La Dolce Vita

what i want

2010-04-05T23:18:00.003-05:00

It's been seriously way to long since I've written on this thing. It's pretty much over.

I'm not even quite sure what the motivation is behind me writing right now anyway. This used to be my place to vent, let loose, and let it all be exposed. Then i think I let people in... the real me.

Not the Dolce part, but the "hi, my name is XXX" part. Bloggers become friends and before you know it, there's no longer animosity. I'm not really sure I care regardless.

You know what's on my mind?

Fucking.

I've been to scared of writing on this blog because I'm reluctant to talk about my life because it seems all too consumed with entertaining (duh, it's a blog) and more concerned with how it comes across (me changed and now a mom, blah, blah, blah) that I've completely failed to be true to myself.

And not just the blog.

In life.

I've failed my self in life.

I've put myself lower on my own fucking priority list. Of course, the people who I care about are going to do the same thing!

What the hell was I expecting???

Where am I on the priority list?

It isn't number one. That's for damn sure. I don't even know if i'm in the top three.

I wish I was joking. But truthfully, I might now be in my own top three. I fucking accommodate too much! I try and make everyone else have lovey feelings for themselves before myself. I fucking sacrifice EVERYTHING for the happiness of others.

You know what I get in return at the times when I do stand up for what I want or just go ahead and do what I want to do?

Backlash and a crushing bag guilt laid over me. I'm tired of it.

I'm just fucking tired...

I am NOT a selfish person. Fuck, i'm not even shallow in real life. I give money to charity, go to church, work full time, mother a child, wife to a husband, cook dinner, do laundry, bread winner, and a hot piece of ass.

I am tired of putting myself on the back burner. I am exhausted of thinking that if I put everyone else's needs before mine, that it will somehow come back to me. I keep thinking the better I am to you, the more I give you, the better you will want to treat me.

I am tired of thinking that because you are a good person that you don't do things that are wrong.

YOU DO.

I am tired of my parents being all fucking flaky and non committal. YOU made the decisions. You ASKED me to do this for you. Don't flake out on me! I don't deserve it. Next time, I'm going to tell you to go to hell. I'm not going to be "nice". I don't care that you're my parents. You falling through on me, doesn't help me. And frankly, i'm an adult with my own family. It'd be nice to have you in my family, but at this point, your guilt and "wanting to spend more time with me" needs to start with you committing the time you've already agreed to.

Work. I don't enjoy starting over from scratch. Where's the fun in that? Its hard work for literally pennies of what I used to make. PENNIES. I don't want to work this hard and i'm never going to let work be a priority before myself again.

And do you know what I really want?

I want to be fucked.

I don't want sex.

I sure as hell don't think there is any love involved in what some idiots refer to as "love making". I want to be taken to a rent by the hour hotel room. I want to ride your ginormous penis like a midget at a donkey show. I want you to devour me like Christmas morning. I want you to want me more than air. I want it to hurt. I want it for one night like it was the last night.

I don't want to be able to walk in the morning.

I think about it.

All the time.

Out of sight. Out of mind.

2010-02-21T15:13:00.007-06:00

It's incredible what a few months can do to change some one's life. The past seven months have turned my world completely upside down.

For starters, my life is now...boring.

Okay, its not real life boring, it's Blog-Boring. There is NO WAY in the world my life is at all blog worthy anymore.

I can't remember the last time someone peed on my face...or my coffee table. Or the time when I fell off my bike drunk...wearing a dress...with no underwear...in front of a wine bar...window...crowded with people.

Or the last time I went out and actually socialized with people my own age and the night leading to me doing inappropriate things with my friend's boobs.

I think you all understand what I'm saying.

Regardless, a TON has changed.

Somethings you know about. Tiger is almost 7 months old.

Yeah, SEVEN months. The little dude is crawling!

He can only go in reverse, but he's still getting around.

AND...

I GOT A NEW JOB!

A GOOD job!

I quit the old company two weeks before Christmas. It felt so fucking good to leave. You have no idea. I liked my immediate boss a lot, but she was the only one of my authorities I actually enjoyed being around. I miss two of my co-workers and Emily's crazy ass stories.

Because I finally can...here is a picture of Emily. You are going to lose your shit!

Admit it. You thought I was fucking screwing with you when I told you stories about Emily.

Hahaha... Not so much, right?

It's god damn priceless. I almost miss her money green car. And the stories of her getting pulled over in it.

Beautiful.

Anyway, I have a new job that would never ever hire someone like Emily. They administer background checks and drug testing. I'm pretty sure drug dealing is also against company policy.

Yet, I do sometimes miss the drama. I turned in Emily for a new co-worker who is sweet, beautiful, and good hearted. So good hearted that her sister is currently working in Israel to save Jews (convert them to Christianity) and help them find heaven (make sure they are not eternally damned to Hell for not believing in the baby Jesus). Ironically, Jews don't believe in Hell.

Damnit.

It's late.

8:32pm.

I suck.

Seriously.

That's what getting up at 5:30am every morning will do to a person.

It will make them old and fucking boring.

I might have more to share. Tiger is going to the babysitters (read: Grandma & Grandpa) all night Saturday. Bad decisions might be mad.

Resulting in me hating life and myself Sunday.

letting is all out

2009-12-18T13:00:00.002-06:00

Three more days of this place... I'm just going to let it all out. There is only one person in the world who knows me in real life (with the exception of PH) and also reads this blog. She happens to be my coworker. And although she would provide a great main character to some of the shenanigans that go on here, I'll refrain from getting her involved.

With that being said, I'm not hold back anything. Including the stuff she doesn't know about.

So let's start with the most insane story I have ever witnessed in my life. This is going to be choppy...so bare with me.

Emily.

I talked about her before, but just to freshen up: Emily has/had a boyfriend whose nickname is one of the colors in the rainbow. He showed up at my office a year ago with a gun looking for Emily. She stole her car back (a car he lovingly painted "money green") when she decided she didn't want to continue dating him.

Even though they have two kids together...would have been three if she didn't decided to terminate the pregnancy because at the time she was mad at him.

I kid you not. I'm all about choices...Emily just never makes a good one.

This is honestly the worst story she ever told me in my life.

Seriously.

If you don't remember, Emily is a trust fund baby. She has money put into her account every month. If she was smart about her money there would be no reason for her to work. Unfortunately, she spends EVERY SINGLE DIME on clothes, her hair, nails, more clothes, her kid's clothes... she has bragged about the fact that she hasn't done laundry for 6 weeks and everyone still has clean clothes to wear.

She's also a suburban raised white girl who is the most ghetto fabulous woman I have ever met. Just this week she got yelled at my a black woman at McDonald's calling Emily "Hood".

Damnit...I'm getting off topic.

Okay. Back to story.

One day Emily walks into the office late...like an hour and a half late. She stops into her boss' office and said "Something happened last night with my son at the park. I had to talk to the school counselor this morning. If he needs me, I have to leave early today."

So of course, we all jump to our worst conclusions... Fight in the park between two adults, saw a robbery, he got mugged, he got assaulted... a million different scenarios when through our minds.

A week later, it's just me and Emily working late. But I'm talking to her when her phone rings. She answers and starts screaming some shit over the phone to someone about how "she ain't trusting dat bitch no more" and a going on a fucking tangent. She slams the phone and says, "I was fucking set up by that bitch and she keeps trying to fucking call me."

I'm staring at her blank faced wondering if I really want to know what is going on or would prefer not know. Emily answers this for me.

She continues her tangent about how 6 years ago she used to be dealer.

Yeah. Trust fund little princess is dealing weed. She stopped when she started dating her gun toting boyfriend because he sold enough for both of them and he didn't want his babies' mama dealing anymore. But her other child's godfather called her weeks prior wondering if she had any connections to score weed. Apparently he had 70 lbs of weed (pre-paid for) confiscated on a truck en route to him. Out of tens of thousands of dollars (how much is weed?) he was trying to get some from another dealer to make up his lost money.

So, Emily volunteered to call a few old friends and find out if they could help her out. Of course she has a "friend" who has about 50 lbs of weed he wants to get rid of. So she sets up a time for her baby's godfather to meet with the dudes.

BUT

Emily is going too.

Emily and the godfather drive down to one of the most dangerous places in the city to arrange this drug deal. She's sitting in the car watching the godfather and her friend of a friend negotiate the deal.

While Emily is telling me this story she is fighting in her seat. I can't tell at this point if she's lying to or debating telling me the truth.

As she's watching the deal go down, she notices immediately that the godfather is starting to get tense...the conversation is getting tense and he's slowly backing away toward the car until he makes takes off in a dead sprint for the car. Emily sees 5 dudes pull out guns.

He screams, "HIT THE FUCKING GAS!!!" as he jumps into the car.

They started shooting immediately at the car!!!

Emily races off to avoid getting shot. She still has bullet holes in her car. In the back fender and in the back passenger side door.

The worst part of this story... I mean the very WORST part of the story is that her 1 year old daughter and 11 year old son were in the backseat.

Emily brought two of her three children to a fucking DRUG DEAL!

THEN

GOT THEM SHOT AT!!!

And do you want to know why? Because her child's godfather promised to pay her $1000 if she it up and came along.

This woman, who has hundreds of thousands of dollars hidden away in a trust fund, exposed her kids to a drug deal and them got them shot at for $1000.

I shake my head in regret and sympathy for her children. What a terrible mother.

Don't touch the boob bag

2009-12-16T11:11:00.003-06:00

I have fucking amazing news!!!

I GOT A NEW JOB!!!

Yes, if you are wondering how I got a new job in this economy, it is because I am a fucking rock star.

Yeah, I am. I can rock an interview like you couldn't imagine. But enough of me blowing my own horn (why does that sound dirty?).

Even MORE exciting, is now that I'm no longer going to be working for this fucked up racket of a job, I can finally...and seriously, I mean finally reveal all of the fucking craziness I have experienced here in the last three years.

The stories I have to share are unbelievable. Honestly, unless it was me, I wouldn't believe them they are so fucking far fetched.

Case in point:

Yesterday -if you didn't know this I'm a breastfeeding mom. Love it. Anyway, yesterday I had finished pumping the girls and placed all the accessories in a steam bag to be cleaned. When I opened my office door on the way to the bathroom my VP of sales casually walked into my office to small talk.

He saw me place the bag on my desk, He leaned over and proceeded to open up my breastpump accessory bag asking, "Oh, what's in this? Popcorn?"

FUCKING POPCORN??? DO YOU SMELL POPCORN YOU FUCKING WEIRDO???

Immediately embarrassed I rip the the breast pump bag out of his greedy smoke smelling hands, give him an shocked and sceptical look and exclaimed, "That bag is not for you".

Nearly falling over backwards, dumbfounded and embarrassed, (the dude looked like a cartoon character who was just hit in the face with an cast iron frying pan) my VP flushes red and apologizes profusely for going through my bad...which was on my DESK, while he tries to explain himself.

"I thought it was a popcorn bag. Popcorn!"

My response to my (soon to be VP of Sales)?

"Well, that will teach you not to go through a person's desk." As I roll my eyes and glare.

Idiot.

Rockin a Gaga

2009-11-06T09:27:00.009-06:00

For the last week I've been sending out resumes. I kind of feel Monster.com and CareerBuilder are a lost cause, but I'm starting to think I have a kick ass resume because I've got TWO interviews coming up.

T.W.O.

I'm a rock star right now.

I'm not going to go as far to say these are dream jobs, maybe not even the best choices for a career, but jobs. In my field. Which I think at this point with the company closing and all is good enough for the time being.

One of them is actually a part-time sales job...I would be an independent rep (which is fine because all of my health benefits are covered by PH anyway), create my own hours (a plus so I can hang out with my Tiger more), BUT it's less money. 50% less to be exact...HOWEVER...my life has a different set of priorities than it used to. I can't believe I'm saying this, but making less money, but having a higher quality of life (not traveling, more time with Tiger) is worth it to me. I believe it's a fair trade off.

If, however, the part time opportunity is really a waste of time and I won't be making shit for my efforts, and I have to get a full time job, I want it to be a good career move, not just another job.

And we all know the difference between a career and a job.

I've put some long hours in trying to decide what would be the best move for me. Here are some of the options I've come up with:

Chef
Pros
Doing something I love
Get to buy kick ass knives
Excuse to eat all day
necessary visits to local farmers markets

Cons
No experience
no schooling
All nights and weekend
possibility of losing a finger with said knives

Secret Agent

Pros
Make LOTS of money
Have the ability to kill someone with my bare hands
Kick ass weapons
International travel

Cons
work nights
constant lying
guilty conscience

IT Person

Pros
High demand job
solid pay
reasonable hours
spy on other employees Internet use
stare at all the online porn I can imagine without worry about getting caught

Cons
Don't speak java developer, SAP, Oracle, .Net, CSS, etc...
Don't speak Hindi
I'm not a Mac or a PC
no patience for stupid people

Professional Blogger

Pros
Already have a blog with domain name and everything

Cons
Um...that means I would actually have to blog again.

Ugh! I hate looking for a new job. At least I can rock a Lady Gaga.

Maybe she'll hire me as a double.

**which could fit in the category of Spy...maybe secret agent.

Should I stay or should I go now?

2009-10-20T15:42:00.002-05:00

I promised myself I would let life go back to normal.

Too bad I don't really know what normal is anymore. Getting up at 6am just to leave the house by 7:45am is a huge fucking adjustment. I used to look all glamorous in 30 minutes (including shower) and now I swear to god it takes 3 damn hours.

Anyway, not the purpose of my post.

I digress.

Alright, let's start from the beginning. If you've ever read my blog before you know I'm not a huge fan of my job. I used to have a boss I couldn't stand (got new boss all is good), but I work with in a circus run by a group of fucking monkeys. It used to surprise me on a daily basis how this organization could stay afloat with the idiots they hired (myself, exempt) and the dumb ass decisions they make.

Well, it is finally catching up with them.

After a very long meeting yesterday I have come to a realization that the business I work for is very likely to shut it's doors in January.

With this said, it is not necessarily the result of idiot employees or dumb ass decisions. I can safely say this economy has fucked us in the ass. Harder than Vito Spatafore.

It's not a done deal. As a company we're pulling together to hit our end of the year goals and keep the company going, but it's SO uncertain. If the doors do stay open they'll let go of 3/4 of the office. I don't think I'll be one of the people to be let go because I'm a commission sales rep with no benefits. I don't cost the company money.

On the flip side, I won't make very much money being commission only. I'm making HALF of what I did last year. HALF. I took a 50% pay cut because of this economy. Anyone in their right mind would have left already but keep in mind I was knocked up all year and the job market isn't necessarily desperate trying to hire people right now.

In my mind I have until January to find a new job...if we go under.

Would you stay, or would you go?

Boobs are vengeful [not so] little f*ckers

2009-09-25T09:14:00.007-05:00

I love my boobs.

Wait...

I should say I loved my boobs.

If I could show them off like those grass skirt women in 1970's National Geographic photos I would say they were my favorite feature. My boobs were PERFECT.

Round
the same size
proportionately correct to my body size
ideal nipple to breast ratio

You get what I'm saying, right?

Well, now...hhmm...the best way to describe this.

My life is completely ruled by my boobs. They have become the most high maintenance pain the in ass I have ever had to deal with in my life. When I was knocked up my body belonged to the fetus.

Now, my body belongs to my boobs.

PAIN.IN.MY.ASS.

I have to wear a bra during sexy time just in case they might explode.

No, I have to wear a bra ALL.THE.TIME. even to bed!

They have the be drained several times a day in order for me to maintain comfort and clean shirts.

They are swollen up like balloons every morning and I look like I should have my on spread in Playboy. (okay, that doesn't sound so bad but it's hurts).

Wearing nursing pads everyday is more important than wearing deoderant (i do practice deoderant).

And what makes this even worse, is they knooooooow I hate them.

So what do they do?

They fuck me over. They go out.of.their.way to screw with me. I think my boobs get together every morning and think of hateful ways to make me want to break down into an ugly cry.

What everyone fails to mention to you once you have a kid and decide to breastfeed is that your boobs are like over-excited cheerleaders. They've been dormant for the length of their existence and all of a sudden they get the green light to go live.

And boy, do they go live.

I swear my boobs were on a mission to try and feed a small village. Actually, I should take a picture of all the frozen milk I have in my freezer. I think I could seriously feed a family in Africa.

12 days after I had Tiger I was already too small for maternity clothes (thank, God!) but not back into my normal size 6 (BOO!). So, I did the only logical thing I could think of: go shopping. I just wanted a pair of cheap jeans and a skirt I could wear for the next couple of weeks until I was back into my old clothes.

I didn't want to spend a lot of money so I decided to run into Old Navy for jeans and a cute skirt. Just something to tide me over. I started grabbing jeans in various sizes and trying them on. I walked into the changing room wearing a tank top on maternity shorts and I immediately noticed the nursing pads I had shoved into my bra where making my boobs look like they were stuffed with newspaper.

Embarrassed by the crinkly boobs I quickly yanked the fuckers out and stuffed them into my purse. With no baby near me I was positive my boobs wouldn't let loose.

(FYI: baby cries = boobs turn "on")

I continued walking fruitlessly around the store for what felt like forever when I caught this woman pushing her baby in a stroller staring at me and giving me dirty look. Without hesitation I wanted to slap her in the face and say, "I know I look like hell, but I'm sure I look better than you 12 days after giving birth".

My self esteem already plummeted trying on jeans which were 2 sizes bigger than my pre-pregger size and then I was getting dirty looks from people in the store.

As I was grabbing the last pair of jeans I was going to try on...I saw it.

Both of my boobs were leaking through my tank top all the way down to my BELLY BUTTON!!!

With ninja like reflexes I dove into my purse to find the damn nursing pads I had stuffed in there 20 minutes prior. I was positive some sales associate was going to stop me leaving the store for shoplifting because I was hiding in a sales rack shoving stuff down my shirt.

I was like cartoon character shaking my head from side to side trying to determine if I buy the jeans or leave the store. Imagine me standing in the store and physically turning in my head, fast, side to side from the check out counter to the exit. Finally, after about 20 seconds of this going on I decided it wasn't worth having to come back to the store for the pants!

I slung my bag across my chest like an idiot to hide by boobs' vengeful display and headed to the register.

Three minutes later I was safely hidden away in my car.

I held it together...I didn't ugly cry.

I won that battle, but unfortunately I'm losing the war.

On the upside, Wednesday Tiger turned two months old and I weighted 3 lbs less than I did before I got pregnant.

Incase you were wondering, no, I'm not human.

e·mer·gence

2009-09-23T10:07:00.003-05:00

I can't even begin to tell you how long I have been staring at this blank screen.

Or how many times I've sat down in front of the computer with a million ideas for posts and have written nothing.

Well, if you keep up, you already know the lack of writing taking place in the Dolce world.

It's not for lack of material, trust me.

I have a treasure chest of goodies.

It's not from lack of time; nap time is a wonderful thing.

It's the cocoon I have chosen to live inside for the past several weeks. The four corners of my house I have decided to devote the majority of my attention.

Unfortunately, the real world stops for no one.

This week is my first week back to work after having Tiger and since I have re-entered the real world I might as well go all the way and emerge back into the blogsphere.

Hello, old friends.

Meet the Cupcake

2009-07-30T13:26:00.020-05:00

Just like Mufasa presenting Simba for the first time high on the mountains for all his followers to see, here I present is my little cupcake. I never do this, but I felt for the special occasion instead of writing out all the gory details...and yes, they are gory, I will present them to the Internet and freaders.

Getting hooked up to the monitors.

Yeah, still smiling, however that changed pretty quickly. Pitocin is absolutely hell. Within 3 hours I was having contractions one on top of the other one. Most people who go into labor naturally say contractions are like REALLY BAD menstrual cramps. Well, chemically induced contractions feels like your uterus is possessed and is trying to kill you from the inside out. Because I wanted a natural child birth I refused drugs, up until ~~Lucifer~~ the doctor tried to break my water.

Okay, breaking of water doesn't sound like it should be that bad, but this jackass resident went into my girly bits with a fucking pitch fork trying to break the damn thing until he decided it was already broken. I swear to God the it was so freaking gory it looked like Texas Chainsaw Massacre of my vag. It was horrible. At this point I decided getting chemically induced wasn't natural anyway and that an epidural was absolutely mandatory.

Two hours and one push later, my little cupcake.

5 seconds old.

It's amazing how much love you have for someone once you become a parent. The love is instantaneous and nothing in the world will ever be able to break it. It's already been a week since I had him and I love him more already.

PH holding cupcake for the first time ever!

Me and my little man

Chilling in the hospital.

PH and his Mini-Me.

Leaving the hospital.

Playing at home.

My little man, Thomas Logan.

From here on out I will lovingly refer to him as Tiger. While I do love the name cupcake, it's only fair I refer to him with a name that will not get him confused with...Hhmm...I don't know, a girl.

Last night I celebrated his birth with one of these:

I haven't had one of these hit my lips since November 2nd, 2008. Sweet Jesus, there is a heaven!!!

Winners of the giveaway will be announced...soon.

Eviction Notice

2009-07-20T13:06:00.002-05:00

The little guy is still in there!!!

I have done EVERYTHING humanly possible to get this guy out and NOTHING has worked. I even increased the sex to twice a day to get this bad boy out of there.

PH has been uncharacteristically patient with this delay...even for him.

Jen - I don't think I can do the caster oil. Inducing myself through drinking oil is gross enough, but the thought of inducing diarrhea (I just shuttered) as well makes me think being pregnant for a couple more days won't be that bad.

So today the doctor gave cupcake his eviction notice: Thursday July 23rd.

Day 6 Top 10

2009-07-16T11:02:00.003-05:00

I'm going to start charging this little guy rent.

Don't think I'm joking!!!

I'm serious as a heart attack. 6 days past due is LOOOOOOOOOOOONG enough.

Mama needs a glass of wine.

She also needs to be able to see her vag again. She misses her.

Since I thought I would no longer be knocked up right now I've had a lot of ~~sober~~ time to think about all the things I want to do after I'm no longer gestating.

Top 10 Things To Do After I Have a Baby

10. WINE! Red, dry, robust, delicious, red wine. Please feel free to send me a bottle of your favorite kind.

9. Get a Brazilian. Razors are overrated!

8. Buy several deep plunging neckline tops to show off the newly voluptuous ta-tas.

7. Workout non-stop to look like fucking supermodel M.I.L.F. in said tops.

6. Enjoy being at home.

5. Wear a bikini again (seriously, I have high expectations of what I'm going to look like after the baby. Personal trainer is already booked).

4. Be the second drunkest person at my SIL's bachelorette party (second only to the bride to be)...this is one month after cupcake. I'm not that irresponsible.

3. Enjoy 8 solid weeks of pretending I'm unemployed and getting ~~barely~~ paid for it.

2. Spend as much time as possible with PH before he starts school again.

1. Have sex in non doggy-style position.

I wish my worst fears were lions, tigers, & bears

2009-07-15T10:10:00.002-05:00

I've been having a lot of nightmares lately. These dreams stun to me wake at night in a panic, wet with sweat. I'm not sleeping very well to begin with and it disturbs me that the little sleep I am getting is being violated by unnecessary dreaming.

The nightmares are of my worst fears.

For the last couple of months I've been reading the blog Matt, Liz, and Madeline. A coworker and fellow blogger got me hooked. Matt and wife had a baby, Madeline, and Liz died about 24 hours after her birth from complications related to a c-section (I think it was a blood clot, I'm not sure). Anyway, the first time I read his blog I cried...ugly cried. Matt has been an exemplary father...the best any child could ask for.

I often dream that I die during delivery. It scares me white. I'm not so much scared of my life ending, it's the fear of leaving PH alone, missing out on raising our son, and knowing the heartache it would cause. It's selfish to think he wouldn't be okay without me because PH can persevere though anything. In the brink of life it's tragic to have it accompanied by death.

An acquaintance of mine (C) in Payton Place and I were hanging out on the Fourth of July. C is gorgeous, mid-thirties, and for the year that I've known her (I see her out quite a bit) I have never seen her with the same dude twice. I just thought she was a recently divorced women having fun. As we were talking the topic of children came up (hhmm...I wonder why that happens) and she was talking about picking out names and how much easier it was choosing her son's name than her daughter. Finally she refers to her son's dad as "my late husband".

I felt so stupid and slightly ashamed automatically believing this woman was divorced. As we sat there she tells me the story of how her husband was killed when she was 7 weeks pregnant; they had just found out the week before they were having a second baby. A robber came into her husband's place of work to burglarize the place and shot him in the process. I was heartbroken for her listening to the story then her 4 year old son comes walking down the stair looking for a drink of water. I stared at him for a second and thought about how he would never meet or know his dad.

That's my second nightmare in the night, but it's by far the worst. I dream of PH dying in car crashes, getting shot by a crazy student of his at school, brain aneurysms, cancer, you name it. I dream of him dying every way a person can die. It leaves me breathless. While I know deep down in the pit of my stomach that PH would be fine without me, I'm not nearly as certain as my own survival without him. It sounds pathetic...I know this, but maybe that's why I fear it so incredibly much.

I recognize these are just crazy pregnancy dreams, but they still haunt me. They haunt me because they can become true.

Jeez...I just need this kid out so I can focus on something else. The suspense is freaking KILLING me. I think at least half of the people who submitted dates of the expected babe are still in the running. If I could put a guess in, I'd say the 24th. Scary, huh?

Alright, tomorrow I won't talk about death. I'll talk about my friend's clinical week in the city for Free STD testing week! Those stories are priceless.

Leave me alone or else I'm going to pour my decaf all over you and hope you melt like the wicked witch of the west

2009-07-14T08:50:00.005-05:00

7/14/09 8:19am

Coworker1: Why are you still here???

Dolce: Because I'm still pregnant.

Coworker1: (smiles and cocks head to the side) He just doesn't want to come out, does he?

Dolce: Apparently not.

7/14/09 8:23am

Coworker2: Oh! You're still here!

Dolce: (trying to maintain composure) Yep.

Coworker2: I thought for sure we wouldn't be seeing you for awhile.

Dolce: Nope. I'm here. Probably will be for the rest of the week.

Coworker2: He just likes it in there.

Dolce: (inner monologue - I totally want to fucking punch you in the face. Do you think I want to be HERE???) Yep.

7/14/09 8:44am

Coworker3: You went to the doctor yesterday and nothing?

Dolce: (Remain calm. Breathe.) Nothing.

Coworker3: Nothing? How can that be?

Dolce: I don't know.

Coworker3: He just likes it in there.

Dolce: Apparently.

7/14/09 8:46am

Coworker4: (pops head into my office) Oh, you're still here!

Dolce: MMmHmmm.

Coworker4: Okay (walks away).

Dolce: SLDKKJFSDLKUOWLSDKJFOSINEROHGFHORTFGNORTHFGOI!!!!!!!!

7/14/09 8:50am

Coworker5: So, how's the baby doing?

Dolce: The doctor said yesterday he's perfect!

Coworker5: So, he's just wants to hang out in there?

Dolce: (tries to hide rolling eyes) Yep.

Coworker: Well, at least you look good.

Dolce: That's the best thing I've heard all day.

**Does anyone have a motorcycle I can borrow???**

Last Chance!!!

2009-07-13T07:00:00.000-05:00

If you haven't submitted your guesses yet for Dolce's Sweetest Blog Giveaway today is your last chance. All comments submitted after 5pm central time today will not be eligible to participate.

Now, don't let me lead you astray...I may have had the baby...I may have not.

Aren't Blogger's scheduled posts the best???

Click here to submit your comment.

If you're interested.

If not...BOO!!!

Dolce's Sweetest Blog Giveaway Contest

2009-07-10T09:22:00.007-05:00

For the first time ever I am going to host a blogger giveaway contest:

Dolce's Sweetest Blog Giveaway

So, if you've read my blog before, you know I'm having a baby...Soon. Because we are all anxiously waiting for the lil' cupcake to arrive (okay, I know it's just me) the contest is about the little of 3 Ps. (pee, puke, & poop). Today is the expected due date. Considering that I am writing this blog pretty much means I'm not in labor.

Here's how the contest is going to go:

In the comments guess what day the little guy arrives, how much you think he's going to weight, and how long he'll be. The lucky winners will receive one of the following:

Dolce t-shirt (fitted for the girls) - Has the Dolce blog banner on the front and cupcake on the back.

Dolce Tote bag - Organic cotton with cupcake on the front (men, I'll put a skull and cross bones on it for you!) It will look like this:

$30 Gift certificate to Amazon

There will be 4 winners!

How does that work?

Well, there will be a prize for each person who guesses the correct date of birth, weight, and length. BUT, there will be a grand prize giveaway at the end of the contest to everyone who enters. As long as you submit your guesses you will be entered into the drawing (to be selected at random by PH) to win this:

To make the playing field even, here are some helpful hints:

I'm having a boy
His original due date is today. I am not currently in labor but it could happen.
I'm having a natural childbirth
According to all the tests he's healthy
Dilated 1cm no effacement

Good luck!!!

somethings don't change

2009-07-09T14:19:00.003-05:00

A co-worker of mine brought in her 1 week old grand-daughter to show everyone at work. She's ONE WEEK OLD... this is the most disgusting & dirty office I have ever worked in. Have you read my stories about the bathrooms here? I go do Subway on a consistent basis because their loo is MUCH cleaner. It probably doesn't help that the baby's grandma is the one who is supposed to clean this hell hole.

I can't even begin to tell you how many people have walked by my office to say, "Oh, Dolce! You have to go see the baby!" "You have to look at the baby!" I even got a call from the receptionist to go up to the front desk to "look at the baby".

You know how I want to respond?

"Go fuck yourself. I don't care."

I've never met the mother before in my life and I barely talk to the grandma. Why would I want to go stare at a someone else's baby? I'll get enough practice holding, feeding, and caring for a baby on my own. I don't need a 30 practice run with a stranger in my office. I'm glad to know that even though I could be a mom in less than 24 hours pregnancy hasn't taken away from who I've always been.

Still a dry, sarcastic, non-child loving, bitch who doesn't get mooshy over babies, cry (too much) at movies, or get a warm fuzzy feeling through my body at the sight of kittens.

Whew...glad I haven't become one of those.

= not that bad

2009-07-06T11:51:00.005-05:00

I have single digit days left before the expected due date of this lil' cupcake. I haven't talked about it much simply because most of the 20something blogging community will black list bloggers from their reader if one writes about pregnancy or anything child related, but I feel I've paid my dues and I'm tired of not blogging.

Maybe it's just me but I feel like there are two catagories of pregnant women,

1.those who think it's a blessing from God and puking twice a day is euphoric and nothing is life is better than waddling around the house all day.

2. those who are crabby ass bitches who hate every single second of it and fucking complain all day long, eat like that asian dude who stuffs his face with hotdogs every Fourth of July, and then whine all the time their ass is getting big and they can't figure out why.

Well, I've never fit into either of those catagories. So my stereotype of pregnancy is washed away.

Here is my simple truth:

Pregnancy isn't that bad.

There have been times that have been really fun (getting extra loving attention from PH) and times that have really sucked (trying to find a sexual position that gets the job "done"). But overall it's been a pleasant experience.

I've never really considered myself maternal. Honestly, I was more anxious to get a dog than to get knocked up. Children still scare me and is there a more annoying sound than a baby crying? I'm not a fan of snotty noses and I can't stand kids who are brats, talk back, roll their eyes, and throw temper-tantrums. I guess that behaviour is also an outcome to how they're raised, so let's hope I do a good job.

There have definitely been more vain fears as well...

How will I look after I have a baby?

Will I ever get my body back?

How will my social life change?

How will our finances/lifestyle change due to the costs of day care?

Wow...do I sound like an adult or what?

PH, being the awesome man that his is asked me what kind of push gift I wanted. Being sometimes logical I asked for a personal trainer. I want my body back (and maybe even better than before) ASAP. I want to wear the skimpiest halloween costume available. My thoughts right now are to go as Lady Gaga. Thank goodness I didn't gourge myself on cookie dough and ice cream.

It's only been the last week or so that I haven't been going out as much. Fourth of July was the biggest smack in the face of reality that my life has already changed due to the cupcake when we didn't go out with my BIL and his fiance and stay up drinking all night until 4am like we usually do. Instead we went home after the fireworks, met up with our neighbors (two of the wives are pregger too) played Mario Kart, and were in bed by 1am. Life has definitely changed from the drunken bike falls in a dress minus panties.

I can't even imagine going comando at this point. Hanky Pankys...absolutely. I haven't fallen that far off the wagon. My high heels have taken a back seat to my reef flip-flops and a one piece swimsuit is undoubtably necessary. Somethings have greatly changed and the changes have been welcomed.

Importantly, I didn't really think pregnancy would effect my relationship with PH. We have always been a solid couple and pregnancy wasn't going to change that, but holy shit I was wrong.

Having him by my side through this entire process has made me grow to love him more than I ever thought before...ever. He's been incredible and I really believe pregnancy hasn't been bad because he's been so supportive and loving. There is nothing this man hasn't done for me (he went to a 4 hour breastfeeding class! No man does that!). If I told you all the things he's been doing and what he's done and how helpful he is, you would think I was lying. He's really been a fairytale. A part of me is almost upset that the pregnancy part is almost over because of how wonderful he's been, but I know as soon as the baby comes he's going to be even more amazing.

My in-laws (who I have had a real fear of interfering and over stepping their boundries) have really turned out to be a great support system. My MIL, no matter how good her intentions have been, has a gift to make me want to cringe...like nails on a chalk board, but she and my FIL have been nothing less than amazing. They're so excited for us and want to help us out as much as we allow them to.

My BIL and SIL are the exact same. Everyone is just so excited. My parents included. My mom has been so happy about being a grandmother that she asks to go out to lunch at least once a week and everytime I see my parents they have another gift for cupcake. Most of them she has made so it's extra special. My brother, who I have never been that close to is getting pumped up about being an uncle. We've been starting to go out together more often...I think it's because he finally has a girl friend and most of his friends are single. He needs another couple to hangout with. I'm not complaining. It's been a nice change hanging out with him. He's suprisingly kept his conservative political views to himself. (I think the new girlfriend is a democrate).

The annoying "how are you feeling" question is out of control. I swear I have a co-worker (male) who is about 2 seconds away from asking me if my mucus plug has come out yet. Every morning when I show up for work people stop by just to see if I'm here. It's sweet...to a certain degree. This week I'm going to take advantage of being knocked up and leave the office everyday at 3:30pm.

What is anyone going to say? I'm 9 1/2 months pregnant. Most women aren't even working at this point. I'm a fucking trooper if you want to know the truth but I can barely make it to 5pm anymore without requiring a nap.

Alright, this post has been mushy-gooshy enough to make myself puke. Wish me luck, only 4 more days to go...i hope.

Pop N' Fresh 38

2009-07-01T08:00:00.003-05:00

I'm going to miss them when they're gone.

Yes, it's the same dress as the last preggo pic, but STL is freaking HOT and this is the coolest thing I own. Cool = non sweat creating.

Rug burn in a not so common place

2009-06-25T13:35:00.006-05:00

TWO WEEKS.

I have two weeks left of being knocked up and for the love of all that is holy, could it go any slower???

It's a fucking inferno in STL and being nine months pregnant makes it even more miserable than it would normally.

So when I went to the doc this week I asked her straight up,"What are some old wives' tales or household remedies to induce labor?"

Her response: Have sex.

PH was sitting next to me. Although he didn't move a millimeter after hearing this answer, but I saw the twinkle in his eye. The poor man has been a monk for the last couple of months. He's deserving of a couple weeks worth of steamy romps in the bedroom.

Apparently there is an ingredient in sperm than helps the cervix dilate.

Do you remember this guy?

The guy who told me to have my husband take me on a motorcycle ride down a long bumpy road and make "sweet passionate love to me"?

The very thought of him being right about the sex part is absolutely disgusting to me. It's disgusting that this toothless old nasty old balls with 8 kids man knew more about how to induce labor than me. I choose to believe I know more about everything than he does.

Anyway, since I'm on a mission to pop this kid out I've pretty much demanded that PH have sex with me until until I go into labor.

This does require Cirque de Soleil moves...and no eye contact. Because that would be impossible. Belly gets in the way.

*** I have to break this story because nasty Office Gossip Whore is proclaiming to the back office how she had to "run to the bathroom" and almost didn't make it. Fucking sick. WHY??? God, why??? And I really have to pee and now I'm probably going to have to walk across the street to Subway and use their bathroom because it's safer than my office one.***

So, last night, to get the show on the road I did a little pre-pleasuring of le husband and before his precious man juice got wasted on not making me go into labor I basically forced him to have sex with me doggie style.

I didn't have to force him into doing me doggie style, I physically had to force him awake because sleeping is not an option until he does his man duty in helping me go into labor.

For fuck sake, it's the least he can do. I'm just asking him to help me go into labor...not that he has to really suffer though the pain and anguish of it.

Did I mention I'm having a natural childbirth. Yeah, the one time I can get happy drugs (Stadol) given to me I decided not to take them. I am officially crazy.

Anyway, back to story.

PH complies and is doing his job, but somewhere after maybe a couple minutes my arms start getting tired...leave me alone. I'm nine month pregnant and it was after 11pm. So, to give my arms a break I decide to position myself on my elbows instead of my hands.

Easy maneuver, right? I didn't need this to last long. I just wanted a quick fix to help this process along.

What I failed to realize is my anatomy was getting in the way. There was a little "rubbing" going on in an awkward place. After the deed was done, I walked into the bathroom and noticed it.

A big, bright, red spot across my abdomen.

Doggie style while pregnant = fucking rug burn across the belly.

Damnit! Pregnancy makes everything harder. Sex is supposed to be easy! That's why all the kids are doing it, right???

Tonight we're going to try out this move:

You better keep your fingers crossed I have a baby tomorrow. I don't know how much more of this I can take!

Proving to the world...

2009-06-16T10:50:00.004-05:00

Women can get pregnant without getting fat.

We can also survive 8 1/2 months without having to deal with bodily "issues".

Just so you know, I wouldn't change that for ANYTHING!!!

Dear Crazy ClASSless Beer Server at Strip clubs,

Thanks for giving me one of the most awkward nights of my life. I'm really grateful all of your advice was wasted on 10,000 packets of sugar you poured in your iced tea and that I have not had the pleasure needing any of it. You left me scared and shaking at the knees thinking I was going to have to sacrifice my bottom parts like I have my happy hours drink specials.

So basically I'm saying, Thanks for nothing.

D

And, you can be pregnant without getting cankles.

Moi on Saturday

And most importantly...NO STRETCH MARKS.

Those fuckers never go away. 24 more days of lathering up like a dildo on a porn set.

Cheers.

Panic at the Attack

2009-06-12T16:07:00.002-05:00

I'm so stressed and overwhelmed its making me physically ill. I woke up today freaking the fuck out. On of my best friends is coming in town tonight and I haven't even showered yet today! I'm supposed to take her (and her new husband) out and show them a good time but I'm so consumed with stuff that probably doesn't mean a damn thing.

For starters, I'm hosting a friend of mine's baby shower tomorrow morning.

No, I do not -under any circumstances- enjoy baby showers. Fuck, I can't even stand my own. They're so freaking boring.

Seriously.

It's horrible.

I count down minutes until they're over hoping and praying everyone else feels the same and they leave early.

I'm doing it because I feel guilty not to. She hosted a party for me and now I feel responsible to return the favor. The shower is tomorrow...you know the same time my friend is in town?

What am I supposed to do with my house guests while I waste away in the kitchen trying to slice up strawberries and carrots?

Secondly, I think the house looks like shit. I haven't been home one night this week. NOT ONE NIGHT. Between volleyball tournaments, childbirth classes, and birthday dinners(Happy Birthday, Pumpkinhead!) I'm lucky if I'm home for more than 2 waking hours a day. My friends are going to have to sleep somewhere between a baby swing (yeah, I got that set up already. The dog is afraid of new things that move) and a stroller.

My poor dog. Thankfully PH doesn't work full time in the summer (yeah for teachers!) and she hasn't gone neglected day in and day out.

And the friend coming in town tonight requested we go out to a place with a nice patio...I've got my choices down pat, but it looks like it's going to rain like a mother fucker.

I have no plan B.

Then I have my own baby shower on Sunday. So I don't sound like too much of a bitch it's incredibly thoughtful of my MIL who is hosting it. My own mom isn't throwing me a baby shower. It's not her fault, we really are the only two women in my family. I have no grandparents, my one aunt passed away last year, and I have no female cousins who live within 500 miles of us. I wouldn't drive more than 15 miles for a baby shower that wasn't mine.

But for fuck sake, she wants me to play GAMES at the shower.

Seriously, woman? Baby shower games?

If you get a fucking measuring tape within 8 feet of my body for a game of "guess the circumference" I will go hormonal on your ass.

You only think I'm kidding.

But what makes this all the more worse is this morning I got an update on my quarterly progress for making my 2nd quarter quota.

I nearly had a heart attack.

Business is so down I used to bill more business my first year out of college selling radio. I can't even begin to tell you how unbelievably depressed and utterly horrified I am of this.

It is seriously weighing on me.

I'm having a baby in less than a month and I feel like I'm failing at bring home enough money to support it.

How in the world did I think it was okay to let myself get knocked up in this economic climate?

HOW?

This news alone is what is going to prevent me from having fun tonight. I'm going to be hanging out with my friend who I love and adore and the entire time this will be consuming my thoughts.

I keep telling myself: Let it go. Let it go. Let it go. Let it go.

But I can't.

And instead of cold calling clients all day and doing everything I can to conjure up new business and increase client spending I am blogging.

BLOGGING!

Ugh. Sometimes I hate myself because I know I'm my own worst enemy. But realistically I've been working hard all day. It's 4:30 on Friday and I'm the only person left in the building.

Yeah, not because I'm an over achiever, it's because no one showed up today and I got delegated responsibility to answer the fucking phones.

I'm not a goddamn receptionist! I'm also not a high school grad looking for some summer work or an entry level college kid who just scored their first job. I'm a seasoned professional with over 6 years of a successful proven track record and they have me grounded to a headset to answer phones because i'm the only person in this fucking office with any communication skills decent to say, "Company XXX, how my I direct your call" because they hired fucking idiots to work here because they didn't demand higher salaries/wages!!!

Oh fuck. What does that make me?

Wait, I'm commission. That doesn't effect me.

Anyway, I should relax.

Over breakfast last week PH brought up the possibility of me not going back to work after the baby. It's a thought that I never really saw possible. For starters, I never really thought we could afford our lifestyle on one salary. Especially not wit out mine. Well, we wouldn't be able to afford our lifestyle. We'd be really tight on money. No extra money going into stocks, no new car this fall (we are planning on buying a hybrid in October), no oversea vacations, no more eating out all weekend, no more visiting rated restaurants for the hell of it, no more shopping excursions without consequence, no more cable, no rhapsody, no more a lot of stuff.

(Wow. I didn't really realize how good we had it until I wrote it out like that. Now I feel stressed and guilty).

But the stress right now with work is being caused because i'm not makes as much as I used to, but after writing it out like that, I guess there's a lot I can cut out of our lives to make it a whole hell of a lot easier. Well, nevermind. Let's be honest...

We was planning on going to Buenos Ares for my friend's wedding over Christmas. Well, I don't think that's as possible with a 5 month old...so that's out of the picture.

Secondly, we don't go out as much to "nice" restaurants as we used to. I mean we still do at least once a month. It's not like we do it every week.

Thirdly, the extra money going into stock...that's college money for the lil' cupcake. That's important. That's us saving and if god forbid something did happen and we would have money saved up for emergencies.

But everything else...yeah, I could live without it. I could definitely cut back on how much we eat out on weekends. How much we spend going out to bars (not so much for me right now, but you get it). Shopping...for fuck sake I know I have room there to make some cuts. Also I eat out almost EVERYDAY for lunch. I need to pack my own. PP&J has always been my fav.

Okay...wow. I really made myself feel better. I know this post has kind of been a string of thoughts loosely tied together, sorry if I lost you.

If I wrote a real journal -you know one that sits on a night stand and not posted all over the Internet- it would probably be just like this.

Happy Friday.

Tales of a disfunctional work environment

2009-06-10T16:29:00.002-05:00

I should start a blog writing just stories that happen to me at work. I can only just shake my head and ask myself how the fuck I ended up here.

I have good news though. On my answering machine at home there is a nice girl who happens to be a recruiter that found me and is interested in having me apply for some fortune 500 company!

Say what?

A company that isn't set up to fail because it's run by a cluster of knuckle heads?

Sign me up please!

You know what I've had to endure today besides a webinar for 6 hours straight?

A big ol' fat woman who is in her fifties talk to me about how constipated she's been for the last two weeks and yesterday she was finally able to take a shit. Then she proceeded to tell me how bad it smelled.

For fuck sake.

Where do these people come from???

Do I have a sign on my forehead that says: Tell me about your bowel movements.

NO!!!

Fuck no!

I don't talk about bodily functions in general! And you have to talk to me about smell???

I wasn't born yesterday. I know what shit smells like. Please don't explain what the pickles did to your intestines.

For the love of all things holy. I can only be so nice.

Now my COO (the fucking CHIEF OPERATIONS OFFICER) is knocking on every office door and stopping by every single cubicle asking if anyone has seen his calculator.

What the fuck?

A calculator. The man loses his fuck calculator and we go on an Amber alert! Just after the webinar ended today he pulled us all aside and said "make sure to keep a look out for my calculator."

Go to target at buy a new one! It's $10. Better yet, you have a calculator on your COMPUTER!

UGH!I'm so frustrated with this place sometimes.

Breathing deep.

Only 30 more days until maternity leave!!!!

Blame it on Seinfeld

2009-06-09T08:45:00.003-05:00

I have curly brown hair, wear dark glasses, and dance like a maniac.

I can't count the number of times people have BEGGED me to go as Elaine (from Seinfeld) for Halloween. The only thing I'm lacking is the long small flower print dress worn under a blazer and brown loafer-esque shoes.

Now if dressed accordingly, I get a lot of Tina Fey...but that's an entirely different story.

Back to the point.

I'm a big Seinfeld fan. Before the weather got nice, PH and I used to watch two re-runs a night while we cooked and ate dinner. The show has definitely influenced my life. I constantly wonder where I got the idea that hiding under my desk was an okay way to avoid a situation or the fact that it would be harder (more like near damn impossible) to get fired from my place of employment than it would be to just do my job.

Anyway, because of Seinfeld and Elaine, I have never seen the movie The English Patient. Elaine was NOT a fan. When it first came out my parents raved about the movie, my mom cried through the entire ending, and they told me I was missing out.

You know what?

That fucker is over three hours long and it's about a guy who is laying in bed the whole time!

No.

Not for me.

Forrest Gump? Yeah, I can sit through three hours of that. Robin Wright Penn is a totally wreck and is naked on stage covering a Joan Baez song, but The English Patient? I have no patience for that type of crap.

And who watches a Ralph Fiennes movie before he was Lord Voldemort?

Really?

Well, one of my best friends who lives in Mad-town called a while ago and said she'd be coming for the weekend. So, of course, I have to give the house a complete disinfecting before she comes in town. I just can't stand clutter.

Last night I decided to clean the kitchen top to bottom (I brought out the yellow gloves) and clean the kitchen. At least a three hour job if done right (read: Wash floors on hands and knees). PH was at a volleyball game so I had hours of no distractions.

Well, what is on TV?

The fucking English Patient.

Hey, I've got three hours to spare and some kick ass gloves to wear. I could find something less exciting to watch, like the Hills...

When PH got home from his volleyball game all I could say was, "I am so glad you weren't here."

Looking at me confused as to why I was glad he was gone while I cleaned the kitchen, I'm sure he thought it was because I was mad at him and would have stabbed him in the foot with a kitchen knife for not helping me, but it was because of the damn English Patient.

Here's the truth...

I ugly cried for the last half hour of the movie.

First and foremost: I AM NOT A CRIER!

I don't cry.

Stub my toe?

Drop a few f*bombs.

Fall down the stairs?

Scream for help.

Stella Bella gets hit by a car?

Nurse her to health and spend all waking hours tracking down the ass hole who hit her while threatening his family.

So learned Elaine isn't always right and pregnancy turns women into crying bitches.

What am I? Ten?

2009-06-02T07:00:00.001-05:00

I can't believe I did this.

Saying it out loud is bad enough, but writing it out and posting it on the INTERNET makes it even worse.

Yesterday my old boss (he was my VP for about 6 months before he retired) came back in the office and made his usual rounds of saying hi to everybody.

Knowing that he didn't know I was pregnant I immediately went into panic mode because I could already hear the conversation in my head.

Oh! You're pregnant. Congratulations. How are you feeling? Are you have a boy or a girl. Blah. Blah. Blah. Blah. Blah. Blah. Blah. Blah.

To avoid this ridiculous overplayed conversation, I did what no adult with any self dignity should do.

I

Hid

Under

My

Desk

Yep, you read that right.

Old boss was across the hall and I freaking panicked and waddled my ass under my desk to avoid him stopping in to say hi.

I don't even know why I did it??? He's a really nice guy. Sure, he said maybe three words to me while we worked together, but it wasn't unpleasant working for him. But now it's awkward as hell when he comes in (I think he's bored being retired) to just shoot the shit.

But, seriously, I curled up in a ball, UNDER MY DESK, and waited for him to pass by.

Quickly realizing I looked (and was acting) like a complete idiot I crawled out from my desk, grabbed my bag and keys and snuck out behind him avoiding eye contact and escaped to lunch.

Okay, really...I need help.

Stop! You're ruining the illusion

2009-06-01T10:27:00.008-05:00

April 15th is an important day for me.

No, it's not because it's tax day. My taxes are done way before the deadline because I like seeing that fun little refund in my account as soon as possible.

Cha-Ching.

I love April 15th because that's the day the adult pool opens! I love the adult pool because

1. It makes me feel like I've escaped to a resort somewhere on the Mediterranean.

2. You can bring your own drinks. 8 months ago this would mean martinis, beer, wine, and cocktails. Today it means Pellegrino spiked with Vitamin Water (6 more weeks!)

3. No kids! (need I say more?)

4. 24 hour access. -Get home after a night of boozing and hop into the pool? Yes, please.

5. Only the cool people are members. (Anyone can pay and join. I'm not that cool).

But there is one serious issue at hand, that I have never experienced in my life, which has prevented me from going to the pool every night since it's open.

I can't see my crotch.

You're probably scratching your head wondering what the fuck I'm talking about, but this is a huge problem!!!

Can't see crotch = can't see manicuring

Do you understand what I'm saying???

I can't see if I'm nicely manicured in the nether regions!!! I absolutely can't stand it!

I like my vagina and all things surrounding it. I really do. I miss not making eye contact with it and wondering how it's doing...It is out of control like a wildfire in Cali or is it looking like a well treated golf course in South Carolina.

What do you look like crotch? The unknowing is KILLING me.

So finally, after weeks of debating if I should go back to get my girly bits ripped off me or take the blade to it I decided the pain of the Brazilian just wasn't worth it.

If you don't remember, it bruised the girl. It fucking hurt.

So, I did was any wife would do...

I asked PH for help.

Now, seriously, I really thought he was just sigh and say "Okay, babe. I know you can't see your vag and it's really upsetting you. I'll help you out and make sure everything gets cleaned away while not shaving anything off that's suppose to be there."

Truly, this was my expected answer.

What did I get?

PH: You're joking, right? No. I'm not doing it. You want me to help you shave your pubes? No. (shakes head) No.

Dolce: But, Honey, I need help! I can't go to the adult pool all pregnant and have hair coming out from places no one wants to see on a pregnant girl! Help me! Otherwise I'm going to have to get waxed again.

PH: That was the stupidest thing you've ever done. Can't they just get the sides without doing to whole thing?

Dolce: Yes, but that only takes care of half the problem. If I'm going to go in and torture myself why not get it all taken care of?

PH: No. That was stupid. Just shave.

Dolce: But I need HELP! I've always waxed!!! That's a lot of sharp razor going to very delicate area. And I can't SEE!!! That's where you come in!

PH: No. Stop! You're ruining the illusion that vagina comes in this nice neat package that always looks well taken care of and pretty. Getting me involved in the process is just killing that idea. I won't do it.

Dolce: I've spoiled you!

After some serious Cirque du Soleil moves... mission accomplished. I guess even the world's most patient man has limits.

Seek and you will find...

2009-05-28T16:17:00.003-05:00

Has anyone seen my blogging motivation???

I lost it somewhere between March and April and it still hasn't turned up yet. I think it got stolen.

I won't point fingers! (gestures to belly).

I would just really like it back. I can't let RS27 be right when he said all bloggers were not normal.

His quote was something like "Normal people don't blog or at least don't have entertaining blogs".

I agree some of his theory does hold water. I mean, for instance,

Maxie,

You aren't normal, friend. But that's why I love you. (No, really. I LOVE you) I don't know anyone else on this planet who scooped her own poop out of a toilet because it was broken or accidentally used her mom's vibrator. You single handedly confirm RS's theory.

However...

I think just because I'm now normal --digress for explanation--

Explanation of normalcy.

Labor Day weekend:
Saturday:
7am: Walk down to Organic farm to care vegetable garden.
12n Meet PH at to watch his track meet.
9pm: Sleeping

Sunday:
8am: wake up make delicious pancakes
10am: Go to church (Say What???)
11am: Go with PH to search endlessly for new washer and dryer
12n: Success
12:05pm: Go out to lunch
2pm: go to cousins house for graduation party
4pm: Meet friend for Labor barbecue and drinking
11pm: fall asleep

Monday:
9am: wake up. It's raining
10am: Install ceiling fans and wash all baby clothes from baby showers
12n: Clean house
4pm: wiped out
6pm: make dinner
7pm: Watch a movie
9pm: Sleeping

See what I mean?

Just because I'm normal doesn't mean I'm boring, right?

*re-reads schedule of weekend*

Oh fuck.

RS27 was right.

I did leave out the bachelor party story PH went to that involved hookers and pool cues.

I'll save that for later.

Like I am will all of my "fun" material. Like the time PH had an accidental/unintentional threesome with me and my best friend Megan.

It was cleaner than it sounds.

Well, until my blogging motivation comes back I'll return to posting boob shots and talking about random crap that happens to me.

Freaking the f out

2009-05-26T13:57:00.004-05:00

I feel like a wind up toy that is quickly running out of power. My stress level has reached a level at which I avoid realities and ignore the inevitable. I pretend everything is fine and continue going about my day pretending everything is going well.

Last week was my final week of traveling before the baby comes.

Believe it or not, I only have 6 more weeks to go.

Scary as hell, right?

Right.

Scared shitless is more like it. I'm absolutely freaked out like I have never been freaked in my life. I feel like maybe I'm missing something. Like there is a gene or an ability I was born without that has left me without "mother" qualities.

Aren't I suppose to be counting down the days until the little bundle gets here, as if I can't wait and waiting one day longer is going to make me explode?

Yeah, being knocked up isn't all that bad. Seriously. It's actually a piece of cake. Maybe that's because I'm not swollen up like a tick and I haven't eaten uncontrollably like that fat glutton in the movie Seven. I'm just me with a medium size belly. Think of soccer ball under a shirt.

But anyways, I'm getting off track.

My point is: I'm freaking the fuck out.

I don't have a bad attitude about this either, but for the love of all things holy I have no idea what I've gotten myself into. I have NO idea what I'm doing. I don't know anything about children and I sure as hell am the last person I would trust with a kid.

It's not that I would be neglectful or careless or anything else like that, but I'm going into uncharted territory at this point. You would think there were classes available for this kind of stuff. How to be a Good Parent 101 -where is this class. No one offers this class, they just offer how to handle labor. That shit lasts 12-24 hours.

I can handle the labor part, but what about what happens when I take it home? I'm not training it to pee and crap outside. I'm going to have to teach it how to be a good person.

That's a lot of pressure.

Ooh...pressure. That's a good word for how I feel.

I'm going to breath deep and pretend this post is just a dream and go back to pretending to myself everything is going to be fine.

Pit Stains

2009-05-13T15:19:00.006-05:00

Holy hell.

It's fucking hot up in this bitch.

For reals.

People are walking around here with bloody pit stains dripping down to their waists.
One of the managers in the office looks like this:

Not the face...just the pits.

The warehouse guys look like this:

And the girls in my office all resemble this:

And while it's near impossible for me to look bad because I'm a got piece of voluptuous pregnant ass, I too am sweating like Edward Liddy during a bail out meeting.

This is ridiculous.

Why?

Because my office doesn't have any windows. Not my personal office but the entire fucking building. We have TWO doors.

That's it.

No Windows. No ventilation.

Do you know what the thermostat is set at?

79 FUCKING DEGREES!!!

Yes. You read that right.

We can't touch the fucker because we "need to make cuts" and last year our utility bill was 4k a month. According to the people in power if we spend 4k a month on air conditioning we'll have to start laying people off.

Seriously?

What the fuck?

I'll give you a list of people to axe. Starting with the drunk dude. He can easily save you 4k a month plus some!!!

*Knocks sweaty forehead violently on desk...repeatedly*

Throw me some ice. I'm on fucking fire.

Update: I was wrong. The thermostat is set at 80 Degrees...

Takebacks? Anyone?

2009-05-08T09:58:00.004-05:00

A couple nights ago a woman who lives down the street from me called in a PANIC! She was signed up to go to a charity event and her husband had a sand volleyball game and they desperately needed a babysitter for their one and two year old sons.

...and she called ME!

Of all the people on the planet and especially the ones living in my Wisteria Lane/Payton Place neighborhood I couldn't figure out why on earth she would call me in a pinch. I would be the last person I would call.

Seriously.

Then it dawned on my why she asked me. Because I'm knocked up.

She a) thinks I really love kids because I'm having one myself b) thinks I want practice for my role as a mom. (i hate the word mom)

She's wrong on both accounts.

First, I haven't hung out with a child since I was one. I'm the person that when grocery shopping, if I see a kid in a aisle I want to visit, I'll go to the next one and wait for them to leave.

I put on invisible glasses and pretend children don't exist. When co-workers bring their kids to the office, if they're under the age of 21 I pick up the phone and start calling customers to avoid the "look at my kid! He's/she's so adorable, right?"

I don't know if your kid is cute. Their face is covered in snot and I can't see their face. And snot...is NOT cute.

But ultimately, I'm a sucker.

I agreed to help her out. I mean, what can really happen in an hour and a half?

Oh Sweet Jesus.

I came into the house and immediately my friend told me her older son (the two year old) will start crying when she leaves.

What she failed to mention was he also had a death grip and nails of razors.

The very second the door closed behind her the two year old grabbed hold of my nose and dug his nails into my skin until he broke the flesh.

It was like a fucking cartoon happening in slow motion. I did the best I could lifting his fingers from my wounded face until he weaved his little fingers through my hair and pulled as hard as he could.

Thankfully years of dealing with my tangled curly mess of a weave didn't leave my scalp sensitive to a little pulling, but the light drips of blood on my face were enough to set me into an all out anxiety attack.

I had been babysitting for less than 30 seconds and this was how it was going down!

After the older one settled down a bit he started to warm up and wanted to play games.

By playing games, I mean he tore off his poopy diaper by himself and then started running around the house so I would have to chase his fecal ass around the house praying that he wouldn't stop and sit on the carpeted floor.

Because that, my friends, would be a huge set back to the already eventful evening.

In following suit to his older brother the little one year old also shit his pants.

How many times do kids shit in a day??? I mean seriously? How many? There are limits to how much people should shit.

By the time I got their pants back on and cookies in their mouth (bribing works) I took them outside to play.

Boys like the outdoors, right?

Well, by the end of the night we were best friends. Best friends = me sweating my non-existent balls off while the boys ran around like maniacs and made me chase them.

Does chasing ever get old?

Needless to say, they cried when I left.

*wipes hands off clean & calls it a day*

But regardless, I don't know if I'm ready for this...

You thought I was lying

2009-05-07T08:00:00.000-05:00

How many times do I have to tell you I work in a circus?

A bloody circus run by monkeys.

Yesterday the marketing manager (woman) in the office was in a meeting with our VP of Sales (man) and a factory rep (man). It's lunch time and they're discussing where to go to lunch.

My VP of sales (my boss's boss) says, "Let's go to (restaurant XYZ). It's Tits Out Tuesday! You in?"

Seriously?

Who's hiring?

I couldn't make this shit up if I tried: Advice I could have lived without

2009-05-06T09:09:00.004-05:00

Yesterday I drove my pregnant ass all around southern Illinois for work. It was nice...traveling for work without having to spend the night in a hotel room.

I'm a genius like that.

Around lunch time yesterday I stopped in gas station to fill up my car. Just to let you know, it was gorgeous outside. 80 degrees, breezy..perfect day.

Anyway, as I'm putting the pump away and getting ready to jump in the car a guy in a huge landscape truck backs up next to me. I notice right away he looks more than a little rough. He's got a dirty bandanna tied around his head and his skin looks like it hasn't had shade in over 55 years.

Man: Are you having great expectations?

(Inner monologue - What the hell is this dude talking about? Does he have dip in his mouth or is that his thick southern/hill-billy twang? I mean the book is sitting on my night stand...what if he's some kind of crazy?)

Dolce: Sorry, I don't think I hear you right. Great Expectations?
Man: Your baby!!!!
Dolce: Oh yeah! Right! (smiles politely)
Man: So, are you going to beat the summer heat?
Dolce: I wish! I'm due in July and it gets pretty hot before then.

Man: Well, I'm the father of eight and here is the best piece of advice for your husband - Tell him to go borrow a motorcycle from a friend. Then have him take you for a ride on a long bumpy road. Pull over in a secluded spot and have him make sweet passionate love* to ya and then on your way home he'll be dropping you off at the hospital.

Works like a charm! (smiles at me)

(Inner monologue - ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygod!!! He as no teeth! NO TEETH! Sick. Fucking Sick!)

Dolce: (fake smiles and laughs) Oh thanks. I'll be sure to tell him that. (jumps in car and immediately takes off)

Seriously, a random guy really told me this yesterday. I couldn't believe it. Although I'm sure he thought it was invaluable information there are a few flaws to his plan.

1. If a motorcycle was between me giving birth at home in my bathtub or racing to the hospital, PH would be youtubing videos on delivering babies and slapping on yellow kitchen gloves before he would let my ass any where near a motorcycle.

2. There are multiple problems with this one: Make sweet passionate love to ya.

Okay, for starters...I'm having a baby in July. Do you know how fucking hot eastern MO is in July? It's HOT. It's damn HOT! So if I'm going to be making "sweet passionate love" in a secluded spot in July, that mother fucker better be air conditioned. Because there is NO WAY I'm having sex in the dead heat of a July summer outside sweating my ass off.

Or

If we waited until later in the evening when it cooled off...Um, chiggers? Mosquito's? Bugs in general? No. No. And No.

Second problem with "sweet passionate love": obviously this guy is full of shit because there is no such thing as "sweet" love making to a nine month pregnant chick. Just in case you're not aware, but there are limited positions which work with a swollen baby-carrying belly. And NONE of them are "sweet". Maybe he was using "sweet passionate love" as code-word for "pound you from behind until your contractions start".

Just a thought.

Only tequila can save me now

2009-05-04T09:07:00.002-05:00

This is what my office looks like:

It's makeing my brain hurt.

Actually, my head is fucked!

Work is Kobe Bryant and my head is a hotel conciegre.

In 72 hours all of my deadlines will be met, all of my contracts complete, and life will resume as normal.

Normal by definition in my life means I will shamelessly rat out friends for their ridiculous drunk antics (puking on a dance floor at my other friend's wedding reception) and convincing the masses we would be much more prodcuctive if tequila poured from bubblers.

Hey Ma! Where's the soap? I need to wash out my mouth!

2009-04-22T20:28:00.006-05:00

I have always gotten in trouble for talking.

ALWAYS!

In trouble for talking when I'm not supposed to. Talking too loud. Talking out of turn. Talking. Talking. Talking.

It's probably a good thing I have a job that requires me to talk.

But one thing I have gotten in trouble with before is bad talking. NOT bad talking people, but saying bad words.

I mean, come on! Fuck is one of the best words out there. It was SO many extraordinary uses, how can it not be used???

I know, I know... It makes me sound like a white trash, clASSless, uneducated idiot, but I assure you that is not the case. It's my blog and I more freely express myself here than I ever would in, let's say:

a professional environment: no I will not swear or cuss at work, but believe me I'm thinking it or mumbling it under my breath.
Example: "I work with a bunch of fucking mindless ass monkeys"

in front of the in-laws: Okay, they NEVER say the 7 sinful words. EVER. But I've lost control and said the f-bomb in front of my FIL...maybe more than twice.

But I've haven't gotten in trouble from any one for my choice of language since I graduated from High School. My mom wasn't the best example of using "proper" language and by the age of 8 I knew all the swear words in German from my grandmother. Of course I just went around saying them because I had no idea what I was telling people.

Trust me when I say that was a HUGE hit at Christmas. My ass was sore for weeks.

But it wasn't until recently I got in trouble for my less than squeaky clean mouth.

Let me preface...

Last week I was folding laundry before bed and flipping through channels on TV when I came across HBO's Real Sex. Has anyone seen this show??? Seriously, I thought I was up for anything when it came to sex.

Role Play? I'm in.

Bondage? Can the safe word be "cotton candy?"

Ass slapping? Yes, please.

C-shots? Maybe not. I'm not willing to sacrifice an eye.

But honestly, after watching 30 seconds of the show I realized there are more things I am NOT willing to do than I am.

The episode was about Sploshing. It's supposedly a big fetish in Britian (why are Brits so strange?) and it's people who get all turned on by having pies, chocolate syrup, and baked beans thrown on them.

Yes. I said baked beans.

I'm watching this scene where a girl's bare ass is the entire TV screen and she standing with her hands on the wall in the "fuck me from behind" position and then all of a sudden a ginormous bowl of baked beans gets dumped all over her butt!

It was disgusting.

And it was happening just as PH was walking into the room. His reaction?

"That's disgusting. It looks like that girl is pooping. What is sexually exciting about that?"

Well, I can cross off that fetish from the list.

A couple days later I get this e-mail from PH:

-----Original Message-----
From:PH
Sent: Friday, April 17, 2009 10:21 AM
To: Dolce
Subject: pancakes

..were amazing. That was probably the best pancake that I have ever
had.

Way to go. Now I'm going to pour baked beans on your butt.

PH

>>> "Dolce" 4/17/2009 10:25 AM >>>

AAAAAAAAAHAHAHHAAAAAAAAAAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHA!!!!

I'm SO glad you liked the pancakes. I thought they were amazing too!
Seriously, I think they'd be good with ice cream.

D

P.S. You are sick.

-----Original Message-----
From: PH
Sent: Friday, April 17, 2009 10:33 AM
To: Dolce
Subject: pancakes

You know deep down you are a slosher and you like weird guys with f'ed up noses.

The idea of sitting on a pie makes you go wild.

pervert.

PH

-----Original Message-----
From: Dolce
Sent: Friday, April 17, 2009 10:51 AM
To: PH
Subject: pancakes

Mmm...my pussy filled with pie. Sweet, sticky, custard, pie.

I'll even sit in the banana cream for you.

You love the idea of licking frosting out of my labia majora.

D

From: postmaster@XXX.com [mailto:postmaster@XXX.com]
Sent: Fri 4/17/2009 12:04 PM
Subject: Delivery Notification - RE: pancakes

The message or an attachment did not reach the intended recipient(s).

Subject: RE: pancakes
From: PH
To: Dolce
Date: Fri, 17 Apr 2009 10:04:10 -0600

Reason: content policy violation
Action: quarantine

>>> "Dolce" 4/17/2009 11:06 AM >>>

Did you get my response e-mail about the pie?

I just got a notice that an e-mail I sent was quarantined.

BOO! That's all I have to say to your job's "no bad language" policy.

-----Original Message-----
From: PH
Sent: Friday, April 17, 2009 11:13 AM
To: Dolce
Subject: RE: ice cream idea

Yeah, we should probably limit that talk. It quickly went from baked
beans to dirty.

PH

>>> "Dolce" 4/17/2009 11:15 AM >>>

Who knew "baked beans" and "dirty" would fit together in an sexually
inappropriate sentence?

I'll still sit in the pie for you.

D

-----Original Message-----
From: PH
Sent: Friday, April 17, 2009 11:18 AM
To: Dolce
Subject: RE: ice cream idea

really, stop. Email this stuff to me on hotmail.
PH

From: Dolce
Sent: Fri 4/17/2009 12:21 PM
To: PH
Subject: RE: ice cream idea

Oops. Sorry.

An interesting past

2009-04-21T20:53:00.004-05:00

I think I've talked about my grandparents before.

My grandmother for sure.

She left Germany after WWI when all of her family's money became worthless and she couldn't find work in Germany. There were 12 children in her family and three of them came to the US in hopes of a better life. She spent 21 days on a rat and flea infested boat hanging on to all of her possessions only to have most of them taken away once she arrived in New York.

I've only heard second and third hand stories from different relatives as to what happened to my great uncles who stayed behind.

One of the stories I heard was from my mom. She told me German police came to the house and recruited all the men (but not my great grandfather; he was too old) to join the army. Those who did not join would be sent to jail.

They all joined.

My grandmother used to own pictures of them in their military suits.

I have never seen them. I don't believe she kept them either. After she died all of her most private and personal items were released out of a large lock box she owned at the bank. She had one wedding picture, her German passport, family photos, but none of them in Nazi uniforms. The woman was so ashamed of her past that she never spoke German and refused to teach my mother and her brother the language because of the bad stigma she felt toward her county.

I'm sitting in a hotel room watching Schindler's List for the second time in my life. The one time I saw it was in the movie theaters. I think I was 12 or 13. My dad, who has always been a history buff, thought it was smart to educate me on how the holocaust really went down.

I don't think a movie will ever really be able to show how it really was. A couple summers ago I went to the holocaust museum in DC and the images and videos they had made me physically ill.

I was ill not just because of the brutality but also because I know I had family fighting with "bad guys". It's a hard pill to swallow knowing my family history is associated with the largest act of genocide this world has ever seen.

But the thing is --and I have to remind myself of this occasionally-- is there is nothing I can do about it.

It's history.

What's done is done. I can only be the best person I know how to be. To stand up for what I believe is right and know to stop if what I am doing is wrong. I don't know the position I would had taken if police showed up on my front door and said "join or die". I don't think I'll ever be able to predict my choice until the day I have to.

It's not burnout, bitch. It's boredom.

2009-04-17T09:54:00.004-05:00

I'm not calling anyone out being a bitch.

I just had to clarify before someone took it personally. It's not personal. Sometimes, I just think I'm Britney.

Back to topic.

It's been brought to my attention there are bloggers out there who are suffering from "Burnout". I say this with love, but aren't most 20 somethings "burned out"? For the most part we were forced to leave the best four years of our lives (read: college) and jump into a fiery pit we call the professional work force.

I think we can all agree with this statement: It sucks balls.

However, burnout is a real thing and I think most of us bloggers have felt demands of blogging (need I remind you, we did do this to ourselves). There is one blogger out there trying to cure the blogsphere of "burnout".

RS27 at Your Beard is Good

He wrote and interesting post this week discussing topics which could help alleviate burnout.

It was comical.

High-five, RS.

It was pretty much a list telling the blogsphere what he finds entertaining to read and what you should write about...you know, to help with the burnout.

I'll put these suggestions to the test. Let's see, RS, if your suggestions are legit.

1. Homeless People - Um...do those people who stand at highway exit ramps count? I see them holding signs, but I never give them my money.

Why?

Because it's 2009 and I don't carry fucking cash. WHO CARRIES CASH THESE DAYS UNDER THE AGE OF 45?

No one. I'd feel like a total piece of shit if I rolled down the window and handed some poor homeless person a personal check (Oh, wait...I don't have those either. Direct withdrawal). Okay, change...again I'm not handing some homeless person 1 nickel and 13 pennies. They'd probably beat my ass. If I do have cash I give it to them, but then as soon as the light turns Green, peace out.

There you have it. I have no homeless stories. The real reason why is because I live in the burbs and the homeless aren't welcome.

2. Dating - Well, I'm fucked. The last first date I went on was November 3, 2001. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, it's been nearly a decade since I went on a first date. I could talk about my date last week with my MIL and SIL, but I'm bored just typing it, so I can't imaging reading it.

3. Sex - Finally, a topic I'm thrilled to write about. But, in RS's words, "Again if you're married this could be an issue." Damn you, RS. (I hate it when other people are right) Too bad I can't remember the last time I had sex.

I know, I know. I wrote about trying to get some ass this week but PH had a track meet and didn't get home until late and I was tired and blah, blah, blah. I took care of it myself.

I used to have a ton of sex stories until I stopped d-ring-king? der-i-n-king? How do you pronounce that word?

4. Drinking - Oh, that's how it's spelled/said! To everyone who is going to enjoy this activity this weekend. Fuck you!

Okay, that was harsh (I didn't say it wasn't true). I miss it.

I really, really miss it.

I miss wine. I miss Schlafly Raspberry hefewiesen, Blue Moon, Guinness, Smithwick's, Three Olives Cherry and Coke, and martiiiiiiiiiiiiiinis.

I do have a couple of stories up my sleeve, which I've never written about because 1) it'd be a 3 part series and 2) I need to protect the innocent (obviously, that's me).

5. America - Seriously? What the hell am I going to write about America? Do you want me to recollect how much Obama spent in taxes in 2008? I can do that for you. Or how about all the pesticide companies harassing Michelle for growing an organic vegetable garden and not using chemicals (you rock, Michelle!)? Or these stupid ass tea parties? I didn't attend tea parties when I was 4 and supposed to like them. I was too busy playing G.I. Joe's with the cute boy across the street to pay attention to tea parties.

6. Doing crappy lists - Mission accomplished.

My blogging isn't suffering because I'm burned out, it's suffering because I'm bored!

Better yet..My life, to me, has become boring.

It's not that it's uneventful, I have a TON of stuff going on, but it's real stuff -not funny stuff. (Not that real isn't entertaining) It's not the typical stories I find entertaining to read or write about. I've become a normal person with normal everyday ordeals, and unless I want to turn this blog into a pregnancy blog (God, I just choked on my own vomit) I don't have as much fun stuff to write about. I don't have the material that I like to write about.

We'll see where this road takes me...

(only three more months until I re-enter into the world on liqueur)

Happy Friday!

Sleeping tigers

2009-04-15T08:54:00.006-05:00

I am such a nerd.

Why?

Because I got really excited yesterday when I saw this:

Interpret the word "excited" anyway you want.

I guess for all intends and purposes you could categorize myself as in a draught.

Yes...that kind of draught. How, many of you may ask, is that possible for a knocked up pregnant chick? Especially when a couple months ago the word "insatiable" would be the most appropriate definition of my drive.

Well, I tell you, when your girly bits get ripped clean with smoldering hot wax and your pelvis feels like it's about to tear at the seams, you'd we warding off a penis with crucifixes and garlic too.

Trust me.

But something strange happened this morning. For some unexplained reason when PH kissed me good-bye this morning I had a sudden urge to tackle him back to bed. I have full faith he's unprepared for his greeting home later tonight.

Too much credit

2009-04-13T08:46:00.003-05:00

Walked into the office and do you know who I saw lounging in his leather chair this morning?

Drunk Manager.

I was shocked to find out rehab and AA is now only 4 days long.

No?

Well... That's my office integrity for you.

Good times.

I can't explain it right, but this problem bothers me more than anything I have experienced in this job. AND IT DOESN'T EVEN INVOLVE ME!!!

I should let it go. I should stop thinking about it. I should ignore it completely because it doesn't involve me.

But I can't!

I won't talk about it either. I'll just sit in my office and stew over it for the next several weeks (thinking about how this company is barely staying afloat but they are choosing to waste over 100K per/year on a dude's salary who does fucking NOTHING. Or the fact that they are willing to pay him 100% of his salary while he was going to be in rehab but they are only willing to pay me 50% of my salary for only 4 -FOUR- weeks of maternity leave!!!) or until the dude shows up for work again walking into walls demanding to find out where his cell phone is and I'm going to snap like Michael Douglas a la William Foster in Falling Down.

FFF - Friday Fun Facts

2009-04-10T10:39:00.005-05:00

I'm not particular on bragging, but I don't mind patting myself on the back when someone out in the blogsphere thinks I'm fun enough to crown me with an award. And that's exactly what Mishi at The Rest of My Life So Far... I'm incredibly flattered and of course I have to pass it forward.

According to the rules of receiving this award I have to tell you 7 things that I love, and then tag 7 other deserving bloggers with the award. Well, I'm going to do this a little different than my normal fact giving posts. Typically I embarrass myself with pointless information (wait, maybe it will be the same), but I'm going to try and not give away too many gory details about myself. Possibly more simple tokens that everyone in my real life knows that you may not.

1. I REALLY REALLY wish Halloween was in the summer or I get invited to a costume party sometime soon.

Why?

Because I am DESPERATE to wear this as a costume:

Come on! How perfect of a costume is this? I won't be pregnant forever, I've got to take advantage of this ridiculous outfit while I can!

2. This is more obvious to the blog world that anyone else, but I can't freaking type or write to save my life lately. Seriously people. How can you even read this blog? I write like an idiot sometimes. I use the wrong words in sentences -which sound phonetically the same when pronounced out loud, but the wrong word none-the-less. If there are word Nazis out there, I'm sorry for contributing to your headaches.

3. I try very hard not to complain in real life. I let it all out here because that's why I started a blog, but right now in my life I'm incredibly happy.

The happiest I've ever been. Honestly.

My job isn't the greatest, but I don't get the urge to slit my wrists over it. My personal life has never ever been better. Every stage of my life has been exciting. I don't look back at any part of my life and wish I could go back. When look back it gives me sense of nostalgia, but I'm most excited looking forward to what's to come and I welcome it. I have a sense of peace about the future and I can't wait for the next big adventure.

4. I have never met a fellow blogger. I really wish I could participate in a Lou meet-up (where are you STL bloggers, Liz, Rebekah?) I'm unbelievably jealous of the Windy City, DC, & LA bloggers who seem to meet up on a weekly basis. I nominate someone else to organize it(I have enough on my plate), but let's wait until after July 10th...believe me, I'll be a lot more fun.

5. Because no one here knows me in real life it's easy for me to let everyone into this very small window of what I choose to expose about myself. At times I've whined about how I felt PH has put our relationship on the back-burner to his teaching and coaching, but I've never been more wrong about anything in my life. I am the first to admit ts was horribly unfair and unjustified.

I have never felt more loved by anyone in my entire life. I feel protected and secure and never worry about our relationship and what we have to waver. I don't think I blindly trust him either. He has never (seriously not once) given me a reason not to trust him.

This wasn't the life I wanted for myself. It's better than I ever imagined it could be.

6. I'm really scared of having a stretched out vag. If I have a C-section, I won't be upset.

7. My favorite quote of the week:

Dolce: Babe, if I didn't lather myself down every night it sticky lotion (to prevent stretch marks) would you put the moves on me more often?

PH: No. But I probably won't be putting moves on you later if you don't take care of yourself now.

The seven people I am tagging for this award are:

Matt from A View From 5280: I just kind of like Matt. He always leaves comments on other people's blog and just gives me the impression of being a good person. And his blog is funny. And he likes strawberry lemonade. How you can resist a guy who drinks strawberry lemonade?

Narm at White Collar Redneck: Besides the fact he's a creative blogger I just really want to see him but a pretty lime green and pink award on his blog. And, Narm, I live in Midwest city...we appreciate our white collar rednecks.

Cal at Sidenote: She always has fun stories and writes little tid-bits of her day. And she LOVES dogs. I like dog people.

Lilu at Like It, Love It: Her TMI surpasses us all. The shit she does leaves me speechless...and that, my friends, is saying a lot.

Always a Bridesmaid at 27 Dresses in Cleveland: I don't know what it is about Cleveland girls, but they're always entertaining.

Laurwilk at Rainbows On My Feet: A solid Midwesterner (are we experiencing a pattern?) who has seen the world and currently lives in NY...every Midwest girl's dream come true.

InsomniacLolita at The Insomniac Lolita: From one insomniac to another...glad you're out there!

TMI: Graduation Day

2009-04-09T11:28:00.008-05:00

If it happened to Jonah Hill, it could happen to you.

I was that girl once.

The girl who would shamelessly flirt with guys because I loved the attention. I also had little problem with being touchy-feely, warm and snuggly.

Yes, I was that girl...in High School.

But, like all flirty girls, one time it seriously back fired... At my HS graduation party.

Toward the of the school year there was this guy I had my heart set on for about...um...two weeks whose name was Brandon (real name). Brandon was a geeky nerd throughout high school until his senior year when he turned into a "swan". Needless to say girls wanted to jump in his balls. I, however, was the lucky one who he said yes to for the girl-ask-guy dance.

I was cool.

Or so I thought.

So the day of my high school graduation party I had about 50 friends over for food, cake, and presents. I'm thinking how all cute and adorable I am hanging outside in my new sundress, so decide to take a seat at the center of the group right on Brandon's lap.

We're joking around and talking when my mom interrupts the party mom to ask me to come inside and help her with punch or something stupid you have to help moms with.

I stand up and walk over to my mom and I hear a low gasp come from the crowd of guests. Not sure what's going on, I turn around and there is Brandon sitting in the same chair; his jaw loosely hung open with a look of pure disgust on his face.

Staring back at him like a Carrie prom night was a huge blood stain on this pants!!!

This wasn't blood from a finger either.

I had period blood all over his pants! I was so humiliated I immediately ran inside and hid. I didn't know how to go back out there. I mean, seriously, I just BLED all over this dude. A girl friend came looking for me after about 10 minutes of self loathing in my bedroom and told be Brandon and his friends all left and no one else cared.

That was the last time I hung out with Brandon even though we ended up going to the same college.

I think that story was best to remain in high school.

Update: I said no, no, no

2009-04-08T16:54:00.002-05:00

Well, Manager was admitted today.

I wish him the best.

Because once was not enough

2009-04-08T09:36:00.003-05:00

1. You hold a manager title in the company and have entire portions of the country under your watch.

2. You've been sent to rehab 3 - 4 times at the expense of your company to get sober missing work months at a time.

3. You've been sat down by your boss who explained to you showing up for work drunk is not an option to maintain employment.

4. You show up for work drunk a minimum of 4 times with in the last three weeks.

5. This morning when you showed up for work, you parked your car in a handicapped spot and both of your tires are up on the cement parking block.

6. You stumbled around the office with your eyes half closed mumbling and slurring your speech.

7. You yelled at the receptionist over and over again to call your cell phone because you can't find it.

8. You walked passed me, couldn't pronounce my name, and smelled worse than the Sham-Wow guy after a night with a tongue biting hooker.

9. The entire company knows you show up for work drunk yet you still have a job. A job with authority. A job making more money than the entire staff of hour employees makes combined.

10. You were driven home by your boss who will most likely tell you to sleep it off and come back to work tomorrow.

I've decided I don't blame you anymore for your behaviour.

I blame the people in your life who enable you to continue behaving in this way and acting like it's okay.

Okay, maybe they're not acting like it's okay, but they're not doing anything to make you understand how you are putting yourself and other people in danger (see: driving to work intoxicated).

Your cry for help is definitely being heard. I'm sorry the people who are hearing it aren't doing anything to help you.

Aladdin said it best

2009-04-07T09:09:00.003-05:00

It's a whole new world...through non-drinking eyes.

A couple weekends ago PH and I drove across state for a friend's wedding. It's been awhile since his crew of college frat brothers got together...with an open bar.

Let me start by saying, somethings never change.

I'm all about going out. I've never been the type to sit at home and twiddle my fingers - I like socializing, I like hanging out with my friends. As long as the venue isn't too smoky I'm all in.

This wedding was no exception. For the the most part I love PH's friends. Love them! I can't tell you how many times in college I locked my keys in the car, got a flat tire, or simply needed help and his friends were at my side in minutes helping me out.

But with my love of his friends comes an exception: Mellon Mouth.

Mellon Mouth dated one of my best friends for two years. At the time I sort of liked him, he seemed okay enough to pass as a boyfriend. There were definitely some red flags in his behaviour.

1. He shit himself one night. Yep - who knows what kind of "cocktail" he mixed that night, but the dude totally shit his bed. It wasn't in solid form either. It was all over the walls, mattress, shack sheets, etc. Disgusting.

2. He purposely went out of his way to make other people feel bad. He was one of "those" types. I've never had much respect for people who have so little regard for other peoples' feelings.

3. His goal is to be the most outrageous, ridiculous, and inappropriate person at the party. He must be the center of attention at all costs.

His behaviour at the wedding hadn't changed at all since college. Except as far as I could tell his pants were clean.

It's an odd feeling being the ONLY sober person at the party, carefully watching the chips fall as the night proceeded. You can see where the trouble lies and exactly where the snowball starts.

Anyway, for the first time I saw a very distinct line between PH's friends who are married and the ones who are single. The married guys hung out with everyone else, drank, danced, had a good time. The single guys had a fucking popularity contest on who could out do the next guy for being more inappropriate.

Who lead this barbaric display of frat boys basically trying to whack each other off?

Mellon Mouth - who I would like to blame for every one's short failings.

The day started off with Mellon Mouth wearing a tuxedo to the wedding. No, he was not in the wedding, he just felt he was too cool for school to wear a suit (really, not a big deal. Stupid, but not worth writing home about). So, of course, the next guy shaved his beard into a fu-manchu like mustache and went to the wedding. (again, not a big, but still stupid).

The reception is where the ridiculousness started. The groom is no idiot. He knew exactly what his friends would act like at a wedding so he strategically placed them in the back of the ballroom away from the majority of the guests.

It was a good thing. I lost count of how many times I heard one them scream: Fuck, pussy, cunt, ass hole, and cock sucker. The context of one of the drunken conversations over dinner did consist of one of our friends getting arrested the night before the wedding for being too drunk.

The police had him handcuffed in the back of the cruiser when our other friends convinced the cops to let him go and they would take him home immediately. So they released my friend and right away he stood in a fake James Bond stance, turned his hands into a fake pistol, and barrel rolled over the hood of the cop car!!! He jumped into the cab with his friends and peeled out of there.

Barrel rolled over the hood of a cop car and just being handcuffed...Idiots.

As the night progressed and conversations with people were starting to turn into helping them maintain balance I looked up and say one of the grooms men walking around the reception with out his shirt on.

The guy looks exactly like Toby McGuire - so imagine Toby McGuire walking around a reception aimlessly in tuxedo pants with out a shirt on.

I just shook my head.

Dancing circles ensued on the dance floor, but the best one of the evening was another guy dancing balls to wall to Beyonce's "Single Ladies". As my gay friend C commented that evening "He will be single until he starts dating a guy." Single Ladies dancer confirmed the statement.

The other popular dance move of the evening was when two of my guy friends danced in the center of a circle and one friend (the guy who barrel rolled over the cop car) pretended to whack off on my other friend who was preforming "Matrix" like moves bending backwards in order to avoid any imaginary money shots.

They have a lot of class.

One of my favorite parts of the evening was when Mellon Mouth decided to start standing on the tables (this is a WEDDING RECEPTION!) and putting is crotch in girls' faces...parents were present.

Personally, I don't want to know where the fuck that penis has been. If it came with in one foot of me I would cut it off with a blunt knife...gladly.

I won't leave out the part where he got up on the bar and started dancing or that he walked around the reception tables and started eating the floral center pieces.

By the time the last song played, my best friend at the party was passing out next to me, my face hurt from the fake smile plastered on it, and called it a night.

If I was enjoying the party with martinis and wine, I'm sure it would have been one the best wedding receptions I have been too, unfortunately, I witnessed in a whole different way.

Less than pleasant

2009-04-06T09:02:00.003-05:00

Scrapes, bruises, and stitches have been close friends of mine for as long as I remember. My first memory of going to the hospital was when I was about three and I tripped and fell on glass soda bottles.

Do you remember those from the early 80's?

Anyway, off to the ER for 12 stitches in my elbow. That's a lot of stitches on a three year old.

Then there was the time I broke my foot on a trampoline. My mother thought gymnastics and ballet class would help with my inability to walk in a straight line without falling. Needless to say she was wrong. I was the only 10 year old in the beginner ballet class with a bunch of 6 year olds...I'm not kidding.

However with a lack of coordination, I'm somehow not awkward. High heels are my friend.

I know most of my injuries have occured from pure clumsiness.

Uncoordinated would be the nicest way to describe me. How I played competitive sports (and actually excelled at them) is beyond me. I guess what they say about practicing is true because I am no natural athlete.

This weekend, however, I experienced a entire new level to my clumsiness: Off Balance.

My center of gravity is all screwed up due to the fact I have an abnormal proportion of weight being distributed to the front portion of my abdomen. But, I'm straying away from the point.

This morning I woke up with a sore back that would rock your world with stiff hips and a bruised ass.

Yesterday, I fell down the stairs...Twice.

TWO TIMES!!!

It takes a lot of effort for one person to accomplish this. (And just so you know, I feel old and decrepit right now).

I'm sitting in my desk at work wondering how many hours I need to spend in the office before I can go home to work on my laptop lying in bed where my back is supported by an embarrassing amount of pillows.

I only have two and a half hours left to go...

My Adventureland

2009-04-03T10:14:00.007-05:00

I can't wait to see this movie. The summer after I graduated from high school I worked here:

But more importantly, I worked here:

Yes, I worked at an amusement park.

It was definitely the worst non-professional job I have ever had.

Top Ten Reasons working at an Amusement Park blows:

10. The uniform: Purple lifeguard swimsuit which faded in the chlorine and made the crotch a different color than the boobs

9. It took approximately 15-20 minutes to drive into the parking lot, find a space, and park your car.

8. It took another 30 minutes to walk through the employee entrance, walk to your station (or water park) before you could sign in and start working for the day.

7. Basically you had to get to the park an HOUR before your shift started.

6. The employee cafeteria I swear was trying to poison the staff.

5. Your peer was a 45 year old woman of two whose 17 year old son shared the same job as her and 10 year old son ran around the park wrecking havoc on all those surrounding him.

4. The park was under-staffed, so for a 12 hour shift you were only allowed one 30 minute break...ALL.DAY.

3. You are in the HOT fucking sun all day long, with no water, and no bathroom breaks.

2. Supervisor leaves you at the same spot guarding the lazy river for 6 hours straight without water refills or a break.

1. One month after the water park opened none of the rides had chlorine in the water and the manager blamed it on bad testing chemicals. Yes, my friends, you were swimming in other people's urine.

The best part of the job:

Dolce to supervisor:

"Hey, Matt, I'm taking my lunch break now. And I'm not coming back. EVER."

Have a great weekend!!!

TMI: If you won't listen to my words, listen to my dancing feet

2009-04-02T11:20:00.002-05:00

Alright, that title has absolutely nothing to do with my post. It's just the best line I've heard in a long time.

But let's get to the point:

I am no stranger to hot wax.

You know those scented candles that turn into message oil? Yeah, I like that kind of hot wax too, but for today's TMI I'm referring to the Brazilian kind of hot wax.

Hot sticky wax all over my girl bits.

Like I said, I'm no stranger to a little hot wax on the girl. I prefer as as little hair as possible and usually the monthly trip to the spa demands a little manicuring in my nether-regions.

However "a little manicuring" doesn't even begin to express the pure torture I set myself up for.

I remember sitting in a child development psych class watching videos of natural births (i have no idea why) but all I could concentrate on was how a women would allow herself to be video taped with a vag that looks straight out of National Geographic.

Excuse me, but I'm not the National Geographic type. And because my girl is going to be exposed to more eyes than regularly common, there is no way I'm leaving them with the impression that I belong in a grass shirt with a shell necklace rather than my black maxi - a la Angelina style - maxi dress.

So yesterday I had my long over due scheduled appointment with my wax girl.

Believe me when I say that waxing isn't all that bad. It's five minutes of uncomfortable ripping, but nothing to cry about. I've done it before and taken it like a champ.

Oh fuck...

Not yesterday.

Here's the problem. NO ONE WARNED ME that my girly bits would be so freaking sensitive to heat and pulling.

Oh my god.

When the girl first applied the wax I thought she was going to burn the first three layers of skin off.

But the ripping!!!

Holy shit.

I broke out in a solid sweat.

My palms.

My arms.

My forehead.

all sweaty.

I nearly started crying when she started to wax the "under" part. You know, not the top, the bottom...SENSITIVE PARTS.

I actually had to have her stop for a couple of minutes so I could continue. It was like nothing I had ever experienced before.

Pure Pain.

When she was finally done I actually had to lay on the bed for a few minutes and regain composure.

Who knew a waxing you've had several times in the past could change so mercilessly because of a little extra blood being sent to that area of the body (read: pregnancy).

But that's not the worst part...by far.

So at the end of the session she gave me some body oil to apply to the area so it would be slick and not sticky.

Remember, I can't see what's down there anymore. It takes some serious yoga moves to allow me to see my own girl. So when I put my hand down there to apply the oil I couldn't believe what I was feeling.

My girl was all SWOLLEN!

Like I had freaking bee stings in my crotch. It was a horrible feeling. When I got home I couldn't help but ask what it actually looked like.

Yes, in case your wondering. I got home last night, pulled down my pants, and asked PH to look at my vag to make sure it was okay.

What?

I was freaking panicking and praying I didn't permanently damage my vag.

Do you know how much sympathy I got from the guy?

Nada.

So of course I had to see for myself what it looked like. I mean, fuck! It hurt to walk. So in an intense panic I grabbed a mirror to see for myself. The lighting was so bad I could see right so I had to lay on my bathroom floor with my ass in the air holding on to mirror to make sure I didn't damage any delicate tissue.

What I saw, I was not prepared for.

My girly bits used to be a nice delicate pink color.

No longer.

I thought it was the bad lighting in the bathroom that made me think I couldn't see my area correctly. No, it was my girl.

She turned to a bluish-purply color!!!!

My intense panic turned to a near hyperventilation. My wax-girl bruised and damaged my girly bits!!!

I did what any smart girl would do.

I went to Google.

"vagina changes color during pregnancy"

Thank you WikiAnswers.

And fuck you too.

Dear girly bits,

When this is all said and done, please, please, please go back to being a sweet pretty pink color. I can't take this.

Love,

Dolce

Monsters on Ladders who are Linked In

2009-04-01T11:26:00.002-05:00

A couple days ago I was discussing my job with a friend of mine who left a very prestigious job selling medical equipment for a lesser paying not as prestigious pharmaceutical job. Her reasoning was quality of life.

I completely understand and agree with her decision. She finally realized it was time to leave after she read a quote in a book. I don't know it verbatim, but it was something like:

If your personal integrity does not match the integrity of your company, it's time to start looking for a new job.

Since she said this to me, my mind has been swirling in doubt. My co-worker (who's dad used to own the company I work for) said she's scared the doors won't remain open to see Christmas.

That's scary.

But what bothers me even more...MORE than ANYTHING else -which isn't the 10% pay decrease or the fact that the hourly employees who work here (who make freaking pennies) are forced to take 2 non-paid days off a month is that the people who are failing to do their jobs in this company continue to be employed.

I'm not whining. I know all of us screw around at work occasionally. Hell, I'm a blogger. I can't even bring myself to say how much time I could waste writing and reading all day, but in this one instance I am completely floored and disgusted.

A manager in my company who makes a very nice living (too good for the amount of work he does) has consistently been showing up to work drunk.

It's not gone unnoticed.

Last week I was sitting in a company meeting with Drunk Manager and I couldn't tell what the fuck he was doing when he started flapping his hands behind his head like he was trying to give himself antlers or bunny ears. Then he nearly fell asleep during the meeting and his shirt was untucked and his stomach was hanging out a good 4 inches.

Do you know what happened to him?

My COO sent him home.

That's it.

Sent the dude home and he came back to work Wednesday morning like nothing had happened. Yesterday he was drunk again telling vulgar jokes to the employees and driving around picking up donuts and snacks in the morning instead of WORKING.

What happened?

Nothing.

People in my office are LOSING THEIR JOBS and TAKING PAY CUTS and this fucker is allowed to not work when he's in the office but show up for work DRUNK!

DRUNK!!!

Any other freaking company on the planet would fire his ass.

Believe me, I don't want to see anyone lose their job, but his salary alone would at least give everyone back 5% of the loss they took. Our company is hanging on my a thread yet they choose to keep employees hired who are clearly NOT preforming.

When did this become okay? Is it okay?

Even WORSE than that the COO clearly told us not to tell the CEO because the CEO would fire him on the spot.

WHAT?????

YES! That's what you're supposed to do! The employing you are paying is NOT working and DRINKING VODKA OUT OF WATER BOTTLES AT WORK!

Clearly there is a problem. Unfortunately, since I have been with the company (a little over 2 years) Drunk Manager has already been sent to rebab for 30 days -I believe the company paid for it.

So obviously this is a problem which hasn't been resolved. There are too many good people, who work hard, who are unemployed right now who would love an opportunity to work, yet my place of employment feels loyalty to keep drunk people in positions of power employed.

I don't believe my personal integrity is matching that of the company I work for.

I can't believe I make friends.

2009-03-31T11:53:00.004-05:00

Sometimes when I think back to college or high school I have a hard time figuring out how the hell I made friends.

First of all, I have a tendency to just to too freaking blunt and honest. I still have a hard time with that...why ask me a question if you're going to be upset by the answer?

However over the years I've learned my friends come to me when they want real answers and not just fluff. I like that place. I don't get the questions, "Do you think he likes me?" After my friend slept with him a couple of time but he never asked her out on a date.

"No, he's not into you with your clothes on". Duh.

But I do get the hard complicated questions concerning relationships, parents, siblings, wedding planning...you know the drill. It took me a long time to get here and at times and shocked I arrived at all.

My best friend, who I have lovingly referred to as "M" is Megan. Megan and I met at Mizzou our first couple days of school being signed to the same sorority. I immediately like her. To me she seemed to the type of girl I so longed to be.

She had all the important qualities to look for in college friends. She was beautiful, had a older --over 21 year old sister-- knew all the bars to go out at, already had several guy friends at school, and more than anything else, she was fun.

The one thing about Megan to keep in mind was that she was maybe a size two and the girl partied like a rock star. She had some strange quirks, such as she refused to eat dinner after 4:30pm. She was too paranoid about gaining the freshman 15, also she was the drunkest person I had ever met in my life. Every night she went out she turned into a flipping bobble head.

I'm not kidding. I thought for sure of everyone I had met in college she would be the one to fail out. So half way through the semester I finally asked her what she was majoring in.

"Physical Therapy"

At the time (I swear I've gotten much better) I had NO inner monologue. None, whatsoever. Immediately, I thought to myself, "This girl is more stupid than I thought".

I blame my mom. She still doesn't have one.

Anyway, before I could stop myself or even realize I was insulting her I say, "Huh. You know you have to be really smart for that?"

I couldn't STOP myself! I mean seriously, the girl partied more than any person I had ever met before. She was out for every drink special the city offered and I knew what hangovers were like and by the way she looked the night before there was NO WAY in hell she was making it to classes the next day.

Megan held her composure. To this day I'm still impressed. Without seeming irritated or insulted by my rudeness she looked at me and said, "I have a 4.0".

I responded with a surprised, "Oh".

I don't know why or how, but we managed to remain friends...best friends. How I made friends in college still surprises me.

What is the worst thing you ever said to a friend?

Enlightened by an inappropriate drunk pee on my front porch

2009-03-30T12:01:00.003-05:00

Originally I intended to start this up again with an explanation for my hiatus, however after little thought and common sense, I've decided against it.

Why?

I haven't blogged because either it hasn't been important enough to report or (and the real reason) I chose to avoid real life issues in the best way I know how: Pretend they don't exist. Blogging, however, doesn't allow one to hide from themselves.

And just to get it all out in the open, not everything going on in the Dolce world has been sweet. Honestly, some of it straight up fucking sucked.

For example, a couple weeks ago I was almost out of job because the economy is sucking the life of out my place of work and the company almost had to close it's doors. Instead of losing my job (which I am very grateful) I took a 10% pay decrease and they cut my commission.

Broke, party of one.

Because when you're a commission sales rep and the company isn't selling much, I'm already not making very much, but fuck...take another 10%. I don't have a baby on the way or daycare to pay for or anything. Just take it.

I don't want to turn in to a ranting a raving bitch who does nothing on her blog except complain the entire time.

Complaining is exhausting.

Sometimes I wish I could take my own advice. It seems lately that the only topics I could will myself to write about ended up just being screaming matches I had in my head. I can't write or think like that without hating myself.

Another important issue is the damned mommy blog - the ONE thing I don't want to turn into, but the one thing in my life that all other things have revolved around. I've been bored with myself and bored with my life.

It wasn't until midnight on Saturday when I caught one of my best friends, drunk, standing in my front door peeing all over my porch that I realized maybe some aspects of my life aren't worth avoiding.

In short

2009-03-11T10:56:00.003-05:00

I'm flipping busy.

Busy trying to get my house on the market

Trying to clean the house so it's presentable

Traveling for work. Will it ever end?

working when I'm at work -GASP!

managing 2 other blogs - did you know that?

Designing new house

Watching the series finale of The L Work -who the f* killed Jenny??? Who else thought the show blew?

In short my life is too boring for the blogging world. I have real issues (I don't know if that's the right word) to work though and I have enough on my plate right now to make my head spin.

Why did I think having a baby and selling a house in 2009 was a good idea? It seems like the worst time/year ever! I should be shot for not using my head sometimes, but yet again, I blame the baby. It's stealing all of my intelligence and turning me into a giant witch.

WIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIITCH.

I'm surprised PH hasn't come home with a want and a broom for me to ride. I feel terrible. I'm stressed out... A LOT.

Keep your fingers crossed that I don't pop a blood vessel.

Define 'Nasty' for me, please.

2009-03-06T10:18:00.004-06:00

Last weekend when PH and I had friends over, we got on the topic of bad roommates and bad neighbors.

I'm a little biased and of course believe I have a hands-down win. I had a roommate with genital warts who was caught wearing my underwear.

If you can beat that, please tell.

Anyway, my friend J is a couple of glasses of Jameson deep and starts to tell the story of his neighbor who he shared a bedroom wall with after graduating from college with "that girl was NAAAASTY".

Hhmm...what's his definition of nasty?

Being the only party-pooping sober one at the shin-dig I start to probe with questions. All he will respond with is, "Trust me, it was nasty".

I love J and have a blast with him, but I see him and his wife being missionary type people and ponder if my own acts would be deemed as "nasty".

I immediately look over to PH and he gives me a smirk. Apparently he must have been thinking the same time. I'm not a total freak or anything of the sort, but there have been the occasional mornings when we have woken up from a drunk night of turning our bed into a jungle-gym and tripped over bondage ties and leather whip like things and sex toys without any recollection of the night before.

I'm fearful asking what exactly happened, but hey - I'm married. Gotta keep it exciting, right?

Anyway, I won't let up. I'm relentless in finding out what nasty really is. Really, I have to find out if he thinks what I do is nasty. I mean, I did get really drunk one night and ask PH to role play a rape scene.

Where do I come up with this shit?

Anyway, PH was NOT into it.

Believe me when I say: Mood killer.

So, J, finally lets loose and starts in with the stories. He shared a bedroom wall with the neighbor's bedroom wall. They liked having sex at 4 or 5 in the morning, but he said he couldn't believe they didn't bang a hole through the wall because he didn't wake up from hearing them, it was from the pounding on the walls.

J: It was my first year teaching and I would lay there and pray for just 30 more minutes of sleep. Then I started to hear them talk. "No, put two fingers in".

Dolce: Okay. That's not that nasty.

J: She was talking about her butt.

Dolce: OHHHHH!!! Wow. Okay. Never mind I said that.

J: But I finally decided to get out of bed when I heard, "MMM, how does my ass hole taste?"

Dolce: Ew.

J: Uh...The GUY was asking HER.

Dolce: WHOA!!!!

Nope.

No.

No.

No.

I am definitely NOT nasty.

Fears are over.

And with that, have an incredible weekend!

I need to get this off my chest...and I'm not talking about my almost too large boobs.

2009-03-04T13:39:00.001-06:00

But while I'm thinking about boobs, never in my life did I image wearing my current bra size unless I paid to get a little...enhancement.

My bra was suffocating the life out my girls. While stopped at a red light-in traffic- at about 3:30 on a bright sunny afternoon day I decided I couldn't fucking take it anymore.

I unlatched the seat belt. Slipped the left arm through the sleeve. Then the right. My shirt was unevenly covering my shoulders and torso. I Unhooked the bra and pulled the fucker off.

I slipped my arms back in the sleeves and pulled my shirt to my waist. I quickly had a glance over to my right and left.

Cars on boths side.

Men driving.

Yep.

Based on their smirks I'm pretty sure they had a full show.

Where is my pride?

Or class?

Anyway, on the way home I stopped at Target for some new "unmentionables". My once perfect 34C bra was in desperate need to be replaced.

34D - Um...still not big enough.

Up one more size.

36C - Um...still not big enough.

Holy shit, I've reach porn start quality with my petite 5'4" stature with a 36D bra. The only fucker that offered any relief. I managed to drive the remainder of the way home with a bra on.

Pointless because it was already dark outside. So stupid.

But anyway, this was not the point of my post today.

Have I mentioned my brain has turned to complete mush? I can't remember freaking dates, appointments, and where the hell are my bloody keys in the morning? I've actually searched the house ravenously in search of my keys only to realize 15 minutes later I'm fucking holding them in my hand.

Bigger boobs are killing my brain.

This puts a whole new twist on stereotypes.

Anyway, I digress.

Here is something that has been bothering the piss out of my lately. I mean really honestly driving me freaking loony tunes!

MEN - COME UP WITH A BETTER QUESTION.

Guy in my office who's first name rhymes with Prick - I'M TALKING ABOUT YOU!

In normal conversation people usually start off by saying something in the realms of:

"Hey, how are you doing?"

"What have you been up to lately"

"What's going on?"

It's typically cheerful and pleasant and often the responding answer is the similar tone and manner.

Not when you're fucking knocked up.

It's like there's a god damn letter on my chest that puts me in some made up category that deserves sympathy, typically from people opposite my gender.

80% = MEN

15% = women with no kids

5% = cats and dogs

Instead of asking how I'm doing or what I've been up to lately, fuckwits e-mail me, text me, call me, and ask me:

"How are you feeling?"

Are you for fucking real?

I always answer ecstatically: "I feel great". But while I'm telling you I feel great, I'm imaging shoving my 4 inch heel up your ass.

What in your life has given you the impression it's society standard to ask pregnant chicks, "How are you feeling"?

To you Prick - the next time you see me, stop and pause, cock your head to the side, and lover your voice to an almost whisper and ask in a condescending tone, "Dolce, how are you feeling?"

I'm going to tell you how it is.

"You know, Prick, things are good so far. I don't have hemorrhoids and I can still shave my own vag. If it wasn't for the fact that every time I move I feel like my pelvis is going to be split in half, I'd be doing great".

Maybe that will get everyone to shut up.

*Sigh*

*Deep Breath*
I feel better.

Where is my: Motivation, Brain, Sense of Humor, & Happy Place

2009-03-02T08:58:00.004-06:00

It's a universal belief that Monday mornings blow.

Today is no exception.

Because the only motivation in my body today is going to be used to actually work at work today (yeah, did you know the economy is in the toilet and I'm a commission sales rep? Those two things do not go together, yesterday I completely forgot my friend's baby shower (she's my next door neighbor -I can't even fake I was sick) and she's throwing me a shower in a couple of months...just forgot...the entire Party!

Then last night I spent a good portion of the night looking at day cares (wow, my life has really changed. Gah!) and I nearly had a panic attack at all the bad reviews of every relatively close daycare next to my house. I'm so depressed I would prefer sticking my foot in a meat grinder than have to send my kid to daycare.

However...

There is always a silver lining.

This weekend I discovered this happy treat:

In case you thought for one second I was actually drinking alcohol this weekend, I may live in a Midwest suburb surrounded by farmland, but I am NOT white trash. I simply played bartender all night.

Here is why this is the BEST liquor ever served:

1. Tastes like espresso! Who doesn't love a good solid coffee drink.

2. It's makes the best espresso martinis
2 oz. Van Gogh Espresso Vodka
2 oz. Godiva Chocolate Liqueur
Shake over ice, pour into martini glass and garnish with coffee beans.
The drink is incredible -even the mens were ordering them!!!

3. Did I mention it has DOUBLE caffeine? Yes caffeine...Lots of it!

PH and I had friends over for dinner and a party on Saturday and around 10pm the group's enthusiasm slowly started to fade. I offered to run up the street to purchase a bottle of this magical tonic to liven up the party. (Yes, send the preggo chick to get the booze).

2 rounds of martinis and drinks later and our living room turned into a dance floor!

Espresso Vodka = party in a bottle.

Party in a bottle = white drunk boys doing the Stanky leg in more ways than I thought possible.

West coast lingo

2009-02-24T21:31:00.003-06:00

Yeah.

This is a fake out post.

Right now I'm driving across state for a trade show with my ex-boss...who, if you're familiar with my earlier writings, I would rather stand in an electrical storm in an copper suit holding a metal pole on the of a roof of a 30 story building rather than spend 12 hours working a trade show with him.

But for lack of trying not to be "butt hurt" (I just learned this phrase means. Must be a west coast thing) I'm going to entertain you with a very very funny Conan clip.

You'll feel smarter for watching it.

Or at least your day will have more cheer!

"You've turned me into a real son of a bitch"

2009-02-23T12:27:00.004-06:00

I'm giving myself a pat on the back.

Crowning myself.

Proclaiming to the world.

I am the best wife on the planet.

I know, considering past posts it's hard to believe, but after this weekend I'm a winner. Hands down. No arguments. I rock!

Why, you might ask, have I throned myself on this great honor?

Easy.

Le Husband went to New Orleans for Mardi Gras this weekend with a bunch of friends and I happily stayed home and moved our office to another room and set up the baby's room all by myself.

What I asked him to do over the past two months, I accomplished in less than 24 hours.

Did I mention I did it by myself...five months pregnant.

I am a golden god.

That's not the only reason though. I am cooler than cleaning a bedroom and assembling a crib and changing table (damn Allen wrenches).

So, PH went to Mardi Gras with two other married guy friends and three couples. If you haven't visited Bourbon Street a rough description is: Half bars half strip clubs.

That's what Mardi Gras is: Food, drinking, and boobs.

PH is funny and drunk dials me and the answers the phone yelling, "I CAN SEE TITTIES!!! I even saw Janey's!!!"

Sweet jeezus, boy. I'm glad you can see boobs.

Okay, Janey is a friend of ours who is about 36 or 37, happily married, and a total MILF. She would fit right in on Wisteria Lane. What makes this story funny is PH has a small crush on her. They're is no denying it.

I'm not at all upset because the context of this crush is him joking around with me about how hot she is.

Anyway, I'm sure PH has thought about what Janey's boobs would like like out of her dangerously plunging necklines. But never did he think he would have the opportunity to see the goods in person.

Apparently he was wrong and through his discussion I doubt there was a person at Mardi Gras who didn't see them.

But of course, I had to ask the real question, "So, how were Janey's boobs?"

"You know what, Honey? You've turned me into a real son of a bitch. I wasn't that impressed. Your boobs are so much better! Every girl I saw flashing, I would just think to myself 'Dolce's are better'. I'm such a prick because of you. I can't enjoy other girls' boobs!"

I internally laugh...or smirk.

PH continues to tell me about the strip clubs, the old ladies with huge painted fake fattie tatties, the street performers, and the friendly crowded streets. It's not until his drive home on Sunday that I realize I am the coolest wife ever.

While his two guy friends are in trouble from their wives for either spending too much money or going to strip clubs, I wait up until he gets home because I can't wait to hear the stories and see the pictures.

PH takes me through a slew of photos...boobs (covered) included. We laugh at the religious fanatics who tell everyone they're going to hell and awe over the elaborate transvestite outfits. PH turns to tell me the entire ride back from N.O. his two friends went through their cameras and video cameras to delete pictures with other girls in them. Even pictures with Jager girls and random messes on the street.

I gave PH a questioning look and asked why.

The other two wives were upset their husband's went to a strip club and because they had never been to N.O. before, the husband's didn't want to risk getting in anymore trouble.

Yes, they were in trouble. My one friend's wife didn't even talk to him all day because he got a lap dance.

Just so you know, there are three levels to lap dances:

1. table dance. Stripper gives you a lap dance in the public area of the venue and there is no touching.

2. lap dance room: stripper takes you to a back room with multiple cubicle looking things with benches where the guys sit and the girls dance in front of them. Limited touching.

3. Champagne room. Closed room which often requires bottle service. Multiple people parties can attend. touching is up to the desecration of the dancer.

Our friend got a level One lap dance. He actually told the girl to "keep it professional". Who says that to a stripper??? Anyway, his wife was more than pissed.

PH even called me on his way home to make sure I wouldn't say anything to the wife (of course I wouldn't). Splashing it on the Internet is a completely different beast.

When we were snuggling into bed last night he leaned over and said, "It's so much fun coming home to tell you everything than having to worry about hiding it or upsetting you".

Was the man cheating on me?

No.

Did he blow a bunch of money we didn't have?

No.

Was he doing anything he wouldn't otherwise to with me?

No.

This is why I'm the world's best wife. I can let my husband go and hang out in New Orleans for Mardi Gras, party at strip clubs, look at old women's boobs, move an office, and set up a baby room by my self, without my husband returning to a crazy psycho mess of a wife who has her panties in a bundle because he did exactly what you'd expect a 28 year old man to do at Mardi Gras.

Babe, thank you for thinking I'm cool enough not to have to hide shit from. However, I'm sure if those other guys didn't try and hide crap (the innocent stuff no less) from their wives (i.e. deleting photos and changing stories) their wives wouldn't be as crazy either.

Tack in my ass

2009-02-20T12:19:00.005-06:00

It's Friday and with all of my self control I will try try and refrain from losing my temper at my fuck nut of a week and look forward to Saturday.

But you know, I just can't do that.

My list of things that have put a tack in my ass this week:

1. my car blew up this week.

Yep.

BLEW THE FUCK UP! Smoking and sparks and everything. Happened on Tuesday night while driving home from work.

2. This has resulted in me sharing a car again!!! Do you remember right before Christmas a semi-truck his my PARKED car and it took over a MONTH to fix? I haven't had my car back for 3 weeks!!!

3. It's going to cost be nearly $4K to get the bastard fixed. FOUR THOUSAND DOLLARS!!! We're not talking pennies anymore.

4. My customers are losing clients like the Dow is losing points (that was stupid, sorry). I mean for the love of all things holy I need my clients to keep THEIR clients. I work on commission bitches. Mama needs $$$$

5. My Dad. UGH! That man knows exactly how to piss me off. I wish that man never retired because he's turned into a decrepit, stingy, old man over night. I think I've said this before, I'm not really sure, but the man does NOTHING. NADA. ZIP.

He sits on his ass all day and watches Fox News, reads MSNBC online, or reads books written by Sean Hannity (puke), Laura Ingraham (smother me with a pillow), and Bill O'Reilly (one lethal injection, please).

When I briefly mention yesterday over lunch (which I forced him to pay for) that PH and I were considering building a new house, he jumped down my throat faster than Ann Coulter at a proposition 8 protest.

"That's really not a good idea in economic times like these. I lay awake at night and worry about how much debt you and PH have."

"Um...Dad, the only debt I have is my mortgage. Our cars are paid off and I don't have any credit card debt."

"You and your husband have more debt than I ever did!!! And now you want to build a new house??? It's people like you who have gotten this country in the mess that it is!!!"

wtf?????????

You think I am the reason this country is having economic hardships. PEOPLE LIKE ME??? (Mentally throw fists in the air and repeat every curse word known to man in the English, Spanish, and German language).

It's NOT MY FAULT! You know who is to blame are the greedy sons of bitches who wanted more money than they deserved and raped the American people in the processes. It's companies like Countrywide mortgage who charged people $6K for closing costs on loans. It's loan officers who asked, "How much can you spend a month?" then turned around to his appraiser friend and said, "Hey, jack the crap up on the appraisal of this house so he gets a bigger loan". Then the appraiser calls his real estate friend and says, "Hey, sell this house for XXX because I know a guy who's willing to buy it for that much more."

Hey, Dad, who do you think I am in this process???

The loan officer?

The appraiser?

The real estate agent?

Or the poor bastard who just bent over so all three could have a turn???

GRATEFULLY none of the above.

I'm someone who was SMART. I bought a house I could afford on my own when I was 22 and now have a dual income and can afford something just as nice but a little bigger. With interest rates falling like they are I can get a bigger loan for the same monthly payment. What don't you understand, Dad.

But instead of getting my panties in a bunch and popping a blood vessel I kept my rant to a minimum and just asked, "Dad, why do we even do these lunches?"

After yesterday, I almost hope he decides to move to Florida.

My ultimate dream came true, just not in the way I expected

2009-02-19T09:18:00.005-06:00

Have you ever dreamed about having sex 24/7? No need to stop to catch your breath, to eat, to sleep...nothing but sex?

Yeah, when I read a book recently where the two characters could have sex 24/7. Can you imagine? You would get nothing done.

Heaven.

...

Nevermind.

Scratch that.

I can't lie and say I've wanted to have sex all day long. My girl would fall out. If you can't deliver in under 18 minutes, I'm out....or I should say you're out.

(God, stop the vulgarity!)

A wiener inside me for longer than 30 minutes is fucking torture. I think the only way that's ever happened must have been when I was over served and didn't care.

Oh my god! I can't get to my point.

I thought it would be really funny to say my dream of having a wiener inside me 24/7 has finally been fulfilled, but in the context of how it's happened is just too inappropriate to spit out that way.

Sick.

So in better news...

PH and I went to the doc yesterday.

10 fingers
10 toes
solid heart beat (with 4 heart chambers)

Everything is going PERFECTLY!

And...Alexa's Greek witchcraft was right.

It's a BOY!!!

New name and we're sticking to it: Thomas Logan

We were so excited as we were leaving the office (didn't even make it to the parking lot) we texted all of our friends, cousins, and siblings and called our parents with the news.

Un-wishful thinking

2009-02-17T09:21:00.003-06:00

My thoughts to PH:

"Honey, do you think the reason we're getting along so well lately...I mean, we haven't had the slightest hiccup since November. If we've had a disagreement, we've settled is rationally with out yelling. AND we're so mushy gooshy, lovely dovey all the time".

"You're point?"

"I wonder if we're getting along so well because I'm not drinking any more."

PH gives me a quizzical look.

"If you think about it, since I've stopped drinking I haven't:

Gotten crazy psycho bitch mean on Vodka and accused you to be the world's worst husband.

yelled at your for not making enough money.

accused you of spending too much time coaching sports rather than spending time at home and helping me out.

caused any creepy bar scenes "heavy breathing" on other women.

said hurtful things to friends drunk.

wasted our weekends being hungover ordering pizza and sleeping on the couch

or

slapped you in your balls in the middle of your sleep".

"Aww, honey. (gives me a big hug) I don't think it has anything to do with you not drinking. I think it's just because we have something to be really excited for and get to be excited together.

"You really don't think it has anything to do with me not drinking?"

"Nah. I miss you drunk sometimes. The sex was a lot of fun!"

update: after re-reading this post, I have come to realize: I am the world's worst wife. Sorry Pumpkin Head for putting you through drunk hell for the past seven years of our relationship. Seriously, I'm the luckier one.

Cause We Trading Places

2009-02-16T10:32:00.005-06:00

What's better than Mardi Gras?

Nothing.

Except pre-partying the weekend before Mardi Gras style. And that's exactly what I did on Saturday.

In case you didn't know, the Lou has the second biggest Mardi Gras celebration in the U.S.

Yeah, who thought a Midwest town such as this would have any type of celebration. Okay- if you think that, you live under a rock. (sorry to be harsh)

So anyway, this weekend PH and I and a group of friends headed down to Soulard for the pre-weekend festivities. I love the group of friends we went with because while it was all couples (snooze, boring) it was a very mixed group of couples (read: same sex couples) and they usually pull us into bars and clubs PH and I really had never ventured into, mostly because none of our friends typically hang out there (read: gay bars).

Toward the end of the night, after 7 hours of hard core partying and bead tossing, my friend Karyn declares we cannot go home until we hit one more bar. I'm the only one sober (duh) and establishments we visit are slowly and steadily becoming more entertaining and the crowds a little more dodgy.

We walk into the last bar and Karyn immediately bee-lines to the bartender to order a round of shots. PH and I follow to help her out. The bar is old, small, and dingy with a square bar in the center with old men filling in the seats and a cloud of cigar and cigarette smoke lingering above their heads. Karyn, who has been loud, out, and proud for the past 20 years turns to PH and says, "You know his is an old fag bar?"

The crowd wasn't full of beautiful men you imagine seeing like this:

Or like this:

Instead it was occupied by men who looked like this:

PH just laughed and told Karyn that the man in the fur coat with dangly earrings gave him the impression. With drinks in hand, I walk behind PH to meet up with our friends who stole a table for us. As PH walks past a large man about 65 years old, I
hear him turn to his friend and say in a think red-neck like drawl, "Hhmmm...I like that red-headed boy".

I laugh immediately. This night just took a turn for the best. I cracked my knuckles and waited for the giggling to begin.

Here's the thing: I don't mind getting hit on by guys. I don't wear low cut shirts because I don't want people to look at my boobs. I don't put on make-up, flattering outfits, and make my hair gorgeous to deter getting checked out. I don't go out trying to get hit on either. I'm just saying if it happens, it happens. I'm not going to pout and declare all men are pigs (some are though). And it entertains me when PH get hit on by other women as well. For some reason, cougars just LUV PH. I find it hilarious! I had a tackle a woman who put her hand down his pants once at a bar.

I DO have limits, I don't want to give you the impression I dress like a slut.

I don't.

Unless it's Halloween.

Anyway, I knew I wasn't any one's type in this bar. What I wasn't prepared for was the hot commodity PH would turn out to be.

PH walked up to the bar to order another drink.

Guy1: (turns to PH and speaks like Joey from Friends) Hey, how you doin?
PH: (smiles politely) Good. How about yourself?
Guy1: You straight?
PH: Yep.
Guy1: Hhmm... We'll we've all been talking about you.
PH: (uncomfortable giggle) Oh, really? Okay.
Guy1: We all agree (points to several guys sitting at the bar) you got a nice ass.
PH: (taken back and smile) Oh thanks. I appreciate that. I'm flattered. (Yes, he really said he was flattered).

At this point Karyn and her partner are laughing hysterically and applauding PH for being a good sport.

I should have mentioned PH drunk = dancing machine. I can't peel the boy off of a dance floor after 8 drinks in. If there's no dance floor, but there is music playing, he will make his own dance floor. So later in the night, PH starts dancing with me, but really I'm standing still while PH rubs his butt and wiener on me.

Guy1: Hey straight boy! You can't be dancing like that.
PH: I can't dance?
Guy2: Not like that unless you want us to dance with you.
Guy1: All grinding up like that. It's not fair.
PH: Weeeeeeeeeell...Alright.
Guy2: You know, our numbers are just as good as any girls'.
PH: (laughs) Okay, but I don't think my pregnant wife would like that.

Everyone got a kick out of it...the guys at the bar and PH. We had been out for nearly nine hours and finally decided to call it a night. I at least know if things didn't work out with PH and I, he'd be a huge hit playing for the other team.

the Don't List

2009-02-13T10:27:00.004-06:00

I don't have any rants or rave, except one small thing:

My f*ing Don't List.

Don't:
eat fish with lots of mercury. -screw you Tuna on Honey Wheat from Panera

disregard food borne illness. - what the fuck does this mean?

use chemicals. - huh? What kind of chemicals?

Aspartame - Ahh...those kind of chemicals.

Certain Over-the-Counter Drugs: Advil, Alieve, IB-Prophin, Motrin, Day Quil, NyQuil, Sudafed, Robitussin, etc...

cat litter box. - Whew, dodged a bullet on this one. I hate cats.

take hot baths, hot tubs, or saunas. - Excuse me, I need "my time"

use scented feminine hygiene products. - Fine. I spell like cotton candy anyway. Takers? (sorry, that was kind of gross)

Don't douche. - Ew! This list said "douche"

Secondhand Smoke - Great, now I have to give up hang out with most of my friends too.

have optional x-rays. - If I break a leg, we'll have to discuss this.

Don't drink vodka, rum, whiskey, bourbon, scotch, wine (red or white) gin, conac, brandy, triple sec, grand marnier, midori, absinthe, *sigh* you get the picture. - Does beer count? How about a fruity Lambic? I'm digging here!

Don't smoke. - not a problem. You already took away the booze.

Horseback riding - what did people do before cars?

use illegal drugs. - If you bought them from a family member of Michael Phelps, does that count.

drink too much caffeine - Is caffeine alcohol, nicotine, or illegal? Then whyyyyy?

eat certain foods - Um...is this the mercury saturated fish you talk about? No. it also included: deli meat, SUSHI, non-Kraft cheese, medium rare steak, and anything not cooked until burnt to a crisp.

Mountain Biking - but I like it.

ingest herbal remedies - You son of a bitch! You've taken away everything else!!

Oral Sex - THIS IS CROSSING THE LINE!!! "when your partner is pleasuring you, your mate should be careful not to blow air into your vagina". What kind of idiot BLOWS AIR into a vagina? If you are a guy or girl who does this, you should be taken out back and shot... Of Mice and Men style.

Based on the information below I will be starving and thirsty all weekend. Everyone have a wonderful weekend and Happy Valentine's Day!

Larry David would explain this best

2009-02-12T09:26:00.004-06:00

Something always happens on my flights home from Omaha which make me wish I was driving 8 hours across two states getting honked at by toothless truck drivers than spending an hour and twenty minutes on a plane.

Yesterday was no exception.

The last time I flew home from Omaha within the last 30 minutes of the flight the plane made a vertical descend that send alarms off in the plane while I grabbed on to the 12 year old girl next to me screaming for God to take me quickly.

I think I would have enjoyed that more...than yesterday.

I fly Southwest (not a plane snob like I am a hotel snob) and the airline seats you according to when you check in. Group A, B, or C. C is for losers who do not check in until they get to the airport.

Yesterday I was a loser and was one of the last 5 to board the plane.

I typically don't care because flights from Omaha to STL are never fully booked. I almost always get an A group because I travel so freaking much.

Again, not the case yesterday. The flight was OVERbooked and people were getting bumped to later flights, but not me! I was getting the hell out of dodge. Here's another problem I have with airlines:

Passengers are only allowed ONE carry-on and ONE personal item. For men this means two carry-ons. For women it means one carry-on and a purse. I'm a sneaky bitch and usually have THREE carry-ons OR better yet, I stuff my purse in one carry-on so no one busts my balls about it.

Yesterday, this was a bad idea.

Here's why.

I'm one of the last people on the plane, which is fine. I don't normally have a problem sitting in the middle of two people because I've got my book and my noise cancelling headphones and I'm clueless to the world.

Life is good.

This time however there so NO overhead storage for my ~~three~~ one carry-on and one personal item, there are also VERY limited seats. And not to forget, when I walked on to the plane I was immediately hit with how scorching the fucker was.

I love heat. I wear sweaters and jackets all.the.time. I sweat PH out at home because I like it when the house is a nice 75 degrees. So when I say the plane is hot, it's HOT.

I thought I was walking into the ninth circle of hell!

It was definitely a precursor for what was to come.

The first seat I see available is in the very first row and an aisle seat (but no storage) and the two people sitting in the seats next to the empty one are, um...how to do say quite large? The woman can't even get her seat belt on by herself, so her husband is helping and the two of them sitting together take up nearly all three seats.

I'm not joking.

So I proceed to the back...the very back. The dude behind me nearly tackling my ass because, just like me, he sees one overhead compartment near empty. Being ahead of him I stuff my bags into the compartment.

He stops me and says, "Thanks a lot for putting your stuff there, now I have no place to put mine. I don't mean to be rude, but mine is much larger."

Dumbfounded, I just look at him and ignore the ass and almost...just almost... say, "tough shit". Instead I sweetly smile and ask if I can walk around him to find a seat.

Desperate, thinking the flight is over booked I run to the first and only seat I see before they ask me to take a later flight. I step over, politely ask the man in aisle seat if anyone is sitting next to him, and he answers no.

He was fucking wrong.

There was a man in that seat.

The man who was suppose to be in the window seat was so, um...large(?) he took over two thirds of my seat too.

I'm not kidding.

The dude's shoulder blade was completely taking over my arm rest. (there was NO WAY of putting it down). He had to sit with his arms crossed the entire flight so not to squish me. I mean this very honestly, he easily took up half of my seat. I could tell he was uncomfortable and slightly embarrassed by his size, but come on! If you know that you're too big for a Southwest airline seat, BUY TWO! SERIOUSLY. (I couldn't even put my tray down when my drink and peanuts came because it HIT HIM!!! MY TRAY HIT HIM!)

How is this a hard concept?

The only person I can thank at this point, while I curse the heavens for such terrible luck, is myself for somehow magically maintaining a size 6 ass. One size larger and this would not have worked.

For the entire trip I had to hunch my shoulders forward, fold my arms over my lap, and cross my legs just so I could fit. I'm not lying when I say, while sitting next to (this very nice obese man) that his one pant leg was large enough that I can fit both of my legs up to my waist in his one pant leg. I'm not exaggerating.

Did I mention the guy in the aisle seat FELL ASLEEP ON ME!

Yes, I am absolutely squashed between a man who should have not been a cheap ass and bought to tickets to save himself the discomfort of this flight and that of the people/person next to him and a man who is SNORING on my shoulder.

Did I mention the plane is fucking unbearably HOT??? I swear to God I had the fan/vent/whatever blasting on me during the entire trip, and I'm DRIPPING in sweat! I can actually feel it dripping in between my boobs. I'm so fucking hot at this point my damn ankles are sweating. And I can't get my freaking zip-up off because one is
dude sleeping one me (who I've elbowed now TWICE) and I'm pinned behind a giant's shoulder.

If hell had 10 circles, that's where I'd be.

And to top the joy ride off, within the last 15 minutes of decent, the sweat isn't even relevant to heat because I am so bloody nauseous at this point I am throwing elbows because I am going to puke.

It's not a "what if I puke moment" I am GOING to puke. Of course I have no where to move...so do I find a puke bag in the front of my chair?

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

NO PUKE BAG FOR ME!!!

It's a moment of desperation.

The gagging starts.

I contemplate in a flash of a second:

Option 1. Puke on myself because I have no where to go.

Option 2. Try to puke between legs and avoid all persons.

Option 3. Puke exorcist style and spray the two ass holes next to me who think it's totally okay to invade the personal space of a knocked up woman who has now turned into a raging bitch.

Suddenly we touch pavement.

I wipe my forehead with my sleeve, inhale 90 degree air, and try and relax.

Worst flight ever.

Who else has had a bad plane experience?

You want me to what until I chafe?

2009-02-08T20:28:00.003-06:00

This week I'm blogging from the lovely state of Nebraska.

God hates me.

The last time I was here a client shoved her humongous fat cat in my face and I proceeded to snot all over the place for the following hour.

Not fun. I have no intention of visiting her this trip...I'm too tempted to drop kick her flipping cat.

At least I have blogging to keep me entertained!

When my friend Alexa at Cleveland's a Plum interviewed a fellow blogger, I couldn't resist having Alexa interview me! ...and she didn't hold back. Here are Alexa's questions and my answers.

1. you're pregnant right? so is it true what they say about a women having the best orgasms while they're pregnant?

ABSOLUTELY!!!
Every orgasm is freaking...maaaaaagical!
As if all the stars align and the sea parts. Whew...I'm breaking into a sweat just thinking about it.

It makes getting knocked up WAY worth it. I hope they don't go away...I'll be REALLY disappointed.

2. i've read your blog for awhile now, meaning i've heard all about PH and his how you say antics. is there anything you haven't shared with us about your sex life? spill it.

Right now, there is no such thing as too much sex!
I'm up for almost anything in bed. By "almost" I mean nothing in an out-hole. Vodka makes me particularly feisty...apparently so does pregnancy.

Hhmm...something I haven't shared?

I had sex with PH after only dating for three weeks. I took him to my sorority semi-formal and got completely over served. I'm pretty sure I turned into a "Dolce Show". When we got back to my apartment I tackled him and wouldn't take no for an answer. Being the good guy that he is, he felt really guilty the next morning...until I tackled him again.

That pretty much has been a constant in our relationship from the beginning.

3. i have big boobs, heavenly pillows you could call them, and i know you are a member of the big boob club as well. you love them, but would you make them smaller if you could say have a smaller ass, nose, feet, etc? or would you keep um just the way they are?

There is NOTHING I would exchange for smaller boobs.

My mom has small boobs and I remember praying in high school for big boobs...My prayers were answered in college...maybe God doesn't hate me as much as I originally thought.

I love my boobs so much I'm sure if I was going to 20SB meet up I would get drunk and show them off. (i probably wouldn't have to get drunk) Maybe this is a good reason I'm not going.

Maybe.

But, I think you'd miss out. Personal opinion.

4. once this baby pops out do you have any names picked out? i think your readers should be the first to know.

Hahaha! I'm so afraid of sharing names because I'm scared people will think they're too vanilla. PH and I have a deal, I get to pick out the names and PH only has veto power. Most of my names are either from my favorite literary characters or authors...and PH has vetoed all of them.

Elizabeth - Elizabeth Bennet, Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Viola - Shakespeare Twelfth Night
Jane - Jane Austen, Jane Bennet
Catherine - Northanger Abby
Sylvia - as in Plath
Edward - Sense and Sensibility
Charles - Charles Dickens
Jude - not literary...the Beatles

I feel like a total jack ass for just writing all that. I'm so sorry.

We're more settled on a girl's name than a boy's, although I think it's to be a boy.

Girl: Sophia Francesca (Francesca is my grandma's name)
Boy: Thomas Michael (Michael is a family name of PH's)

5. what blogger do you want to dry hump till you are chaffed?

Just to make sure everyone knows --there's not a whole out there I wouldn't dry hump right now (this includes but is not limited to: stick shifts, balance beams, water faucets, and hot-tub jets). It's near impossible for me to limit it to one.

My first thought was SO@24, who is my best iFriend, but considering his history (and the entire point of his blog) I think just dry humping him would be cruel.

But what the hell. I don't have to be nice all the time.

Another reason I would dry hump him is because he introduced me to all of these fabulous blogs...blogs I would also dry hump:

Baking with Plath
Maxie
Save Your Generation
The Dizzy Observer
Tales of a Late Date Bloomer - this guy needs some humping!

No one warned me!!!

2009-02-04T08:30:00.000-06:00

If I wrote in the third person like one of my favorite bloggers Crissy, my blog would sound a lot like this:

Pregnancy is making Dolce fucking horny!

She is scratching up and down the walls all day because looking at a stick shift makes her think about sitting on it and at night all she has are dirty, naughty, sex dreams. If she was a boy, she would have to tuck her wieny in the elastic of her boxers or convince everyone Trapper Keepers were back in style to hide her 24/7 boner.

Then when Dolce tries to concentrate on different things her body says, "Uh, uh, uh, I will continue to make a puddle in your panties until my needs have been reached".

Dolce even dreamed once that she was a hooker at the Bunny Ranch in Vegas because she wanted as much sex as possible. Do you know what it's like to wake up from a mind blowing sex dream and realize it was just a dream?

It's like getting slapped in the face, or worse yet, in the balls. That's what it's like...getting slapped in the balls. One second your getting sand in all the wrong places on Newport Beach and the next thing you know you open your eyes and your not having sexy time, but sleeping, and you're tired and hot and all...bothered! And if you tried to wake up the sleeping husband it wouldn't be nearly as good as the beach! So your fucked...but just the opposite!

But that didn't happen on Saturday.

No it did not.

Dolce wanted sex so bad and couldn't get satisfied so she dreamed about it and even managed to reach the point that produces a happy after-glow, but when she woke up, she DID have an after-glow! And the warm sensation that makes her toes curl under.

Dolce is so horny she's having orgasms in her sleep!

She's even had to self satisfy for the last 8 days in a row because PH has not been home or has said "later" and Dolce cannot wait!

So last night she decided to make PH have sex with her otherwise she was going to combust! She came home and told PH he could "put it any way he wanted". PH did not delay.

In fact, they raced to see who could get their clothes off faster. Dolce lost that race.

Dolce and PH did not have "pretty" sex either. PH is scared of the missionary position (he thinks he'll smoosh the belly) and Dolce was inspired to try downward facing dog anyway. Eight heart-thumping minutes later, Dolce finally felt relief...and release, but mostly relief. PH did not fail his mission.

He then told Dolce he would gladly offer his services every night when she came home.

Dolce texted five of her closest girlfriends:

I just want you to know I just had mind blowing sex. Pregnancy has two perks.
1. Bigger boobs.
2. Rock your world orgasms
Thought you'd like to know.

Dolce thought she would get funny texts back from loving friends.

Dolce heard crickets instead.

She decided their sense of humors have gone south just like their tits.

While Dolce was on the treadmill at the gym she thought about the sexy time and decided she needed to leave the gym early for round two, but when she initiated sexy time again, PH suggested "later" because because he needed more time to "recover". Dolce understood because she demanded a lot from him earlier. She demanded a lot of him later too.

No one warned Dolce that pregnancy would make her think rubbing up against a tree trunk would be fun or she would be jealous of the dog she saw humping its owner's leg.

So Dolce thought it would only be fair to share this information...

Um...this will be better answered with a picture

2009-02-03T09:15:00.007-06:00

I have to go shopping today after work.

Why?

Because of THIS:

It brings the term "wardrobe malfunction" into a whole new light.

I'm okay with shopping because at least my ass hasn't been growing at the same rate.

I'm not always right, but I think I am on this issue

2009-02-02T08:55:00.007-06:00

I'm an educated girl. I'm not saying I'm the smartest female on the planet or I have intellectual conversations with Stephen Hawking, but I'm not an idiot.

And I don't think I could have a conversation with Stephen Hawking without conversing in a robot voice. I'm so enamored with it, I wouldn't be able to stop myself.

Anyway, I'm more of a jack of all trades and master of nothing. I have a slew of hobbies and am mediocre at best in all of them. I know this about myself. I don't hide it. In fact, I pin it on my sleeve in pride.

However, my mediocre knowledge of all things does come in handy (trivia games -I rock) and surprises the crap out of me especially when my "scratching the surface" knowledge is deeper than a professionals and/or a person who has training in a specific field.

Case in point:

A friend of mine, Jasmine, is actively trying to get knocked up. She's currently getting her masters degree in a medical profession. In the car on Saturday night leaving dinner she says her and her husband are "having sweet and pretty sex" to get pregnant.

Huh...What?

Is there such a thing as "sweet and pretty sex"? I mean, I do know the difference in "love making" (could someone please make up a better word for this?) and f*ing. But of course, maybe I'm the naive one here, I had to ask what the hell sweet and pretty sex was.

Do you put make-up on and curl your hair first?

Do you hike up a formal dress and get to it?

What makes it sweet? (easier to answer) But what in the world makes it pretty?

Jasmine: Oh, well you know...when you're trying to get pregnant it's better to have quiet nice sex.

Dolce: Quiet?

Jasmine: Yeah, we try not to make any noise so it's a calming environment...better for conception.

Dolce: (is this chick for real? Raises eyebrow) So what do you do?

Jasmine: Missionary position. It's the best for sperm to reach the egg.

Dolce: I didn't know that. (damn that seems boring) But what makes it pretty?

Jasmine: Oh, nothing I guess. We just don't make noise and usually it's in the same position. We try to mix it up once and a while, but I just don't want to be on top, you know...gravity.

Dolce: (inner monologue - Do not lose it. Do not laugh. Do not say anything!) Wow. I didn't know any of this. Is your husband into it?

Jasmine: Um...yeah. He knows it's for the best, but he won't let me schedule sex. He's afraid it'll take the fun out of it. We've been working at it for awhile; I'm ready to get pregnant.

Dolce (shakes head in disbelief): Alright Jasmine, I'm absolutely positive your intentions are right and just because my eggo is prego does not, under any circumstances, make me an expert on conception, but I am absolutely positive your egg doesn't care about how your husband's spunk gets there.

Jasmine: But---

Dolce: No! I'm fo' shiz up the sprout and I can tell you exactly how it happened. It was after 5 or 6 cherry vodka and diet cokes on Thursday night after volleyball. I'm pretty sure I conceived somewhere in between PH slapping my ass and me telling him to pull by hair while he did me from behind.

Jasmine: Oh...

Of course, I feel bad because I just can't keep my mouth shut! For the remainder of the night I Feared I offended her efforts at wanting to gain mandatory weight, but I just couldn't help myself.

I wish I had vodka as an excuse.

My worries were washed away when later that night Jasmine had a few (4 or 5 ) glasses of wine and decided she wanted to go home early.

Her husband just bought a video camera.

...He'll thank me later.

Driving through Dilverance, IA

2009-01-30T10:53:00.003-06:00

I made it out alive although I left my brain at home.

Or at least I left the power cord to my laptop at home.

Do you have any idea what it's like traveling through Iowa for a week without any connection to the outside world?

Hell.

And let's not forget, Iowa is a frozen tundra. People actually own ice scrappers and snow shoes.

Yes...I saw someone wearing snow shoes.

Anyway, I have way too much to catch up on for work and blogging needs to be put on the back burner...for just today.

I hope you have a wonderful weekend and please, please, please drink some margaritas for me.

You know how some pregger woman crave crap like pickles, olives and ice cream?

Well, not me.

I want to stand on the end of a salt rimmed fish bowl, dive into a pool filled with margaritas, and swim in it until my fingers become pruny.

I DREAM of margaritas and Don Julio...screw pregnancy.

Alright, really, have an amazing weekend!

new effects on men

2009-01-23T09:06:00.005-06:00

Fact: Guys check out girls.

If a girl has a butt - guys will check them out.

If a girl has boobs - guys will check them out.

If a girl has two eyes, one nose, and one mouth - guys will check her out.

It's what men between the ages of 12-85 do. They.Just.Do.

If a guy argues about it, he's a liar.

And you know, I don't mind guys checking out girls, especially if they're checking me out.

What?

It's flattering, as long as he's not mentally analyzing the proportion of my ass to my waist...and he's not cat calling, whistling, or gesturing like he's whacking off.

But the subtle checking out, the times when I catch a guy staring at me or he thinks he's being sneaky and gives me the look down as I walk by -those are the times I get a smug smile on my face and think "I am a golden goddess".

Don't worry. It lasts about 5 seconds then I trip on my own feet, fall into a wall or table, cover my face, and stumble away hiding my face in my hands. - God I'm smooth.

Last week, while sitting in a Chiptole eating lunch by myself, I caught two guys checking me out. On older man in his mid 50's and a younger guy around my age. Now, I don't go around thinking that every guy I catch glancing my way is checking me out, but I noticed them staring at me several times throughout my burrito bowl and it occurred to me, that if they had to nerve to approach me I could scare these men away in two sentences.

"Hi, my name is, Dolce. Nice to meet you, I'm knocked up."

At that moment they would automatically steal a look at my stomach and question if I was telling the truth or trying to get rid of them. Then upon establishing I was, in fact not lying, I could see blue and red lights through their pupils and hear the faint sound of an alarm going off in their head.

At that moment they would debate to scenarios:

1) Say congratulations in order not to sound like and ass.

or

2) Do what their instincts tell them to do: turn around, arms flopping above their head, shrieking like a cheerleader while they run for the hills.

I'm pretty sure for the first time in my life I can make a guy run from me like I was contaminated by the Ebola virus, leprosy, and genital herpes.

My self esteem is so high...

Well, last week while I was traveling for work a friend of mine (who lives in the city I was visiting) invited me over for dinner and warned me her fiance's friend was also joining us and to "take him with a grain of salt". I laughed and told my friend my new "running for the hills" theory.

Apparently this guy, James, is 31 divorced (his wife stopped having sex with him) and basically turned into a complete man-whore and would screw anything with female genitalia.

My first impression of James was he thought he was the hottest, funniest, and most charming man on earth. Throughout the entire night (I'm not even kidding -the whole night) he made jokes about all the girls he laid, all the crazy psycho women he dated, about how hot each of the women he made out with were...it was never ending.

I will give him credit and say he was witty, but only in small doses could sitting in the same room with this man be tolerable. On my scale of 1-10 (1 being Micky Rourke 10 being Brad Pitt in Ben Button -the motorcycle scene) this guy was only a 6 or a 7...nothing outrageously attractive.

Charming? Yes, I can tell he knows how to talk to girls and say all the right things to make himself more desirable...for example while sitting across from him on the couch he tells me I have beautiful eyes and a great smile.

What girl doesn't like to be complimented?

I swear I have a point...

So we're all hanging out at my friend's house watching Top Chef when James asks what hotel I'm staying at for work. The Hyatt...a nice hotel.

His response: Oh, hotel beds are the worst. Come sleep at my place, I have a brand new double pillow top California king bed. It'll be the best night sleep you've ever had.

I awkwardly laugh because...well...he's got to be joking, right?

I'm married and pregnant!

So my friend jokes around about me being knocked up.

James' response: Well, you're not that pregnant.

I pretend the comment isn't made because I feel awkward enough already and hopefully silence will drop the topic.

After Top Chef ends, I tell my friend I really should get going because I have to drive back across town to the hotel and have appointments early in the morning.

James turns to me and says, "Stay at my place. I live down the street. You'll never get as good of a night sleep in a hotel as you will in my bed. It's the most comfortable bed ever. I swear. If it makes you feel more comfortable, I'll sleep on my couch."

I thank him but graciously decline then imaginary scratch my head.

Did that just happen?

Did a guy I just met, knowing I was married and pregnant, just seriously invite me over to sleep at his place and insinuate he had planned on sleeping in the same bed?

I went back to the hotel and called my friend the next day.

Dolce: What's the deal with James? And was he serious about inviting me over to his place last night?

Friend: Uh...actually fiance and I talked about it for awhile after he left last night. We don't know, but it was uncomfortable. He's a lot to handle and I can only stand so much of him at a time.

Dolce: Well, I didn't know if he was joking because be must have know there was no way in hell I was going to say yes.

Friend: Yeah, fiance and I thought that too, but fiance has known James forever and said he was probably testing the waters. He threw it out there to see your reaction, but if you said yes, he would've been happy to have you spend the night.

Dolce: Well, this puts my "running for the hills" theory to shame.

This apple fell far from the tree

2009-01-22T09:10:00.005-06:00

Parents!

I love mine to death, but thank goodness, if you can't live with them you can move out. Which I jumped at when I left for college. I returned for one summer after my freshman year and never came back.

How my brother Aiden who is 24 still lives there, beats the hell out of me.

For the most part they're good people. They have their quirks though. For example they're staunch republicans (my dad keeps trying to give PH books written by Bill O' Reilly and Sean Hannity), my mom was a Catholic turned Baptist bible beater, both retired and my dad spends 40+ hours a week either watching movies on TV (or Fox News) or reading. He does nothing. He's lived in the Lou for almost 13 years and he had no idea where South City, Dog Town, The Grove, or freaking Kirkwood is! DAMN!!!

One thing my dad is exceptionally good at is giving me guilt trips.

Dad: Your mother wants to go back to Florida. She really wants to move there.
Dolce: I thought you hated Florida. I'm surprised you're thinking about moving so far away when you're about to be grandparents.
Dad: Well, Dolce, it's not like it will make much of a difference to you. We barely see you now as it is and you don't live far away now. We're lucky to see you at all.
Dolce: The road isn't one way Dad.
Dad: You never call either.

So to be a good daughter, to try and make an effort to be a better child I suggested we meet a couple times a month for lunch. My office is in between my house and my parents so I thought this would be the best way to go.

The first lunch was a couple weeks ago...I was late. Not by a lot (15 minutes)and instead of waiting for me, ordered lunch and paid for it before I even got there. So of course, I had to pay for my own lunch.

Fine, whatever.

This is probably my dad's silent way of saying, "Be on time, Bitch". But when we were walking out of the restaurant I asked when they wanted to meet up again.

Dolce: Hey Dad, I'm going to be traveling next week, but do you want to meet for lunch the week after.
Dad: Oh...I'm not sure. You'll have to talk to your mother about that.

She's standing right next to him! Regardless things don't get planned and I'm confused because my dad seems absolutely put out eating lunch with me.

Low and behold I get a call from him on Tuesday evening.

Dad: So Dolce, you said you wanted us to go out to lunch a couple times a month and we haven't heard from you since we had lunch. Are you taking your words back?
Dolce: (inner monologue - For fuck sake you raging lunatic!!! What the fuck?? Damn you to hell for being...UGH!!!!) (sickening sweet voice) No! I'm still on for lunch! I'm actually in town all this week so any day will work for me. We can even do something really simple like Panera if you're interested.
Dad: Well, you'll have to check with your mother. I can't get her right now.
Dolce: Is she out?
Dad: No she's in the bedroom reading.
Dolce: Where are you?
Dad: I'm in the kitchen.
Dolce: You can't yell for her to grab the phone (It's freaking on the same floor one room away)
Dad: Yeah, I suppose.

I'm not even joking! He didn't want to walk across the house to ask my mom to pick up the phone to make plans he called me out on for backing out!!!

A vein in my forehead is about to burst open!!!

So, yesterday we go to lunch. I meet them on time -- sweet deal. I'm standing in line at the deli's check out counter with my dad behind me. Right as I'm walking up to the register, my dad slips from behind me and GOES TO A DIFFERENT REGISTER TO CHECK OUT!

I have no problem paying for my own lunch. For f-sake, I do it everyday. But here I am, the only daughter to this man, who got guilt tripped into trying to me a better child, basically invites (but with out asking) me to lunch and then he sneaks away before he has to pay for my soup and sandwich.

All I can say is, WTF?

I can't even get into the political arguments we got into yesterday without slamming my hand in a drawer in temptation to call him and bitch him out and call him a crazy old man.

Highlights:
"Universal health care is going to destroy our medical system. Canadians have universal health care, and do you know where they go if they want to have surgery? The U.S. because the waiting lists for surgery could take months!"

"Obama is so far left he's going to kill everything Regan and Bush worked for. Nothing under government regulation has succeeded".

Just so you know...my parents were also pro-Vietnam.

Dad's quote of the day:

"I like Obama! I just don't like any of his political beliefs. He's going to drive this country into the ground".

Dolce: Where do you think we are now?

Pop n' Fresh week 13

2009-01-20T19:50:00.004-06:00

What is a fair representation of fatty tatties?

fatty tatties = love jublies = chestie besties = yaboos = ta-tas = jugs = boobs.

I think we all know what we're talking about...Pop n' Fresh.

I'm not sure if this is what I consider a fair representation of the fatty tatties. I mean, I am bent over putting on my boots so they look a little...I don't know, I'm distracted by PH farting behind me. Ugh Boys!!!

Back to topic, let me assure you, they (the girls) are as perky as an 18 year old girl with a day old boob job or Torrance Shipman in Bring it On.

(now if fucking stinks in here!!!)

The picture is courtesy of PH. He's loving the engorging voluptuousness that was already a curvy piece of ~~breast~~ human art. But after the fart that just occurred he'll be held at bay from diving in like a hungry dog. --serves him right.

Stop talking or I'll slap your face

2009-01-20T08:59:00.004-06:00

Scratch my previous comment about Pop n' Fresh 13. As much fun as it would be and how sure I am President Obama would appreciate me celebrating his inauguration by flashing my chestie besties all over the Internet, I've decided to postpone.

Okay...really, it has nothing to do with the inauguration. It's just that instead of downloading pictures from my camera this morning I used my time to read Brad Pitt's article in W magazine. Shallow, I know.

This weekend I realized something I'm really not proud to admit. I never have considered myself a judgemental person or at least I try to be as open minded as possible and look at situations from all sides before passing judgement, but as I was sitting with some of PH's friends for dinner on Saturday night, I realized I can't stand pregnant women.

Maybe I should rephrase and say I can't stand a particular pregnant woman or pregnant women conversations...the ones where the bigger pregnant women gives the ins and outs to the less pregger woman on what to expect. In case they didn't know, I can read....I can read the same damn books they did!

PH's friend lives out of town and his girlfriend (who he met at a strip club) is due to have her baby in a month. Needless to say this southern bell is a little rough around the edges...I'm saying this from a girl born and raised in Wisconsin where fun on the weekends growing up was playing flash light tag in the fields and joining the 4-H club.

And just so you know, I'm a firm believer in you can take the farm out of the girl.

I picked the friends up and we went off to dinner. The restaurant was a dive family owned Italian place where the food is good but the place is exceptionally small. They have 10 tables max. I kid you not, Girlfriend's conversational ice breaker is, "So, have you had problems shitting yet? Because if you haven't, you will."

Um...what?

I would not answer this no matter what my response would be. I guarantee the people sitting across the room could hear her speaking. Her boyfriend and my husband are sitting next to us she asks me this, of all the questions in the world? I mean seriously, I'm debating over ordering lasagna or manicotti. I sure as hell now am not going to the latter. Jeezes.

Believing that if I just changed the subject we would move on from bowel talk, but I was sadly mistaken when she went on a tangent and detailed the events of her sitting on the can screaming, "I just want to shit" while she stomped her feet on the ground.

Where do these people come from?

I quickly scanned the room wondering if any one could hear this conversation. Hoping that the embarrassment was only to me. I was WRONG! The other patrons quickly lowered their eyes as my head moved in their direction. I swear, I could see their ears perk up. At that moment I wanted to either crawl under the table or flee through the door behind me.

Fruitlessly trying to change the subject for a second time Girlfriend continued talking about how Metamucil doesn't work and how her grandmother said apples made you poo. The entire evening was horrible and scarred me for life, but nothing was worse than her detailed account of her use of anal suppositories.

Do you have any idea what it's like to sit at dinner while a woman you have spoken two words to in your entire life explains to you the discomfort of sticking something up your butt to make you go to the bathroom????

This dinner was like watching a car crash in slow motion. Every time her mouth opened to talk I could see people around us turn in her direction and whisper to the people next to them. For the love of all things holy, it just wouldn't stop.

Finally when I thought she said all that can be said about irregularity she blurts out, in between bites of her chicken Alfredo, "Ugh! And the hemorrhoids! Preparation H will be your best friend. They're nasty and there is no way around them. You may not have gotten sick during your pregnancy yet, but you will get hemorrhoids"!

(my butt cheeks just tightened)

At this point in the dinner, I could no longer help myself. I was like a spoiled child being sent to bed. I actually looked away from her, put my fingers to my ears, and started singing "Lalalalalalalala". My stomach turned two bites into my meal I was, for the first time, nauseated.

PH took it like a man and sat silent. At that point in time racial slurred jokes would have made me feel more comfortable. We couldn't pay our bill fast enough.

Somethings are best to be found out on their own. I'll tell you what, that's the last time I will ever go out to dinner with her again.

What is the worst/most inappropriate conversation you have ever had while eating in a public place?

Overwhelmed with...something that makes my cheeks turn red.

2009-01-19T13:27:00.003-06:00

I woke up this morning and realized my company is a total racist.

Who works on MLK day?

ME!!!

With all the excitement buzzing in the air because of the inauguration of our first Black-American President (and the most active president elect ever in the history of the U.S.), and he himself, claiming this day as a "day of service" one would think the company I work for would show something (respect, maybe?) for a man who dedicated his life fighting (peacefully) for equal rights by giving us the day off.

In case you're wondering...yes, I'm bitter. I want the damn day off.

Traveling for work and fighting off migraines everyday has taken away from my sense of humor and my excitement for living. My head hurts so bad I'm about ready to get on my knees and beg for someone to put me out of my misery.

Seriously.

On a more real note.

Holy Bajeezes!!!

When I posted Delurking week last Wednesday, I was crossing my fingers for at least 8 people to leave a comment. I can't even begin to tell you how honestly flattered and touched I was to get over 50 comments from lurkers!

(I didn't know I had 50 readers)

Do not lurk any further! I promise, I'm really nice and so incredibly un-intimidating. If you saw me in a dark alley, I would give you high-five. But if you look like Micky Rourke I'd probably run away. He freaks me out. He kind of looks like a mutant on Heroes or a villain in a comic strip, but it's really his face. Ew! (In case you were wondering, I would screw my garbage man before him. He might be the last person on earth I would do the dirty with...maybe second to Gary Busey).

In all seriousness, I knew I had cool readers and amazing iFriends, but I was truly surprised by all the positive delurking feedback.

Thank you so much for making my week!

Okay...I have to leave. My head hurts so bad I can't see straight.

Tomorrow - Pop n' Fresh 13 Woot!!!

Ready-Set-Comment

2009-01-13T11:59:00.003-06:00

Holy Hell!

It's National Delurking Week!!! And I've already missed two days! Oh well. Last year during delurking week my blog was only 8 weeks old and I didn't think I had any lurkers out there to flash me, but I'm hoping (crossing my fingers) this year I get a couple of my very cool readers to leave me a comment or shoot me an e-mail.

I swear I'm nice and I only bite on request.

I never missed a hangover until this morning

2009-01-12T12:53:00.007-06:00

Typical pre-knocked up weekend

Friday:

6:32pm: Jump in shower to meet friends out for dinner at local tapas bar.
7:44pm: Get told by PH I'm "hot stuff".
7:45pm: Gloat and get the "I'm too cool for school" attitude.
8:13pm: Meet up with friends for dinner
9:01pm: Take first round of shots while PH shakes his head at my (his) future demise
10:55pm: Head downtown to karaoke dive bar.
11:17pm: Order round of Rumplemintz shots and take two because I over ordered.
11:46pm: Slur my way through Suspicious Minds on the microphone.
12:39am: Decide bar is going to close soon, so go to late night bar which is open until 3am to dance.
12:58am: Jump on dance floor because I think I have "mad skills". Mad skills = falling on my ass on the dance floor and showing off my underwear.
2:31am: Black out.

Saturday:

11:27am: Wake up to a desiccated mouth.
11:28am: Realize moving any muscle in the body causes severe pain in the brain.
11:31am: Drink monstrous amounts of H20.
11:34am: Order pizza for lunch.
12:01pm: Eat pizza and take 4 Advil.
12:03pm: Take a nap.
3:33pm: Wake up to pounding headache. Take 4 more Advil.
3:35pm: Call friends to fill in blank spots from night before.
6:00pm: wake up to emergency hangover alarm. Call friends to make plans for the night.
6:36pm: Jump in shower. Takes abnormally long to wash hair.
7:08pm: Pee for the first time all day.
8:09pm: Meet friend for dinner, but substitute dinner for Bloody Marys.
9:51pm: Hangover has fully subsided.
11:34pm: Finish first bottle of wine and start talking unreasonably loud.
12:57pm: Convince myself smoking cigarettes looks fun.
1:33am: Bar closes and semi-sober PH gets us a ride home.
2:02am: At home bounce around the bed with PH like a kid on a jungle-gym. Jungle-gym = PH.
2:--am: Pass out.

Sunday

10:33am: Wake up wearing fishnet thigh high stockings, patent leather pumps, and nothing else.
10:35am: Roll over and ask PH what the hell happened last night.
10:36am: Give each other blank stares.
11:21am: Shovel hash browns and biscuits and gravy down my throat at local diner.
11:29am: Pray to higher being not to re-see said diner food.
12:48pm: Take a nap
3:22pm: Wake up to watch football and/or play Wii with PH.
4:15pm: Finally shower to get rid of smoke smell
5:31pm: Reheat leftovers from previous week for dinner.
6:04pm: Lay on the couch watch movies and Californication.
9:42pm: Go to bed.

Monday

7:04: Wake up to let the dog out. Curse self for wasting another weekend and hate self for not cleaning the house...again.

Knocked up weekend

Friday

5:01pm: Pee and then leave work.
5:31pm: Get home, go to the bathroom again, then make self egg, lettuce, tomato, avocado sandwich for dinner.
6:00pm: Work out.
6:47pm: Shower and climb into comfortable clothes (i.e. fleece pants and t-shirt)
6:52pm: Go to the bathroom again.
7:02pm: Hang out on couch with PH and watch a movie.
7:32pm: Go to the bathroom
7:53pm: Go to the bathroom
8:16pm: Go to the bathroom
8:44pm: Go to the bathroom
9:14pm: Not tired yet, so decide to watch another movie.
9:19pm: Go to the bathroom
9:33pm: Go to the bathroom
9:51pm: Fall asleep on couch
10:10pm: Get shaken awake by PH to move to the bed.
10:12pm: Go to the bathroom
10:14pm: Fall asleep.
2:09am: Wake up to go to the bathroom.
6:39am: Wake up and to go the bathroom.

Saturday:

8:31am: Wake up, let the dog out, and go to the bathroom.
9:00am: Make breakfast.
9:07am: Go to the bathroom.
9:11am: scarf down breakfast like I've never eaten before.
9:47am: Go to yoga class
11:33am: Get home and go to the bathroom.
11:34am: Shower and get ready
12:41pm: Meet mom for Lunch
1:01pm: Go to the bathroom
1:31pm: Go to the bathroom
1:33pm: go shopping with Mom
1:53pm: Stop in shop to go to the bathroom.
2:49pm: Stop and get hot chocolate because it's freaking cold outside and the crazy mom wants to walk around.
3:13pm: Go to the bathroom
4:48pm: Go home after exhausting day shopping for baby crap.
5:02pm: hang out on couch, watch football, and recover from a day spent with mom.
6:30pm: Get ready to go out for dinner.
7:08pm: Aimlessly drive downtown for dinner because planned restaurant is closed.
7:22pm: Find great tapas bar.
7:33pm: Order Club Soda with a Lime
7:58pm: Go to the bathroom.
8:26pm: Go to the bathroom.
9:12pm: Pay bill and head back to the burbs.
9:46pm: Go to wine bar down the street. I order orange soda. PH orders red wine.
9:48pm: Wait in line to go to the bathroom.
10:23pm: Leave wine bar and head up to another local joint.
10:24pm: Get to new bar and immediately go to the bathroom.
10:25pm: Order water.
10:49pm: Explain I am exhausted to PH and want to go home.
11:03pm: Get ready for bed and go to the bathroom.
2:18am: Wake up and go to the bathroom.
5:54am: Wake up and go to the bathroom.

Sunday:

7:59am: Wake up and let the dog out. Go to the bathroom.
8:01am: Climb back in bed and try to go to sleep.
8:35am: Give up and get up for the day.
8:48am: Wake up PH because I'm bored.
8:52am: PH is happy I'm up and happy and initiates sexy time by kissing me in a way that would make Bella jealous.
9--am: Shower and get dressed.
10:15am: Drive to coffee shop with PH for breakfast.
10:34am: Go to the bathroom
11:14am: Go to the bathroom
11:29am: Go to the bathroom
11:31am: Leave coffee shop to go to World Market for house stuff.
12:12pm: Finish at World Market and head to gourmet market for groceries.
12:21pm: Find brioche bread at market and instantly decide to make bread pudding for dessert.
12:22pm: Invite in-laws over for dinner to help me overly fattening food.
12:23pm: Get reminded by in-laws today is PH's great grandmother's 95th birthday party.
12:36pm: Leave market to go home.
12:56pm: Realize we forgot key ingredients for the nights dinner.
12:27pm: Drive to another market.
12:39pm: Said ingredients are still unavailable.
12:40pm: Go to the bathroom because bladder is about to burst!
12:42pm: Go home to put away groceries before granny's birthday party.
2:00pm: Show up at granny's birthday party and wish granny happy birthday
2:18pm: Listen to granny describe in detail every ailment the woman has and try not to throw up as she discusses her diarrhea problem (I only wish I was joking -She went into much more detail, but I'll spare you)
2:19pm: Excuse self from disgusting conversation because I'm about to pee my pants.
4:21pm: Sing granny happy birthday and watch her spit out the candles on her cake.
4:22pm: Pass on cake.
4:23pm: Go to the bathroom
4:25pm: Sneak out of the party after PH's uncle makes off color jokes about "screwing the pregnant chick that's blown up like a tick".
4:33pm: Go to another grocery store to get all ingredients for dinner.
5:01pm: Make homemade blueberry ice cream.
5:30pm: Go to the bathroom because drinking water seems to go in and out at same speed.(don't worry I wash my hands)
6:14pm: Make blueberry bread pudding
7:01pm: In-laws arrive
7:20pm: Eat dinner
7:38pm: Go to the bathroom.
8:29pm: Go to the bathroom.
9:20pm: In-laws leave and FIL and PH drop my car off at the shop to be repaired.
9:21pm: Start cleaning kitchen after guests leave.
10:10pm: Finish cleaning dishes and scouring all kitchen surfaces.
10:27pm: Fall face down on bed from utter exhaustion.
10:30pm: Fast asleep.

Monday:

7:04am: Wake up, let the dog out, pee for the first time out of 1,237 times out of the day.
7:06am: Look around at the clean house and finally call my a success.
7:08am: Choke up and tear because realized I have fully crossed the bridge into adulthood and cannot go back.

Emergency Campaign

2009-01-12T10:15:00.004-06:00

There are a lot of great charities and benefits to donate too. A few which come to mind are**:

Aid in Darfur
Keva.org
American Leukemia Associate
Susan G. Koman
St. Jude's Children's Research Hospital

But right now I need help raising money for another charity I am starting right now.

HELP SAVE RUMER WILLIS FROM HERSELF

For the love of all things holy...never mind. I think the picture speaks for itself. I will be taking donations via PayPal and then it will be used as bribe money for her manager and publicist to stop booking her in small D-list photo ops and extra rolls.

NOTE** I do personally donate to all the above charities which are very important to me and I in no way am asking you to donate to Save Rumer Willis From Herself charity over other more credible organizations. I am purely looking for loose change, milk money, and scratcher tickets. I don't think we'll need much for this bribe.

If it's too big it will scare a girl...or at least this one.

2009-01-09T09:18:00.002-06:00

It's happened before. I got into a car accident on my birthday. Just like last time, it wasn't my fault, but it's still a headache trying to get my car fixed.

It was parked (key word: parked) at work and it was smashed by a semi/tractor trailor/18 wheeler - what ever you want to call it. My poor girl was destroyed. DESTROYED I tell you. Window exploded (its 20 degrees outside), the back is smashed, and it's paint is fluttering away in the wind. It didn't help the situation the driver of the truck was an Eastern European who didn't speak English.

A very friendly construction worker saw the whole thing go down and being a savvy construction worker, pulled out his blackberry and took pictures of the dude smashing my car. So when I confronted the guy about hitting my car (yeah, he was going to take off without saying anything) and he retorted with a think accent "It was no me! It was no me. You can not prove!!!"

I flashed him the picture of his truck raping my vehicle.

One would think then would be a good time to shut up, but no. He started yelling at me again, "Not my fault. Look way you park. NOT MY FAULT!"

I was parked legally in a marked parking space. I don't know how in the world he would be confused with the way I was parked.

Later when the grizzly truck driver was arguing with the police officer I felt very smug when the officer looked at the guy and said, "Listen, buddy, I don't care if she was parked on the fucking moon, you still hit a parked car." -he really dropped the f-bomb he was so irritated.

So needless to say, I've been out of a car since December 23. The shop doesn't have all the parts to fix it (I don't understand why it's not totaled) and I don't feel like paying for a rental.

My parents, who are often living in their own world anyway, kindly offered to let us borrow one of their summer cars.

Now, don't go thinking I have a really wealthy family who owns summer cars. Let me explain the car they were offering.

It's my FIRST car I got when I was 16 and was kindly passed down to my younger brother Aiden. It's a 1994 green Jeep Cherokee. They only reason they keep it around is because they own a boat and it's the only car that can pull it to the lake. It's bumper is completely rusted (and dented), the seats stink, the windshield is cracked, and it sits outside in front of their house all winter long. I'm honestly surprised their neighbors haven't sent them complaints. It's a pile of junk.

Can the police blight a car?

So, my dad offers to drop the car off for me so PH and I don't have to car pool with co-workers to work and to make life a little easier until my car is repaired.

My dad calls me about 2 hours later:

Dad: Oh, Dolce. I forgot to mention the car has been a little vandalized.

Dolce: That sucks. Did someone key it?

Dad: Yeah, you could say that.

Dolce: Well, is it still drivable? If it's only cosmetic, I don't care. I just really need a car.

Dad: I should tell you they scratched in some words and a picture.

Dolce: (starts laughing because this car already looks pathetic) What did they write on it?

Dad: Some curse words.

Dolce: How bad is it? It is terribly noticeable? Is anyone going to recognize it driving down the highway? What?

Dad: Well, I don't know.

Dolce: Put Aiden on the phone. I'll get a straight answer out of him.

My brother picks up the phone.

Dolce: Hey, Aiden. Dad just told me the Cherokee got vandalized. Do you think it's still okay to drive or should we pass.

Aiden: What is that man thinking? That's all he told you? No, Dolce. The car wasn't just vandalized it's a piece of artwork. The cartoonist of Superbad would be disappointed in his work.

Dolce: They drew penises on the car???

Aiden: Oh yeah! You'd have to be blind to miss it! It's all over the passenger side of the car. And the dicks are nicely complimented with F-U written all over it too.

Dolce: So, I'm assuming you wouldn't drive it?

Aiden: I think they should donate it to the blind. They're probably the only ones who would take the car for free.

Dolce: Alright, just let Dad know I said thanks, but we'll be passing on borrowing the car.

Aiden: Smart move.

I didn't think the day would ever come when I was afraid of a big wiener. Apparently that day has come.

Who knew?

It really makes me wonder why my Dad isn't as upset. Hhmm...

I hope you all have an amazing weekend!

I don't know how much futher I can dig

2009-01-07T09:39:00.004-06:00

Whoo Hoo!

I won an award! Two actually...

The first was from the lovely Jamie at My Cynical POV. The Honest Scrap Award. I'm not really sure if the award was given to me because basically I write a TMI Thursday everyday or she just thinks I deserve the award because I'm honest. Either way, I don't' care...it's awesome no matter which way you spin it.

And the second one isn't really an award, but it gives me a warm fuzzy feeling because the blogger who awarded me his "Feature Blogger of the Month" is none other than RS27 at Your Beard is Good. Being a featured blogger on RS's site actually means quite a lot because I have a deep respect for his blog. For the past year he was been one of my top three favorite bloggers of all time. (I thought he was so cool in fact, I used to get nervous leaving him comments. -yes, I'm a nerd). Everyday I check his blog to see if he wrote anything new and EVERYDAY he makes me laugh. So, winning a coveted featured blogger shout-out from a person I admire and love, means a hell of a lot.

The Honest Scrap award comes with rules, of course: we honorees are to: A) first list 10 honest things about yourself - and make it interesting, even if you have to dig deep!*** B) pass the award on to 7 bloggers that you feel embody the spirit of the Honest Scrap.

***Seriously, how deep to I have to dig? Do I really need to go to depths I would rather keep hidden or better yet, when have I ever hid anything. I don't know how much more I can reveal about myself. For goodness sake, I wrote about a sleep walking and peeing on my face. Does is get much deeper?

Here is goes anyway...

1. Since I've gotten knocked up, I've had wild and vivid sex dreams. A couple weeks ago I dreamed I got a job working at the Bunny Ranch and in my first night I was the highest earner for any "rookie" to ever worked there. A guy "reserved" me for the entire night...he kind of looked like Rob Pattinson.

2. Benefiber has become a staple in my diet. I don't want to talk anymore about it. It's upsetting.

3. I don't remember the first time I met PH. I was too busy making out with his roommate who was on the top bunk from him. (When PH and I started dating, they were no longer roommates).

4. I got arrested once (alcohol violation, what else?). Hand and ankle cuffed and all. It was the most miserable night of my life. Thankfully charges were dropped.

5. The bitch in me gets really happy when I look through facebook see pictures girls who were really mean to me in middle school and they turned out to be horribly ugly. The two meanest girls are the two ugliest. Haha!

6. My in-laws used to drive me crazy, but now it's MY parents I have a hard time communicating with. Every time I talk to my dad, he guilt trips me by constantly saying, "Well, why does it matter we never see you anyway. It's not like to live across the state". --The road travels both ways pal.

Yesterday I was a good daughter and met them for lunch. I arrived 7 minutes late and the ATE WITH OUT ME. Then they made me pay for my own lunch. I just don't get it. They make me want to find a sharp object and draw a warm bath. I had a date in high school that kind of did the same thing (he showed up late and made me pay for my dinner) and my mom still bitches about how rude he was. UGH!

7. I really want to have a boy. I'm scared I'll be disappointed if it's a girl.

8. Making this list could possibly be the longest I have ever worked on writing a post before. How pathetic is that?

9. I would take a job that would pay me 40% less than I'm making now if it could guarantee I'd be happy and wouldn't have to travel.

10. I dated a girl once.

There you have it... My honest scrap.

People I award this to are seven bloggers who I feel are ~~brutally~~ honest without pissing everyone off.

Katrocket: Fire That Agency --I'm a lurker on her site (I'll come out someday) and she's hilarious!

Pistols at Dawn; Save Your Generation (I can't say he's never pissed anyone off. I think he does so on a daily basis, but that's why I like him).

D; Shallow and Very, Very Single --I really like her because she makes up her own words (i.e. Chunkler) and also because I am living vicariously through her blog.

LBluca77 - Her TMI Thursday is always worth a read. She wrote about pooping her pants!!! What girl can do that??? I sure couldn't.

Surviving Myself

Julie: Blog of a Good Time

Plath; Baking with Plath - I'm giving her this award, because my husband, who doesn't really read many blogs found hers through my comments and started to read Baking with Plath because "She's kind of funny". I rolled my eyes and said, "Duh".

Pop n' Fresh week 11

2009-01-05T20:35:00.004-06:00

As promised, I will not under any circumstances post pictures of my growing belly -which creeped up on me over the holidays. I don't know if it's better to blame a fetus of the f*ing cookies. Damnit). Importantly, I think that shit's gross. My husband thinks it the coolest thing in the world because in his world, I'm effing perfect (minus the self loathing meltdown due to increase in muffin top) and his child is the bestest fetus ever, but for everyone else, you're not interested.

I'm not interested in looking at women's pregger bellies. Why should you be?

Right?

Right.

Instead I'll entertain you with something all pregnant women talk about but never show off.

Constant conversation highlights:
- They're sore.
- My nipples are constantly standing attention like Jennifer Aniston's on the Late Show.
- I can't wear button-up shirts without basically ripping the buttons off.

I don't understand it. SHOW IT OFF!!!

Large, full, voluptuous boobs.

Which are still fun and not yet functional.

Did I just kill the funnest of breasts?

I hope not.

In in case you are interested, here are my boobs.

Pop n' Fresh week 11

Just so you know, I'm a little behind on the ta-ta pics...so expect lot of boobs coming up.

It's a whole new world without beer goggles

2009-01-05T09:32:00.005-06:00

Wow.

When I gave up drinking for lent one year and didn't consume any green beer with the Irish family on St. Patrick's Day, I thought it was the most insane idea I had ever come up with and also the worst experience looking at my friends drunk without my own beer goggles.

I was wrong.

New Year's Eve at a masquerade party without drinking was not only the dumbest idea ever it was also turned out to be the most entertaining and shocking night I experienced and believe it will forever be etched into my memory.

The masquerade was a vampire theme (how appropriate for me?). I convinced PH to dress up as a priest with a stake and be a vampire slayer. His costume was incredible! The only thing that sucked was when we walked into the party, he was the ONLY person in costume!

We walked in and everyone was in regular party clothes...no vampire-esque clothing in the place. What made it funny was NO ONE said anything to PH about the costume! No questions, not laughing, they just pretended he didn't have the costume on.

I felt SO bad.

The ensemble lasted about 10 minutes.

I'm not a voyeur at parties. Sitting on the sidelines taking in the crowd and feeling the temperature of the room isn't typically fun for me. I prefer being in the middle of the action, socializing, mixing drinks, and controlling the dance floor, but due to my lack of alcohol, I calmly pulled up a chair, leaned back, propped my feet up on the table, and watched the nickles fall.

What started out like a typical New Year's party of noise makers, party hats, and champagne toasts slowly turned into guests slipping away into dark corners doing dirty deeds; women making out with other women's husbands, wives making out with other wives, and all around sexually charged frivolity.

I knew in the past there was always "stuff" going on behind closed cabana curtains and bathrooms, but I've always been too drunk to witness it myself. I've been the girl who was caught "heavy breathing" on a woman after an Absinthe party. I've been in the thick of it on many occasions without crossing the lines too terribly, but watching it all happen was completely different than being an active participant.

To simplify this party, think Eyes Wide Shut PG-13/R style.

I stared blank faced while a middle aged woman violently stuffed her tongue down my friend S's husband's mouth and pinning him up against the wall. I didn't think much about it because S was in another room wrapping her mouth around another girl's lips.

PH was too entertained with himself hitting up the dance floor to notice people slipping away together into bedrooms and bathrooms. He finally got a dose of it when a girl grabbed his wiener.

I was a little surprised, not because a girl wants to grab at his boy bits (they are nice), but because he was wearing the priest costume again (I don't know why). Who grabs a priest's balls?

What is it with women and trying to grab my husband's firecrotch? I don't mind, honestly...I think it's more funny than anything else. The best part...it freaked him out. His exact words were "I don't like it. It made me uncomfortable." I was happy.

A happy pregnant wife makes life easier.

Trust me.

The night finally wrapped up at 1:30am (early on New Year's, yes?) When the hostess of the party had a drunk breakdown and nearly kicked everyone out because her "friend" didn't want to make out. I'm no stranger to drunken outbursts, so I took it as my cue to leave.

New Year's day was a blast. The first time I can remember waking up on January 1st without a headache since I was 17.

Good times.

I hope everyone had a fun and exciting New Year. It feels good to be back from my blogging vacation!

I want singing, bitches. SINGING!

2008-12-23T11:16:00.004-06:00

No...it's not Christmas.

Yes, it is Festivus. I'll air some grievances later.

Most importantly, it is my BIRTHDAY!!!

Every year on this day I thank my parents for conceiving me in March and bestowing upon me the most shitastic birthday of all time.

December 23rd.

I'm sure they didn't intentionally try to have a Christmas baby, but for hells-bells, they could have been a little more sensitive to the fact that having a child born on such a day would curse them for life.

Never having birthday parties because everyone is too busy around the holidays.

Never getting friends together because their Nana is planning a special celebration for the grand kids.

Friends fucking up and having to spend the day last minute Christmas shopping instead of gulping down wine, exchanging embarrassing stories, and playing Rock Band.

Because of the date and the inevitable possibility of people forgetting my birthday, I shamelessly self promote my birthday the entire month of December. This morning when I walked into work I an a miniature chocolate cake with a candle sitting on my desk and a bag full of goodies from my friend MP.

Life is good.

And just in case you weren't aware "shamelessly self promote" also includes soliciting for presents.

Things I like:
Designer shoes; 3 inch heel min. -What? I'm short
OPI nail polish; the darker the better, except for Bubble Bath
Bare Essentials gift cards
Anything with an elastic waist

Things I don't like:
Electric Youth perfume
glittered lotion
granny panties

Alright...

This is my last day of work for the week and I (like everyone else) will not be back until January 5th. I hope you all get fabulous presents and a fun holiday.

It's not a party unless their is blood, urine, and the police

2008-12-22T09:24:00.003-06:00

It's amazing how functional one can be on Saturday and how much stuff gets accomplished when you don't spend the entire morning sleeping off a hangover while pounding back Advil every 2 hours and stuffing your face with pizza.

But something occured to me this weekend that I have always known but never paid much attention to.

My friends, who I love to death, are idiots.

I mean my guy friends.

Girls only qualify when they start crying.

I had four parties this weekend. F-O-U-R!

(I'm secretly a rock star.)

One of the two parties on Saturday was with a bunch of PH and my friends from college. I absolutely LOVE hanging out with this group of guys because they're fun, funny, and usually keep me entertained throughout the night.

But, without a doubt, they're idiots.

This was the first time in a couple of years we all got together for a Christmas party, because the last time one of my friends hosted a party, one of the guest peed on a crowd of people.

Yes, you read that right.

Three years ago, my two friends, Brian and Ellie, hosted an Ugly Sweater Christmas party at their house. Brian went to college with PH and me and he met his wife Ellie after graduation, so she was never as good of friends with the whole "group" as I was and had a really close group of friends herself who she invited to the Christmas party.

I don't know why this was necessary in a house with three bathrooms, but a guy (Kale) at the party (friends with Brian) decided to go outside to pee.

Instead of going out into the trees behind the house, Kale decided to pee ON THE HOUSE. Not next to the house...ON THE HOUSE.

He peed on an open basement window.

What was right below that window?

A couch full of Ellie's friends.

Ellie's friends got soaked by a random man's urine.

This was also after the same guy burned his button up shirt in the fireplace and walked around all night in a sweater vest and before some idiots found permanent markers and started drawing penises all over the walls in their child's playroom.

I wish I was kidding.

This was also the same night I fell on the makeshift dance floor, split my chin open, and had to be taken (very intoxicated) to the ER for stitches. Good times.

That was the last year they hosted the party.

They've mellowed out a little in the last several years, but no one has braved hosting a party since then. I mean, I sure as hell won't do it.

This year's Christmas party was hosted at a local watering hole and professionals kept everything in order, but it didn't keep all the craziness of the evening at bay.

At least there was only a small fire. My friend was so drunk he put out his cigarette in a lit candle instead of an ashtray. It didn't cause the fire alarm to go off, but there was plenty of smoke.

Ahhh...the holidays.

Retiring the fours

2008-12-18T10:45:00.003-06:00

It's freaking painful to have to write this let alone acknowledge a clear and simple truth.

I am one week off from being three months sperminated and I can no longer wiggle, stretch, or pull my way into my last two remaining size 4 pants without creating an inappropriate muffin top.

Whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy?

Okay, seriously...I was pushing my way out of them before the influx of hormones and my need for Mexican food kicked in, but damnit...I've only gained 3 lbs. (quite a fucking fete I may add). They're remembrances of a finer time when I could get away with calling Rice r' Roni a balanced meal and champagne was a completely acceptable breakfast.

Okay...this was college.

I really haven't been a real size 4 since my hips grew proportionate to my ample bust (after college), but still. We all have a favorite article of clothing that we can't quite get rid of albeit they're a little faded, maybe slightly out of style, but we love it anyway.

Last night after putting away the laundry I looked at my favorite jeans, signed, folded them neatly, and placed them in a plastic container with my "summer" clothes. Then I took a moment of silence.

With all the strength in my body, I will be back in those suckers October 1st.

I've only had to shrink my wardrobe my two articles of clothing, nothing to get upset about...yet. But I'll tell you what, the last thing I am is one of those wacky women who find out their prego and go running out to buy maternity clothes. Gah! Have you seen the shit clothing designers think are "cute" for knocked up women to wear?

Bullshit if they think they're going to find we wearing a knitted sweater with a kitten across the belly. I'd rather waddle my way through the size 4s.

Unfortunately, boys and girls, I think this is the beginning of the end.

Starter for 10

2008-12-17T09:19:00.004-06:00

I really do care about readers' gag reflexes.

Truly I do.

So most of the time I leave this part out because, well, let's face it. We'd all rather wallow in other people's pain than read about the much too sweet goodness.

At least I'm that way.

But I can't neglect recognizing someone who has honestly been through the ringer lately and still manages to keep a smile on his face. His patience has not yet wavered and it honestly shocks me at times how damn lucky I got.

For example:

SEVEN hour drive to Little Rock, AR
SIX time I had to stop and pee
ZERO times PH rolled his eyes, signed, or complained

TWELVE times we've gone out with friends for dinner or drinks (yeah club soda!)
TWELVE times I left early because my body can't manage to stay away past 11:00pm
TWELVE times PH has eagerly volunteered to take me home saying, "I take care of my baby". (baby is ME not the lil'cupcake)

TWENTY SIX times we've planned for sex
FOURTEEN times I've fallen asleep instead
ZERO whining or teasing from PH

EIGHT horribly massive headaches
TWO head rubs from the man to help ease the pain

And all the countless other things he's done...

the times he's ran to the grocery store for me because I complained it was too cold outside.

all the times he's cooked dinner so it would ready when I got home.

watching chick flix with me on the weekends instead of Myth Busters.

managing the enormous "to-do" list I gave him with smile.

Kissing me goodbye every morning while I'm still asleep.

I wish this could even begin to explain how great it's been having him through this whole roller coaster of having a baby...something neither of expected or were truly prepared for. No relationship is ever perfect. Sometimes he doesn't quite get my sense of humor and other times I don't appreciate or respect his sensitivity, but somehow we've managed a perfect balance. I couldn't imagine doing this with anyone else in the world.

A day late and a dollar short

2008-12-15T09:36:00.010-06:00

Eh...Mondays kind of blow, don't they?

To make matters worse not only is it Monday, but it's the month of December. I don't dislike December, but it's a hectic month. For me, especially.

December 4th = Wedding anniversary (yeah, I didn't mention it)

Decemeber 19th = Birthday celebration with friends and Christmas party

December 20th = Engagement party for my brother-in-law and coolest girlfriend ever

December 22nd = Financial planner coming over to help get us ready for lil' cupcake

December 23rd = MY REAL Birthday, but instead of celebrating I'm spending it celebrating Christmas with the in-laws...again...for the third year in a row.

Decemeber 24th = Christmas eve with my parents

Decemeber 25th = Christmas (again) with the in-laws.

I'm going to try and keep my cool. I'm going to work really hard to keep a smile on my face. I'm going to do everything within my power not to bite some one's head off, because unlike most girls - I hate the holidays.

Typically the one thing that gets me through is alcohol. Beautiful martinis lined with decorative sugar, bottles of red wine being popped open at my convenience, Baileys slowly poured over hot cups of coffee and topped with whipped cream, Ouzo shots, and seasonal beer.

*sigh*

Alright, enough of my wallowing. To make the season bright I am very past due on a very fabulous award I won from the very funny SaratogaJean at Bad Mutha Fudruckers. I'm not sure the correct way to hand out this award, but for lack of a better anniversary post for my blog (it was in November) I decided I'm going to give my fabulous blog award away to bloggers who have been with me since the beginning. The amazing freaders who have made blogging so much more fun.

The rule of the award is to write about 5 addictions, but I've given up most of my addictions...Thanks, fetus. So I'm just going to list the 5 very cool and loyal readers who greatly deserve this award.

TechnoDoll: She takes the most impressive photos for not being a professional. TD also has two massive dogs that scare the bajeezus out of me who she thinks are sweets as kittens. Little girls and their big dog, I don't get it, but it's super funny to read.

Katelin: Could possibly be the nicest blogger in the blogsphere. No matter how bad of a day she has had or the blogger she's reading has, she leave the sweetest, nicest comments ever brightening any one's day.

Michelle: I found Michelle randomly on a blog search and trapped me at once with her anecdotes about being a receptionist.

In(side) the Loop: The most stylish girl in BlogLand. Courtney always has great shoes, clothes, interior, and gift suggestions. Her blog is a must read!

Glamour Girly who is now Red Hot Martini: My fellow MIZZOU girl!!! We went to the same college, live in the same state, and share a deep love for our Tigers.

MP: My oldest blog friend and only real life friend. Usually we yell at each other from our offices at work, but we're the only two in the office who know we write blogs and waste much of our time writing comments and gchating. MP is incredible and the one person responsible for my blogging.

Happy Monday...blah.

Rattling the vault

2008-12-12T10:11:00.002-06:00

My life is a compilation of embarrassing moments strung together in chronological order. I see it as a string of pictures hanging by clothes pins fastened to stings in the red glow of a photography dark room. I often wonder what the reason is behind my existence on this planet. Surely, it can't be for the benefit of other people's enjoyment, but the more and more I question it, the more it seems to be true.

Through consistent writing I've accidentally opened a vault of lost (or repressed) memories. Images and stories I would never dream of resurrecting...but here I stand, shovel in hand, digging up memories forgotten.

I often curse the world because the this entire story is the result of a silly game of tag and a superficial scrape across a nipple caused by an unsuspecting branch.

Damn that branch.

When I was 10 I was playing tag with friends and out of nowhere a branch came swooping down and bite me right across my boy-like chest and slicing straight down my boy-like left nipple.

I've been gifted with no coordination since birth.

When I got home I examined my new injury and made a mental note to add it to the collection of other scrapes, scabs, and bruised I had already collected on my body. But instead of letting it go and allowing it to heal on it's own, I did what any other normal 10 year old kid would do...pick at it.

After a couple of weeks the scrape had faded to a dark pink line, but something else was happening, it was beginning to swell.

I freaked out.

For sure there there had been some kind of bug that was on the branch that laid eggs in my skin and it was going to erupt and start eating my flesh.

Another week had passed and not only was my left nipple visibly swollen compared to my boy-like right nipple, but now I could feel something hard under my skin. The bug on the branch just didn't lay eggs in my skin, it's breading in there and creating cocoons and I'm going to die!!!

I did the only thing I could think of...I told my mom.

I explained to her about the branch cutting me and a week later I started to swell and now there was something hard under my nipple. She asked to examine me and I slowly took of my shirt. She couldn't quite come up with any explanation of what was going on.

Then she said the words that have forever haunted me:

"Dolce, I think we should have your dad take a look at it."

FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THINGS HOLY!!! I don't know what the woman was thinking. My dad is a computer engineer. He's not a doctor!!! Can you think of a profession further away from the medical field that a guy working on computers??? SERIOUSLY!

Talk about the most awkward moments in life.

Because my mom brought my dad into the situation I knew this problem escalated into a "big deal". I had convinced myself I was going to die because an alien had infested itself into my nipple. When my dad got home that night my mom explained the situation. He said he'd take a look at me.

Now, while I wasn't necessarily embarrassed at that particular moment in time, but right now, I'm pretty much breaking out into a sweat just thinking about writing this.

God, this sucks.

It's just me, my mom, and my dad standing in the family room and he motions me over to him and says, "Let's take a look".

I slip off my t-shirt and I am standing topless in front of my dad while he compares the size my NIPPLES!!! Then he takes his forefinger and starts to feel the lump in my chest. MY DAD IS FEELING MY BOY-LIKE and SWOLLEN NIPPLE.. Oh, I'm going to be sick.

AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!

He concludes that the situation is serious and we should make an appointment to go see the doctor.

The doctor? Yep- I am 10 years old and facing death.

So the next day I'm sitting the doctor's office on the paper lined table with my mom sitting quietly in a chair. There's a small tap at the door and my dad enters.

I immediately start to panic because I realize for the first time how serious a matter this is because my dad took off work to be at the appointment.

The doctor walks in shortly after and my mom explains the situation. Of course the doctor wants to examine me. Who doesn't want to see an alien infestation in a 10 year old girl's body.

I remember, clear as crystal, unzipping the back of my Catholic school uniform, unbuttoning my white short sleeve shirt, and laying back on the table. The docters had were surprisingly cold. He does the same thing as my dad, checking both nipples, examining the scrape, and seconds later he says, "Dolce, you can get dressed now."

I get dressed and I'm waiting for the big moment for him to tell me I have one week to live. He smiles and faces my parents and says, "There's nothing to be worried about, Dolce is just developing breasts."

I WANTED TO DIE!!!!

In the last 48 hours I had been felt up by BOTH parents and a doctor because I was growing boobs???

My dad wasn't supposed to know I had boobs!

What made an already horribly awkward moment worse was my mom was arguing with the doctor explaining that the lump was "too hard" to be breast development and the other nipple didn't have any signs of growth.

I tried desperately not to listen. My embarrassment at the age of 10 had reach an all time high. Not only had I been felt-up by my unknowing father, but I was going to have lopsided boobs too!

I went home that day without saying a word. I wonder if I talked at all for a month. The next week when I got home from school my mom surprised me with my first training bra.

I'm pretty sure it was to make up for the fact that she made my dad stare at my chest.

God, it makes me queasy just to think about.

I promise, if I ever have a daughter, to never subject her to that kind of torture.

Thank goodness the girls turned out absolutely even.

potato chips and puppy chow

2008-12-11T16:47:00.003-06:00

Work is sucking the life out of me.

It's really bad when the CFO of my company is making fun of my commission check because the economy is so flipping bad.

(In case you didn't know...it's bad bitch, bad!)

His name starts with a "D" and ends in a "ck".

It suits him.

And who -in this day and time- chooses to be called a name that represents a reproductive organ?

WHOOOOOOOOOOO???

Might as well call himself Anus or Penis.

Anyway, I've been eating my bad mood away thought potato chips and puppy chow. Now I look and feel like a fat ass chunkler and I'm going to have to waddle myself to the car. Thank god I park close.

And when I can start getting away parking in spaces reserved for expectant mothers? Do I have to be ready to pop or just making a frozen fruit run?

GAAAAAHHHHHH!!!

I'm hitting "publish post" now and hopefully my attitude that makes me want to bitch slap the world goes away.

Maybe I just need some good sex.

Mission for tonight: get laid...twice.

Dear Boobs,

2008-12-08T19:00:00.008-06:00

Importantly, everyone must check out Ben's blog No Ordinary Roller coaster. We just had the best blogger dream date...EVER. No one can rock my world with chamomile tea and snuggling like he can!

Dear Boobs,

If I could get down on my knees and beg you, I would. Instead I will stare at you in the mirror and talk to you face to breast.

Boobs, please, please, please remain as perfect as you are today and never get smooshy and saggy. Please.

I know this weekend a friend told you after she had a baby that her boobs got smooshy and sagging. I know that scared the living piss out of you, but I doubt she started with a rack as pristine as you. I believe you have it in you to persevere through the changes and come out of this unscathed.

Haven't you always felt loved? Haven't I treated you with respect since the day you sprouted in third grade and my parents thought I had an infection so they made me go to the doctor? I know there have been times you've been grabbed a little too hard, strapped in a little too tight, and bitten a little too rough, but it's all my fault. I take full blame for any injuries or insults. I swear, I asked for it thinking you liked it too.

We've been good to each other over the years. You gotten me the attention of a lot of men who I had crushes on in high school and college. You've made me look smoking hot in low cut shirts and skimpy swimsuits. While a lot of our friends are losing the battle to the pencil test, you have never failed me. In fact you repel that pencil like you have the force of Obi Wan Kenobi. I've proudly showed you off to show my utmost gratitude.

Sure, there are times I regret I didn't show you off more, like the time at Mardi Gras, when I was too scared to show you because there were a lot of creepy men with video cameras. And the nude beach in Italy, when I didn't show you off because everyone on the beach reminded me of my grandparents. Knowing that I was going to put you in this path of possible harm, I would gladly have chosen a profession that would have put you on display for all the world to see. Instead I've kept you locked in a bra for 12-16 hours at a time, never to see the light of day.

I'm sorry. I promise to start showing you off more.

Ever since I found out you were going to be used for a functional purpose instead of visual stimulus, I have taken extra precautions to ensure you are well taken care of. Every morning I rub that lotion stuff that smells like chocolate all over you. Every night I massage you with vitamin E baby oil...I'm doing everything I can to maintain your unequivocal perfection; to remain beautiful with your perfect quarter sized nipple to breast ratio, your soft but firm and full feel, and your symmetrical roundness.

Please Boobs, please do not get smooshy, saggy, and lose all elasticity on me. I'm begging you, Boobs. Stay the way you are! I know I've been asking a lot lately, but I'd be most upset if I lost you in this battle against my body.

Please, Boobs, don't fail me now!

Dolce

P.S. Boobs, I promised I'd start showing you off more. Instead of baby bump pictures, I'll show you instead.

Weekend before sperm reached the egg

one week before spermination

letting my bitch flag fly

2008-12-08T09:18:00.007-06:00

It's been awhile - a long while - since I've had the privilege of writing about my favorite co-worker.

Office Gossip Whore

The lack of writing isn't because of the lack of material, I simply don't want to give her any recognition (although all being negative) because she drives me absolutely out of my mind!!!

And in case you don't remember her or are too lazy to click on the links (it's okay, I'm lazy too) quick review of my dear OGW:

1. last Christmas she told me in front of a group of co-workers that my ass was getting fat - NO JOKE

2. I had a small infection - screw it, I break out in cold sores sometimes, it fucking sucks to tell you the truth, but on company picture day, OGW had to point out how "ugly that thing is on your face" for picture.

3. A few days ago Emily's skin wasn't looking the best. OGW walked up to her and out of no where said, "Ooh. I think you should make an appointment with a dermatologist". If it had been anyone else, I would have been stunned by the rudeness, but Emily can take care of herself and I thought for sure she was going to hit her.

If I could take down a 350+ lbs. woman, I would.

This summer she almost got herself fired because she was gossiping to the wrong person about the wrong people. In any normal environment she would have been canned on the spot, but small companies have loyalties of steel.

I'm not the type of person who revels in other peoples' despair, unlike OGW, but I can't help getting a smirk on my face when I witness karma coming back and biting this bitch in the ass.

When I was in Chicago a couple months ago, I got a call from my friend MP who, laughing to near hysterics, told me OGW came crying to her in her office because all of her eyelashes fell out due to the stress of her job.

Eyelashes! Falling Out!

Sick.

And her job is comparable to monkey work. I've never seen a stressed out monkey, have you?

Last week while I was being a good little worker and whipping up a presentation for a client, OGW walked pasted my office and my quick glance at her caught be so off guard I started typing my inner monologue.

I looked down at the email and this is what I had written:

Absolutely!!!

I will work on that today. I will
send you top products that do exceptionally well in other programs. Do you have
a price cap you oh holy shit! she looks like absolute hell, Who would do that to
themselves. Did she get a weave? I didn't think she could look worse.

Immediately, I ran into my friend's office (who happens to be OGW's boss) and asked what the hell happened.

I feel kind of like a bitch for doing that, but honestly, with all the crap I have to put up with because of her, I don't care. Let my bitch flag fly.

Anyway, my friend told me that the stylist over processed her perm and fried her hair. It looks exactly like this wig - minus the sideburns. I can't make this up!! Well, what made it better was that there was no stylist...she did it herself.

Now her hair is breaking off...falling out...what have you. I don't care. I find it absolutely hilarious.

The this point, I'm waiting for her to say something rude to me. I like to think of myself as one who "rises above" the situation, but for just once, instead of walking away irritated and angry, I want to cut her off right below the knees.

Rip her a new asshole.

Hit her below the belt.

Give her a taste of her own medicine.

Wow, I didn't know I could be so bitter. It's definitely Monday.

Don't you ever say that to me again.

2008-12-04T08:00:00.003-06:00

-----Original Message-----
From: PH
Sent: Wednesday, December 03, 2008 10:40 AM
To: Dolce
Subject: Very Big Favor To Ask!

We ought to go help our new neighbors out. I will do all of the work
since you are, as you like to put it, "with child."

* * *

-----Original Message-----
Subject: RE: Very Big Favor To Ask!
Date: Wed, 3 Dec 2008 11:41:38 -0500
From: Dolce
To: PH

I have no problem helping.

If you say that phrase again, I'm kicking you in the groin.

* * *

-----Original Message-----
From: PH
Sent: Wednesday, December 03, 2008 10:48 AM
To: Dolce
Subject: RE: Very Big Favor To Ask!

Don't kick me in the groin until I plant my seed again.

How about the term "bearing fruit"? As in: this is my wife, Dolce.
She is "bearing fruit".

* * *

-----Original Message-----
Subject: RE: Very Big Favor To Ask!
Date: Wed, 3 Dec 2008 11:55:06 -0500
From: Dolce
To: PH

EWWWW! Bearing fruit??? Oh my god. That makes me feel like I'm going to
a belly full of fruit flies and crap like that. Worse even it reminds me
of church. Fruit of the womb.

Gross.

Gross.

Gross.

If you keep talking with such disgusting filth, I'm going to have to strap on a chastity belt.

* * *

-----Original Message-----
From: PH
Sent: Wednesday, December 03, 2008 11:03 AM
To: Dolce
Subject: RE: Very Big Favor To Ask!

Chastity belt huh?

Seems like you've got that on already.

Oh yeah, maybe it's because of the lack of body trimming. But then again, who doesn't love chest hair that curls?

So, if not "with child" or "bearing fruit" then what?

* * *

From: Dolce
Sent: Wednesday, December 03, 2008 11:35 AM
To: PH
Subject: RE: Very Big Favor To Ask!

No honey, I don't need to wear a chastity belt...the bomb fire of fire crotch you have going on is enough to scare me way.

And I'm not attempting to go down there in fear I would choke to death, not on your massive muscle (which is very nice and treats me well), but on the furry plums.

You won’t catch me letting my shit fall to the waste side. I may not do the dishes, but I keep down south clean, neat, and pretty.

As for the chest hair – out of control!

As for pregnancy phrases, these are allowable:

Prego
Knocked up
Having a baby
fo' shiz, up the spout

Hell hath no fury like that caused by a crazy mother

2008-12-03T10:38:00.004-06:00

A conversation with my mom right before Thanksgiving.

Mom: So...you're officially pregnant, right?

Dolce: Yes. How official does it need to be?

Mom: Well, I just wanted to make sure because I told your uncle all about it. Your cousin Stacey is having a baby too!!!

Dolce: MA!!! Didn't I specifically ask you NOT to say anything until Christmas?

Mom: No, you said not to say anything until you went to the doctor and it was official.

Dolce: MA!!! I'm just telling you NOW! How do you not understand "DON'T TELL ANYONE UNTIL CHRISTMAS"???

Mom: Oh well...it's just your uncle. Your father asked him not to say anything so I'm sure he won't.

Dolce: UGH!!!!

Mom: Well, so were you guys planning on having a baby.

Dolce: Um...Not really.

Mom: What kind of birth control were you using? You were being careless with it, weren't you?

Dolce: Jeez, Ma...NO! I was not being careless with my birth control.

Mom: (GASP) OH! OH! OH! (almost whispers in her low gossipy voice) The condom broke, didn't it???

Dolce: For Christ sake, MA!!! NO!

Mom: Oh well, that's what your cousin told your uncle when he knocked up his girlfriend in college. I thought maybe the same thing happened to you.

Dolce: (shakes head in disbelief)

Conversation on Thanksgiving as PH and I are getting ready to leave.

Dad: So when is the baby due?

Dolce: July 10th

Dad: And you feel good and everything?

Dolce: Yep. I haven't been sick once.

Dad: Well, since it's far off, please think of presents you'd like for Christmas.

Dolce: (as I'm putting on my gloves) No problem. We'll think of some things.

Brother: Nice gloves, Dolce. (they're leopard print) When did you get those?

Dolce: Shut it. You love them.

Mom: What are you getting now that your pregnant?

Dolce: Huh?

Mom: Oh god. I wasn't sick but I got yeast infections all the time!!! Ugh, they were horrible.

PH - Brother - Dad - Dolce: Blank stares

Mom: I hope you don't get them like I did. They're miserable to get rid of. And the itching!!!

Dolce: (looks at brother with scared face - brother looks repulsed) Well, there's nothing that prevents Mom from making the moment awkward.

Brother: I don't want to talk about it.

PH: Let's leave...Now.

Ahhhh....the holidays.

coworkers are killing my appetite

2008-12-02T13:52:00.004-06:00

It's been well established I work in a circus. Maybe I should say my coworkers are a bunch monkeys who do hat tricks for nickles. Okay, not all of them. I like five of them.

I don't know how else to explain it other than saying the majority of people I work with are crazy.

It makes life entertaining...kind of.

It's a pretty small office so occasionally I hear things from co-workers I wouldn't necessarily know about in any other professional office - it's due to the fact there is a sense of friendship and camaraderie within the area I work.

I also hope it's because I have the ability to keep my mouth shut within the office - little do they know I splash it all of the Internet later - I get an ear full of stories that leave my jaw loosely laid on the floor.

Today was no exception.

Emily: I have a really funny story for you but it's kind of gross.

Dolce: Let's hear it.

Emily: Okay. Adia (1 year old daughter) likes to play with my tampons. Whenever she's in the bathroom with me she'll pull out the box and scatter them on the floor and just play around with them. It keeps her entertained when I'm in the shower. It's better than when she went through her phase of playing in the toilet.

Dolce: inner monologue: (you let your child play in the toilet??? I thought that was limited to dogs?)

Emily: Today I while I was getting out of the shower I hear Adia calling "mama, mama, mama" and then she went silent. I thought to myself, "damn, that girl got into something" so I went to go check on her.

Emily: Girl, this is so sick! She was chewing on a used tampon applicator.

Dolce: (gagging ensued)

Emily: She must have pulled it out of the trash while I was in the shower and it must have felt good against her gums because she's teething.

Dolce: (acid is creeping into my throat and mouth)

Emily: Yeah, I moved the trash so now it sits on top of the toilet tank.

Dolce: (blank stares at Emily) Inner monologue: OhmygodOhmygodOhmygodohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygod.

Dolce: Uh...Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeewwwwwwww

I just have one question: Why me???

Boys, you'll get your chance - don't worry

2008-11-25T11:01:00.004-06:00

Guys read my blog! I know, it's crazy, right? But I suppose my embarrassment is thrilling for all. What I wasn't expecting were the e-mails from some of my male freaders discussing how happy they were to have wieners after my post yesterday. I laughed to myself because, I'm sure they're aware, but someday...they will have a finger shoved up their bum.

Something I will never have to endure.

And, I don't hide much, but I hide my butt from anything going up it. It scares the freaking bahjeezes out of me and sends my sweat glands into overdrive with the very thought of something entering my behind.

Some holes are not meant to be poked at...at least mine aren't.

I tried it ONCE and I nearly thought I was going to die from the slightest pressure, piercing pain, and unfavorable human digestive response for me to even attempt entertaining that again.

Ugh! A shiver just went down my spine.

I have limits...but doctor's don't.

SO@24: That's what makes your "mommy" blog stand out amongst the shit of others
Dolce: really?
Dolce: oh my god...I was NOT ready for that. SERIOUSLY
SO@24: HAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
Dolce: Honestly - she asked if I wanted to do it!!!
I nearly DIED!!!
who does that???
chills just ran down my spine
SO@24: Me too
God.
I love having a penis.
Dolce: Hey - aren't you're forgetting something?
Men may have penises but they have to get prostrate exams.
Fingers in your butt
have fun with that, friend
SO@24: AHHHHHHHH
NEVER
Dolce: nice try but you're fighting the inevitable
good luck
SO@24: That makes me want to cry.
Dolce: it's almost worth being a guy to get to blog about that.
my friend Evan told me his story...I was in pain from laughing.
SO@24: Not as much pain as he was
Dolce: HAHA!!!
SO@24: Why did your friend Evan have to get one? I thought you didn't have to get one until you're like 50
Dolce: That's what he thought too!!!
So imagine his surprise!!
it's such a funny story.
He went in for a regular physical...nothing special.
SO@24: AHHHH!
I'm never going!
Dolce: Okay I'm not a guy, so I don't know - but Evan was in the exam room for a regular physical and on the counter were KY and rubber gloves laying on top of a paper towel.
Dolce: He thought nothing of it and thought maybe it was just standard in the rooms.
Well, (I think) boys get their balls checked anyway - the whole turn and cough thing- and when he was done the doctor told him to drop his pants and turn around.
He had NO idea what the fuck was going on. He was just standing casually with his hands resting on the exam table and his weight on one foot.

and then...

SO@24: AHHHHH!
Dolce: "Holy SHIT - he stuck two fingers up my ass. I was ready to start singing Moon River"
SO@24: HAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAH
Dolce: He said he nearly jumped on the table...literally. The doctor said to him, "Down Boy"!!!

So there you have it, boys. Eventually you will get poked and prodded too.

I was not prepared - NOT PREPARED AT ALL

2008-11-24T09:32:00.002-06:00

A warning would have been nice. Just a heads up to let me know what I was getting myself into.

Instead, I walked into this mess blindfolded and armored with a plasic spoon.

Vulnerable doesn't even begin to explain the position I was put into...literally.

Friday afternoon was my first scheduled ultrasound. Nothing too painful or embarrassing, especially being the day after a full pelvic and boob exam (those things never get easier either; it's always uncomfortable).

Anyway, I figured the ultrasound was a peice of cake - pour some of the stuff that looks like congealed KY all of my stomach and press that microphone thing around my stomach - no worries, right?

WRONG!

I walked into the exam room and the first question the woman asks me is "Is your bladder full?"

WTF is that suppose to mean? Thank goodness I have the world's smallest bladder and I drink about 3 liters of water a day so I have to go constantly anyway.

The room all nice and comfortable and I laid casually on the exam table and lowered my pants. To my surprise, the jelly stuff is warmed, but when she asked me is my bladder was full, she was really telling me she was going to press on my bladder so hard that I had to tighten evey muscle in my body not to pee my pants. That would have sucked.

Physically uncomfortable is the best way to discribe it, but NOTHING - NOTHING AT ALL compared to what she said next.

"Now if you wouldn't mind stepping into the bathroom, removing your pants and underware, we'll begin the inter-vaginal ultrasound."

Huh....the WHAT???

I stared blankly at her for a solid 10 seconds before I could bring myself to speak. As kind as she was in explaining what she was going to do, it didn't remove the shock from my face.

Oh yeah - no one felt the need to tell me they now stick a probe up your vag for a better screening of the fetus!!!

Since when have they started this??? There are certainly some drawbacks of not having any friends or close family members with kids. How the f* and I supposed to know this stuff. Seriously.

And, this is not just any probe we're talking about - it's a condom covered probe that looks exactly like a vibrator!

I just shook my head in disbelief.

When I walked out of the bathroom, the sweet, unintimidating bed I was laying on now had death trap sturrups which looked like two spider fangs reaching out to get me.

Deep breaths.

I saddled up half naked and waited for this shin-dig to start. The nurse obviously felt my nervousness, but her way to relax me made is all the more worse.

She asked me if I wanted to insert it myself.

NO!!! Seriously??? Aren't you a professional? There is NO WAY in hell I'm laying here and shoving a vibrator like camera up my girl while there is another person - in a physician's office - watching me.

AWKWARD!!!

But of course, and only to me, my embarrassment and level of comfort were reaching an all time high.

The probe wasn't bad. In fact, it was a little annoying.

And by annoying, I mean, it was effecting my body in a non-desireable way for the circumstances.

She had to move the probe all over to take pictures and the entire time I am sitting there all I can think about is how inappropriate my body is reacting to this exam. I could feel heat pulsating from my head - and not just from embarrasement.

It was like a mean freaking game of "just the tip".

I on an exam table, with a woman, in a dimmly lit room, with a phalic contraption in my most erotic areas, and instead of concentrating on what she's showing me (I couldn't see a thing) I'm am trying to think of other things to occupy my mind because if this was a different situation I would be yelling, "Just stick it in already!"

Finally after several minutes, she zooms in on the fetus, and for the first time I see something - a small fast flicker...the heart beat.

A couple months ago, my neighbor-who is also pregnant, ran outside one day to show me pictures of her first ultrasound. I couldn't see a damn thing and I honestly wondered to myself, why anyone would show off these pictures - there is nothing to look at but a microscopic blob.

I thought my feeling would change once it was mine, but the picture still doesn't do much for me...it still looks like a blob. It was watching the heart beat that made is real and special. PH wasn't with me and I wish now that he was.

When I showed him the picture, I wasn't suprised by his reaction - he started to glow. It was even more than that...he was shining. I instantly melted like butter on warm toast.

As sure as the sun raises in the east, this fun little exam is the first of many surprises.

Who knows what's next. I cringe thinking about it!

Nothing makes me happier than other people thinking I'm cool

2008-11-20T13:17:00.004-06:00

The amazing and wonderful Kellie at Beauty is in the Eye of the Beer Holder (ain't that the truth) awarded me with the Uber Amazing Blog award. I almost shed a tear because this is my FIRST award bestowed upon my by my blogging peers! FIRST!!! I'm beyond flattered, but it does make me wonder why the hell I haven't gotten more of these damn things.

I kid.

Serious, this is the coolest thing ever. Especially since my blogging lately is comparable to a eunuch trying to get a hard on. --that doesn't make sense. I just wanted to use the word eunuch.

This blog award is given to sites that:
~ inspire you
~ make you smile and laugh
~ give amazing information
~ is a great read
~ have an amazing design
and/or any other reasons you can think of that makes them uber amazing!

The rules of this award are: Put the logo on your blog or post.
Nominate at least 5 blogs that for you are Uber Amazing!
Let them know that they have received this Uber Amazing award by commenting on their blog. Share the love and link to this post and to the person you received your award from.

Here are five fabulous blogs which I automatically read first in my reader (who have not yet be awarded).

D - Shallow and Very, Very Single She's top on my list of girls I would love to share a bottle (or 5) of champagne with and hit the town. I really believe if we ever got together we would do some serious damage to our livers and bank accounts. D is always entertaining and has the ability to make me laugh.

Dizzy - The Dizzy Observer. Her writing is honest and raw to the point I sometimes cringe...from excitement. Her sarcasm is unbeatable and she never writes the same thing twice.

Jamie - My Cynical POV I have no idea what POV stands for, but I like Jamie. She writes with clarity about her trivial mishaps in dating, work, and life in general. Jamie has an optimism and humor that keeps me chuckling long after I read her post.

Saratogajean - Big Mutha Fudruckers HILARIOUS!!! The pictures alone with her own personal captions crack me up. She has two VERY big dogs who scare the bajeezes out of me, but she makes them look like pussy cats. It's a must read.

Elwood - Tales of a Late Date Bloomer Last and far from Least - this guy doesn't even know I read his blog. He might die of embarrassment when he finds out. I have never left a comment on his blog, I'm lurk-city with this blog. I wish he would post more, but please, for all things holy go back and read his blog from the very beginning. It's a blog written by 27 year old virgin.

His stories of trying of just trying kiss girls tear me into wanting to reach out to him and help him out and laughing out loud. It's incredibly entertaining and every morning I want him to write something more.

It's dramedy at it's best!

La Dolce Vita

what i want

Out of sight. Out of mind.

letting is all out

Don't touch the boob bag

Rockin a Gaga

Should I stay or should I go now?

Boobs are vengeful [not so] little f*ckers

e·mer·gence

Meet the Cupcake

Eviction Notice

Day 6 Top 10

I wish my worst fears were lions, tigers, & bears

Leave me alone or else I'm going to pour my decaf all over you and hope you melt like the wicked witch of the west

Last Chance!!!

***Dolce's Sweetest Blog Giveaway Contest***

somethings don't change

= not that bad

Pop N' Fresh 38

Rug burn in a not so common place

Proving to the world...

Panic at the Attack

Tales of a disfunctional work environment

Blame it on Seinfeld

What am I? Ten?

Stop! You're ruining the illusion

Seek and you will find...

Freaking the f out

Pit Stains

Takebacks? Anyone?

You thought I was lying

I couldn't make this shit up if I tried: Advice I could have lived without

Only tequila can save me now

Hey Ma! Where's the soap? I need to wash out my mouth!

An interesting past

It's not burnout, bitch. It's boredom.

Sleeping tigers

Too much credit

FFF - Friday Fun Facts

TMI: Graduation Day

Update: I said no, no, no

Because once was not enough

Aladdin said it best

Less than pleasant

My Adventureland

TMI: If you won't listen to my words, listen to my dancing feet

Monsters on Ladders who are Linked In

I can't believe I make friends.

Enlightened by an inappropriate drunk pee on my front porch

In short

Define 'Nasty' for me, please.

I need to get this off my chest...and I'm not talking about my almost too large boobs.

Where is my: Motivation, Brain, Sense of Humor, & Happy Place

West coast lingo

"You've turned me into a real son of a bitch"

Tack in my ass

My ultimate dream came true, just not in the way I expected

Un-wishful thinking

Cause We Trading Places

the Don't List

Larry David would explain this best

You want me to what until I chafe?

No one warned me!!!

Um...this will be better answered with a picture

I'm not always right, but I think I am on this issue

Driving through Dilverance, IA

new effects on men

This apple fell far from the tree

Pop n' Fresh week 13

Stop talking or I'll slap your face

Overwhelmed with...something that makes my cheeks turn red.

Ready-Set-Comment

I never missed a hangover until this morning

**Emergency Campaign**

If it's too big it will scare a girl...or at least this one.

I don't know how much futher I can dig

Pop n' Fresh week 11

It's a whole new world without beer goggles

I want singing, bitches. SINGING!

It's not a party unless their is blood, urine, and the police

Dolce's Sweetest Blog Giveaway Contest

Emergency Campaign