Tell me sweet little lies

I’ve tried to come up with clever euphemisms to explain away my absence from both here and twitter, but they all sounded so… hollow. Trite. Dismissive. The truth is, I’m depressed and not feeling like communicating. My depression is telling me lies and I’m believing them right now. In a little while, I’ll know them for the lies they are and be back to my usual word-slinging self. 

I truly appreciate those of you who asked where the hell I was and why I’ve been quieter than usual. It makes me feel good to know that not only did someone notice, but cares, too.

Thirteen Things You Should Know About Me

Really, it should be more like “Thirteen Warnings” more so than things, but whatev.

Here are some things you should know about me before we meet at The Blathering this weekend. Or, before we meet in person wherever. It’s pretty much an all-inclusive list.

1. I am loud. I’m super excitable and gregarious and I tend to get LOUD. This is normally not really a problem until it’s combined with #2.

2. I say offensive things. I cuss like a sailor and think EVERYTHING is funny in the right context. I am almost impossible to offend and I forget that other people don’t share that trait. So, here’s your apology in advance. I’m sure I’ll say something that pisses you off at some point.

3. I’m a former fat girl, current chubby girl. I had gastric bypass in 2008. I can’t eat a lot at once and there are things that make me violently ill if I do eat them. I get drunk on 1/2 a drink and am completely sober 30 minutes later. I’m pretty happy with my size now, but for sure I’d like to lose my last 30lbs.

4. I’m a nerd or a geek or whatever you want to call it. I’m proud of this fact and wholeheartedly embrace my nerdiness.

5. I’m not fashionable and I don’t know how to accessorize. I dress purely for comfort and any cuteness that happens is usually accidental.

6. My head is almost completely filled with useless trivia regarding celebrities, movies, and books.

7. I read. A lot. I’d love to hear your book recommendations.

8. I’m a complete ham and will do anything to entertain you. I love to make people laugh.

9. I’m afraid of small things. Small animals, small toys, etc.

10. I’m in love with nail polish and change mine every day or every other day. I’m bringing my supplies to give my roomies manicures, so let me know if you want one, too!

11. I’m a hugger. Tell me if you don’t want one and we’re cool.

12. I want to hear about your kids. I love hearing about your kids. Honestly.

13. I’ll be your friend for life, if you’ll let me.

Favorite

I am done having babies. As a matter of fact, I’m beginning to consider undergoing some sort of permanent birth control procedure. I’m not sure which type, yet, as I haven’t met with my OB/GYN for fear of Vagina Cancer. (Or as Shelly posits, Pube Cancer.) Regardless, I am done with the birthin’ of babies. I am 100% accepting of this fact. I am not able to care for more than two children without losing my damn mind. And let’s face it, there are days when even two children taxes what mind I have left. BUT, oh how I’ll miss some of the things that I only get with babies and not young children.

Sam is at such an awesome stage right now. He’s trying so hard to talk and everything he says is adorable. His walk is more of a drunken stumble/ zombie lurch. He is, literally, the most affectionate kid I’ve ever known. He gives full-on hugs frequently and without prompting. When we play together, he stops roughly every five minutes to climb into my arms and hug me and then returns to playing. He brings me a book and curls up in my lap while I read it. He’s starting to be funny on purpose. His favorite joke is to offer me a bite of whatever he’s eating and then shove it into his mouth at the last minute. Which is my cue to shout “tricky tricker!” and he laughs like a loon.

It’s hard not to have a favorite child. Because while Maddie is completely awesome in other ways, she’s also a complete asshole sometimes. Sam is seldom an asshole. He doesn’t have a temper, he doesn’t scream at me, throw tantrums or randomly decide he hates his favorite food just to mess with me. I keep reminding myself that all too soon, Sam will be an asshole, too. It’s just the nature of children. But sweet baby jebus, how I want to stop time and keep him this age forever.

Tiny Cowboy. We start 'em young in Texas.

Maddie’s Accent Vlog

Maddie desperately wanted in on the accent vlog business. Jank the Stank is all for you, Becky.

Accent Vlog – aka Video Proof of My Dorkiness

Um, hi there

It’s been so long since I’ve posted anything that I’m feeling shy and hesitant. I have no idea what to say or if anyone is still reading. Am I shouting into the void?! Because if so, it’s just like talking to my kids.

So, let’s just call this a post so that it’s out of the way and we can get back to business without all those feelings in the way.

Where are they now? Pantry and Janky Boob Edition

Remember my new and improved pantry organization? Are you wondering if it managed to last longer than 24 hours? Have you completely forgotten about it and need a reminder? Whatever the case, I felt it was imperative that you receive an update on the current state of my pantry. Right before I sat down to write this I snapped these photos:

So yes, I really did keep my pantry that organized. It’ll stay that way for a while and over the next two years will devolve back into a hot mess and will no doubt stay that way until I’m anxiously awaiting news of some sort.

Speaking of, the next update is about the Janky Boob™. Clever segue, right?

It actually took me a while to come to terms with my diagnosis to be able to talk about it. While waiting on the results of the pathology report, I had prepared myself for the worst and hoped for the best. I was in no way prepared for some sort of grey area bullshit. I was going to hear “Yes, you’ve got cancer,” or “You’re all clear!” and life would go on. Instead, what I heard was (LITERALLY) “Well, you don’t have cancer. Yet.”

I have Atypical Ductal Hyperplasia. Oooh, sounds mysterious and serious, right? Don’t get excited. It’s fancy doctor language for “Fucked up shit that might turn into cancer one day. Probably. Maybe.” I’ve never had a pap smear come back with wonky results, but I’m told that women can get “pre-cancerous” cells on their cervix and need to have them removed. That’s pretty much what these cells are. Only in my boob, instead. According to my oncologist, the average woman has between 15 and 20 ducts in each breast and I had ADH in six of mine.

Basically, this means that my chances of getting breast cancer went up yet again. Dr. G said that in her experience, patients who are diagnosed with ADH at such a young age are highly predisposed to getting The Big C. (Side note: The high-risk breast center I go to is in the same hospital as my OB/Gyn. I love how on the 1st floor, I’m SO! YOUNG! and up on the 2nd floor, I’m old enough to have “advanced maternal age” stamped on my file if I were to get pregnant again.) Anyhow, the course of action is to pretty much keep doing what we were doing; exam, mammogram and breast sonogram twice a year, MRI once a year. And she cautioned me to never, ever miss an appointment because my boobs would become riddled with The Cancer and fall the fuck off my body. Or something like that. I’m fuzzy on the details.

So, really, it’s not a bad diagnosis at all. It’s just not what I was expecting. I didn’t know how to handle the news that I would be continuing to live with the black cloud of cancer looming over my head for the rest of my life. Turns out, after my emotions settled down, I don’t even think about it. Except when Janky Boob™ acts up and decides to hurt for no reason whatsoever.

Since I found out that I might have breast cancer and then was diagnosed with basal cell carcinoma within three days of each other, I canceled all my other doctor’s appointments. The last thing I needed to was go to the OB/Gyn and eye doctor to be told I had Vagina Cancer and Eye Cancer. Well, I managed to reschedule my eye exam and can report there’s no eye cancer present! Woo hoo! I still haven’t rescheduled the other because come on. It’s not high on my list of priorities, you know?

Vow Renewal: Keepin’ it Real

I made a spectacular co-parenting error today and then cleverly made yet another mistake in trying to cover up the first mistake. (I did something for Maddie that makes her happy, but isn’t in her best interest, AFTER Gerald and I had discussed it and he emphatically told asked me not to do it. In my defense, I didn’t intentionally ignore his opinion as her father. I was distracted when she asked me about it and said “yes” without thinking. When I realized what I had done, I said “Uh oh. Daddy’s going to be upset about this. We need to keep it a secret.” Because come, on. That’s the responsible thing to do, right? Once I explained to my kid that what I had done was wrong, I confessed to Gerald so he wouldn’t be surprised when she greeted him at the door to tell him of my mistake in a loud, triumphant announcement.) This led me to think that my marriage vows really should have mentioned something like “In great ideas and dick moves.” I’m not one for the pomp and circumstance of vow renewals, but it’s pretty dumb to make promises to someone about your marriage when you’ve never been married to them. I think we should keep marriage vows sort of vague and unspecified in the beginning, and then after 5 or 10 years, have a renewal with the Real Vows.

Gerald and I have been together for almost 8 years, so our hypothetical renewal is coming up. Here’s what I’ve got so far:

1. I promise to love you even after I’ve had to pop a zit on your back.
2. It’s 100% your job to remove/kill any parts of nature that come into the house.
3. I will drive the majority of all road trips.
4. I promise to mostly mutter all the mean things I think to say under my breath and not scream them at you.
5. I will half-assedly return all shoulder/foot rubs.
6. It is 100% your job to investigate all strange noises in or around the house, regardless of time of day.
7. You will never have to mop the kitchen floor in your lifetime.
8. I will do 99% of all grocery shopping.
9. You will limit your complaining about the items purchased.
10. When I play with our children, you will find me loud and distracting.
11. When you play with our children, I will find you incredibly desirable.
12. I will never cheat on you because who has time for that shit?
13. I will forgive all your mistakes because I’ve got no room to judge, that’s for sure.
14. I will complain every single day, but I will rarely mean a word of it.

So, how about you? What will be on your list the second time around?

Complaining without being a jackass about it.

I’ve been in the financial services area of customer service for my entire adult career. As a customer service manager/trainer, I do not suffer poor customer service gladly, to say the least. It’s also true that I try not to be a jackass when I’ve got a complaint to make to a customer service rep. The thing to remember is that the person who answers your call or reads your email got you by luck of the draw. Whatever happened is (most likely) not their fault and it’s their job to listen to you and make amends, if possible. So being a jackass really won’t get you anywhere. It will most likely get you worse customer service, actually.

All that is say that I’m going to share an email I sent to Munchkin in regard to the refill bags for their diaper pail. I think it’s awesome, but then again, I would, wouldn’t I? I hope it made the CSR smile this morning when she checked the inbox.

Dear Sir or Madam,

I’m a long-time user of your Arm & Hammer Diaper Pail System. And by long-time, I mean 15 months. Just so we’re clear. 

I used to have a Diaper Genie, and when it went to the Great Landfill in the Sky, I decided to try your product. Until now, I’ve been very happy with it; however, the last batch of Diaper Pail bags I purchased are seriously DEFECTIVE. The bags are splitting down the seam whilst in the diaper pail, unbeknownst to me until I remove the bag. And then, the most horrifying thing happens. All of the old, dirty diapers spill out onto the floor of my son’s room and I lose the will to live.

Now listen, I know you’re going to think that I’m overfilling the bags and causing them to split. But come on. I’m a reasonably intelligent person who knows how to use a diaper pail. Also, this box of bags is has been the only one with which this has happened. And to be doubly sure, I only filled the last bag about half-full and it still happened.

HORRIFYING. 

I’m attaching a picture of the carnage, (Don’t worry. It won’t make you lose the will to live, too.) and a picture of the batch number on the box for your reference/amusement. What I’d like to know is this: have you changed the manufacturing process and this sort of thing is more likely to happen nowadays? Or did I perhaps get a bad batch and my next box will be mercifully horror-free? 

I appreciate your time and attention,
Erica Anderson

I sent the email last night before going to bed and  a reply was waiting for me first thing this morning. In case you’re curious, they’re very sorry for the defect and are sending me a replacement box of bags ASAP. No mention of my supreme awesomeness but it was totally implied.

Oh my.

Enough of that introspective, contemplative, woe-is-me crapspackle. Let’s get back to business, shall we?

I don’t read news sites or watch the news or listen to the news on the car radio. I don’t know dick about politics, current events or whether global warming is real or bullshit this month. I’m not worldly, socially relevant, on the cusp, pulse or even the lap. In fact, I’m pretty damn ignorant. I don’t say this like I’m proud of it. More like… resigned. This is the way I’ve always been and I don’t really foresee it changing.

I do, however, love The Daily Mail. I know that it calls itself an online news outlet and pretends really hard to be a news outlet, but COME ON. It’s politically biased, celebrity-stalking trash. BUT WITH A BRITISH ACCENT. Which totally makes it classy. It’s a proven scientific fact.

If they’re not wowing readers with wildly sensational headlines, or scrutinizing every ounce of weight fluctuation within the female celebrity arc, they’re just plain making shit up as they go along and calling it “news.” The fact that they try so hard to pretend to be Real News just makes it better, in my opinion. Also, THERE’S A BRITISH ACCENT.

Check out the index. There’s a U.S. Celebrity page. Don’t bother looking for the U.S. Politics page. There ain’t one. And see what they did with that Femail page? First, they spelled it “femail,” like MAIL to be trendy and cute. And THEN they put all the stories about celebrities, fashion, make-up and sex on one page for us so that “femails” don’t have to get tired of searching the site for the things that are really important to them and maybe risk reading something about the collapse of civilized society in the U.K. or the plummeting stock markets. Stories like this and this are way more entertaining to read, anyway.