Wednesday, February 16, 2005

I'm the New Jared!

I've always been great at looking thinner than I actually am. Whenever I used to complain about my weight to my friends, they'd roll their eyes at me like if I was the underfed Olsen twin. But the truth is, that my friends have all bought into the illusion that I'm smaller than I really am. The only people who know the extent of my pudginess are myself and Sweetie Pie, a.k.a. the only two people who have to see me naked on a semi-regular basis.

And so with my getting pregnant, I figured my days of disguising my gut were just about gone. No longer could I hold my breath 16 hours a day to make myself look thinner, with the thickening of my waist, I can no longer suck it in. I'm to the point where people are starting to say to me "ooooh! You're showing!" And then I have to sound snarky and tell them that's actually my natural gut, that they denied existed for so many years. But yesterday, something incredible happened. You see, this weekend, I got mad at Sweetie Pie, so I went shopping. Not really able to buy anything else, I bought myself some maternity clothes, including these very cute kind of khaki pants that have a kind of man's tie as a belt. They look very New York like and very un-Catwoman. Plus they were on sale, so I had to have them.

Well, with a meeting yesterday and no clean clothes that would make someone want to give me their business, I decided to wear the new pants. Only problem is, my gut doesn't quite fill them out enough. So I ended up spending the afternoon pulling up my pants on a regular basis. And that's when it hit me. By wearing these pants I looked anorexic! Because they were way too big for me a la Jared. So the trick to looking thinner than you are, no matter how fat or how pregnant you might be is to buy clothes that look like they are five sizes too big. I'm sure people were watching me walk up the street that day and think "oh how I wish I had her self-control. Look at how great she looks." Hopefully they didn't notice the dried chocolate in the corner of my mouth.

The other amazing thing is that the maternity wear people actually consist of smart people. You see, anyone who's ever had to buy a bridesmaid dress or even a bride's dress knows that it's the most upsetting experience of your life. You see, besides making you pay way too much for a single garment, the bridal industry also wants you to feel like absolute crap while you do it. Basically, if you're a size 6 normally, you have to buy a 10 to 12 in bridesmaid dresses. This is likely to make any woman go on a killing spree. If you're a size 10 normally, the evil bridal people make you buy a size that is so large, that they actually charge you an extra $25 for the dress. This actually happened to a good friend of mine recently, who I can assure you is nowhere near fat. Unless someone needs to wear a tent, there is never any reason to charge them more for a dress.

On the other hand, the maternity people are smart, they know they are dealing with highly hormonal women who can snap at any time. And so I have found that despite the assurances of the sales people in the stores that I should buy my pre-pregnancy size, I have found that I am actually one size smaller for everything. And so I get to go through the racks and try things on that would normally be way too small. Once again, this only makes me gleefully happy and makes me consider being pregnant for the rest of my life.

I just don't understand why the rest of the fashion world doesn't get on this bandwagon. Before my discovery of maternity clothes, I would hardly ever shop because it was a discouraging and embarrassing experience. Now, I will plop down $120 on clothes and not even blink. Isn't this in the best interest of the stores to do this for all their lines?



Tuesday, February 08, 2005

Do I Know You?

Now, those of you who either know me or have been reading this blog for a while probably feel like they know Sweetie Pie pretty well at this point. I thought the same thing, since I've been with him for six years now and been married for 2 1/2 years.

Sweetie Pie is a simple man to describe: very heterosexual, with passions for all sports, hunting and women in bikinis; meat eater and junk food lover.

That's about it. That's about all you need to know about Sweetie Pie to know that he is just your average man.

But something happened while I was in France. I'm not sure if it's aliens or if he had a stroke. I don't know if I'll ever know, to be honest with you.

You see, while I was gone, my husband has turned into a granola. There I've said it. Now there's nothing wrong with being a granola. I like to consider myself to be somewhat of one, with six months of vegetarianism in my past and a love for Greenpeace, PETA and all rebel organizations that I will forever be too chicken to even dream of joining up.

See, I'm the one who's supposed to be granola. That's my thing! Sweetie Pie and I have always been opposites. That's what made us so endearing. That's what made people chuckle, shake their heads and think our marriage wouldn't last six months. So now that he's gone and freaking changed on me, we have no identity as a couple. I mean absolutely none. This could be the end of the world.

But let me rewind for a second here and explain exactly what happened and what led to our demise as a couple. You see, when I found out I was pregnant, I switched grocery stores and began buying only organic veggies and fruits and grain-fed, free range beef and chicken. I began doing all this shopping at Whole Foods, the capital of granola world. It's the most unbelievable shopping experience and any of you who don't have one within 30 minutes of you need to write to Whole Foods and plead with them to open your eyes to a better life.

Well, the thing with organic foods is that it's more expensive than regular food. But I didn't care. Only the best for my unborn child. I hid the receipts from Sweetie Pie and everything was fine. After a couple of weeks of going to Whole Foods, Sweetie Pie asked about going with me to see what I was so obsessed with. I accepted to share my haven with him. I know, very generous of me.

Well, little did I know what I began that day. You see, while I was gone, Sweetie Pie began making trips every other day to Whole Foods (a 25-minute drive from our house I should tell you) to buy organic milk and organic raisin bran.

I'm not making this up. He thinks he's found the greatest food on Earth. And it was made by people who probably cry at the sheer mention of the name George W. Of course, I didn't share this thought with my conservative husband.

I guess I should be happy that I now have carte blanche to keep shopping at Whole Foods, but I continue to be perturbed by this. I always do things behind Sweetie Pie's back. That's our relationship. I spend money, he doesn't know about it, eventually he finds out and gets pissed and we move on. If he's ok with it, where the heck is the fun in shopping at Whole Foods?



Monday, February 07, 2005

People Suck...

You know, just when I think the world can't get any more pathetic, I read this.

They were cookies you freak show of an old woman! Suing those girls? You should have just choked to death on one of those cookies and made the world a better place.



I Feel Pissy, Oh So Pissy...

Those of you who read this blog regularly know that many things make me upset. I am an emotionally unstable person whose rage can be set off with the most innocuous comment. I admit this myself. I must say that I can be quite trigger-happy with the mood swings, but at the end of the day, the world has no one to blame for pissing me off then themselves.

Take for example the little man at McDonald's at Terminal C of Washington Dulles airport. He is looking to piss me off. He is looking for me to break his neck in half and suck the bone marrow out of his scrawny little throat. You see, some of you who regularly read this blog probably think that I flaked out again during the past 10 days and didn't blog. But the truth is that I was actually in France after being told that my grandfather, who had been fighting prostate cancer for four years, only had a few days to live. I bought a ticket for the next day and hoped I would make it there in time to say goodbye. Although this isn't funny in any way and I'm sorry to be a downer, I didn't make it in time.

So anyway, the point of the story is that I'm pregnant, therefore even more volatile than usual. My grandfather has just passed away. I'm sleep deprived and jet lagged because the last 10 days have just been horrid. And I've just spent a 7 hour flight in the middle seat of a Boeing 777, a.k.a. with two people on each side of me, the two surrounding me not understanding the concept of personal space and constantly attacking the armrests with their elbows, purses, un-shoed feet, etc.

In other words, enough to cause anyone to sob.

So I get to Washington and I have a two-hour wait before my flight home. And all I want is a happy meal with a small coke, despite the fact that I know that it's not good for my baby. I figure many of my friends with children had a coke a day habit and all of their babies turned out ok, so what's one child sized coke once in nine months, right? So I stand in line at Mickey D's for 10 minutes and when it gets to be my turn, I place this very simple order: a hamburger happy meal, no pickles, with a coke and a toddler toy (so that I can have toys for when baby is born) with an order of the apple dippers. I'm charged $4.93 for this, which I have no problems with paying. This is what I get. A coke, a hamburger and apple dippers. I tell the man who speaks no English that this isn't right, that I'm missing my fries. He tells me "you get apple dippers." I tell him that I wanted the apple dippers as a dessert, not as my side, that I ordered them on top of the happy meal. He tells me that I didn't pay for them.

At this point, I'm beyond pissed. A happy meal is $2.99. You charge me $4.93 and tell me that I didn't pay for my freaking apple dippers???? Little man tells me that was for the coke. BUT A COKE COMES WITH IT I reply at this point beyond a whole new level of rage. Oh, he answers, I thought you ordered coke on top of happy meal.

WHO THE HELL DOES THAT I think to myself? Who the hell orders a meal and then asks for an extra coke? This especially doesn't make sense when I wasn't served my kid-sized coke to start with. He finally relents and gives me my fries, telling me again that I didn't pay for them. Basically accusing me of robbing him of this kid-sized order of fries that probably costs all of 10 cents to make in front of all of the other customers. At this point, visions of giving birth to my child in a maximum security prison are dancing in my head.

I finally walk away, fries and apple dippers firmly in my grip. I won, I think to myself. I actually got pissed and won.

Alas, the joke was on me, because I walked 15 minutes to my next gate and sat down to enjoy my puny meal. As I uncover the hamburger, I discover that my no pickle request was not understood and a nasty ass pickle is smiling at me, mocking me and my mounting nausea.

After disgustingly throwing the pickle across the terminal and thereby taking out an innocent elderly lady sitting at another gate with the sheer violence of the flick of my wrist, I ate my burger embedded with pickle juice. I inhale my fries, which weren't cooked enough might I add, I guess when you're robbing people of French fries, they don't have time to finish the cooking process. They were however coated with enough salt for me to start my own mine.

I then turn to my apple dippers and realize that I only have... an apple. No freaking dip. Who the hell buys an apple dipper for the apple???? I buy it for the caramel that adds absolutely no nutritional value to the meal.

To add insult to injury, I didn't even get a toy with my kids' meal. That's right. No dipper, no toy. I was punished severely by some foreign man who can't speak enough English to take an order at McDonald's at one of the largest US airports for getting pissy.

Enough to say I'm writing a letter to McDonald's. I'm not even kidding about this. I really am. That man has pissed off the wrong person in the wrong state of pissiness. He must be punished.