No, actually I'm not "showing" yet...I'm just fucking hungry, okay?!?!

Yeah, that's right, I want to eat....again.  And 30 minutes after that, I will want to eat again, so let's just park it at the nearest Golden Corral and spend the day alright?!? 

Honestly, I haven't gained much weight since I've been eating for 2, probably because I have been forced to quit drinking for 4.  Beer has a lot of empty calories you know.  But I am constantly hungry, it's intense.  If I don't get food within a reasonable amount of time, I will cut out the nearest person's kneecaps with a bread knife just to prove a God Damned point. 

This is a maternity shirt, and I need it.

The thing that sucks is I don't look pregnant, I just look like I've been hitting the mashed potatoes a little hard (which I have).  I feel like making myself a shirt that says, "No really, I can eat all these carbs, It's okay, I'm pregnant." That way I people would just give me that, "Ohhhh" look and not the "Holy shit, look at that bitch stuffing her face" look while shielding their child's view.

Also, I have found that eating so much junk, combined with "relaxed digestive system" due to hormones, causes gas.  No, wait "gas" is too nice of a word for it.  My farts would make a trucker blush and have started peeling paint in the more trafficked rooms, like, the kitchen.

But there are a lot of bonuses about being pregnant.  People let me cut in line for the bathroom, I get to fix my plate first, and even complete strangers offer to buy me food when I look hungry (which is all the time).  All I have to do is look longingly at a hotdog vender while rubbing my food baby bump and random people will rush over to get me something.  It's wonderful!  Also, I get to go to bed early and sleep in late and nobody says I'm being lazy.  After all, I'm growing brains and legs and shit, it's hard work! 

So anywho, here is a pic of Baby Dinosaur.  This is my first sonogram when I was about 10 weeks.  I'm 15 weeks now, so I'm sure "he" has his dragon tail and spiky teeth by now.

Head on the left, the little dots are arms and body is on the right with legs curled up in front.

I can't wait until I can feel "her" move around and as I'm typing that I feel like I will someday regret saying that...

Lies My Dad Told Me

I consider myself a relatively intelligent person.  I get it from my parents; they are both extremely intelligent too. (Wonder what happened with my brother?)  One of the curses of intelligent people is that we are curious about things.  All things, everywhere.  We eagerly seek out knowledge and soak it up like sponges. How do we seek it? With questions, that's how.  Lots and lots of questions, which sometimes don't exactly have direct answers.

I would imagine this can become quite bothersome for parents of young, intelligent children. I mean, you want them to be curious, you want them to ask questions, just not so many God-Damned weird ass questions that you have no answers to.  I suppose this is why my dad just started making up random shit to tell me.  I’m sure he got bored with giving me real answers and decided to have a little fun with me.  Here are two examples:

Me: Dad, what happens if you get a piece of metal stuck in your eye?

Dad: I would have to take you to the doctor and he would use a big magnet to get it out.

Me: What would happen if I got a piece of rock stuck in my eye?  You can’t get that with a magnet…

Dad: The doctor would have to pop your eyeball out of its socket, wash it off with water, and put it back in.

This is a specially designed "Eyeball Holder" for washing.

Me: Dad, why does it feel weird when I put my finger in my belly button?

Dad: Because that’s where you got your food when you were in Mommy’s belly.

Me:  ???.....But why does it FEEL weird?

Dad: Because it’s still attached to your insides and if you pick at it too much it will come undone and all your guts will fall out and you will die.

To this day, it makes me nauseous if someone touches my bellybutton.

Cute, right? Sure...the problem is he never told me those things weren’t true and let me keep on believing them until I brought up these “facts” in 7^th grade only to be completely humiliated in front of my entire science class.  As you may know, 7th grade was a particularly hard year for me.  

At least now I am at an age where I have outgrown believing all my dad’s little “falsehoods.”  Or so I thought.  

The other day Big Dinosaur and I were coming home from a friends house and he purposely missed the little paint stripes in the road.  This conversation followed:

Me:  Joe!  You’re supposed to run over those!  It’s how the highway department tests different kinds of paint to see which ones stay longest.

Joe:  What?!

Me:  You know, those paint stripes you just drove around.

Joe:  Those are called Rumble Strips and they are to let you know a corner is coming…  I knew the corner was coming so I didn’t run over the strips.  What the hell are you talking about?

Me: It’s not a paint test?

Joe: No.

Me: ......Damnit!

 Things like this make me wonder....what kind of bullshit stories will I tell my kids?  Well, I will get to find out before too long, because Big Dinosaur and I are expecting a Baby Dinosaur around March 9th and we can't be more excited!  Actually, instead of a Baby Dinosaur, we are secretly hoping for a pony.  *Fingers Crossed*

The Scariest Feeling

I’m back peoples!!  I know you missed me.  I’ve been up to so much fun stuff!!  Okay, not really, I just started a new job (which I LOVE) that has kept me very busy.  We did get a dog though!  Her name is Bianca, she’s 2.  Here’s her lovely mug.

So in my new job, I spend hours upon hours building and maintaining extensive Excel spreadsheets, and I like it. Yes, I know, I’m a huge geek.  Whatever.  Seriously, these things are massive, they’re beautiful and they’re my babies.  I keep master copies double backed up and locked so that no one can jack with them.  Important. Shit. Okay?

The worst feeling in the world is when I open a spreadsheet then try to immediately close it, because of innumerable reasons, (mostly being that I suck at naming things properly and I have usually opened the wrong one) and this little box pops up:

Whaaaaa??  What changes?  I didn’t….I don’t think……fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.

Your fist reaction is, of course, YES!  Yes, I do want to save everything!  Save, save, save everything!!!  It has been pounded into my head since my early childhood when my dad brought home our Commodore 64.  (Why yes, the geeky-ness WAS inherited) 

 I hover my mouse over the “Yes” option then stop; what if one of the “changes” I “made” was accidentally deleting the contents of a single cell?  What if that single cell happened to contain a formula that will now alter the entire spreadsheet converting it immediately into a pile of useless dog shit which causes the world to implode because the shit I make is that fucking important?!?!

This causes me to panic and decide the only way to know for sure is to go over the entire spreadsheet looking for errors, which takes roughly…the rest of my day.

I have a solution.  It’s simple!!  Add this:

See?!?!?!  Now I can see what I hypothetically did or didn’t change.  Why does Microsoft make everything so damn hard?? (I probably just got added to Bill Gates’ hit list for that one.)

The Man Cold

Ah yes, The Man Cold.  Killer of strapping young men worldwide, it is quickly becoming one of the worlds most prolific and contagious viruses, infecting an estimated 20 million men on a daily basis.  There is no cure, there is no vaccine, and it can not be stopped.

Unrelated to The Common Cold, suffered by women and children around the world, The Man Cold has much more severe symptoms including:  Extreme fatigue, excessive use of Kleenex, muscle weakness, inability to lift arms, teary eyes, whining, and a sense of utter despair and hopelessness.

The Man Cold usually occurs when a man's significant other comes down with The Common Cold.  The virus will then mutate when transferred into the man and will then be virtually unstoppable, able to be passed from one man to another, completely annihilating all motor skills and daily functionality until The Man Cold is either overcome, or kills the man.  Mysteriously, though, the virus will always mutate back into The Common Cold when passed back to a woman.

While a woman can still preform daily tasks when she has come down with The Common Cold, such as working, laundry, and cooking, The Man Cold renders it's victims completely useless for the 2-3 days in which the man is affected.  That is, of course, if he lives through the ordeal.

Excessive?  Yes.

There is but one solution to this epidemic that I can propose.  Since we women seem to control when our men become infected, once we notice the slightest symptoms of The Common Cold, we should avoid all contact with all men until every symptom has gone.  To obtain optimal conditions, I suggest women should not go to work, kick out all men, then call other ill feeling women to come over and drink copious amounts of liquor. This "All Female Group Quarantine" should last for at least 4 days, to insure the virus has passed, before coming into contact with any man. Obviously, cooking and laundry will be strictly prohibited during this "Quarantine" as to not needlessly spread this dangerous virus.

We have the power, ladies, to protect our men from this devastating condition.  As a matter of fact, I believe I feel the sniffles coming on...WHO'S BRINGING THE BOOZE?!?!?!?

Sorry Honey, you can't come home.  We're uh....sick.

Asshole Chicken

The other day I had this BRILLIANT idea to try and make something new for dinner.  I set out 2 chicken breasts to thaw and spent the entire next day thinking and planning about what I would do.

When the time came, I mixed up some broccoli, corn and an ass-ton of cheese with some yummy seasoning and the always useful, Tony’s.  I flayed and pounded out the chicken breasts, crammed them full of my delicious mixture, wrapped them up like burritos and stuck about 15 toothpicks in each to hold all the goods in. 

I put them in a glass casserole dish and decided to dump a can of broccoli cheese soup over the top for some added deliciousness.  Stuck them in the oven at 350 at sat down to anticipate my delectable creation.

Big Dinosaur was impressed!  Hell, I was impressed with myself!  40 minutes later, with our mouths watering to the point of drool puddles, I pulled them out of the over.  They were glorious, smelled like heaven and bubbly cheese was seeping out of the cracks.  Amazing.  I was so excited I could barely contain myself. 

I put them on a plate and asked Big Dinosaur to go get my phone because I was going to cut that bitch in half, take a picture and post that shit to facebook so all my friends and family could “Ooo” and “Awe” over my kick-ass culinary skills.

I start pulling out the toothpicks and one was being stubborn.  I gave it a good yank.  The entire plate fell to the floor and my beautiful stuffed chicken breasts smashed to the disgusting less than clean kitchen floor.  I just looked at it for a second then looked up at Big Dinosaur.  He was looking at me trying to figure out what my reaction would be.  I started bawling like a tiny baby.

Crying is a very rare thing for me and Big Dinosaur does not handle it well.  He just doesn’t know what to do but knows he wants the tears to stop.  He quickly bent down and scooped up the ruined mess of chicken, broccoli and cheese and tossed it in the trash can.  He just kept repeating, “It’s okay!  I’m sorry!  It’s okay!  I’m sorry” and giving me hugs. 

I of course told him to quit apologizing because he didn’t do anything and he says, “I know, I’m just sorry that happened to you!!”   I was so mad at myself I just kept repeating, “I’m so stupid!  Why do I ruin everything?! I’m such a moron!  I suck at life.”  Although, I have a hard time talking when I’m crying, so it sounded more like, “Sussha stooopid! Ijuss runn errrthinnn! Sussha morrrn! Isuuuuuuk liiif!”

2 days planning and 2 hours preparing a meal which neither of us got to enjoy.  I didn’t even get to take a picture of it before I destroyed it.  We ate nothing but mashed potatoes for dinner.  Worst. Dinner. Ever. 

I am, however, going to try it again because it sounds so dammed delicious.  That chicken was an assjacket.

Damnit!! Now I'll never be the leader of my own colony!!

I asked Big Dinosaur if I could get a sword the other day and he said no.  What?!  You bought me a Benelli, pump action, 20 gauge shotgun (named Black Betty) and a Taurus .45 but you don’t trust me with a sword??  What about the battle axe I keep behind our bed in case of home (or space) invaders?  (Talk about breaking into the wrong house…poor bastard would lose an arm.) And it is DEFINITELY a battle axe because it has pointy parts on one side …for poking people and shit…

SEE!!  I don't make this shit up!  This photo was taken on the rug in my kitchen.

He said if I got a sword he could see me injuring myself or him with it on accident.  Pshh… Whatever!   I don’t even want a Samurai sword (yesIdotheonefromKillBill), I want a big-ass King Arthur sword.  Or maybe a Spartan sword, that would be cool too.   I mean, I could kill a person with my ninja skills too but you don’t see me going around using them do you?  Except of course when I have to jump 20 foot walls or become invisible but that doesn’t hurt anyone.

My point is, if I was going to injure someone, I could think of a hell of a lot more convenient things to use than a sword.  Like…beer bottles.  I mean, I usually have at least one or two of those within arm’s reach.  And beer bottles are a multi-use weapon; the full ones you can throw and the empty ones you can break off the ends and get all stabbish on people.   (Yes, I believe I just made that word up.  It’s like stabby, but not quite)

 

Or possibly one of the bar stools we use for kitchen chairs.   I could bludgeon someone pretty easily with one of those, but I don’t, because I’m a nice PERSON!!  And I don’t want you people thinking I’m a bad person just because I know these things.  I am a prepared person with a little thing called a Kick-Ass survival  instinct.  I think shit out.  

I support the right to arm bears!  (That's Black Betty on the far left)

Big Dinosaur does too! As a matter of fact we already had plans as to what we would do if the world ended at 6:00 yesterday.  Over off of Highway 114 there is an Academy Sports & Outdoors, we were going to take it over.  Then, we would trade guns and ammo for food with the people who take over the Wal Mart across Hwy 26.  THEN we will work as a team to take over the hospital on the other side of 114 and BAM!  We are the resistance, mo fos!!   See none of this actually went down, because it wasn’t needed but we had a plan. Basic first rule of survival: Have a PLAN.  And guns AND SWORDS!

Wow.  It's literally like I just uploaded a picture from Google Maps.  I'm getting good at this shit!!

Do you know how much easier it would be to take over all of those places and begin “The New World with Cat & Joe” if I had a sword?? (That’s what we decided we would name our new colony.  Y’all can come too!)  An ass-ton.  It would be an ass-ton easier with a sword.  Because guns are more efficient and all, but other people tend to take you a hell of a lot more seriously if you have a sword.  And Big Dinosaur doesn’t get that part, I guess.

To get back at him I have decided to bedazzle my shotgun.  I’ll let you know how it goes.