MOOD SWINGS
Dear snot it's not fair. Yesterday I was practically giddy. Today I want to crawl in a hole and. . .not even die, that would require too much effort. I'm so tired all of the time, give me a chance and I will fall asleep standing up.
And work is not helping. I may have hated working in the Music Box, but at least people could like me. Now I'm the terrible "Accounting Monster" that you blame everything on when you screw up. Or you battle the "AM" hoping it will give in and do your job for you. The "AM" is your enemy, and you cannot be nice, polite is even too much to ask unless someone else is standing there. I'm too tired to deal with this bullshit all of the time. And I'm not looking forward to telling them that I'm pregnant because it will lead to a whole new line of flase-caring-bullcrap that I don't want to have to act like I appriciate. I hate the fact that (even though I need it) I spend half of my lunch asleep in the car. I hate spending 9 hours a day in a room where people laugh at the email I send out to advertise a performance. I hate the fact that I can't talk on the phone without having what I say be taken out of context by one of the 5 people within easy earshot. 9 hours, and I can't get anyone to talk to me for 15 minutes.
Who knows, give me a few hours, or a night's sleep, and my mood may be on an upswing again.
At least I'm not so upset that I'm thinking about giving myself a haircut this time.
Tuesday, January 31, 2006
Friday, January 27, 2006
Out of Touch
I'm sorry that I haven't been talking to anyone much. Just so you know what you're currently missing, this conversation happens every 2-3 days.
Rich: What's the matter?
MTB: Nothing
Rich: Then why are you crying?
MTB: I'm pregnant, I'm allowed to cry whenever I want.
I'm reading all of these things that say I should measure my waist and weigh myself regularly. But I'm having a hard time getting motivated. After all, right now I don't look pregnant, I look fat. I mean, I was planning on getting back in the gym after the holidays. Well, shit. I'm not supposed to LOSE weight anymore. Only gain it. Couldn't it have waited til I lost 10-40 pounds?
Anyway, I'm 9 weeks along now. And nothing too exciting to report, except that I really should pull all of those maternity clothes out of the car and start going through them. My waist IS getting wider.
If anyone wants to know how I'm doing, feel free to call. I'm just sitting around doin nothing most of the time I'm not at work lately, because Rich has been looking for a job. I wish I earned enough for him to keep going to school, but I don't. And we REALLY need to get our own place. We don't fight often, but when we do, it's usually about the living conditions. There's just too many living entities in this house to be able to keep it clean in your spare time. (especially when 6 out of 10 life forms only make messes, and 2 of those remaining don't really care) It's funny to want my own place so that I can CLEAN.
The job he's circling at the moment would probably be nights/weekends without very many hours, or much money. But it's a start. And anytime there needs to be at least 14 people in the store at all times people are going to call in sick right? That's how I moved up so fast in the gym. If you're always available to sub, pretty soon they just prefer you anyway.
I should be working right now. I just wanted to post the little recurring conversation, and look what happened. Maybe I should go back to posting more often again.
Cheese,
Mommy-To-Be
Rich: What's the matter?
MTB: Nothing
Rich: Then why are you crying?
MTB: I'm pregnant, I'm allowed to cry whenever I want.
I'm reading all of these things that say I should measure my waist and weigh myself regularly. But I'm having a hard time getting motivated. After all, right now I don't look pregnant, I look fat. I mean, I was planning on getting back in the gym after the holidays. Well, shit. I'm not supposed to LOSE weight anymore. Only gain it. Couldn't it have waited til I lost 10-40 pounds?
Anyway, I'm 9 weeks along now. And nothing too exciting to report, except that I really should pull all of those maternity clothes out of the car and start going through them. My waist IS getting wider.
If anyone wants to know how I'm doing, feel free to call. I'm just sitting around doin nothing most of the time I'm not at work lately, because Rich has been looking for a job. I wish I earned enough for him to keep going to school, but I don't. And we REALLY need to get our own place. We don't fight often, but when we do, it's usually about the living conditions. There's just too many living entities in this house to be able to keep it clean in your spare time. (especially when 6 out of 10 life forms only make messes, and 2 of those remaining don't really care) It's funny to want my own place so that I can CLEAN.
The job he's circling at the moment would probably be nights/weekends without very many hours, or much money. But it's a start. And anytime there needs to be at least 14 people in the store at all times people are going to call in sick right? That's how I moved up so fast in the gym. If you're always available to sub, pretty soon they just prefer you anyway.
I should be working right now. I just wanted to post the little recurring conversation, and look what happened. Maybe I should go back to posting more often again.
Cheese,
Mommy-To-Be
Tuesday, January 24, 2006
The Names have been changed. . .Because it's expected.
So I was listening to the radio this morning on the way to work, and they were talking about their "Top 5- Worst Rejections". And I was very close to calling in with an event that transpired over the weekend. But then I remembered "wiener Wednesday". Where you submit stories of how you've been wronged, or wronged someone else, in hopes of winning prizes.
wish me luck.
Dear Shawn and Jeff,
I was not present at this prime example of Weinerdom. But, a witness has confirmed the events, and as you will see, I have every right to humiliate the Weiner as far as I see fit.
Saturday night was the closing of a show I was doing sound for at a local theater. And apparently a crush had developed. "Bambi" decided to write down her phone number and give it to "Ryan". Using a piece of tissue, she tucked it in the back of his shirt, as if his tag had been sticking out. Later when he was getting ready for the show it fell out. Another actress was standing there and told him it wasn't hers, but it sure looked like someone's lip-liner. Later "Bambi" joined them. "Ryan" recognized the first three digits of the number and asked:
"Bambi, do you have AT&T?" She nods.
"Did you stick your phone number in my shirt?" She nods, a little slower and kind-of coyly.
"Ryan" crumpled the paper into a little ball, and pressed it to her lips, trying to shove it in her mouth, before storming off in complete disgust. Leaving "Bambi" behind, with the other actress, who was trying desperately not to laugh. Poor "Bambi" seemed a little depressed the rest of the night.
Where do I fit in? The day after Christmas I found out I was pregnant. That would make it a month of everyone in the theater, including "Bambi", offering congratulations, advice, and talking about baby showers, to me . . .and my husband of two years, "Ryan".
My only regret is that I was not told until after we got home. Preventing me from humiliating her in front of the party we all attended later that night. Maybe I'm a wiener for wanting to verbally decimate her in public, but I can't wait till I see her again.
Signed,
A Smug Mother-To-Be
One of my favorite parts, that didn't really fit in the story, was about how the other actress involved had been dating someone who turned out to be a major scumbag. We all agreed that this man was absolute filth because while he was out playing with her, he had a pregnant wife at home. Yup, even Ch. . . "Bambi", said he was slime.
Who's the slime now?
wish me luck.
Dear Shawn and Jeff,
I was not present at this prime example of Weinerdom. But, a witness has confirmed the events, and as you will see, I have every right to humiliate the Weiner as far as I see fit.
Saturday night was the closing of a show I was doing sound for at a local theater. And apparently a crush had developed. "Bambi" decided to write down her phone number and give it to "Ryan". Using a piece of tissue, she tucked it in the back of his shirt, as if his tag had been sticking out. Later when he was getting ready for the show it fell out. Another actress was standing there and told him it wasn't hers, but it sure looked like someone's lip-liner. Later "Bambi" joined them. "Ryan" recognized the first three digits of the number and asked:
"Bambi, do you have AT&T?" She nods.
"Did you stick your phone number in my shirt?" She nods, a little slower and kind-of coyly.
"Ryan" crumpled the paper into a little ball, and pressed it to her lips, trying to shove it in her mouth, before storming off in complete disgust. Leaving "Bambi" behind, with the other actress, who was trying desperately not to laugh. Poor "Bambi" seemed a little depressed the rest of the night.
Where do I fit in? The day after Christmas I found out I was pregnant. That would make it a month of everyone in the theater, including "Bambi", offering congratulations, advice, and talking about baby showers, to me . . .and my husband of two years, "Ryan".
My only regret is that I was not told until after we got home. Preventing me from humiliating her in front of the party we all attended later that night. Maybe I'm a wiener for wanting to verbally decimate her in public, but I can't wait till I see her again.
Signed,
A Smug Mother-To-Be
One of my favorite parts, that didn't really fit in the story, was about how the other actress involved had been dating someone who turned out to be a major scumbag. We all agreed that this man was absolute filth because while he was out playing with her, he had a pregnant wife at home. Yup, even Ch. . . "Bambi", said he was slime.
Who's the slime now?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)