Welcome to my blog, 2012.
Um, I'm pregnant.
HOORAY!! I love being pregnant. In addition to the "normal happy mommy" reasons for bliss, I would like to add these additional personal reasons of my own:
1. I get to be fat without feeling guilty or ugly about it.
2. Stretchy Maternity PANTS!!
3. I get to live in pajama/sweatpants for almost a year while I swell and deflate.
4. My hubby is more inclined to give me Squeezie Feets.
So, just to get y'all up to speed, we're still in Maryland, Ronin is picking up new words right and left, Mike is dropping his officer packet, and I'm almost 9 weeks preggers.
Now on to the fun stuff!!!!!!
I thought a lot about what Maturity is today.
Maturity: Buying the Pop-Tart flavors that my toddler likes instead of the flavors that I want.
Maturity: Only eating one helping of fried rice instead of 5 because I'm eating for One and One Fetus and not One and One Litter.
Maturity: Being okay with myself for only having two solid examples of personal maturity.
The next few things I've been saving up. I have this tiny notebook that I'm pretty sure I yoinked from work several years ago that I write things down in. Here's a few.
*Krista (holding bras up, speaking to Mike's turned back): "Lacy Sexy titslings!"
Mike (turning around): "Titslings?! I had to turn around to see what they were. I was imagining little creatures that had sprouted from your breasts... you know.... Tit-lings."
*It's not playful if it makes me cry inside. (Mike's rebuttal- yes it is!)
*Is it mold... or Jalapeno?
*But I was doing my Barrel of Monkeys dance... and you stopped me mid-Barrel of Monkeys dance...
*I think you'd be hard pressed to get Jesus to pick your boogers for you.
*There's nothing more frightening than someone threatening you with a knife while you're trying to purchase a feminine hygiene product.
*Dear Hulk Hogan,
Please tell me what kind of shampoo and conditioner you use because I envy your luxurious silken fur.
Love, Krista
Here are my predictions for 2012, because I've got, like, ESPN or something.
1) Tori Spelling, the Perpetually Pregnant woman, will be the next "20 kids and counting"/Octomom.
2) I feel another "The Hulk" movie remake coming on...
3) Funk is going to make a full come-back this year. Just funk... in general. The normal kind.
4) Georgia will continue to suck.
5) I will be back to my pre-preggo weight by December 31st!
6) Lindsay Lohan will completely spiral out of control, while Mary-Kate Olsen recovers and gets healthy (I'm rooting for you, MK!)
7) My chest hair will finally grow in.
8) I will get you to envision how I would look in a swim suit with massive amounts of chest hair pouring out of it.
Hey, I didn't say they'd be important predictions or anything.
time for some Lucky Charms.
Showing posts with label skinny. Show all posts
Showing posts with label skinny. Show all posts
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
Thursday, January 27, 2011
When I Grow Up I Think I'll Be...
I've been thinking a lot about what I'd like to do when I decide it's time to go back into the "actually pays money" workforce.
I mean, I LOVE being a full-time mommy and all, but getting paid in Soggy Diapers and Booger Slime Nose Surprise kind of gets a little.... "not money"-ey sometimes.
And I have big plans for the dinero sitting in my bank account, all lonely and forgotten. It needs to be added to, eventually, so that I can achieve those dreams.
But I digress.
Here are the options I've come up with so far:
1) Bouncer/Fight Breaker Upper on a "Spoiled Rich Girl Learns Life Lessons" reality show. This might just be the easiest job in the world. When they start screaming at each other over "who drank who's boxed wine" and throwing marinara sauce on each other, I'd hop in there and dominate. They may fight back, but they couldn't possibly expect to win or even hurt me. These girls have ZERO muscular strength from refraining from all manual labor more strenuous than sexting their boyfriends. And even if they did try to scrap with me, the fight would be over the minute I scuffed their Jimmy Choos or broke one of their nails. Or pulled out their fake hair tracts. Although I'd probably throw some good punches their way anyway to help them learn that "violence doesn't solve your boxed wine crisis". They wouldn't stand a chance against me. I lift my 20 pound Wonder Son all day; I'm a veritable beast. Bottom Line: Someone's gotta keep those whiny anorexic bitches in check.
2) Camera Woman/ Technician for any "Survivor" type reality show. I'd be all up the wilderness, filming these starved, half crazed, game players, GRUBBIN' ON MASS AMOUNTS OF CHEESEBURGERS. There's really no rhyme or reason as to why I want this job, other than my desire to do it for the irony. I want to watch these people's faces as I stand there filming them, deliberately chewing ever so slowly on a double decker extra bacon cheesy cheesy cheeseburger. With fries. Maybe a cherry turnover. And definitely a cupcake. Maybe two.
Which brings me to my third and most coveted position of...
3) Cake Taste-Tester/Judge on ANY Baking reality show. I WANT THIS JOB most of all. Imagine, me, sitting on a cozy little stool, cuddled up to plate after plate of delicate, moise, expertly prepared and cleverly presented cake...
O. M. Geezus it would be perfect. Devil's Food, Italian Cream, Southern Lemon.... the list goes on and on. And so does the string of drool from my chin. I know what you're thinking. "But Krista, you like ALL kinds of cake; and the job is to judge the good and bad of the Caking World; wouldn't you just say that they're all wonderful?"
To that I say, not so. Every 8th plate of cake, or so, I'd act completely disgusted and enraged by whatever slice of red velvet just happened to be the unlucky victim of my rage. I'd raise Cain, throwing the unsuspecting cake to the floor, stomping it to all smithereens, then using the plate it came on to beat the poor baker's kneecaps in and bite off his or her ear; thereby securing my job for the future, and cementing my reputation as The Authority On All Things Delicous And Of Cake.
So those are the Fields of expertise that I'm looking into. Let me know which one you'd chose, and which one you think I would thrive in the best.
In other news, my kid is being kind of funny this week. He's trying....new things.
Ronin's Top Seven New Actions That Make Me Laugh:
1. I keep finding him pulling out little pieces of carpet and quickly trying to shove them in his mouth to eat them before I can stop him.
2. Ditto for cat food. The cats knock a few pieces out of their bowl and he has amazing homing-device-like ability when it comes to locating and eating the renegade Ocean Delight nuggets. Sometimes, I'm not fast enough and he ends up successfully eating the cat food. I guess it must be good because he keeps going back for more.
3. I have the coffee table pushed up flush with the couch. He "tap dances" on the coffee table, then dives face first into the couch cushions. This cracks him up. He does it again and again; it's our new favorite game.
4. He attempts to do somersaults on the floor. He gets his head down on the carpet, one hand on either side, and straightens his legs putting his little booty high up in the air. He teeters precariously from side to side for a while, and then kind of flops limply to one side. He'll be the next Paul Hamm.
5. When I have the refrigerator open he runs over and takes the lettuce out, and puts it back in, and takes it out, and puts it back in, and takes it out, and puts it back in...
6. If I hand him anything soft (blanket, pillow, stuffed animal, Pillow Pal, jacket...) he holds it up to his cheek and cuddles it, melting into it until he's in the Fetal Position just grinning away and cuddling his Soft Thing. This goes for our cats too, if they make the mistake of getting within arm's reach of him.
7. Ronin likes to "pet" me now. I taught him how to gently pet our cats; to caress them instead of pulling their fur, and I guess he thinks that the same goes for Mama. He sits in my lap and strokes my shin. He'll kind of rub the side of my face if I'm holding him. I love it. It's as if he's saying "there's a good mommy. Sweet Mommy. Nice Mommy."
Thanks for reading! Don't forget to comment so that I know which path to take my career in.
I mean, I LOVE being a full-time mommy and all, but getting paid in Soggy Diapers and Booger Slime Nose Surprise kind of gets a little.... "not money"-ey sometimes.
And I have big plans for the dinero sitting in my bank account, all lonely and forgotten. It needs to be added to, eventually, so that I can achieve those dreams.
But I digress.
Here are the options I've come up with so far:
1) Bouncer/Fight Breaker Upper on a "Spoiled Rich Girl Learns Life Lessons" reality show. This might just be the easiest job in the world. When they start screaming at each other over "who drank who's boxed wine" and throwing marinara sauce on each other, I'd hop in there and dominate. They may fight back, but they couldn't possibly expect to win or even hurt me. These girls have ZERO muscular strength from refraining from all manual labor more strenuous than sexting their boyfriends. And even if they did try to scrap with me, the fight would be over the minute I scuffed their Jimmy Choos or broke one of their nails. Or pulled out their fake hair tracts. Although I'd probably throw some good punches their way anyway to help them learn that "violence doesn't solve your boxed wine crisis". They wouldn't stand a chance against me. I lift my 20 pound Wonder Son all day; I'm a veritable beast. Bottom Line: Someone's gotta keep those whiny anorexic bitches in check.
2) Camera Woman/ Technician for any "Survivor" type reality show. I'd be all up the wilderness, filming these starved, half crazed, game players, GRUBBIN' ON MASS AMOUNTS OF CHEESEBURGERS. There's really no rhyme or reason as to why I want this job, other than my desire to do it for the irony. I want to watch these people's faces as I stand there filming them, deliberately chewing ever so slowly on a double decker extra bacon cheesy cheesy cheeseburger. With fries. Maybe a cherry turnover. And definitely a cupcake. Maybe two.
Which brings me to my third and most coveted position of...
3) Cake Taste-Tester/Judge on ANY Baking reality show. I WANT THIS JOB most of all. Imagine, me, sitting on a cozy little stool, cuddled up to plate after plate of delicate, moise, expertly prepared and cleverly presented cake...
O. M. Geezus it would be perfect. Devil's Food, Italian Cream, Southern Lemon.... the list goes on and on. And so does the string of drool from my chin. I know what you're thinking. "But Krista, you like ALL kinds of cake; and the job is to judge the good and bad of the Caking World; wouldn't you just say that they're all wonderful?"
To that I say, not so. Every 8th plate of cake, or so, I'd act completely disgusted and enraged by whatever slice of red velvet just happened to be the unlucky victim of my rage. I'd raise Cain, throwing the unsuspecting cake to the floor, stomping it to all smithereens, then using the plate it came on to beat the poor baker's kneecaps in and bite off his or her ear; thereby securing my job for the future, and cementing my reputation as The Authority On All Things Delicous And Of Cake.
So those are the Fields of expertise that I'm looking into. Let me know which one you'd chose, and which one you think I would thrive in the best.
In other news, my kid is being kind of funny this week. He's trying....new things.
Ronin's Top Seven New Actions That Make Me Laugh:
1. I keep finding him pulling out little pieces of carpet and quickly trying to shove them in his mouth to eat them before I can stop him.
2. Ditto for cat food. The cats knock a few pieces out of their bowl and he has amazing homing-device-like ability when it comes to locating and eating the renegade Ocean Delight nuggets. Sometimes, I'm not fast enough and he ends up successfully eating the cat food. I guess it must be good because he keeps going back for more.
3. I have the coffee table pushed up flush with the couch. He "tap dances" on the coffee table, then dives face first into the couch cushions. This cracks him up. He does it again and again; it's our new favorite game.
4. He attempts to do somersaults on the floor. He gets his head down on the carpet, one hand on either side, and straightens his legs putting his little booty high up in the air. He teeters precariously from side to side for a while, and then kind of flops limply to one side. He'll be the next Paul Hamm.
5. When I have the refrigerator open he runs over and takes the lettuce out, and puts it back in, and takes it out, and puts it back in, and takes it out, and puts it back in...
6. If I hand him anything soft (blanket, pillow, stuffed animal, Pillow Pal, jacket...) he holds it up to his cheek and cuddles it, melting into it until he's in the Fetal Position just grinning away and cuddling his Soft Thing. This goes for our cats too, if they make the mistake of getting within arm's reach of him.
7. Ronin likes to "pet" me now. I taught him how to gently pet our cats; to caress them instead of pulling their fur, and I guess he thinks that the same goes for Mama. He sits in my lap and strokes my shin. He'll kind of rub the side of my face if I'm holding him. I love it. It's as if he's saying "there's a good mommy. Sweet Mommy. Nice Mommy."
Thanks for reading! Don't forget to comment so that I know which path to take my career in.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Gooooooood Morning Turkey!!!
i've got readers from some awesome places; Denmark, Turkey, Malaysia, China.... i feel so international and super-starry.
it's hard to write while a 7 month old baby claws at your skin, drools all over you, and attempts to scoop out your eyeball with his freakishly strong fingers. i guess he feels like i'd make a cool pirate. or that i'd look good in an eye-patch. he's probably a zombie. that's the more likely explanation.
Husband wants to have a thousand babies. so he can give his genes "a giant jump on the future" as he puts it. i told him it's a tall order. too tall for a girl as short as i. i mean, i gave him one and it nearly killed me. i might be able to pull off two, three if he's lucky. but he's going to have to sperm-bank-donor-surrogate-lady the other 997 babies. maybe we could hire that "19 kids and counting" chick. she seems to have this Mass Child Creation/Production down to a science. but i am NOT changing all those diapers. i'm much rather change the litter boxes for one thousand cats.
Uck. wait, no. maybe neither of those.
Though I think that the worse scenario would be changing diapers on a thousand kittens. that's way too many sharp pointy things aimed at my nurturing hands as they attempt to change the diapers.
my husband is so very helpful. he decided to aide me in dinner-making this evening. i had two steaks in the fridge that had been marinating since yesterday night, and they were good and ready for cookin.
so Husband takes them and BOILS them in OIL. boils them.
in oil.
that was three hours ago and the house is still full of eye-stinging-poison-smoke. my husband is trying to kill me. and all because i gave him a teensy bit of life-threatening food poisoning during Birthiversary week. and because I refuse to pop out the other 999 babies that he has his heart set on.
I feel like this is a very disproportionate reaction.
we now have a Mr Coffee. i finally feel like an adult. i've found that i rather enjoy having a cup of coffee in the morning. well, maybe "enjoy" is the wrong word. i'm glad that i have a drug that is legal that i can pump into my guts that will effectively counteract my exhaustion from lack of sleep due to my son's aversion to nocturnal rest. Mike says it sounds like i'm describing myself as one of The Undead. Maybe i am a zombie. Ronin is a Zombie Baby after all. and he decided today that not only does he like to eat my chin, but he thinks it's hilarious when i eat his chin.
And now, a few letters.
Dear Rachel McAdams;
Please be my not-so-secret girlfriend. You seem completely accessible, and i'm pretty sure that you'd think that i'm The Proverbial Shit. So, don't tell Ryan Gosling and i won't tell Mike and we can live happily ever after going shopping for killer deals cuz i don't like spending money, and eating homemade cupcakes.
Think about it,
Krista
Dear Biscoff Cookies,
Oh tasty little lumps of love, you are divine. you were, up until yesterday, my only reason for flying Delta. my family thinks that i took airplanes to see them but you and i know the real truth. i was just using "visiting" as an excuse to get free coffee and a package of you to dip in it. my WONDERFUL husband got me a WHOLE big package of you for my morning coffee so that i can eat you and get all fat. well, fatter.
With shame-tainted love,
Krista
Dear Curling,
You are not a sport. If anything, you should be relabeled "Agressive Sweeping". with big marbles.
No need to argue with me,
Krista
Dear Tv Show The Biggest Loser;
You are inspiring to me. I promise that this season that i'll be... alternatively inspired than in previous seasons. I promise to get up and move around while i watch instead of camping out on the couch for two hours eating whole pizzas and towers of oreos. I promise to still be critical of the Bitchy Girls and laugh at the individuals who "give up" and who try to "play the game" instead of getting healthy, but i will not eat a cheeseburger whilst i do so. This way i'll feel less like a Judgemental Lard and more like a Self-Righteous SuperModel. Hell, maybe i'll even develop a sweet case of anorexia nervosa while i watch this season. We'll just have to see how i feel. Love you!!
Yours as long as NBC blesses us with your presence,
Krista
Dear Breastmilk,
I wish you filtered out "get skinny now" pills. because i'd love to "get skinny now". Work on that. or go away. whichever one you want, but freakin pick one.
Sincerely,
Krista
Hoffman,
Dude, i'm still mad at you for urinating over everything in my dream the other night and preventing me from getting my sexy on with two other sexies. How dare you. Punk.
Go to hell,
Krista
y'all come back now, y'hear?
it's hard to write while a 7 month old baby claws at your skin, drools all over you, and attempts to scoop out your eyeball with his freakishly strong fingers. i guess he feels like i'd make a cool pirate. or that i'd look good in an eye-patch. he's probably a zombie. that's the more likely explanation.
Husband wants to have a thousand babies. so he can give his genes "a giant jump on the future" as he puts it. i told him it's a tall order. too tall for a girl as short as i. i mean, i gave him one and it nearly killed me. i might be able to pull off two, three if he's lucky. but he's going to have to sperm-bank-donor-surrogate-lady the other 997 babies. maybe we could hire that "19 kids and counting" chick. she seems to have this Mass Child Creation/Production down to a science. but i am NOT changing all those diapers. i'm much rather change the litter boxes for one thousand cats.
Uck. wait, no. maybe neither of those.
Though I think that the worse scenario would be changing diapers on a thousand kittens. that's way too many sharp pointy things aimed at my nurturing hands as they attempt to change the diapers.
my husband is so very helpful. he decided to aide me in dinner-making this evening. i had two steaks in the fridge that had been marinating since yesterday night, and they were good and ready for cookin.
so Husband takes them and BOILS them in OIL. boils them.
in oil.
that was three hours ago and the house is still full of eye-stinging-poison-smoke. my husband is trying to kill me. and all because i gave him a teensy bit of life-threatening food poisoning during Birthiversary week. and because I refuse to pop out the other 999 babies that he has his heart set on.
I feel like this is a very disproportionate reaction.
we now have a Mr Coffee. i finally feel like an adult. i've found that i rather enjoy having a cup of coffee in the morning. well, maybe "enjoy" is the wrong word. i'm glad that i have a drug that is legal that i can pump into my guts that will effectively counteract my exhaustion from lack of sleep due to my son's aversion to nocturnal rest. Mike says it sounds like i'm describing myself as one of The Undead. Maybe i am a zombie. Ronin is a Zombie Baby after all. and he decided today that not only does he like to eat my chin, but he thinks it's hilarious when i eat his chin.
And now, a few letters.
Dear Rachel McAdams;
Please be my not-so-secret girlfriend. You seem completely accessible, and i'm pretty sure that you'd think that i'm The Proverbial Shit. So, don't tell Ryan Gosling and i won't tell Mike and we can live happily ever after going shopping for killer deals cuz i don't like spending money, and eating homemade cupcakes.
Think about it,
Krista
Dear Biscoff Cookies,
Oh tasty little lumps of love, you are divine. you were, up until yesterday, my only reason for flying Delta. my family thinks that i took airplanes to see them but you and i know the real truth. i was just using "visiting" as an excuse to get free coffee and a package of you to dip in it. my WONDERFUL husband got me a WHOLE big package of you for my morning coffee so that i can eat you and get all fat. well, fatter.
With shame-tainted love,
Krista
Dear Curling,
You are not a sport. If anything, you should be relabeled "Agressive Sweeping". with big marbles.
No need to argue with me,
Krista
Dear Tv Show The Biggest Loser;
You are inspiring to me. I promise that this season that i'll be... alternatively inspired than in previous seasons. I promise to get up and move around while i watch instead of camping out on the couch for two hours eating whole pizzas and towers of oreos. I promise to still be critical of the Bitchy Girls and laugh at the individuals who "give up" and who try to "play the game" instead of getting healthy, but i will not eat a cheeseburger whilst i do so. This way i'll feel less like a Judgemental Lard and more like a Self-Righteous SuperModel. Hell, maybe i'll even develop a sweet case of anorexia nervosa while i watch this season. We'll just have to see how i feel. Love you!!
Yours as long as NBC blesses us with your presence,
Krista
Dear Breastmilk,
I wish you filtered out "get skinny now" pills. because i'd love to "get skinny now". Work on that. or go away. whichever one you want, but freakin pick one.
Sincerely,
Krista
Hoffman,
Dude, i'm still mad at you for urinating over everything in my dream the other night and preventing me from getting my sexy on with two other sexies. How dare you. Punk.
Go to hell,
Krista
y'all come back now, y'hear?
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