...a dream that will neeeeeed all the love you can giiiiiiive, everyday of your liiiiiife, for as long you LIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIVVE!

I was just rereading over my blog because...okay I can't think of another reason than it is almost as good as hearing yourself talk. Anyway, I was rereading my blog and realized that I was much funnier in Seattle. Perhaps Colorado is not a funny state. Or maybe I am just a lot funnier when under extreme duress. I love that word. I suppose that makes sense: funny = coping mechanism. Aaaah. So since I have now entered The Salad Days and only worry about whether the orange or the red curtains would go better in the dining room, I have ceased to amuse.

In order to address this situation, I have decided to think of more things to be stressed about.
#1) I cannot go out in public without wearing an entire Joann Fabrics worth of spandex sucking in every wayward and rogue fat cell on my body. This is not good as the spandex tends to cut off my air supply ($.50 if you can name this quote: "'but mother! I won't be able to breathe!'. 'One night of suffocation isn't going to kill you'"). It also leaves VERY scary deep red canyons all over where my skin has been sucked in with too little mercy, which incidentally take hours to go back to normal. Sort of similar to having edema when you're pregnant and walk around with thumbprints in your feet all day.

#2) The amount of stretch marks I have could honestly be a world record. From neck to knees and slightly farther, I look like a striped tiger, although much less graceful and fluid (and hairy thankfully), and just a smidge less fit. No, I don't think a striped tiger does it justice. Those few of you lucky enough to have seen some of them, any suggestions? Looking for a righteous metaphor here. Honestly though, words utterly fail to describe the unholiness of these stretch marks. They are like mad beasts that multiplied underground and made giant troughs in my skin. Oh I know! They are like those nasty underground monster things that Kevin Bacon had to fight in Tremors. Man those were nasty, and these stretch marks could give those suckers a run for their money. This didn't bother me until now (I was feeling very noble and giving and put this on the list of maternal sacrifices for my little nugget) because Ammon wants to start taking Addy to the pool, and unfortunately, they tend to frown on mumus as swim attire as they tend to strangle and drown the wearer. I bought two swimsuits yesterday from the clearance rack at TJ Maxx (you can tell I don't consider this a good investment) but I am still too afraid to try them on. I just don't feel like I can inflict the site of these thighs on the unknowing public! Too cruel. I will have to wear sweats and hope I don't drown.

#3)I am stressed that I am the only person in my ward that does not own a denim dress/jumper/floor length button up skirt or vest. I will never fit in becuase I refuse to buy any of the aforementioned attire (I don't even know where you find that stuff anymore. Wasn't it all confiscated by the government back in the 80's and hidden in a nuclear waste plant?). Alright. I know. This is starting to sound snobby and judgemental. My apologies to denim everywhere. I will add for posterity that I do have a knee length denim skirt, but it in no way screams "everyone wore these in Can't Buy Me Love!", so it passed the test.

I think we'realone now (alone nooooooow); there doesn't seem to be anyone aro-hound.

Does it frighten anyone else that some unknown person keeps putting comments on my blog about buying Ambien online? Isn't that just a really, really, really bad idea? I sort of think that if I were to do it, one of three things would happen:
1) instant death by spontaneous combustion
2) i will grow large hairy horns (out of my head, I hope)
3) i will be in a perpetual state of ambien bliss, which granted, is really fun for me; not so fun for anyone trying to communicate with me, i.e. the rest of the world.
So whoever you are out there, please please please for the love of all things holy, stop suggesting that I buy drugs online, likely from some 15 year old pimply faced teenage boy with a playboy sticker on his notebook...it is giving me nightmares.


Anywho. So it looks as though I have become extremely computer savvy and have *gasp* actually learned maself real gud how to upload pictures. This is my two spastic dogs rolling with unhibited joy on their new lawn. It actually looks sort of freeing and fun, however, it did (thankfully) occur to me that the neighbors might become alarmed if they see me out there writhing around on my back with my legs in the air like a dying beetle.


I also need to post a picture of my little round-headed child. Ammon told me the other day that he was often called Charlie Brown as a kid, and this made me very nervous for Addy's future self esteem. I hope she doesn't read this someday and either hate me or feel mortified (or both). At least at this age, her little round head is totally adorable (at least I think so). Her fat rolls are pretty cute too. Have you noticed that we love fat rolls on babies and mercilessly tease those with fat rolls as adults? Not fair. I really am just an older and much larger version of Addy and I think everyone should come up and pinch my rolly thighs and chubby cheeks and squeal about how cute I am. Don't you?

And since I am having so much fun with pictures, I will leave you with two parting visual images for the day: two of my sisters in law, Neoma and Carol, who are both with child, by the way. Perhaps that explains the outfits? Behold:

Response to the horror that was last night's blog, written by: The Conscious Micaela

OK I am laughing so hard I can hardly write this! I just read over what I wrote last night, and it makes absolutely, positively, not one lick of sense! I must have missed a word at least every other sentence, not to mention just throwing the wrong one altogether in occasionally. So sorry. I am officially cut off from Ambien blogging. It is socially irresponsible. No one should be subjected to such nonsensical blather. (By the way - when I said "mean", I meant "move". Dont' ask; I don't know).

Today I continued my epic quest for the perfect bathmat, only to fail again. Now it is not too small for the space, but too big! The trauma! The travesty! However, this didn't seem to be a problem for Idgie who promptly peed on it. I wonder if that was her welcome to the house love token. I'm just glad she hasn't decided to welcome my closet to her realm. Anyway, as my mom pointed out today, it seems a trifle strange that now, instead of heading up the quest for The Ultimate Purse (which, I might add, my mother is the chief master/neurotic head hunter of - more on this to come in a later blog. My mom's black purse obsession is the stuff of great novels), I am now hunting with extreme fervor and dedication for towels and just the right toilet brush holder. This somehow seems wrong, not unlike Lisa Marie Presley and Michael Jackson's wedding of yesteryear - it just doesn't jive with our known sense of what is normal. I am an admitted and committed Coach purse whore, so the fact that I am now thrilled by a cute toothbrush holder on sale at TJ Maxx is a very foreign and slightly unnerving sensation. It is also now a bit embarrasing that anytime someone calls me, I am at one of three places: TJ Maxx, Target (a given), or Bed Bath & Beyond. I won't even tell you how many times I have been to each in the last 8 days.

OK I have to stop now because the chocolate cake in the fridge is calling to me with soothing tones..."Micaaaaaaaela...you are soooo hungry, and I am soooo soft and spongy and chocolately, you must eat me...all of me...RIGGGGGGHT NOOOOOOW!".

Aaaah!! I give!

My girl wants to party all the time party all the time party all the tiiiiime.

oiy! This is going to be a bleary one, which means extra fun for the readers! I swear I couldn't see a noodle if it was sitting on my nose.

So, the news with me and mine of course if that I have a completely altered lifestyle (no, I am not gay). I just have a new house, baby, still no job, etc. However, I am feeling much more hopeful on the point about the job. I will let you know how that all pans out. I had a strange thing said to me related to working...someone asked me if I've found anyone to babysit when I go back to work, and I said no, and she told me in strictest confidence not to ask ANYONE with clearing it with her first, and for the love of all things holy, do NOT make a general announcement becase you will have all kinds of weirdos responding who frankly cannot take care of their own kids! Eeee gads. I also heard today that some poor little one year old boy got hand foot and mouth disease from some kids in the ward he was playing with. Could land! Where have I moved into? Is this going to slowly turn into a scene from Deliverance - Mormon style (whatever that would entail)?


By the way, you have the pleasure of hearing from me today, because we hijacking our next door neighbors wireless because ours still has to be fished out of the pooper (things not going so smoothly with the comcast setup - I swear I've never seen the veins in Ammon's head get so large). Which brings up another question. Don't you all just sort of assume that when you mean, some things, and maybe many will go horribly wrong? Like someone all of your stuff falling out of the back of the truck onto I-80 because some idiot didn't strap it down right, or noticing that your dog is now mysteriously missing a leg. OK that is obviously worst case, but I think it behooves one and all to... *cliche of the day!!* ...:"expect the unexpected". Then maybe we wouldn't have so many ulcers. So what if the cable mans pants have fallen so much farther down his backside that Levi's ever intended. He'll get it done! So what if talks incessantly and gets nothing done and you may never have cable again.. Bllllaaaaaa!!! This is how Ammon is feeling. I really am getting concerned that is developing freaky digestional problems due to unrealistic expectations that we would move in, pull a big knob, and everyone would magically be set up, put away, ready to go, and all in it's rightful place. Anyone have a suggestion? I'm thinking of slipping him some valium. Would that be morally wrong?

...you other brothers can't deny. When a girls walks in with an itty bitty waist and a round thing in your face you get sprung...

So, I am officially... a loon. Or maybe a dodo bird. Either way - picture a large, mostly flightless waterfowl, who tends to crash headfirst when it has lifted off the ground, and who tends to run into things on dry land, and you have me. With hair. And contacts. I say this because tomorrow, I am moving to another state where I know officially one person, have no job, have a house I haven't the foggiest idea how we will pay for, and a teeny weeny little girl who is used to being held all the time by her 1100 aunts/uncles/cousins/grandparents, etc. and who will now have to get used to being held primarily by her bouncy seat when mommy gets tired. Eee gads. Is this faith or insanity? There is a verrrrry fine line between the two, and one must be exceptionally careful when trying to tell the difference. In my case, I think there is a good chance I have crossed into the netherworld of insanity. I'll update you in a few weeks and let you know if that was the case.

Random Story #1 - I don't know if it's the stress or what, but I had an extremely wild and unruly hair this week and died my hair the MOST horrific and unearthly shade of orange you have ever seen. You know how some colors wash you out? This one actually made my face disappear completely. The ironic thing is that my husband actually liked it - he said it looked retro. This proves one of two things, or maybe both: 1) he is color blind, or just completely blind, or 2) he has as much taste as a giraffe. Also ironically, most of our male friends that saw this horror agreed with him. Perhaps all men as a gender are color blind? Except the gay ones. I'm pretty sure my friend Omar at work would have told me (and rightly so) that I looked hideous and to go get it fixed post haste. Which I did by the way. My hair color is now one that can actually be found in nature's wide palette of haircolors.

Sidenote: OK this woman on What Not To Wear has the biggest boobs I have ever seen. Why do such a large percentage of women with larger than F size boobs tend to wear the smallest tops they can find? What is this? Do they think that if they put on a size small their XXL boobs will magically shrink? I'm interested to see how Stacy and Clinton cover those bad boys up. I think they're going to need a tarp. Do they make tarps in cashmere?

Pardon my madness - I just realized that this is an extremely random blogging today, but nothing can be done. I have been so spastically stressed out and crazy that it's a miracle if I complete a full teeth brushing without thinking of something else I need to do and running off to take care of that instead (with toothpaste foam still dripping out of my mouth). Speaking though of crazy things people do when they are stressed - I have another fun Ambien story, Good land I love this stuff. Please don't think I am a naughty drug addict - just another person who really enjoys the medication legally and ethically prescribed by her doctor.
Anyway - Random Story #2. I heard this story about a woman who was gaining an absurd amount of weight for no good reason until she discovered that in the middle of the night, she had been horking down giant 24 packs of hot dog buns like a ravenous wolf, and then going straight back to bed and not remembering a single thing in the morning. True story. One night last week, I noticed that there was a bag of Skittles lying on our table that had been there for several days. I remember thinking to myself that I either needed to put them away or throw them out so I wouldn't be tempted to eat them, which was pointless because I only like the red and purple ones anyway (yes I am a Skittles discriminator). I got up the next day and proceeded to give my husband a very bad time for being a pig, because the Skittles had been carefully opened, mostly eaten, and then laid carefully back down. I was very confused and incredulous about his denial until I poured the remaining Skittles out to discover...you guessed it...there were only orange, yellow, and green left. Apparently I quite painstakingly opened the package and selected out my favorite colors without having any conscious awareness whatsoever about what I was doing. This actually scared my husband - he thinks I am now going to become the crazy night fox who attacks all carbohydrates after 1am with a vengeance, but remains blissfully unaware the next day.
I suppose he may have a point, and there have been a few other MINOR incidents to make him think this may not be the best route to take for my insomnia. Good example: the other day, I actually ordered something off of TV and from an infomercial. The Super Slim Shaper to be exact. I have a vague recollection of thinking that maybe I shouldn't buy it since I was feeling a little tipsy, but that went away quick and out came the credit card. Apparently I have also started shouting crazy things in the night and flailing about uncontrollably. According to my husband, it was "Addy fell out of the bed!!!!!!!! I can't find her - she is not in the bed, she fell OUT AND YOU HAVE TO HELP ME FIND HER!!!!!!!!w@#$@$##@%%$%$#% ". Snoooooooore. I of course have to memory of this one either. Oh and my kind friends will tell you that I have also started Ambien emailing, which is akin to drunk dialing, where I send out an email some random friend sounding like a total whackjob. I have started cringing everytime I open my Sent folder.

With all the above info, I would like to pose a vote.

Vote A if you think I should stop the madness and go cold turkey on the Ambien

Vote B if you think these stories are pretty funny and you want to see what bizarre thing I will do next. And you like me well rested (my Vote would be B).


I'll keep a tally:
A = 0
B = 1

Alright, time to go drunk dial; I mean Ambien email.

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.