Smelly cat; smellllly cat: what are they feeding you?

OK this should be interesting. It's 12:30am and I just took an Ambien, so we'll see how long this lasts, or how crazy it gets before I faceplant into the computer. If I start writing about noodles and tulips, just move on to the next blog. Anyway. I took an Ambien because I was lying in bed trying to use reverse pschology on myself to make myself sleep: "do not go to sleep; dooooon't sleep; do NOT go to SLEEP!". Note: when one is trying to get oneself to sleep, one should avoid yelling things at oneself in ones' head. It is counterproductive.
Let's be honest though: the real reason I took an Ambien, other than the nice side effect of sleeping for 7 hours, is that I really, really like the super drunk feeling you get when it starts to kick in. You get all dizzy and unstable - it's very fun. I took one about a week ago, and I was watching Superman II on TV, and I was so into it that I wouldn't turn it off even though there were two each of Christopher Reeve and Gene Hackman and I spent most of the time trying to figure out which of the two was the real one. Sidenote: did you realize how absolutely ridiculous and cheezy those first two Superman movies were? Especially the part in the first one when he takes Lois flying and she is saying in her head "Can you read my mind? Do you know what you do to me? I am yours if you want me....", yada yada yada, sap sap sap. Another example of unproductive self talk, as apparently, Superman does not seem to read minds as he didn't take advantage of Lois until the second movie. Bygones.

So you may be wondering why I am not sleeping? Well, it just MAY have something to do with the fact that I am trying to close a mortgage raise a baby find a job pack my life find a moving truck not lose my mind be a nice wife not shoot the dogs run 1100 errands and get rid of this nasty little cold I have added to the pot for extra fun. I would also like to add that I have become a very poor email corresponster (no, that was not the Ambien talking - it just looked like a fun word) and I would like to apologize to anyone I have not responded to in over, say, 10 weeks. This seems to be the going rate of return, so if it's been 9 weeks and you're getting ancy, just hold your pants on. Alright, I am annoying even myself with all this complaining. I will cease and desist.

Unfortunately for you and me and the longevity of this blog, I cannot think of another topic. I am CONSUMED. Have you ever found yourself at a really stressful point in life, where your thoughts always drift back to whatever it is you were worrying about? I find it sad and a little wrong that I lie in bed atg night thinkind about things like whether we should give away one of our two Costco sized ketcup bottles (food storage gone horribly wrong) or haul them to Colorado, and should we pack my husbands guns in a long skinny box of their own, or just throw them in the van and hope they don't shoot the dogs in the hiney? Am I ready to pack up the cornmeal I bought 2 years ago and never used, or do I want to leave it out in case I get a wild hair in the next 2 weeks and decide to make 40 batches of cornbread? And why do we always end up with more cake mixes than frostings? There is something wrong there. Can you tell I am looking at my pantry? Perhaps I should clarify that no, the guns are not in the pantry, that just happened to be a refugee thought that tagged onto the food line of thinking.

I sense this is starting to not make sense, especially since it took me 10 mintues to think of the word "cornbread", so perhaps I should stop for the evening and go see how many Christopher Reeves I can find in Superman III.

A couple of parting thoughts: I want to announce to the worlds that our Ghostbusters and Say Anything posters arrived yesterday in preparation for our 80's dance party to be held on the 29th in honor of ME ME ME, oh, and the fact that we are moving. So those of you out of staters - please feel free, nay, compelled to post your favorite 80's song to add to our play list for the event.

Final Though #2: You will notice I have changed my blog titles. They are now either the lyrics of the song I have stuck in my head, or the most ridiculous ones I can think of at the moment. If you can name that tune, I will give you $.12. But not today's - it's too obvious.

And that makes you larger than life...

Alright, who is P-Funk??? Someone out there posted a comment and I have no idea who you are. All I know is that anyone that inadvertently snorts Diet Coke due to excessive laughter is a friend of mine.

OK I had just had a large swig of The DC and I am seeing stars. Is that normal? I am assuming this is either do to a diet of DC and chocolate, or the 3 hours of sleep I got last night. I feel pretty, oh so pretty...I feel pretty and witty and gaaaaaaaaay!

cont. of "I am 16..."

I forgot to mention he also brought home a hot fudge sundae, and a McFlurry. And no, Julie, you may NOT have my Skor. =) Kisses.
Oh, and you are all correct. The past tense of flee is FLED. This was a grammatical test and you passed. Good job!

I am 16 going on 17, I know that I'm naiiiiiiive. Fellows a meet may tell me I'm sweet, and willingly I belieeeeeeve

I need to write today's post verrrrry quickly, before I recover from my current sugar high. Since having a baby, I have become an "opportunity eater", meaning if there is an opportunity to eat something/anything, I'll take it. This morning it was a raspberry cheesecake brownie, which is alternately making me sing songs from the Sound of Music and feel like vomiting. Honestly though, if it is on the counter and requires no preparation, I will eat it. Stale popcorn from last night? Yup. Half a piece of pizza we forgot to refrigerate? Bring it on. Anything that doesn't require any effort other than hand to mouth is free game.
I've decided that I am a buzzard, circling my next meal; not a vulture, as those are more devious and generally skinny. Buzzards seem awkward and bumbling, and large, and therefore a better descriptor. I'm sure that I have this all wrong and will soon receive an angry phone call from animal planet, but it makes sense to me.

Anywho. You may wonder why someone who's doctor told her to get off her rumpus and exercise is keeping cream cheese brownies in the house. I will tell you, young padawan. So last night, I asked my darling husband to get me a small treat on the way home from his errand running; preferably something with chocolate. When he got home, he had forgotten. Ah well, no harm no foul because he promptly grabbed his keys and headed for the door to try again.

You might imagine my surprise though when I walked into the bedroom 25 minutes later to find him playing with his latest new toy (palm pilot), completely oblivious to time, space, and the fact that he even has a wife, much less one he was planning on buying a treat for. Apparently in the 3.2 seconds it took him to go from the living room to the garage door, he suffered an aneurism and completely forgot who he was and continued on to the bedroom, where I found him. When my laser stare caught fire to his pantleg, he quickly regained consciousness and flew the house (could not think of the correct grammar for past tense flee. He fleed?). This is what he returned with, and I am kidding you negative:
1 Three Musketeers
1 Big Hunk
1 Skor
1 O'Henry
3 raspberry cream cheese brownies
1 bag of Dove milk chocolates
3, yes 3 pints of Haagen Daaz, various flavors
2 swedish chocolate bars
1 chocolate mousse
and
1 glass of chocolate milk

I just realized that the above looks like if you stuck it all in a blender and hit frappe, this could be a recipe for a diabetic death drink. As you may have noticed, my husband does not do anything halfway. At least it worked! Chocolate makes mouths happy. Or is that something else? I can't remember. I have to much sugar running through my veins to even see straight.

Today, while the blossoms still cling to the viiiiiiines...

It just occurred to me as I was rereading over my entries (I just REALLY wanted to relive the whole experience), that on March 15, I made some fairly extreme comments in reference to my mandate to only eat 1700 calories a day, and how 1700 calories might a teensy bit too few for a regular Joe. I think my exact words were something to the effect of "I haven't eaten so little in 20 years and I will shrivel up and die in 48 minutes if this is all I'm allowed".

It seems now that perhaps this was a slight exaggeration. Apparently, 1700 calories is quite enough for many people, and I feel a tad silly for my dramatics on the subject. However, I think it is legal to claim temporary insanity due to hormone overdose. I would also like to point out that when you are pregnant and starving, 1700 calories sounds like the equivalent of two very old saltines.