So, How's it Feel to be Jealous of a Muppet?

Sidenote: I decided to return to using nicknames for my family members...I just like the whimsy it lends to my stories.

Today was a rare day that Mr. Fixit was home with me, without one of us being deathly sick.  He'd worked Saturday and was beat.

So, because we are old and boring anymore, and because we still had little Screech with us and thus could not just spend the day in wild abandon with each other, we set out on some errands, and the promise of a quiet brunch, together.

First, we went to get Screech caught up on his vaccinations.  Let it be noted that I am NOT one of those moms who thinks that vaccinations are bad, mmkay?, nor have I EVER let my kids get off schedule with their immunizations before, but Screech kept getting sick whenever I had the idea to get him in (and vaccinations during suppressed immune functions ARE bad) and the universe only just now aligned for him to get his 18 mos appointment stuff done.  3 months late.  Anyway, so we got that done.  I do hold vaccinations in poor regard just because of having to reckon with seeing my little ones in pain and anguish, especially when they are wearing that betrayed look on their face of "Mother!!  What in Hades are you letting this wretched nurse do to me?  LETTING her?!?  I thought you loved me!"  Of course, less than 5 minutes later, all was forgiven, I think....

Then we moseyed along, cautiously, as the then-light dusting of snow that looked harmless was quickly turning into black ice with a skiff of the white stuff atop it and accidents were popping up all around us, to Target, where we were hoping to acquire a new backpack for Special K since hers had long since decided to abandon any semblance of functional zippers.  Turns out?  Backpacks with any quality to their design are not so affordable these days.  I mean, we were talking minimum of $30 for packs that were still pretty flimsy!  So after a lot of hemming and hawing, Mr. Fixit and I just decided that we'd let Special K use my Swiss Gear daypack for her use.  Because we are all about the practical on the cheap.  We laughed at ourselves after that as we'd just spent an hour of our time shopping for something only to leave empty handed.

Next stop, Sam's Club.  For the purpose of scouting out truck tires - a purchase that is inevitably coming up the pike but I keep wanting to put off.  Truck tires are EX.PEN.SIVE!!!!  We priced things out, taking mental notes as Mr. Fixit said he would do some online research and compare costs at home.  We found some really nice Osh Kosh winter coats for $5.33 - which was 50% less what I paid for Screech's USED coat from Once Upon a Child this season!  So we got one for Screech to sock away for next winter (wish they would've had sizes big enough for Middleton and Special K, but alas! no such luck), grabbed a giant tub of parmesan cheese and went to the check out.

Wouldn't you know it that it was one of those mornings where all of the checkout aisles not only had some serious lines, but it was like time was suspended for all of them as various price checks and other obstacles stalled them out.  While we waited, I people watched.

And grew increasingly self-conscious of the fact that, while I had showered before we left (since I'd pleaded to get one in before we headed out, on the grounds that showers are NOT guaranteed for SAHM's, and especially newly WAHM's, with toddlers, and I SO needed one), I had not styled my hair after blow-drying it, applied any makeup and was wearing my frumpy clothes thanks to it being my bloated week of the month. Normally, I don't care about that kind of thing - normally, I am confident enough to wear no makeup into the workplace, knowing that the only time I need to take the effort is when I want to.  But today was an anomaly.

There were fit, perfectly made up, beautifully dressed, well coiffed women in abundance this morning.

Well, I have an anti-poker face, in that whatever is going on inside my head is totally apparent to even the newest of acquaintances.

Mr. Fixit noticed and asked me what was up with the frownies.

I told him that I was feeling a bit below average in comparison to those around us, leaning my head toward the gal in designer jeans and boots ahead of me.  She was dainty and petite in frame, naturally olive in complexion with perfectly highlighted platinum locks and had a structural beauty to her face with prominent cheekbones and pouty, collagen-filled lips.  Minus the boobs, she looked, to me, like Pamela Anderson.

Source: Life.com

Mr. Fixit immediately quipped, albeit in a hushed tone so that only I could hear him, "You mean her, the one that looks like the chick from the Dark Crystal??  She looks like a damned Muppet, Heather!"

Source: Henson.com

No sooner did he say that than I was able to see the uncanny resemblance.

And couldn't stifle the ridculousness of my up-til-then feelings of inferiority.

Nice to be reminded that beauty is indeed in the eye of the beholder - and so much nicer still that my beloved's eyes are so discerning.

Resorting to the Bottle

This winter has zapped me of a certain joie di vivre...

While the sun is visiting more tropical elsewheres, oft-sunny Colorado has had to suffer through a dulled down version of its usually radiant natural beauty.  Even in winter, we usually have crystal blues and bright whites to lure us into venturing outdoors, despite the cold.  But not this winter.

Skies blanketed with clouds cast a sallow film onto the already scarce daylight.  Coupled with the bitter cold January has brought with it, and the winds, the infernal winds!, this muted experience has resulted in my hermit-like (for me, that is) retreat to the indoors, making the days long and weary.

Then there are the voices of doubt.  Those that question me frequently enough that I question my reality.

These things have got me hankering for a bit of liquid courage.

Something to drown out the voices and make the day shine a little bit more.

Help me find a little bit of comfort and spice.

Oh, wait, before you go all Intervention on me, let me clarify:

I'm not talking about Smirnoff, merlot, or Coors.

No, behold; the bottle of which I speak:

You see, with me staying increasingly indoors, the afore mentioned sallowness and muted colors have not only applied to the scenery outdoors, but to my hair as well.  Just as a blonde's hair dulls up in the winter, so does mine lose some (though certainly not all) of the coppery undertones.

The voices?  Only the frequent commenters who inquire as to where my son(s) gets his red hair from, while I (and often Seth too, with his red beard) am standing right there!

So....after a long period on the non-hair-coloring wagon (nothing has touched my hair since the highlights I did when Christopher was a newborn), I've fallen off in hopes of escaping the reality of this situation.

And I likey.

Disclaimer:  both pictures are in the same crappily lit room, my bathroom, for equal opportunity purposes.  No make-up is being worn in either picture, so please brace yourselves for what you are about to see.  My face is noticeably redder in the second picture only because I exfoliated while in the shower in which I washed out my hair; the new color does not make my skin look like that!  Finally, picture quality is not great, but it's what I've got.

Before

After

I think this was just the mid-winter pick-me-up  that I needed.



© 2006-present Ramblings of a Red-Headed Step-Child. All Rights Reserved

Your Mission, Should You Choose to Accept It....

Is to help me find a hairstyle for my sister's wedding.

I keep getting caught in hairstyle webrings and never really seeing anything I like.

I'm thinking there has to be something cute, like Ashley Judd with her short hair on the red carpet, or Jenna Elfman or whatever, but I'm just not finding it.

I have 8 days to get a picture to the stylist, but not nearly the time seeing as the baby is once again teething and refuses to part from me most of the day, and my laptop is trying to die on me.

So - send me what you find, dear readers, please! 

Unfortunately it is not a giveaway so the only prize is knowing you helped a fellow sister out :)



© 2006-present Ramblings of a Red-Headed Step-Child. All Rights Reserved

These Vignettes Brought to You by Testosterone!

Yesterday morning in the kitchen as we are doing the morning rush:

Punkinhead - Hey, LMNOB do you have Oprah today?

LMNOB and me - Huh?????

LMNOB - You mean that black lady on the TV?

Punkinhead, exasperated - No! I mee-ean that singing thing you do!

:cue lightbulb: Oprah = Opera in his little boy mind! Aha!

LMNOB, all self-righteous: It's CHOIR, Punkinhead, not OPERA! And yes, I do have choir after school today.

Well, then!

***********************
My bedroom, the other night as Charlie Brown and I are settling in for the night.

Charlie Brown: Dang, woman! You are getting skinny on me.

Me (stupidly doing that female thing where I protest at a compliment): I'd hardly call myself skinny.

Charlie Brown: Better than a TURD like me.

Me: Charlie Brown! Why are you saying that, you don't let me get away with putting myself down, so knock it off!

Charlie Brown: You misunderstand, my dear. TURD....Totally Un-Resistable Dude.

Me: Bwahahahaha.....You're, muahaha, too much! Oh, my heck, my sides hurt. Besides, isn't the proper term irresistable?

Charlie Brown: There you go, putting me down again.

Oh brother.......

Men!




© 2009 Ramblings of a Red-Headed Step-Child. All Rights Reserved

Ooooh, and I Just Can't Fight This Feelin'

I have always loved REO Speedwagon.

And because I think in reference to pop culture at any given moment, it is no surprise that this song popped into my head this morning.

You see, I am still puking in the mornings, despite being in my 3rd trimester, despite eating protein at night and taking my prenatal with food earlier in the evening (as opposed to right before bed), etc., etc. But it's ok, really because once I'm done (usually before I eat or drink anything) I'm done for the day and good to go. No all day nausea or inability to eat/drink for fear of not keeping it down, or anything serious like that.

But there is this rather indelicate problem that sometimes arises. Sometimes the urge to purge strikes me before I've had a chance to eliminate the night's culmination of holding my bladder.

And so I puke and pee simultaneously. Each heave forces a new trickle of urine down my leg. Makes me feel SOOOOOOOO grown-up and self-assured, let me tell you.

So how in Hades did my twisted brain connect the dots between an 80's love song and this disgraceful phenomenon?

For starters, the original video (see below) has a baby at the beginning of it - coincidence? I think not.

Moreover, check out the first two lines of the song:

I cant fight this feeling any longer
And yet Im still afraid to let it flow

I know, I've got a sick sense of recall at the strangest moments.





© 2008 Ramblings of a Red-Headed Step-Child. All Rights Reserved

It Ain't Easy Being Queasy and Other Preggo Whines

This morning I woke up with hands that looked like the Stay Puft Marshmello Man's, and because they were so ginormously swollen, they ITCHED terribly. So badly, that both Charlie Brown and I laughed about just what activity may have caused this....ahem. My new James Avery ring, that I've been intermittently changing from wearing on my index finger to my middle finger, was barely budging off my middle finger. My hands were huge and painful.

Then the queasies....I've been actually sick about every other day for a week now - but the nausea is a daily occurrence that usually subsides about noon. This morning was a throw-up day (not by some psycho-somatic schedule, but by actually happening) and after the first heave, I saw some stars dancing around my head. Having experienced edema, changes in visual field and more woefully preeclamptic symptoms while pregnant with LMNOB (who was consequently induced lest I go into eclamptic seizures) I felt my red flags go up....briefly. Because, I would later remember, preeclampsia doesn't usually show up until 20wks or more in a pregnancy. And I'm only 7 wks. So I was left thinking: WTH?

Then, as I swapped roles with the toilet - from bowing down to sitting on it - I realized that my downstairs' flora has, erm, become a bit overgrown, if ya know what I mean. Just because there is a bun in the oven, in my opinion, that is no reason to have yeast overflowing. ANNNNNNNNND - the worst of all that is that I'm out of commission for a week b/c the doc says Monistat 7 is the only way to go whilst pg. No fair!

Hmmm....what else is there to whine about?

My hair - yes my hair. My normally very compliant with heat, gloriously bodied and voluminous hair has decided to rebel against me. Every morning is a battle, and given that my energy is in the tanks, the hair usually wins. And the shade appears to have changed - people keep asking me if I've lightened it and I'm all, "people, I haven't done a damned thing to it - it has a mind of its own lately."

At work the office across the hall from mine insists on burning the remaining coffee in the pot each day - which helps my queasies NONE.

I'm tired. I'm cranky. And while this baby is so something that I want and love - I just need a break. I need to take a full day off and just sleep. But for me to feel as if I could do that, I would probably need a maid to come in and overhaul my house first so that I could rest in peace without feeling as if I needed to "just do this one thing..." before going to bed.

Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh!


© 2008 Ramblings of a Red-Headed Step-Child. All Rights Reserved

P.S. I called my doc about the preeclampsia worries, and she seemed to think it was all dehydration-related. She told me to check my BP at the pharmacy where I was getting my Monistat from and if it was normal, to just hydrate, hydrate, hydrate. BP was normal at 121/75 so I'm drinking ginger ale and gatorade as much as I can stomach it.

Good to know

Dumb Test by QuizRocket.com fun tests!
Fun Quizzes Quizes MySpace Quizzes
» » "Who Should I Vote For?" « «

I guess this means I am 88% brilliant?


© 2008 Ramblings of a Red-Headed Step-Child. All Rights Reserved

O, O, O!!!!

Note to BlogHer: No, Zestra is not paying me to write this. You MUST see if they would like to play in our ad program - because EVERY WOMAN needs to know about this product.

Ahem...

Remember how I said that I lost my friend, O? (And no, that does not stand for Oprah or her mag) Because of the very necessary evil that is an SSRI antidepressant? And then I said, well, she's not GONE forEVER....just not a frequent flier like she used to be?

Well...that last part's still true. As is the fact that she doesn't pack as much of a bang with her anymore, and well, lately I've been kind of ambivalent because why do ALL THAT WORK for ho-hum?

I mean, when a girl breaks out the toys and the O is still just so-so...meh.

So tonight I'm at Wally World picking up some last minute stuff for our trip. (2 more days!) And I walk by the condom/lube display when I saw something I'd not seen before.

After thoroughly checking it out, I decide what the hay, right?

After a trial run....I have this to say:

RUN, do not walk, and go get thee some Zestra!

I have tried some other stuff that was "sensual," and "warming," etc, and they all fell rather flat.

Not only did my O show up to the party, but she packed a toe-curling wallop that I haven't felt in 2 months or so.

:enter contented sigh:

Heehehe

I am sharing all of this because I'm haunted by Madeline Albright: There is a special circle in hell for women who don't help other women.

I'm HELPING, y'all!




© 2008 Ramblings of a Red-Headed Step-Child. All Rights Reserved

Your Changing Body - A Letter to the 29 Y/O Female Brain

Dear Brain,

Hiya. Just thought I'd do a little check-in with you as some changes have begun that I'm not so sure need to be happenin'.

Before we go into all that though, I just want to say thanks. You do a mean job at keeping the heart pumpin' and feeding instincts going and all that other stuff that keeps us alive.

First it was the sex, and you know, I totally was diggin' on that. That's one change that I was welcoming.

Then you kind of slacked in the whole serotonin production thing, and well, I'm going easy on you because it seems to have become a documented handicap. No fears - we just pop a pill and voila! Life is better. Except the sex thing. Now I have this drive that kicks into high gear, but goes nowhere. Well, not nowhere - but let's just say you've become rather male and the drive is not so much matching the destination these days. Don't really know what to do about that - it's not like the male fix where we can jsut look at a map and figure out how to align the driving with the destination.

So there's this thing going on with our skin. Brain, we are 29 not 13 again! Please call a halt to the oil production, a'ight? Not only is it ugly, but these zits hurt like the dickens - me no likey.

Then, there's this thing with the body hair. Slowly, over the past 6 months or so, I've noticed an increasing amount of nasal hair, PROTRUDING FROM OUR NOSE! This is not supposed to be happening, and I'll tell you why. 1.) It makes us look like we are gross. 2.) It catches every little speck and germ floating around in the free world and as a result we are having many more boogers and colds. This is an evolutionary abomination - as we age we should AVOID sickness as our body shuts down on the health. For the love of life, stop with the freaky long nasal hairs.

And...there's no logical reason for us to suddenly sprout chin hairs. This is an old lady condition, brain. We are 29 not 89! I had to pluck one yesterday - thankfully it was just a long, fuzzy hair instead of a wiry one, but it's still alarming. Also, I have a thickening patch of peach fuzz along my upper lip. What the hell good is the biological-clock-induced sex drive if you are going to make us look like a MAN?

I'm not ready for all of this. Puberty was stressful enough. Please change us back to 25, and I will be very happy.

Thank you!




© 2008 Ramblings of a Red-Headed Step-Child. All Rights Reserved

Mission: Capture the Moment

Because what spunky red-head worth her salt can resist a dare?

And because several of my bloggies have been brave enough to do this - so must I then...

The Mission:

Your mission, should you choose to accept it: Post a photo of yourself taken right now. Wherever you are, whatever you're doing, grab a camera and snap. No retouching, just the rawness of a moment in time. Then post your photo on flickr or your blog/site, and share the link in comments here.
Ready? GO.

Taken at 12:30 pm Friday, just after sitting at the kitchen table with lappy - to do school work.

But then I got a call from some attorney in California, asking for Charlie Brown or Heather Meyer - told him that he had the H factor of that equation, and then he goes all, "I need to talk to your father in law about a legal matter."

"Uh, well he's never lived here - he lives over on the other side of the mountains from here."

"Oh, uh, I think I may have the wrong Meyer's then. Your father-in-law isn't Robert Meyer is it?"

"Nope!"

So yeah...schoolwork. That sounds fun, but let me just check out Becky first....

And here we are.

I have make-up on, but only because I thought I was going to the office today - but LMNOB is hacking worse than Thelma and Selma, so, home we are.

My hairs in the front are all askew b/c I just got done sweeping/mopping the downstairs.

And do I look tired? Because I am. It's Friday though, yay!



© 2008 Ramblings of a Red-Headed Step-Child. All Rights Reserved

"So, You're Saying my Computer Has an Autoimmune Disease?"

"Sort of...ahh, yup, pretty much," said DSW's techie husband.

Basically, the "nerves" of the computer fail to recognize my wireless card anymore.

The result is kind of like a man rendered impotent by an accident - the desire to connect is there, but the mechanism in which to do so is not.

The fix?

This little gizmo here. It works, I'm writing on my lappy as I speak. And that makes me very happy!




© 2008 Ramblings of a Red-Headed Step-Child. All Rights Reserved

Because Menstrual Misery Loves Company

Despite being thousands of miles away, many of my fave bloggers are on the same schedule it would seem....

So, without further ado, I share with you a great e-mail that my MIL just shared with me:

The Hormone Guide

Women will understand this! Men should memorize it!

Every woman knows that there are days in the month when all a man has to do is open his mouth and he takes his life in his hands! This is a handy guide that should be as common as a driver's license in the wallet of every Man, husband, boyfriend, co-worker, significant other, just all men in general!

13 Things PMS Stands For:

• Pass My Shotgun


• Psychotic Mood Shift


• Perpetual Munching Spree


• Puffy Mid-Section


• People Make me Sick


• Provide Me with Sweets


• Pardon My Sobbing


• Pimples May Surface


• Pass My Sweat pants


• Pissy Mood Syndrome


• Plainly; Men Suck


• Pack My Stuff


• Potential Murder Suspect

© 2008 Ramblings of a Red-Headed Step-Child. All Rights Reserved

Whose Birthday Is This, Anways?

Last night Charlie Brown and I are lying in bed. All cuddly, even – BONUS!

Charlie Brown: “So you never told me what you want for your birthday.”

I guess time away is kind of vague, eh?

Me: “Well, a massage is always good. And I’m still really wanting to do the whole night at the abbey thing."

Charlie Brown: “I thought we didn’t have that much money?”

:cough: that is a bullshit response :cough:

Me: “Honey, it’s only like $50 – not a fortune. And if we don’t have that (read: we do) then I guess we never have money at my birthday.”

Then he presses on to the heart of the matter…

Charlie Brown: “What do you want for your birthday that will last?”

In other words, what material item can I get you for your birthday that will remind me of how good I done did?

Me: “Whoah, let’s back this up. Do you really want me to say, ‘Honey, I would like _____ for my birthday,’ and you will get ______? Ooooooor do you want me to tell you, ‘Honey, please get me whatever YOU would like to get ME for my birthday'?"

Charlie Brown: “Now you’re just being mean.”

Me: “No, I’m asking for your honest response. I couldn't care less about some THING, but would love a memory of feeling appreciated, loved in the language that I hear and speak. In case you’ve forgotten, my love languages are 1.) words of affirmation and 2.) acts of service. YOUR love languages are 1.) Gifts and 2.) Physical touch, and I feel like you are projecting your wants for my birthday gift onto me. But, isn’t my birthday about me and what I want?”

Grunts.

Damn, but I hate being right. ;)




© 2008 Ramblings of a Red-Headed Step-Child. All Rights Reserved

Got the Memo

So this yesterday morning I get to work and The Boss walks in.

I joked about our coordinating ensembles, as we both were wearing black tops with a black and white skirt/dress. We've been known to dress simlarly many times before.

In walks the city's Business Development Manager. Also, she too is in black and white.

So we giggled and laughed like junior high'ers and then did what any tween would do:

We took a pic with the Biz Developer's cell, in front of our office's black and white photo, lol:




Faces edited b/c I doubt they would appreciate being plastered on the web. Shhhhhhh!

Also - this counts for my contribution to Dress Thursday this week.


© 2008 Ramblings of a Red-Headed Step-Child. All Rights Reserved

Feeling Like a Popular Kid

For one of the first times in my life.

Several days in a row, people have taken note of my "fashionable ensem's" and "rockin' hair" which just makes me swoon, because I am so in need of external validation these days. Even if it is shallow and based on my appearance. I'll take it!

And if that weren't enough, I have been ranked 10th out of the Women community at Cre8Buzz for TWO THREE DAYS STRAIGHT! I haven't quite figured that one out yet as I am not a great Buzzer - heck I haven't been a good bloggy lately, lurking but not really commenting that much - AND my hits have been low lately, but I'll take it.

AND...

Cyndy gave me this recently:



Yeah, took me long enough, I know, see above!

This was really sweet, Cyndy, given my recent Eeyore-like writings. (BTW everyone, guess who began her visit yesterday? Yeah. So let's see the PMS thing is turning very PMDD over recent months. Yes I will be talking to the doc soon)

So...now I gotta pay it forward to 10 other bloggers....

*Becky* - where else can I read about a darling little boy who declares that calcium is his 6th favorite word? And, I get your dysfunctions, hon, cuz I got 'em myself!

Jen - babe, you get the award for aesthetics alone (and not just for your cute scrappy stuff, but for your adorable smiling face too! Gorgeous, doll!), but then you go and one-up that blog with your sassy little 'tude, K-lish and well, I'm in love.

Princess in Galoshes - I swear we must be long lost fraternal twin sisters. She got the long end of the pretty stick, though. The princess curses more than I do, but it's ok because it is freakin' hilarious.

(sensing a pattern? I likes me some sassy humor)

Liz - Girl is smart, and pursuing a psych degree. Why wouldn't I like her?

Heather - Girl you are like the energizer bunny...at least that's what reading you does for me. Picks me up, makes my day. Even if I don't always comment.

Piper - Another long-lost twin out there....Piper needs to come home to the Fort and be my neighbor! ;)

Huckdoll - She talks like she's all bad and has reason to too, but she's got heart thru and thru. I love that. Plus she's in the Pacific NW, albeit on the Canadian angle. And that part of the country has my heart.

Brillig - Super smart, tons o' fun and just plain relatable for me.

Lynne - Though not a frequent flier when it comes to posting on the blogosphere, every last post is so good :) Plus, she's one of my girls.

And Andrea....Andrea is hilariously zany....has made me spit out so many liquids while reading that I now refrain from eating/drinking near her blog.

So, there, I've shared the love. Pass it on, ya'll




© 2008 Ramblings of a Red-Headed Step-Child. All Rights Reserved

A Whole 'Nother Realm

Note...if you are here via the BlogHer headline, great - thanks for stopping by. But this post is relatively lame - better suited for my regulars. For a more entertaining post, check this one out.

I am pleased to note that despite the initial disaster, known as Realm, we have completed painting Punkinhead's room.

I think it turned out pretty cute, for the kid not having decent bedroom furnishings (dresser is in the closet, the bed is good, but the shelves are all rather chintzy).

His response was super cute: "This is MY room??????"

Our nods.

"Heeeheheheeh!!! Yeah, woohoo!"

Oh boy, if you only knew....

Relief indeed. You'll notice Charlie Brown's beer on the Sterilite drawers. Yeah. We needed it.

© 2008 Ramblings of a Red-Headed Step-Child. All Rights Reserved

Out of Sync

Note: This post is about sex, and will be very frank - which some of my Christian readers may find offensive. Just FYI, and comments about how Christian women just shouldn't talk this way will go the way of the dinosaur, just sayin'.

Lately I've been wondering why in the heck the pubescent audience have staked their claim as sole proprietors on books/seminars/etc with titles like "Your Changing Body."

I mean, women especially could run a series on that.

Your Changing Body: How the Miracle of Life Destroyed my Body

Your Changing Body: The Physiological Need for Sleep Has Now Trumped my Desire for Sex

Your Changing Body: I'm Pushing 30 and Hello Vagina!

Yes, my biological clock, it is a tickin', and boy howdy do I feel the surge of hormones flood to my nether regions for about a week out of every month. It's that time known as "Fertile." And damned if my body is not saying, "We are gonna make you want sex so bad that you can taste it this week, and then you are going to have wild, passionate sex, because honey, our baby making days, they are numbered."

But the joke is on my body thanks to my lovely intra-uterine device. Which is totally ok, because the sex? WoWzAs! Why has someone not told me about this? Also, if boys feel this when they are peaking in their late teens/early 20's, well that explains a whole freaking lot to me. Instinct is a hell of a master, eh?

So this week is my fertile week. Forget Fertile Myrtle and her mousey ways. No way, honey, I go all Virile Va-freaking-Voom Vixen with the clothes and the makeup and then I plot how to proposition Charlie Brown all day, which only adds to the steam. (After all women are like crockpots and men are like microwaves, right?)

Also, isn't this every married man's dream - to have a playful, creative, and available bed mate? I mean we hear and see so many trite scenes of the married couple where the man is trying to get a little sumpin' sumpin' and you hear, "Not tonight, dear," that it makes me feel a bit of pride in myself that I'm not that wife.

So last night I'm at the store picking up dinner items and I text Charlie Brown:

i want ur body 2nite...and not 4 a quickie either ;-)

Get home, start dinner.

Suggestively, "So I sent you a naughty little message babe..."

"Yeah, I got it."

PERIOD.

Whoa, whoa, whoa! The non-verbals screamed out loud to me: AIN'T HAPPENIN'!

Play a little harder and chase a little more as he's doing this hard to get thing.

Or so I thought.

I try to talk to him about his day.

It was. FINE.

It's just not happening. Like last month when I walked down in slinky lingerie and he kept watching motocross.

And I feel like I could burst with the ache down there. Again.

The frustration was almost rage worthy....

And then there's that same feeling of rejection. Note: if a woman steps out and initiates, because you know, we hear men like that, then TAKE HER UP on it, for crying out loud. Because once bitten, twice shy guys.

Granted, we're having more sex than just this one week per month, but if we could just get in sync it could be SOGOOD!!!!!

We have got to get out of this rut. Or I have to go over the hill. Soon.




© 2008 Ramblings of a Red-Headed Step-Child. All Rights Reserved

Behold! My new sanctuary

I have often been embarrassed by our hand me down furniture over the years.

First there were the two love seats that my IL's passed on as we got married. These seats wer functional, and their form wasn't bad, but they didn't seat many. We also had Granny's vintage blue naugahyde vinyl glider-rocker...that piece I loved. I nursed my babies in it and we have kept it as a result.

Then there was the cream leather sectional whose previous owners' cats destroyed one side of before they "blessed" us with added seating.

Then we, lacking a guest room, inherited Grandma's super-floral sofa sleeper (in mint greens) and her burnt orange rocker when she passed away in 2003. They were especially out of place when we moved into our new-construction home the next year.

Then, our friend S was getting married, and they were keeping her furniture, did we want his Broyhill set, that coordinated with our beloved glider rocker? Absolutely. And we loved that couch...a little too well - we wore holes in the cushions and the springs started to break down.

So at Christmas 2006, we purchased a futon with a mission style wood frame and a green microfiber mattress cover, in keeping with the loveseat's colors. The futon was great as a bed. Not so great as a couch, as the mattress would slide out of adjustment every two seconds. And it looked very dorm-ish.


We ripped out the crappy carpet in the downstairs and put in a beautiful cherry laminate floor in the living room this fall. Also, Charlie Brown made a cut-out entertainment console in the wall, which streamlined the look of the room considerably.

Then, early this year, when we did our taxes we discovered we were getting a phat check from Uncle Sam. And Charlie Brown and I said, "This is it. We're getting REAL furniture."

So we got this set with the sofa, loveseat and recliner. Then, we needed a coffee table. And given the rich colors of our living room, we needed a dark finish like cherry or merlot. But none of them fit the bill when it came to matching colors. And I was frustrated, because we were thisclose to having a GROWN-UP room in our house for the first time ever! That week, when I was shopping at Target, I walked by the patio furniture and saw this table, I started to think outside the furnishing box. I brought Charlie Brown back to Target, asked him what he thought and he was sold. Besides, since it is patio furniture, it is metal and weather proof glass (read: virtually indestructable!)

So, without further ado, here is my new living room, which I am comfortable opening up to company like never before:








© 2008 Ramblings of a Red-Headed Step-Child. All Rights Reserved

Caving to the Princess' Peer Pressuring, and Other Miscellany

So, awhile back my bloggy girl Princess in Galoshes spake into existance her royally sanctioned blogosphere revolution.

She calls it Dress Thursday.

And just so she knows, I wear dresses all the time for work. Love feeling like a confident femme. Not enough knockout to claim "fatale" but I digress. No, my point is that wearing of feminine garments was not peer pressured upon me.

Posting photographic evidence, however?

Yeah...notsomuch very keen on that.

'specially carrying extra weight that has magically appeared this year.

But, the Princess, she has an infectious spirit to which I've caved. Was going to last week, but I was extremely pre-menstrual and I really didn't think the whole blogosphere would like to have Puff the Magic Dragon stuck in their heads, inspired by my bloated bod.

Behold, my contribution to the revolution:



What is really freaking me out is that with the combo of my glasses, short hair, and geometric print dress, I am looking more and more like my grandmother circa 1965, with whom I have never really seen any family resemblance before.

Does that mean I am getting older? I used to think that when people told me, as I was growing up, that I looked like my mom. Thought it meant that I looked old. And while I'm now aware that is totally not it, it still kinda makes me feel old. Ish.

But sitting more heavily upon me than the cloud of age is that of my weight (yes, har, har, pun was intended). After reading Liz' recent post about the Miss England weight debacle, I got a wild hair to calculate my BMI.

Honestly. With the weight the scale has been telling me for about 3 months now.

And seeing the word "OBESE" after the calculation completely broke my damn heart. Albeit momentarily, it would turn out.

Overweight, yeah, I'll concede that in a hearbeat.

But obese????? Day-umm.

Or so I thought. Apparently I'm not the only one who thinks BMI is screwy and definitely not the end-all be-all.

And so, I'm ok again. Sorta....weight is such an emotionally charged topic for me.

But, hey....did you see my new haircut/highlights? I took Becky's advice, sans the name change and relocation.

Here's a closer look at the hair:



It's the first time since before kids that I paid someone else to color my hair, and with highlights at that. I've gotten rave reviews thus far and am quite pleased.

And yes, that book behind me really is titled The Bitch in the House. It is the best non-fictional chick lit I have read...ever. I really identify with a lot of it. And then other topics in it, not so much, but it is juicy and riveting and fascinating all the same. I really want to read its sequel (written by men, about men) titled The Bastard on the Couch. It's genius in the titling alone!

© 2008 Ramblings of a Red-Headed Step-Child. All Rights Reserved

Blocked...

I've been trying and trying to think about what to write lately, and it boils down to the same old shadowboxing that I tend to do....

Some examples of the things I could have written about recently, but ended up arguing both sides so successfully that I wrote nothing instead:

Do I want to write about a petty argument with an internet chick that has bothered me a lot?

No, because 1.) that would be gossiping and I would likely turn judgmental, insomuch that I would then become the type of person which I hate, and 2.) it would mean that I actually care what this person thinks of me...real or perceived. I'm above that, right? Not really. Heather is still quite insecure about the things that matter most, despite a bold, confident facade.

Do I yearn to write about some delicate family of origin stuff, multiple instances?

Yes, because as much as I am happy for the one instance, I am also cautious and wish to seek balance between these two mindsets. This being my therapeutic outlet where better to sort through this myriad of feelings? Yes, for the second instance because it is freaking stranger than fiction, and I am waiting for somebody in my family to appear on Jerry Springer any day. But then....as much as it might be cathartic for me to get out, share, explore and/or poke fun of (sarcasm is my most primal coping mechanism) I'm not blogging it because I don't wish to cause hurt feelings as much of my writing regarding the FOO has tended to do...we do not have the same kind of understanding as Charlie Brown and I do in this arena.

Which, hey, I have to give Charlie Brown serious props, as he is an amazingly secure guy to let me air our dirty laundry as I have on here, and HONEY, I LOVE THAT ABOUT YOU!!!

Do I want to write about how the brain fog has descended upon me once again, how I'm having trouble coordinating my tongue with my thoughts, how I'm forgetting things, procrastinating in a way that is wildly different than my normally uber responsible self? How it really freaking bugs me when I get like this because I lose my wit and humor a la that one episode of Seinfeld where George comes up with his snarky comebacks DAYS later? I'm sharp as a tack, or can be, so where the hell did that sharpness go?

Yes, I do want to write about it. But the right words just don't come with precision - I want to capture it, and be heard with piercing clarity, and yet my thoughts on this state of mind I am in remain gray, fuzzy, difficult to communicate. Nor do they come with alacrity, readily available for my quick dispatch to the internet that this is IT, EXACTLY, that I'm going through and now please send validation, thankyouverymuch. And then, hell no, I don't want to write about it, because for once damn it, I want to be non-struggling! I want to be free and definitive in who I am, safe and secure, but mostly, content. I have a restless spirit....so much so that I sit here in awe that I've remained faithful, that Charlie Brown and I are staring down the barrel of double digits in marriage, that I haven't just bailed ship and said, "Onto the next great adventure." Sometimes I wonder if I am just by nature an unhappy person. Other times I realize that an unhappy person is usually quite content to be the Eeyore of their group. I am not. And that makes sharing about these depressive struggles of mine so difficult with people face to face. But here, here I can write about it. Even if I don't want to because when I return to this place I think in supposed to's and should not's, i.e. you shouldn't be here, again, you're supposed to be getting better with this. Well....I guess I did write something of substance here, after all, even if paradoxical substance.

Do I want to write about how ironic it is that some people take me as narcissistic because I write about my achievements, yet if they truly knew me they would know that it is not boasting?

Point: Yes. It's true that I have a category that claims its contents are bragging rights, but see above re: sarcasm. Anyone who knows me knows that I am much too insecure to be that serious about myself, lol. Finally, I have to remind myself everyday that despite what the world, my neurotransmitters, etc are telling me that I am changing. My family legacy, my community, myself. Without these little reminders, I would lose this "good race" that I am running. Counterpoint: No. For what in hell do I need to prove myself to some small-minded person who knows jack about me? I have a close relationship with my Lord, a deep faith - often pressure cooked and seasoned with doubts, but a rich and satisfying faith at the end of the day - that tells me I am doing what My Creator put me here for.

Do I want to write about the shitty e-mail I got last week from one of the nighttime dudes for the inclement weather shelter? Or how his subsequent phone call was an un-apology and a condescending, patriarchal, "let-me-put-you-in-your-right-proper-place-young-lady" lecture about how *I* had to be careful with my words when he'd ACTUALLY written words as offensive as "Maybe you ought to try yoga or deep breathing" whereas my communication glitch was more a perception problem than actual mal-intent.

Yes. I want to give ya'll the blow-by-blow, dissect every little statement and nuance in this man with a hero-delusion's e-mail. But, no, I'm a bigger woman than that man could ever give me credit for. I rest assured on the words of Laurel Thatcher Ulrich...make no mistake, I am not out to create a name for myself, rather I wish to advance change for the quality of lives of others. And sitting around, bowing down to men who don't uphold their community pledges (to provide shelter to the homeless when it is x degrees out) isn't exactly going to do that. Asking pointed questions about the damned elephants in the room and keeping people accountable will...eventually. Right?

Do I want to write about how the unbloggable scholarly excitement has turned out to be mere manipulation by an academic hoping to eke out some additional cash prior to retiring? How he used me and two other graduate students to expand upon his initial proposal to the university for an encore class, brand the class with a catchy title, and then market this proposal to the university administraters, all on the now-farcical premise that he would, of course, ask that we be hired to help him facilitate the class?

Hell yes, I do want to write about it. I want to shred this professor into mincemeat. This one had me mad, in my white-trash upbringing kind of mad....which was kind of funny when I was conversing with my lily-white always-had-been-upper-middle-class colleague, who was equally pissed, but with much more decorum. Alas, I fear that such a post could be construed as slander given no written agreements were ever formally drawn up. Hello, my name is Heather Meyer and I've been totally punked by a professor. Never again. I am also curious if he gave the drawings our class developed together proper credit when he used them to lecture at DePaul U this spring? I know he used them at least because he'd e-mailed me about getting them in a more user friendly format prior to the class shiz hitting the fan.

Internets, I can't make this stuff up. Why is it that things just pile up on me like this?

Anywho's bro is here now and I must get to properly entertaining, er feeding, him. Love that guy, I do.


© 2008 Ramblings of a Red-Headed Step-Child. All Rights Reserved