Why My Energy Bill Was $250 This Month

Me: ROB, WOULD YOU TURN THE DAMN LIGHT OFF IN YOUR OFFICE WHEN YOU'RE NOT IN THERE, PLEASE?!!
Rob: I can't!
ME: WHY?!?
Rob: How will my computer grow?

Sometimes my Rob quotes remind me of those "Kids say the darndest things" from Reader's Digest.

How I Made An Ass of Myself Lately- Tuesday Edition

Nurse: Okay, drop your stuff in that chair and we'll get you on the scale.
Me: Okay
Nurse: Have you been getting a lot of movement?
(In my defense, she was just talking about getting on the scale. Train of thought, hello.)
Me: Oh. Yeah. I've been walking on the treadmill everyday.
Nurse: ....I meant from the baby.

Calling All Choreographers

This May, Rob and I will have been married for five years. I've informed him that, for my anniversary present, I want him to learn the dance that they do at the end of Slumdog Millionaire and perform it for me. We'll be at a wedding that night, so maybe we can clear the dance floor and he can do it for everyone. He's going to need some help though. If you feel like you're a pretty good dancer, maybe you'd like to chip in and help out Rob. Go ahead and give him a call now.

I Am a Disgraceful Blogger

I don't know where I've been. Out. Sorry. I'm back now.

1. Last night we play Boggle, which I bought on Ebay and got scammed over. Anyways, I don't think I've played Boggle in about a decade. Fun! For a while. Why do I play games with Rob? We're having a good old time until Rob realizes that he's losing. Then, he sets in motion the "Rob M. Win-Or-Die-Trying" method of play. This includes stringing random letters together and, when I ask about it, claiming that the word is a character from Lord of the Rings. Like "Oh yeah, Yuzbutu. He was a wood nymph." Which wouldn't work anyways, mind you, since you can't use proper names. Then he starts trying to use foreign words, which he knows is illegal.
Rob: I have 'pon'
Me: What is 'pon'?
Rob: Like that song? Hey Mr. DJ pon de replay?
Me: You can't use foreign words
Rob: Well, it's Americanized.
Me: Oh yeah? What does it mean?
Rob:.... shut up.
I'm am really, really hoping that someone is going to step in and teach our child good sportsmanship, because I am cutthroat competative and Rob is just a friggin LIAR.

2. About Boggle. I buy it on Ebay. The seller claims that it's new. Except that there's tape all over the box, the shakey-dome is cracked in two places, and it friggin says $1.49 on the side in sharpie, a'la garage sale-style. Liar, liar, liar! I want my $8.59 back!

3. Erin's eating a Spinach salad the other night at dinner and Sierra looks across the table and innocently asks "So. How are your leaves?"

4. We're painting the baby room today! Those of your who are familiar with my painting skills will look forward to seeing this, I'm sure.

5. That is all for now. I'm working on building my blogging muscles back up again.

Another Bedtime Story

So, contrary to what you would think, bedtime might be the most stressful time of my day. This is because the minute I lay down, I start remembering all of these time-sensitive things that I didn't do yet, and will probably forget to do if I don't get up and write myself a note right then. Keeping a pad of paper on my nightstand doesn't work, because I never remember that I wrote myself a note. It has to be on my desk, staring at me when I sit down in the morning. Anyways, I would estimate that I get up and write myself sticky notes about three times a night.
Or, I would estimate that I USED to. Then I found the awesomest thing of all time: Jott. It's like this: You call this toll free number and a computer girl comes on and says "What do you want to Jott?". Then you just say whatever it is you want to remember, like "pay the phone bill", and the voice recognition software turns your voice into text and EMAILS and TEXTS your note to you, AND adds it to your To-Do list. This is also awesome because I tend to remember things when I'm driving a lot, and now I just call myself. You can even have Jott send you a reminder at a certain time.
This would all be awesome if it weren't for Rob.
Yes, Rob again, ruining my perfect plans.
Here's what happens.
I'm lying in bed, and I remember something, so I reach over onto my nightstand and call Jott. Computer lady comes on and says "What do you want to Jott?"
Before I can open my mouth, Rob, who is laying right next to me, says "EAT TANGERINES!"
Then Jott lady says "Got it. Do you want a reminder?"
I now have an email that says "Reminder: Eat tangerines."
It's kind of amazing, because you have to talk pretty clearly to get them to hear you, but Rob must be talking loud enough, or he must be close enough, because it works at least half of the time. Okay, maybe only about one in four times, but nonetheless, I have a friggin reminder that says "eat tangerines". One in four is plenty.
It's like I've been cursed, but I'm still on Earth.
Between laughing hysterically and Rob yelling things, it took me 3-4 tries to get myself a note that says "make the car payment". He must have been on a circus theme last night though, because I recall him yelling "Shoot myself out of a cannon" and "Buy really big shoes." Luckily, neither of those things made it onto the list.

PUBLIC ACKNOWLEDGEMENT OF THE AWESOMENESS OF RYAN

Okay, so one else even tried to come up with new rhyme-y phrases. But let's be serious- If you had, Ryan would have schooled you. Coming in with a whopping 106 entries (though, I will admit, some of them are questionable, Ryan:) ) Ryan takes home the prize of a $5 Biggby gift card. The judges (me) were particularly fond of "Dumb Quaker". Nothing against Quakers, but that phrase just sounds funny...

A Fun Game You Can Play At Home

Last night, we're lying in bed (do you get the feeling that this is where most of my stories happen? Not sure what that's all about..), when Rob starts singing the Heartbreaker song, which you have heard many times, though you may not remember. It goes like this:
You're a
Heartbreaker!
Dream-maker!
Love-taker!
Don't you mess around with me.

And then we keep making up new ones, trying to top one another. This goes on for about a half hour. Here's what we came up with:
Bread baker
Rump shaker
L.A. Laker
Cake maker
Goodness saker
Cold faker
Pipe snaker
Snow flaker
Tent staker
Record breaker
Old Quaker
Muckraker
Pattycaker
Test taker

This is an addictive game, I will warn you ahead of time, but you should try and come up with some. Rob and I are committed to giving a $5 Biggby gift card to whoever comes up with the most. Redeemable only at the Biggby where stalker girl works.

Rob v. Penny

It's like this: Rob loves the dog. Let me rephrase that: Rob LOVES the dog. Only all-caps can explain it.
He talks to her all the time, throws her little bits of whatever he's making for dinner, even the meatballs which could have killed her being that they were full of onion, takes her on walks every day (where he claims they "talk"), gets up at 5am to feed her every morning, etc. Rob wants the dog to sleep on the bed with us, which I have forbidden. He routinely says "Penny, I just love you. You're an important part of this family." Then I roll my eyes and tell her to get off the bed.

But it's also like this: the dog loves me.

No explanation. I like the dog, but it's nowhere near an all-caps situation. More of a tentative, lowercase italics type of thing. Mostly she pisses me off because:
1. She stinks.
2. She forgets that she's potty trained from time to time
3. She WHINES
4. She stinks.
5. She tries to beat up on dogs 10 times her size.

I yell at her a lot. It sounds like this:
"Penny. You're disgusting. You smell like a trash can."
Doesn't matter. She LOVES me. If she gets up on the bed, she instantly makes a beeline for me and curls up right beside me. I mostly ignore her. If I'm feeling charitable, I'll pet her a little bit. Until she tries to lick me with trash can mouth; then all bets are off. Rob then says "Penny! Penny!" and pats his chest. She stares at him. "Come here, Penny!" She turns her head the other way, lays it on my back, and stares out the window. This morning when I got up from bed, instead of switching over and lying next to Rob, she just decides to get off the bed.

So we're laying there, and Rob has spent the last 10 minutes or so trying to get her to come lay by him when he suddenly just stops.
It should be said that Rob and I have been together for 9 years now, and I know where he's going with something about 2 seconds after he does.
I say "You're trying to ignore her, aren't you?"
Silence
I say "You think that if you ignore her like I do, she'll start loving you."
Rob says "I don't know who you're referring to."
10 minutes go by. Rob says NOTHING to Penny. It's like a world record, considering that Penny is the true love of Rob's life. Penny seems okay with it.

So anyways, there's a stand off now. Rob is not speaking to Penny. Penny doesn't even notice. I know that Rob's serious because he later took out a bag of lunch meat to make a sandwich and DIDNT GIVE HER ANY. I also know how it's going to end, though:
"Penny! Penny! Want to go on a walk? Come here Penny!"
He can try, but you just can't deny all-caps love, even if it's unrequited.

My Pick For Worst Song in Recent Memory

is "Loosen Up My Buttons" by the Pussycat Dolls

Justification:

1. What it reminds me of is the bad jokes that people tell after Thanksgiving dinner, like "Man! I'm about to pop a button!" So then, Pussycat Dolls (WTF is a pussycat doll, by the way?), I picture you all as huge, fat men in overalls. It is a miracle that Weird Al Yankovic hasn't parodied this song yet.

2. How does one loosen a button? It isn't like a screw, my friend. Maybe that's your problem right there. Maybe it's not his fault at all, maybe you just don't know how to use buttons.

3. Lyric: "I'm a sexy mama"
You should know that no one says this with a straight face. Ever.

4. Lyric: "You've been saying all the right things all night long
But I can't seem to get you over here to help take this off"
Again, you're a fat man with overalls, but now you sound like you have limited mobility, which makes me feel like you're also old. Probably you have a cane. That's sexy. Sexy like a sexy mama.

5. Lyric: "You say you're a big boy
But I can't agree
'Cause the love you said you had
Ain't been put on me"
Where to even start? First, "you're a big boy"? There is something creepy and vaguely pedophile-ish about your word choices.
Second, "put on me"? Now I picture your love as a giant anvil in a road runner cartoon.

6. Lastly, I saw you performing on Dick Clark's New Year's Rockin' Eve. How come only one of the five of you sing? What's wrong, other four? (Pussy) Cat got your tongues? I have this feeling the rest of you can't sing. To which I say, how hard is it to find four other attractive girls who can dance and also sing? I don't think it's that hard. It seems like there are a lot of dancer/singers out there.

Banished.

An Open Letter to the Biggby Coffee Girl

Dear Biggby Coffee girl,
Listen. It's not that I don't enjoy our chats. Even though you've asked me twenty times whether I'm having a girl or a boy, and whether I'm going to have the epidural (which, just for future reference, is a weird and slightly invasive question), I'm still fine with it. But today you took it a step too far. The comments "You're getting bigger every day" (...thanks?), and "You've got three months left? Are you worried your stomach is going to get really huge?" (Well, I wasn't.. but now I'll go home and cry about it. My husband is going to love you.)? Well, they were a bit much.
I know this is going to come as a shock to you, but we don't know each other. Yes, I know your name. I even know how it's spelled, which brings me to the subject of phonetics and how they failed you, but that's a blog for another day. And yes, you've told me ALLLLLLL about your pregnancy, even went so far as to tell me how you found out you were pregnant (missed period.. usually a tell-tale sign). The truth is, I think you would be shocked by how many women get pregnant every year. It's actually not just you and me. This is the way the world repopulates itself, which leads to coffee drinkers, which is why you're employed, which is why you live another day to haunt me with your terrifying questions. But if you feel that your connection with me has to do with the fact that we've both experienced pregnancy, let me tell you, you've got a connection with a lot of other people. What I'm getting at is, I do not want to have confessional time with you simply for this reason.
What you might also not know is that I avoid you. Constantly. Luckily for me, there are about five Biggbys in this town, and I'll often drive out of my way to go to another one. The only way that I go to yours is if I am almost directly in front of it and a mini-sized Al Gore is sitting on my shoulder telling me that wasting gas to avoid you is WRONG WRONG WRONG, Earth-killer Laura! You're really driving business away. A lot of business, as I drink a lot of coffee. Decaf, unfortunately. Remember that time that I came through the drive thru and, even after you gave me my coffee, I sat there for three extra minutes while you told me about your due date, while a line of cars piled up behind me? You should know that, after I finally escaped, my husband, sitting next to me in the car, said "What the hell was that?" And that, Biggby Girl, is when I knew I wasn't insane. That in fact it was YOU who is insane.
In conclusion, I won't be coming in anymore. Based on the trend of more personal questions each visit, I'm afraid that you're going to eventually ask to deliver my baby. I'm uncomfortable with that. It was interesting knowing you. Maybe just stick to brewing the coffee.
Best,
Laura

All About the Grocery Store

I've discovered my #1 pet peeve of all time. It is this:
If you are one of those people who pick up a refrigerated or frozen item, say milk or cheese, then decide later on in the store that you no longer want said item, but you're too lazy to return it to it's refrigerated environment, and so you just drop it on any old shelf, maybe between the Frosted Mini-Wheats and Cheerios... well.. then I hate you.
Sorry, no two ways about it.
People, that is RUDE. Whatever you just put down is RUINED because you're LAZY. Sometimes I pick up after you! This week I returned a poor, scared thawing bag of frozen corn to my grocer's freezer because someone traded it out for CANNED corn (yes, I can follow your evil little thought patterns, depraved members of society.) First of all- really? Canned corn over frozen corn?? Glad I don't live in your house. Canned corn is salty and discolored. Secondly, RUDE! The canned corn aisle is only two or three away from the frozen vegetable aisle!! I'm sure you're busy and all. So busy you probably shouldn't even be grocery shopping. Also, you're probably missing Jerry Springer. Go home.

In Addition:

Why does all of America feel that it's okay to air marital disputes in the grocery store? I kid you not, if you want to see the scary state of marriages in this country, you should just go to Meijer.
Dear fighters:
I CAN STILL HEAR YOU.
EVERYONE can hear you.
Why don't you tell him what a lousy bastard he is in your six inch voice?
I have a lot of personal space issues, so I guarantee you, I am more than six inches away.
Listen, I'm not talking about a little healthy debate. Personally, I like to debate pretty much everything Rob says to me. Keeps him on his toes. I'm talking PROFANITY and LOUD NOISES!
After careful research: The two aisles that seem to produce the most domestic strife:
1. The beer/wine/mixer aisle
2. And, inexplicably, the frozen food aisle (I don't know..maybe because people are cold in that aisle? I, for one, get much crankier when I'm cold)
3. Honorable mention: There's often a ruckus in the cheese/milk/yogurt aisle.
Hopefully this will help you to avoid some confrontations.

Really, though, please stop. You're making people feel weird. Sometimes, I walk into an aisle where people are fighting and for a second I start to turn around, like I accidentally walked in on something. Then I remember that I'm in a GROCERY STORE. Go fight in an aisle where I'm not shopping. For instance, automotive. I'm never in the automotive aisle. Or, the aisle with all the fish tanks. I hate fish.

Also.
Why do the condoms have to be by the toothpaste in Meijer? Because, see, it makes me feel weird about buying toothpaste. It kind of makes me avoid buying toothpaste, actually. Because the condom/toothpaste/pregnancy test aisle are all in the same far corner of my Meijer, and if you're heading that way, it's kind of assumed where you're going. Look, I get it. I'm 27. I should be over it. For God's sake, I'm pregnant, I should REALLY be over it. Buuuuutttt.. I'm not. And I don't want to sue Meijer for my cavities. So let's move the toothpaste over by the body wash, shall we?

And, in conclusion:
Me: I've been spending a lot of time in the grocery store lately.
Rob: That's because you're finally learning your place, baby.

F.u.n.n.y.

In Bed the Other Night...

Me: What's on your mind?
Rob: ..dramatic pause.. *sigh*..John Leguizamo
Me:.....why?
Rob: I hope he's alright...

silence.

Laura's New Years Resolutions

1. I will cease blatantly staying in the fast lane to piss off the asshole who is riding my bumper, despite the fact that I'm clipping along at 5 miles over the speed limit, as my mom recently pointed out that it could lead to me being run off the road and killed in some unseemly manner. Moms: so smart, so right.

2. I will return library books on time. Or, if they're late, I will have at least cracked the cover, considering I'll be paying the fine.

3. I will mop my kitchen floor more often.

4. [this is the space where I promise not to buy coffee every morning, but I'm taking it out already, since I know it's not going to happen.]

5. I will stop doing things like blogging about New Years resolutions in order to avoid school work or writing.

6. I will stop doing things specifically to irritate my sister, such as saving all the dog trading cards out of Penny's dog food and mailing them to her as if she's collecting them.

7. I will charge my phone.

8. I will try to respect the fact that Rob is a vampire and wants the curtains closed at all hours of the day.

9. I will stop being so anti-social, and I'll make an attempt at not being so sarcastic, but it won't work.

10. I will stop letting Facebook consume my every waking hour. I will stop letting Facebook consume my every waking hour. I will stop letting Facebook consume my every waking hour.

I'm Anti-Social and Things I've Grown Tired Of

About the anti-social thing...
Last week I get this idea. I will make cookie trays as Christmas presents. I don't have an money, and we can give them to our neighbors too and blah blah blah. Apparently I was feeling both jolly and domestic. So I make the trays. I make O Henry bars and mint fudge and butter cookies and these.. other cookies. Then I cut them up and put them on plates and put little bows on them and nametags and they look nice. Then I realize that, to hand them out, I'll have to go talk to people. If you don't know why this is a problem yet, you maybe don't know me that well. I don't like talking to people. It has nothing to do with them. It's 100% me and my hermity self. Unfortunately, Rob is also kind of anti-social. I tell him "Go drop off the cookies Rob, I did all the baking." You see I really do want them to have the cookies, I just want them to have them without me talking to anyone in the process. If it were no unbelievably weird, I would stick the plates in their mailboxes. But it is.
Rob and I stand there in the kitchen, making deals. Here's what happens. I eventually have to bribe him. I promise to take him to Qdoba for lunch if he'll take the cookie trays, though I don't really even win that much, because he'll only do it with me, not for me.
And next year everyone will be getting Christmas cards instead.


And things I've grown tired of...

Here was my plan. When I found out I was pregnant, I did some reading up. According to my internet sources, caffeine is pretty much a no-go in the quantities that I drink it. Meaning no more espresso drinks. Okay. But wine.. according to most of the places I went, after the first trimester wine is okay if you drink it in small amounts infrequently. So I look forward to this. I look forward to this for three months as I am drinking absolutely no wine. I am also no longer running, which means that all of my favorite de-stressing things (caffeine, wine, running) are no longer allowed. But then the second trimester arrives. Beautiful, beautiful second trimester. So I start having one glass of wine per week. This is wonderful and satisfying until my doctor says, in no uncertain terms, no. Actually, despite what I've read to the contrary, on the internet and elsewhere, Dr. Doom tries to make it sound like one glass a week is going to result in a retarded baby. So, I stop. No more wine for me. I won't lie to you, it sucks.
But you know what sucks even more than missing all of those things? Coming across articles on pregnancy websites that say ridiculous things like "Instead of having a glass of wine at night, try to find some relaxing alternatives. For instance, take a warm bath or listen to some relaxing music."
I get it. I can't have any wine, or espresso, and I can't do my half marathon training this year. I'm not debating these facts. I'm not even trying to get around them, which is completely unlike me. I've come to grips with it. But don't tell me to go take a #$%^ing bath instead. Really? Have you had caffeine or wine? Have you then, in your little, tiny, full-of-suggestions mind, compared this to taking a bath? One of these things is not like the other, my friend. Your suggestions make me want to punch you. After I punch you, instead of punching me back or seeking medical attention, maybe you could take a nice warm bath. Or listen to some relaxing music. Won't that be nice?
Fool.

Fools!
(Things irritating me this week...)

1. I'd like to preface this by saying that VH1 is the only reasonable thing on the TV channels at the gym. Today while I was on the treadmill, "Real Chance at Love"(?) was on. What the hell is this? Have you SEEN this? It's so dumb that its existence actually pisses me off. GIRLS! Why are you after those two? They're not hot! And one of them is REALLY STUPID. Like you're really in love with them? DO SOMETHING WITH YOUR LIFE.

2. On the way out of the gym today, I looked in the Toys for Tots box. Someone put a water noodle in there. I want you to think about that. A water noodle. A pool toy. What are the chances that a child receiving something from Toys for Tots has a swimming pool? I sure as hell didn't have a swimming pool growing up. Which means that, if they don't have a swimming pool, you just gave them a large piece of FOAM for Christmas.

Dear Owners of Restaurants Named "Blimpie's", "Chubby's", "Tubby's", "Fat City" or the Like-

I think you're missing a crucial truth. People don't want to feel fat. Pretty much ever. Even if we know we're making a poor food choice, we like to somehow delude ourselves. But when you name your restaurant something that reminds us that we are in fact eating something with the potential to pack on a few pounds, we avoid you. Like the plague. We go to places like Subway or Panera or even McDonald's; places where the food is just as bad, if not worse, for us. But at least it's not being thrown in our faces. At least we can enjoy our cheeseburger while we're eating it and feel bad about it later. Not so much with you.
I want you to think about your logic here. I like second hand stores. But I don't think I'd name it "Someone Else's Old Stuff they Didn't Want". That would be a bad idea. It's a tad too real. Where's the flowery delusion?
Consider it. Come find me when you've come to a decision. I'll be at Panera. Which sounds French or something, you may have noticed. Makes me feel all exclusive and multi-cultural.
Love,
Laura

Rob says: (new weekly segment)

"Foolish? He shouldn't even use that word. That's totally arbitrary. It's like me saying "Chocolate is dumb". "

Mookies

So. Last night we decided to make some cookies. Rob thinks I have some kind of magical cookie making abilities, because last time he made cookies they turned out completely flat, like sheet cake flat, and then I made them and they turned out fine. Between you and I, I have no cookie making abiilities whatsoever. I use the recipe off the back of the chocolate chip bag.
Anyways, we get to making them, and we pull them out of the oven...and they're flat. WTF. Maybe there's a problem with my baking soda. We never really throw anything out, and as I was opening a can of beans a few weeks ago, I noticed that it was a brand that was sold at this place in New York where we used to grocery shop. Which means that we hauled that can of beans back here from New York, which makes it at least 2.5 years old. It is entirely possible that this is the case with the baking soda as well.
We sit there and stare at our flat cookies and Rob gets this *brilliant* idea. You're going to need to provide your own visual on this one. Please imagine a little kid on Christmas morning. I hate this stupid phrase, but really, his eyes are like.. shining.
Rob wants to put the cookie batter into a muffin pan. That way, they won't be flat anymore. Muffin cookies.
"So, Mookies?" I say.
So we do it. We put the batter in, put it in for the regular amount of time, voila.
Then things take a turn for the worse.
I don't know about you, but whenever I take muffins out of the oven, I like to turn the pan upside down and let the muffins fall out. There's something really satisfying about bouncing muffins. So I do that.
But it seems that mookies take a little longer to cook than regular cookies. At that point, they were still creme-filled mookies. So I've got a pan full of centerless mookies, and my counter is covered in cookie batter. Which I think is hilarious. I would say I get a kick out of about 90% of the crap I screw up.
So I turn to Rob, laughing.

It becomes clear at this point that I grossly underestimated just how excited Rob was about the mookies. I think maybe he really thought he was on to some kind of culinary revolution here. Like our ship had finally come in, and it was the S.S. Mookie.

Rob is PISSED.

WHY DIDNT YOU CHECK THEM BEFORE YOU DID THAT???

I can't help it, I'm still laughing. Rob is not. There is mookie everywhere.

Eventually, he realizes that he's yelling at me about cookies in a muffin pan and gets over it. Then we try the mookie remains and they're gross. Like cake gone wrong.

And the moral of the story is don't count your mookies before they hatch. And don't haul baking soda around for five years.

5 Minutes Too Late...

Don't you hate it when you think of something clever to say after the fact? So I pull up to the coffee shop today, and I'm parked behind this big utility van with a sticker on it that says "A vote for Obama is a vote for Osama." Okay, listen. I don't care if you prefer McCain over Obama (well, I mean, I care, but...), but that sticker is just pure ignorance. So I go inside and I see the van leave, and then I think I totally have paper and tape in my car!! Wouldn't it have been sweet if I had made them a little homemade bumper sticker that said "I heart ignorance" and taped it up there beside their bumpersticker? They would have driven around all day before they realized it was there.