phone towers are in order. Just sayin'.

Regards,
Zube Girl

*****************************************

Dear Carpet Salesperson Lady,

Firstly, fuck you.

Secondly, Farrah Fawcett wants her hair-do back.

Thirdly, I don't know what possessed you to lock us into an order without a call of warning that the carpet we picked was SPECIAL ORDER and would sit and wait in cue until enough people had ordered it to warrant the factory pulling the shit of the shelves for a cutting. I was no great shakes as a door salesperson, or maybe I was, but if a customer wanted a door, and I discovered upon ordering it that it would take weeks longer than they anticipated to arrive, I would have called them and asked them if they preferred another door or wanted to wait a while for the particular door they picked. We didn't have our heart set on that carpet. It was something to cover the fucking floor with. And, when I ordered it, you even commented that it would be here WELL before any baby arrived. Yet, somehow, that may not happen. I hate you. But I won't tell you that until the carpet gets in and I HOUND your fucking ass to get your installers over here posthaste. After the carpet is installed, I will bitch you out. And badmouth you around town. That's how advertising works. Both good and bad.

Fourthly, I am totally onto you. Coke-head. I know your little secret, Ms. Sniffles.

Sincerely,
Zube Girl

*******************************************

Dear Rings,

I will see you in a few months. The "Let's See If I Can Still Take Them Off" game was getting a bit too sketch for my taste.

Love,
Zube Girl

*******************************************

Dear Birthing Class Lady,

Overall, considering that Zube Boy and I had no interest in attending birthing classes due to the fact that women have been doing this shit for thousands of years without education on the matter, spending our Saturday with you wasn't so bad. We got to meet that really neat couple who is due a week before us and ALSO doesn't know what they are having, so it was kind of worth it.

Anyway, we really could have done without the closing Relaxation Exercise. Talk about the 10 most UNrelaxing minutes of my life.

See, first of all, the relaxation tape with the lady with the most NON-soothing voice I've ever heard? Skipped. Totally NOT relaxing. Though, her heart was in it. She deserves some sort of mention for all of her eager encouragement to relax every part of our body from our toes to our head.

But, the thing is, when I'm in a pitch dark room, with four other couples, seated and reclined between the legs of my mate, and someone, on tape, or in person I would imagine, instructs me to focus on my buttocks and release the tension there-in, well, said someone has managed to transform me from a relaxed blob into a snorting, convulsing, trying not to laugh, mess. And, when my husband? Has to tell ME to settle down in hushed tones? And other people start giggling? And so I start giggling HARDER? It makes the whole relaxation trip from the buttocks up to the top of the head utterly pointless. Because I'm so not there.

Ditch the tape. Other than that, I kind of appreciated the lifesize illustrations of just how squished up my innards are by the Turtle. I think it helped the mister to be a little more understanding of my heartburn, nausea, starving but can't eat a full meal whining, seeing as how my stomach is flat as as a pancake up under my also very flattened diaphram. And that is much appreciated.

Yours Truly,
Zube Girl

Who's Your Daddy?

Z-Boy: You're getting really excited. I can tell.

Z-Girl: Well, yeah. Aren't you?

Z-Boy: What's so exciting?*

Z-Girl: I don't know. Aren't you looking forward to someone calling you Daddy?

Z-Boy: Heh.

Z-Girl: I mean, someone who isn't a prostitute.

Z-Boy: Or your Mom?

Z-Girl: Ew. That wasn't even funny.

*Just so you know, of course Zube Boy is excited. But any excitement he feels does not hinder his inherent need to fuck with me.

PS- Because some of you are too kind for words, and have asked about our registry for the Turtle, I've posted a link over yonder under the 'First and Foremost' heading. Please know I'm NOT fishing for gifts. We have hand-me-downs coming out of our collective arses, so we really aren't in need of much. But since some have inquired, there it is.

Your Ninth Life Is Up, My Feline Friend...

When your Mom tells you it's time to update your blog, it's, uh, really time to update your blog.

Do you ever feel like, sometimes everyone is in The Know? And you are out of The Know? It's a rather awkward feeling, especially when you're me. And you like to pretend you freakin' LIVE in The Know. I'm, like, the Mayor and shit.

Anyway, the other day I was totally NOT in The Know.

The Scene: I'm driving to the bank. Whee!

Z-Girl: Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god! I LOVE this song!

Z-Girl: *turns up the radio loud enough so that everyone within 20 feet of my car and The Turtle can hear it* In the aaaaaaaaaaaarms of an angel...far away from here...

Z-Girl: Dude, why are people looking at me? I'm not singing that loud...

Z-Girl: Hmm, now they're pointing...

Z-Girl: ...in this cold dark hotel room...

Z-Girl: What in the fuck is that guy's problem??? Flashing his lights! Is he trying to tell me something?

Right about now, my lifetime membership to the Genius Club should have been revoked. Immediately. And perhaps the Mental and Visual Acuity Guild should reconsider my application.

Z-Girl: Okay, now he's waving his arms, trying to get my attention. Something is up...

Z-Girl: *Turns down the music and pokes her head, annoyedly, I might add, out the window* WHAT?!?!

Dude in the Car Behind Me: Blah, blah, blah, BLAH!

Z-Girl: What? I can't hear you!

DITCBM: THERE'S A CAT ON YOUR CAR ROOF!

Z-Girl: *silence*

As I'm driving down Main Street in the middle of March, in a ski town, SPRING BREAK 2008, RAAAAAAAAH!, people, hordes and crowds of the fuckers, begin to gather around me.

Z-Girl: *smacks forehead*

Z-Girl: *Turns, slowly, onto a side road*

The crowd of people follow.

Z-Girl: You have got to be fucking kidding me. *steps out of the car* Indeed, no one is fucking kidding me.

There sat, or rather, should I say, splayed out as flat as she could be, was Zoey. I'm sure the folks gathered 'round me enjoyed the show. A pregnant lady, trying to fish a cat off her car roof without smooshing her unborn. I finally got my hands on her and tossed her into the car, while everyone cheered.

It was embarassing. And also? A little freaky. I had driven two miles. Going a maximum speed of about 40. Ish. Maybe 45. Because the speed limit is 40 and I abide strongly by the '5 miles an hour over' rule.

Anyway, we're all safe and sound now. Though, hopefully, next time Zoey will know to jump the hell off the car when it starts. I don't know how I missed her when I left. All I can think is that she was laying down, baking gloriously in the sun, like a cat on a hot car roof, and I drive a jeep and happen to not be all that tall, and missed her.

Anywho...

Things on the Turtle front are still hunky dory. Here's a gratuitous photo for your viewing pleasure. Have you ever heard of orbs in photographs? Some think they are spirits of the deceased. Check out the orb floating right by my belly. I like to think it's a dead relative keeping an eye on things in there...