Beautiful Weather

I hope you are enjoying the beautiful weather as much as Shea is, because.....

you will never be as good looking as him!

Marley, Me, and the Tissue Box

Last night Jeff, Shea, and I were comfortable on the couch watching nothing else but Marley and Me. We were enjoying all of the silly scenes with all of the crazy things Marley does. The whole time, Marley reminded me of Shea, to a tee.

When Jeff decided to change the channel, I declared that Shea and I would be watching the remainder of the movie upstairs. Bad decision.

About ten minutes of watching, I incoherently dragged myself downstairs to collapse into Jeff's arms. I was unable to speak as I was sobbing harder than James VanDerBeek when Dawson's Creek got cancelled.

Jeff simply laughed at me until I was able to mutter, "He didn't even die yet." I just knew what was coming and couldn't handle it. 

Lucky for me, I am not much of a crier. For if I were, my quality of life would certainly drop. I woke up with an extremely stuffy nose, as I was unable to blow my it enough to keep up with my crying. I also had nice, puffy, red eyes to carry around all day. Not a good look when your cheeks already have a slight puffiness to them. 

Beautiful Singing

I missed summer school on Thursday due to a doctor's appointment. In the rush of the end of the school day, I forgot to warn the students that I wouldn't be there. Most people may wonder why I would even bother, but there is always good reason.

First thing yesterday morning, "Mrs. G, are you ok? How are you feeling?" The very sensitive 9 years old in my class were very concerned. I explained that I just had to go to the doctor's to check on the baby.

At the end of the (half) day, I was speaking to a parent. The first thing the parent asked about was how I was feeling. She was concerned, as well, about my absence, as her daughter had told her I was out the previous day. Once I told her that everything was perfectly fine, she continued to tell me how much her daughter is enjoying the summer program. She has come home everyday with a big smile on her face except for yesterday. She was particularly sad yesterday due to my absence. Probably because I am a great teacher, right? Actually, she was upset by the fact that the sub in the room would not sing to the class.

I started laughing for two reasons in particular. One, I have did not realize that I sing so much during school that the kids take it as a regular thing. And two, I have a horrid singing voice. Imagine all those people who try out for American Idol during the first few episodes, and my awfulness would blow them out of the water. I simply told this lovely mother that the singing is not good singing. Apparently that doesn't matter, the kids like it anyways. 

My mother has always told me that babies like to be sung to no matter what your voice sounds like. They don't care if it's bad. Lucky for this little monkey I've been carrying around for eight months now, I love to sing! I'm not good at it, but I love to do it. 

Only problem, the only lullaby I know starts out, "Go smoke a Coca-Cola, drink a Camel cigarette...." 

Dickydoo

I noticed that all of a sudden, if I were a man, I would be have a dickydoo. If you don't know what a dickydoo is, here is the definition on one of my favorite sites: Urban Dictionary.

Not A Good Person

I have come to the conclusion that I am not a good person. This all came upon during church yesterday. I had decided to try out a new church and really hoped I would like it because of it's close proximity to our house.

Once at church though, I noticed I was the only one under the age of 70. That may be a slight exaggeration, but needless to say, it was an old school crowd. The priest, just as old school. Now, at 34 weeks pregnant, there is no real hiding the fact. I thought pregnancy would be very welcomed at church. Shined upon really. I had visions of the priest laying his hand on my belly, giving a blessing to my unborn son. Again, not the case.

In fact, I noticed some of this older population staring at me, unapprovingly, like I was a 15 year-old knocked up slut. This made me angry. Then, one man in particular, kept turning around in his pew to do what I felt was staring at me. I found myself, sitting there in church, completely ignoring the sermon, dropping d--che bags and a--holes in my head.

Once I finally calmed down, got ahold of myself, and began listening to the sermon again, I realized I was probably overreacting. This man could simply be looking for someone in the back of the church. Or maybe, his old body was betraying him and he was simply stretching his neck and back occasionally. That must have been it, right? I must have been being hyper sensitive and imagining something that wasn't really there.

That is until mass was over. The priest and his grown-men alter servers (because there were no children at mass to take on that role) proceeded down the aisle to conclude mass. That's when it happened. That's when I got the look.

The priest, all-forgiving and accepting as they are supposed to be, looked at me like he was Simon Cowell and I was the worst American Idol contestant to ever have stepped foot in front of him. So, at that point, I made two conclusions. One, I will not be returning to that particular church. Two, anytime you are dropping those d--che bag and a--hole terms while at church, you cannot be a good person.

Happy Father's Day

A happy father's day shot out to my pops. I've always felt blessed to have him as a father, but the more people I meet and the more stories I hear, the more and more thankful I become.

There were times growing up that I wished my dad weren't right there. Like when I had a little too much to drink while I was in high school. I didn't appreciate the furious yelling, getting chased around the house with a leather belt, and not being allowed to go out with my friends the following weekend. But, he was there. Now, looking back, I appreciate that he was there.

So, happy father's day, Dad. 

And also, happy last father's day not being a father to my husband. I've got a year to think of a great gift for someone who will be a great father! 

Championship Parade?

I've heard a lot over the past few days about how Lebron losing in the NBA finals is the equivalent of the Cavs winning the NBA championship. All of this, Cavs for Mavs talk; the new name of the Cleveland Maveliers. I find it all somewhat humorous, but I didn't think Cleveland would throw a championship parade. That is just ridiculous!

I don't have proof that there was a parade, but I 'm not sure what else could have turned my 20 minute drive to the downtown comedy club into a two and a half hour commute. A two and a half hour commute through downtown Cleveland, with traffic inching every which way at midnight. Not a typical evening in the city of the dead. The unexpected got me all turned around and backwards and heading in the wrong direction home. 

I was heading in such the wrong direction that the only way I knew how to get home was to drive through the second most dangerous neighborhood in all of America. I'm not even exaggerating: Check It Out....#2. I felt slightly uncomfortable as I sped down East 55th at 12:15, a white girl in a Saab with New York plates. I felt there were better, safer places I could be at the time. The baby must have even felt the tension because he was kicking up a storm. 

But, we made it out alive. I was able to relax the rest of my ride home, and nothing made me feel better than pulling into the driveway and seeing my Shea Boy's face in the back window. Home at last! 

Classy Wal-Mart

Jeff is heading to NYC tomorrow. Before he can leave, he needed a few essential care items for tomorrow. Things including deodorant, tooth paste, and some new tighty whities. So, the best place to go for those things is Wal-Mart.

The closest Wal-Mart, is not your average Wal-Mart. Nope, not average at all. In fact, it is well below average. Possibly the dirtiest, trashiest Wal-Mart in all of America. I'm not even exaggerating. But, we knew they would have the goods we needed and it would be a quick trip, so we put on our face masks to protect from whatever airborne illnesses must be floating around and heading in.

Jeff, stuck out like a sore thumb on this visit. He had just returned from golfing and, as he pointed out, his golf shirt even matched his sneakers. The classless people at this Wal-Mart dress somewhat differently.

Me, on the other hand, fit in quite well. I had just been playing outside with my buddy Shea and pulling weeds from the back garden. I had some dirt smears on my over-sized grey sweats. I even had dirt in my nails to add to the overall Wal-Mart appeal.

I felt at home here today. Like I was among my own people. Especially when I ran into the only other white person in the store...

Shut Up!

I learned quite a while ago not to say disrespectful things, even jokingly, to authority figures. That goes for bosses, like today, and coaches, like when I originally learned this.

Back in my freshman year of college, I had gotten caught up in a drill. My coach made a call that I didn't agree with, and in a joking manner, I shouted at her, "Are you f-ing kidding me?" I said it with half a smile on my face. My smile dissipated when she told me to get out of practice.

Most people may have relished in the early dismissal from practice. That of course meant less sprints. However, I am not the average person. I was pissed. I wanted to practice. Plus, I was just joking around. 

After practice was over, I spoke to Coach. She knew I was just joking around, but at the same time, she felt she needed to make an example of me. She needed everyone to see that it was not ok to speak to her disrespectfully. I guess I understood. At least I felt special because I was the first person ever kicked out of practice. Pretty impressive, right?

Anyways, since that day, I have been a little more conscious of what I say to authority figures, whether I am joking or not. It has worked pretty well. Today, however I lost track of that self-control I had gained those years ago. 

Most people don't tell their bosses to shut up. Especially bosses that they've really only known for a few months. But, I did. And, I'm not even sure I was joking. In fact, no, I was not. I wanted her to shut up, and I told her to do exactly that. 

You see, there was a good reason for it. She was telling me all about her pregnancies, which was all fine and dandy. Then, she got into her sister and how her sister gave birth to all three of her children exactly six weeks early. Well, that triggered it! I couldn't help but tell her to shut up. I mean six weeks early? That's next week for God's sake! 

Does that look like a nursery ready for a baby? The crib is sure nice, and the paint job exquisite. Not anywhere ready for a baby in there though. Nope, no way. So until that nursery is ready, my boss ought to shut up!

Pharmaceutical Advice

My poor husband's allergies have been bothering. His eyes burning, red and bloodshot like he is a conjunctivitis victim. We decided he needed something more than the usual Clariton. Since I am a good wife, I went to the drug store to pick up some Zyrtec, a provenly stronger allergy medication.

I have always wondered why they call over the counter medicines, over the counter. You get them in the aisle and have no reason to go to the pharmacy counter. Just never made sense. Zyrtec, while no prescription is needed, has to be gotten, literally, over the counter. 

At the counter, the pharmacy clerk gave me the box of Zyrtec. I asked no questions about this medication for my husband. Call it good pharmaceutical practice, or just annoyingness, but she told me that I could not take the medication. Since I am obviously pregnant, it is not ok. 

I guess I appreciate the fact that she was looking out for the well being of my unborn child. I just like to think that I can still hide the fact that I am pregnant behind gym shorts and a t-shirt. Apparently not!

Veal, It's What's For Dinner

About two weeks ago I was talking with my mother on the phone. She informed me that my father had gotten his new car. What new car? I knew nothing about a new car.

You see, my father is the William Chung of decision making. Last time he got a new car, two years ago to be exact, it took him about seven months to decide what to get.  It was a painstaking process. By the time he made a decision about what car to get, he started debating which color. Then, just when he thought he had the color he wanted, he would change the kind of car. Like I said, painstaking.

So, you can imagine my shock when I hadn't heard anything about this new car. He simply manned up and chose a car without any input or debating. Very unlike him. 

Anyways, last night, on his way home from my cousin's house, he had a little mishap in his new car. The little calf shacked up in the barn he happened to be driving by, was unhappy being stuck in this particular barn. He did as any unhappy cow would do, and broke through the barn window and escaped. He ran out into the street just as my unexpecting father was driving past. And....he hit the little baby cow. 

The damage to my father's car is estimated at around $7,000. The baby cow broke his leg and will most likely need to be put down.

My father is a bit shaken up from the whole ordeal. So, being the supportive, mood boosting daughter that I am, I called and simply asked, "What are you having or dinner? Veal?"