It's All Coming Out

On Sunday I turned 33, and my brother decided to send a very thoughtful note attached with these pictures. His intent was to show how he remembered his twin sisters and how much fun it was to grow up with twins. Unfortunately, this little walk down memory lane proved to be slightly dramatic for the husband. He just called and asked if I had seen the pictures. (Now, I should note that he sounded rather stressed about the contents of these pictures.) I tried to laugh it off, I mean sure, I rocked a pretty serious truck driver look throughout the 80's (and preferred all my beverages in paper bags), but I didn't think it was that bad. Apparently, when you have a daughter coming, and slightly unflattering pictures surface of the mother, the husband starts to worry. I tried to assure him that I'll make sure she carries a sign that reads, "I look this way because of my MOM'S GENES AND Not because of my Dad's genes."

I guess it would be a bad time to tell him this wasn't actually my worst stage.

My Not So Amazing Husband

Congratulations to you all who noticed the wrong dresses on the princesses.*

Happy Friday 13th everyone! Cue evil cackle.

So, like a few posts ago, (and I'm still standing by my love affair of The Good Wife) I must admit that I've been watching another show on CBS. I know, it pains me to admit it, but that network has got me by the jugular. For the past couple of weeks the husband and I have been watching The Amazing Race...and well, it's been amazing. This show makes me want to do two things: 1. Travel and 2. Find a few people on this show and burn them alive. Why do these people come on a show about teamwork and then insist on yelling, belittling and verbally abusing one another? Keep it at home - that's what I do with my good for nothing, sorry excuse for a man, never seen him take out the trash husband. Did I say that out loud?

No, in all seriousness every time I watch this show I think, "Man, the husband and I could kill this thing. We are in shape (well not currently), the husband is good with navigating, I'm willing to do anything to get ahead...I mean anything...and we're best friends." So, the other night I say, while watching some ridiculous couple argue over how to construct a pyramid of watermelons, "Man, if you and I went on this show we would kill it." And you know what I got in response? Well, first silence, which was strange, and then the husband said, "Are you kidding me? We would be awful." Really awful? I mean, sure I'm slightly competitive (I would probably knock my own flesh and blood down to win a board game) I hate being lost (There are two things I hate in this world more than anything: European tippers and being lost) sure, I lash out verbally when trying to calm down (I can't explain this) and I'm slightly passive aggressive when I'm not in full agreement with what is taking place (My silence and shoulder shrugs are deafening) so what?

My husband is such an idiot.

* I did not notice a thing wrong when posting the picture - which again, should only increase my plea for a non-princess daughter.

And The Winner Is...

Alright folks the ultrasound has been completed, we've seen the pictures and I can now announce...

IT'S A GIRL!

And because you all have been such faithful readers here's a very personal look into my first letter to my daughter.

Dear future daughter,
Please be nice to me. Don't shave your legs for the first time without me. Wait a little longer than your mother did to have her first kiss and make sure it's not with a guy who's last name is Miltenburger. I know, it makes for a terrible story. You can like princesses, but please, please, grow out of that phase as quickly as possible. If you don't even want that phase your father and mother are okay with that. Be coordinated. That's all. Just be coordinated.


Love Mom.

Dumb Questions

My first prego picture...

I know I'm new to this game, but I find people ask really stupid questions when you tell them you are pregnant. For example, I've probably been asked about 140 times,"Do you have a feeling what you are having?" Do I have a feeling? Um, if hungry and wanting to rip your face off for asking a stupid question means boy - well then... Do I have a feeling? What is that even supposed to mean? Well, yes, it's a girl because in addition to being a waitress I also dabble in fortune telling and tarot card reading. Did you know that very soon you are going to be hit by a 2005 Honda Accord?

The other question: "Do you have a preference for a boy or girl?" Um, yes, let me curse the baby that is forming in me right now by wishing upon it a certain sex. Do I have a preference? Um, it took me about a thousand needles, tons of peeing on sticks and drugs to get this one - so I'll just take a healthy one.

And then there's the: "What kind of birth are you going to have?" Why do women ask this question of each other? Is there some type of playground bullying going on here? If I answer with absolutely no epidural, in water and absolute silence does this make me a tougher woman? And has it been proven that the child actually feels better coming out as you push in agony? I always say, "Well, hopefully I'll be so drunk the decision will be made for me."

People, for future reference I have no idea what I'm having, no idea what stroller I'm going to buy, no idea when breast feeding will be done and no idea how I'm going to teach them how to read.

This Kid Is Paying For Itself

I swear all my posts won't be about being pregnant...but...

So, I got to admit being pregnant has been awesome when it comes to waiting tables. First, I'm really not at that point where I'm exactly busting out. So, there are still moments when people wonder if I've just gained some weight or if I'm caring a little nugget. So, I wait to see if I'm going to need to use the "baby announcement." What do I mean? Well, picture a mean old lady, who won't look you in the eye when she orders and acts like you are bothering her every time you come to the table. Now, picture her after you've dropped the,"Oh, and thanks for coming in (while touching your protruding stomach and looking lovingly down at the seed you are growing)...have a great day." All of the sudden, the meanness just falls away and the woman can't help but ask, "Excuse me, but are you expecting?" And then, I turn to the mean old woman, and with a innocent smile, say, "Why yes, I am," and then like magic, she can't help herself. Instantly, I'm transformed from a lowly servant to a budding mother. And what happens next? Well, the 15% that was going to be begrudgingly left all of the sudden becomes more like a 25% tip of happiness and well wishes. It's a beautiful thing.

Second of all, my co-workers, who I love, don't fully understand my capabilities and limitations of being pregnant. (I'm not sure where these misconceptions came from, but I haven't gotten around to informing them.) For example, I hate busing tables, sweeping after moronic mothers allow their children to tear their food into tiny pieces instead of eating them, running food and getting and polishing glassware. Now that I'm pregnant I just have to look at a messy table and say, "I want to, but the doctor..." Again, I had no idea how magical pregnancy could be.

So, if you are out there, waiting tables and wanting to improve your work environment and tips think about having a kid. It literally pays for itself.

The Announcement

I must admit I've been putting off this post for quite a while...but here's the deal: I'm pregnant. Yep, totally knocked up. Currently, I'm almost 19 1/2 weeks. Before I was pregnant, I didn't understand why women insisted on calculating their birth in weeks. It sort of annoyed me that somehow the rest of us had to sit there, feign excitement and quickly do math so we could reply, "Oh, so you are basically five months along?" But, here I am.

So, what are my current thoughts on gaining weight and having an alien inside me? Funny you ask.

Well, here's the fears:
1. People will stop touching my bulging stomach AFTER I have the kid. How will people greet me?
2. I will find maternity clothes incredibly comfortable and be that girl who still wears the large elastic jeans. (Alright, I'll admit I was told of a little secret of a rubber band being looped between your jean's button hole to allow for a little more room...and I sort of love it. I might be continuing this process for...the rest of my life.)
3. This blog will only contain pictures of my child in the bathtub, eating food and looking adorable. Oh wait...was that your fear?
4. My husband will be severely disappointed when my enlarged melons actually go back to their solid A status. I've tried to prepare him with balloons slowly losing their air, but I don't think he's getting the message.
5. Watching The Good Wife (What? I'm pregnant.*) for three weeks straight will actually cause developmental problems with my future child.
6. My child will secretly love all CBS shows.
7. I will start listening to crappy baby music in the car, speaking like a moron and walking around with spit on my shoulder without even caring.
8. My dislike of all vegetables and crazy cravings of In and Out will continue and lead me down a path of morbid obesity...which will then lead me to the Biggest Loser and I'll be seen by millions of people crying on a treadmill.
9. I will never have the courage to answer, when some stranger asks me, "Are you expecting?" with, "Um, no...what are you talking about? I'm just big boned."
10. My mom will take my baby. She's slightly excited about this development.

Well, that's about it. I'm pregnant. High fives around.

* This excuse seems to be working for everything.

The Other MAC Store

So, the other day I decided to stop at the MAC store...no not the hip and always overcrowded Mac store (does the Mac store just hire random people to be constantly in their store playing with their products?) but the other MAC store. You know - the one with the make-ups. Yes, you did read that correctly. Since being married I find myself adding random plurals to words. For example, before church I always put on my make-ups, before going to bed I check the internets and I make lots of monies at the restaurant. I'm not sure if this is a ridiculously cute by-product of being in love, or the fact that marriage has turned me into a moron.

Anyway, for those of you who haven't entered the MAC store let me explain the environment. First, as soon as you walk in you are greeted, with a slight look of disdain, from a man wearing a great deal of foundation and eye liner. Now, I know what you are thinking, "How come I'm getting the look of disdain?" I mean, a man is wearing make-up in public and he isn't even in drag. But, somehow in this world the she-male is totally acceptable. Outside - beat up. Inside, king of make-up.

Once, you get past the "greeting party" you are allowed to walk around the store and pretend you are completely interested in 40 different shades of lipstick and eye shadows entitled "Summer Day" and "Moss." When finally you reveal yourself as completely clueless another "make-up artist" will approach you and ask if they can help. I want to throw a warning out at this point because inevitably the person asking to help is usually covered in ridiculous amounts of make-up. It's like they get paid extra if they find small portions of their faces to advertise the products. For example, the girl helping me had bright blue mascara on, hot pink lip stick, four different shades on her eyes, foundation, cream of some kind, lip gloss and who knows what else?

I got to be honest, this kamikaze display of make-up doesn't give me a great deal of confidence going forward in listening to their recommendations. But, this is a world where I'm completely at a loss. So, for the next fifteen minutes I try to pretend I grew up playing with make-up, and shake my head profusely when they ask if I have "night" and "day" make-up - because who doesn't go for a more smokey look while they are going out? Oh wait, I don't live in Sex in the City.

Anyway, I'm happy to report that after an hour of being made up by my artist/clown, I stayed strong and didn't purchase the purple lipstick she insisted would be great for work and managed to get out of there.

So, remember guys wearing make-up - okay. A woman, wearing more make-up than Tammy Baker, and who tells you purples and oranges bring out your blue eyes, is not okay. Stay strong.

Just A Normal Wednesday

Picture this:

I'm sitting on the couch, not showered, wearing sweats, eating a sandwich with a bag of open pretzels on the coffee table, while watching Cougar Town (yeah, I like the show.) In my kitchen are two dirty pots from the soup I've eaten on Monday and Tuesday night, an open bag of cheese on the counter, because I'm having a cheese sandwich and obviously didn't have the adequate strength to put the cheese away, a bottle of mustard, an empty box of cereal and a bag of trash on the floor. My bathroom is a mixture of last night's mail, that apparently the husband didn't have strength to put on the table outside, toothbrushes and discarded toothpaste. Fortunately, I'm happy to report the bed is made, but is covered in wires and pictures from a project I'm working on.

Now, you would admit this is not a state you would want anyone to see, right? Well, while I was sprawled on the couch, chopping away on my sandwich, the door opened and two men walked in to check my smoke detectors.

What did I do? Exactly, what any self respecting woman would have done...I started to sniffle and cough...I mean, only someone who is desperately sick would live in this type of environment...or a woman, who hasn't seen her husband since Sunday.

They Started It

Not actual picture...but pretty close.

So, I have these regulars, who spend the majority of their meal doing three things: 1. Subtly sexually harassing me 2. Accusing me of not giving them enough bacon strips even though in the history of our restaurant we have always given TWO FREAKING PIECES and 3. Informing me that the rest of my co-workers are either idiots or "not good looking enough to work here."

After many meals of enduring their ridiculous banter I decided to fight back. The following took place...you tell me who won this round.

Meat Head #1: Kate, are you married? (This question has been asked before and is usually followed up with a fake proposal for a life of money and love.)

Kate: Um, yeah, five years. It's actually gotten pretty serious.

Meat Head #2: Do you ever cheat?

Kate: No. But, funny you would ask because the other day I saw Nicole in here (Meat Head #3's wife) and she was with some hot guy and all she kept saying is what an idiot Travis is and what a terrible husband he is.

Silence.

Meat Head #3: That sounds about right since we are getting divorced.

Meat Head #1, #2: We'll take the check.

I know I should feel bad, but....

What's Lacrosse?

A few Sundays ago I was asked to substitute teach for our Sunday school class. Now, I typically enjoy teaching, but in my church there's always the possibility of something crazy happening. For example, the other day my friend was teaching about choices and consequences and decided to illustrate this lesson through a childhood experience. He said that he decided, as a young boy, in order to go for a really fast ride to tie his dog to his big wheel. However, as soon as he told his dog to go the big wheel took off and he crashed his head on the sidewalk. Good story - choice / consequence illustrated. Now, as he started to continue with his lesson a very nice lady raised her hand and said, "Now, I don't support animal cruelty and I'm not sure your dog should have been put through that." Um, I guess point not communicated. And then to make matters even better, ten minutes later, on a completely different topic, the same lady raised her hand and admitted, "Okay, I've once been mean to animals, but again, I don't support it."

I'm not going to lie I absolutely love these moments at my church. I mean, there's nothing more fun than watching the teacher spin a crazy comment into a faith promoting statement. Oh, you saw a cat at the store scratch a man's eyes out...now, I think we all can apply that trials are difficult and we must pray more often for help. Pure genius.

Now, as much as I love watching this awkward dance go on I got admit I was a little scared what curve ball would be thrown at me. So, there I sat, opening my lesson with a story from college about when I was playing lacrosse and just as I was bearing my testimony about how prayer helped me overcome a difficult time someone shouted from the back, "What's lacrosse?!" For a second I ignored the comment and tried to continue my heart warming testimony when someone answered her question by saying, "It's like ice hockey" and then before I could offer my rebuttal someone said, "No, it's more brutal and more like soccer." Ice hockey? Soccer? And then someone said, "Draw the stick on the board!" I then proceeded to draw the stick, give a brief overview of lacrosse, which apparently didn't suffice because more questions came. Finally, I found myself pantomiming someone playing lacrosse and wondering where in the world this lesson was going.

Eventually the lesson got back on track, but I give high marks to my church. I really thought I was in safe territory with no stories about animals, homeless people or questionable doctrine. Well done. Well done.

$6,000 Dollars Of Life Changing Money

The other day I was in line at Target and a man in front of me was buying a very large flat screen TV. The woman checking him out exclaimed, "Man, what a cool TV!" to which the man replied, "Well, I went to Pechanga (a resort in beautiful Temecula, CA) and won $6,000 dollars gambling." Now, I'll admit, it's quite impressive he won that amount, but I found the check out lady's response a little strange. She, after hearing the amount of his winnings said, "Man, if I won that much money I would quit this job so fast...seriously...I'd be out of here."

$6,000 dollars? You would quit your job for $6,000 dollars? A few questions: How little are they paying employees at Target that $6,000 dollars sounds like millions? Secondly, how is a lady, who deals with money transactions all day, have such a warped view of the concept "a lot" and "a little?" And lastly, if I might ask, what's this lady's plan with $6,000 dollars in California? Are you going to go crazy and buy gas for a month? Are you going to pay your rent in full for three months? What's the plan?

Alright judging aside, I found twenty dollars underneath a table, while working at the restaurant, and considered telling my manager I was sick. I mean, it was twenty dollars.

The Wonders Of Being A Woman

Now, I'll be the first to admit that being a woman definitely has its advantages. For example, there's the phrase, "Ladies first," which in itself means a myriad of things - we get to enter warm buildings before our cold male counterparts, we get to pick the best looking appetizers off the plate before everyone else and we are the first ones off a sinking ship or out of a burning building (alright, if kids aren't involved....geez.) Also, dating as a woman was fantastic. Don't like the guy? Never going to end up with him? Alright, but I'll still eat this amazing dinner for free and see this one time reunion of Led Zeppelin...for free...because I can...and then not pick up my phone for the second date? Okay.

Now, as great as is to sit while going to the bathroom and having the ability to give life, there are also some annoying parts of being a woman. For example, about once a week some jack a## decides to call me "sweetie," "honey" or "miss" at the restaurant. It takes everything I have inside me to not pour hot coffee in his lap or give him a spoon, from my last table, to use for his oatmeal...well, at least I don't pour the coffee.

I have also found that on the golf course people, I mean, men, treat me like I'm an idiot. For example, yesterday the husband and I went up to Malibu to play a round of golf. As the two guys we were playing with and myself started to warm up the starter suggested we take a practice shot off the tee. First, Brian, name has not been changed, but if you must know, all I gathered was he was Asian and from Torrance, hit his first ball and watched it completely slice. The next guy, Alex, who again all I found out was Japanese and had an abundance amount of snacks, that I partook of, hit his ball and it hooked rather bad. Then I got up, hit my ball, which went slightly to the right, but not sliced, and before I could turn around the starter was behind me saying, "Now, I'm not a golf pro, but do you mind if I give you a little tip?" He then proceeded to give me some old man advice about hitting a golf ball, which sort of sounded like, "blah, blah, golf, blah, blah golf," and THEN as I teed off for REAL he said, WHILE IN MY BACK SWING, "now remember the (insert stupid old man advice)." I stopped my swing, and said, "Thanks, but I think I'm going to stick with what I got."

Now, you tell me, would this guy EVER give advice like that to the two idiots, who went before me? Nope.

So, men, I'll watch the Titanic sinking, but don't tell me how to play golf.

Wonder Sticks

I swear this blog will one day not be an ongoing chronicle of my awkward moments - but ANOTHER one happened!

So, as many of you know I've been trying for some time to get pregnant. A few weeks ago, I went to CVS to pick up some ovulation tests. (For my male readers, these little wonder sticks tell if you can get pregnant or not. Not if you are pregnant, but can you become pregnant. Understand?) Maybe I should just end the entry here. Everyone feel awkward enough? Everyone picturing me peeing on these sticks? Perfect.

Anyway, I found the ovulation tests, but the one I wanted to get only had one left and that box was actually open and missing one of the sticks. So, I went to the store manager and showed him the open box and asked if he had anymore of "these" in the back. He then proceeded to grab the box, read the box and then look at me and ask, "What are these things for?" Really? We are doing this? Mind you this manager looked like: "College wasn't exactly his thing," and "Managing McDonalds seemed like too much responsibility" and "A woman isn't something he's actually hung out with."

So, for a few seconds I just stood there and then finally said, "Um, they are for getting pregnant." Wow, talk about a confused face. I think he actually thought these wonder sticks GET you pregnant because he said, "Really? How?" Again, we are doing this? Finally, I grabbed the box, contemplated taking the vandalized box home and trying it anyway, and then decided to leave. As I turned to go, he asked, while grabbing a pregnant test, "Will this work instead?"

Um...no.

My New Victims

Today, I went to Home Depot to buy some flowers for my outside balcony. After wandering around for a few minutes, I found an employee and had the following conversation:

Home Depot Employee: "Can I help you find something?"

Kate: "Um, yeah, I'm looking for some idiot proof flowers."

Home Depot Employee: "Have you bought any flowers before?"

Kate: (While turning my back on the flowers and speaking in a low voice) "Actually, I got to be honest...I've killed a few of these guys in my day...I guess, I'm just here looking for my new victim." (Cue awkward laugh and glance away.)

Home Depot Employee: (Turning his body to shield the plants) "Um, have you thought of plastic flowers?"

Come on...not a little funny?

Lousy Service

It would be a mild understatement to say our apartment building has had some issues over the years. For example, there was a fun time when our bathtub and sink used to throw up dirt and other types of bile from the depths of hell, and another favorite is when the ceiling over our shower began to grow slightly concave (yes, I still have a slight anxiety when showering.) I also loved the smoker we have next door who makes our lovely lobby smell like a cheap motel, and who can forget the incredible security system that ensured our bikes and all our neighbors' were stolen from our garage. Now, as annoying as all these things have been none of us have really made much of a stink over them. However, there has been one annoyance that has literally caused all the old people in our building to go completely crazy - the elevator.

About once a week the elevator just decides to die. Now, I live on the first floor (blog stalkers please keep your distance) so the death of the elevator does not effect me as much. Sure, it's annoying to walk the extra steps through the garage with groceries, but let's be honest, I'm usually only carrying a cereal box, milk and some bread, but for the old people this just pisses them off. Over the years, they have congregated in the lobby and muttered words of disgust as you innocently go to get your mail, they've left notes on the elevator informing loved ones they died because they were unable to travel three flights of stairs to get to the hospital and they have broken hips (wait...that might have just happened on its own.) Anyway, the other morning I woke up and found these posters all over the lobby:
I have to give them credit. I like the use of the word "dangerous." It changes the game. Now, I want this elevator fixed more than anything because now I'm afraid. Before, annoyed. Now, afraid. I also like that they bring up the fact that we pay too much...for what? Yeah, "lousy service." Again, game changer. Before, I was like, "I live in a nice apartment with a fickle elevator." Now, I'm like, "I live in a luxury hotel that is not bringing me champagne and strawberries, and I will not put up with this lousy service." So, again, fix this elevator. And lastly, invoking our manager's name is fantastic. It says, "Yeah, we're old and sit in our apartments all day, but we know...we know your name."

Has the elevator died since? Yep. Will it die again? Will someone on the third floor break a hip?