Memoirs Of J

I wish people talked less about their opinions and beliefs and more about why they hold those opinions/beliefs.  What people tend to do is disengage from someone as soon as they state or hold an opinion differing from their own.  You make judgements and suppositions about another person’s entire existence based solely on an opinion.  One topic.  The funny thing about me is I really don’t care about what a person’s opinion on a particular topic is; I just want to understand their thought process.  It’s much more interesting to gain insight into what sorts of thoughts go through one’s mind, or what experiences they’ve had that played a role in developing an opinion.  Just out of curiosity, and just to understand.  I won’t pretend that I have significant influence on the views of others.  People think whatever they want to think, regardless.

Problem is, when you ask the question ‘Why?’ people get pissed off and defensive.  Either that or they just don’t have an answer why.  They haven’t thought about it before and get annoyed when you try to make them.   They think you’re attacking them.  But that’s not how I see it.  I think if someone asks you why, it means they’re genuinely interested in you and what you have to say.  If they don’t, they’re not.  It’s simple.  Depressing thing is, I honestly can’t recall the last time someone asked me why or attempted to understand more about me.  Instead, the conversation usually goes like this.  “Oh you think xxx? Well actually yyy and blah blah blah you’re wrong I’m right.”  People thinking of what they’re going to say next rather than even pretending to finish listening to what you’re saying.

I often wonder about which people I know – people who seemingly like me – would change their mind about me if they found out I was an atheist, or that I have strongly liberal political views, or any number of other things.  Sometimes I wish the opportunity would come up for me to “come out” to certain individuals on certain topics, just to see their reaction and how fast they disassociate.  That’s the pessimist in me speaking.  Perhaps some would say, “Oh cool, so how come you say that?” and we could actually have a conversation.

Whatever though. It doesn’t matter.  I don’t really have a point right now.  I’m tired and feeling like I need to get my blog updated more often than once per year since, you know, I’m paying for a host and all that jazz.  Hopefully the tots will do something funny tomorrow and I can write about that instead.

1)
JL: I don’t want to kiss lips that touched boogers.

2)
CB: How much would it take for you to eat a hot dog out of someone’s vagina?
JL: Whose vagina?
CB: Does it matter?!

3)
JR: A driveway is not a driveway, mommy. It’s not.

4)
JR: Just because a butt stinks does not mean someone pooped. Nobody pooped.

5)
JL: This is the first time I’ve been drunk at a child’s birthday party.

I love being a non-priority.  Seems like it’s been this way my entire life so isn’t going to change.  There are some people everyone loves and cares about, and some that no one does and I fall into the latter category.  An after thought, a convenience, yes, but a priority, no.  Admit it anyone who cares to read this blog *insert the sound of a thousand crickets chirping* – do you ever actually have a modicum of desire to spend any quality time with me?  Out of sight, out of mind.  Speaking of, I’m so fucking sick of people with their goddamn cell phones.  Put your fucking phone down when you are out with someone – dinner or like anytime you should actually be interacting with the person you are physically with.  People are tethered to their phones and it really is making me pissed.  The other day I was in a waiting room and observed that people can’t sit for 1 minute before whipping out their phone and wasting more time on probably fucking Angry Birds rather than – oh I don’t know – like absorb the actual world around them.  Like even at my kid’s dentist office a couple weeks ago.  Mothers whipping out their phones IMMEDIATELY.  Can’t you interact with your child for 10 minutes before being called out of the waiting room? Ask your kid how their day at school was?  Appreciate nature or people around you – I don’t know.  Fucking anything at all.  You don’t need to fish your phone out literally every time you sit down.  Why not try – oh say – interacting with your friends and loved ones?  Listen to what they say, act like you care?  Anything?  Sit idly and just think, even.  At work, people can’t even walk down the hall without phone in hand, head down.  I’m so sick of it.  It’s like people care to interact with their electronics more than ACTUAL FUCKING PEOPLE.

I wish I could become an electronic device for a day then maybe people would feel they couldn’t live without me.  At this point, I’d rather pay money to live computer/phone-free for a week than actually go on a vacation where phones /laptops were available.  I literally get less attention than the average cell phone.

Well, OK, admittedly I’m using the term “toxic” very loosely.   I obviously can’t make a claim that mayonnaise is a legit poison, but as far as I’m concerned it’s just as repulsive, if not more so.  I have always kind of presumed / imagined that mayo must have been invented long ago before the days of refrigeration as a means to mask rancid food.  Gloss some rancid food with this pus-like substance and now your food tastes like eggs and fat and … pus.  Well, what I imagine pus would taste like.  These substances already share a texture and appearance, so why not taste too?

To be completely honest, I’ve never actually consumed much mayo quantity-wise in my entire life.  The extent of my (accidental) consumption is biting into a sandwich on a few different occasions only to discover a nasty little surprise lurking on my bun.  I’d estimate the cumulative total of mayo or mayo-like substitutions (miracle whip, pimple innards, smegma, and the like) I’ve ingested is less than one tablespoon.  Ever.  But these occasions have been harrowing and nauseating to the point that I cannot simply order a sandwich without experiencing anxiety about receiving food generously smeared in mayo/smegma.

I hurriedly flip up my bun before the waitress departs, or hastily unwrap my sandwich before pulling away from a drive-thru.  If ordering inside, I put a lot of effort into trying to view the food prep line to see if the nasty mayo-smearer thing is brandished. Sometimes I can tell if a wrapped sandwich is contaminated just by the weight.  If I think it’s too heavy, I freak out.

People think I overreact to the presence of mayo.  Some people seem to think you can simply replace the bun with a dry bun (for example) and call it good.  This isn’t at all true.  Mayo permeates every part of everything it touches.  If you get a turkey sandwich and mayo is applied to the bun, you cannot just remove the top bun and stick a new one on top.  That mayo has leaked into all crevices of your remaining sandwich contents.  The turkey is ruined.  The lettuce is most definitely ruined (having been in likely direct contact with the mayo).  The wrapper is ruined.  No – if a place screws up and applies mayo to the food when they should not have, no part of that food is salvageable.

I’ve seen mayo fingerprints on a ‘corrected’ order before.  Like the sloppy person can’t even be bothered to refrain from sticking his thumb directly into the mayo just prior to handling the bun or other sandwich contents.  Ooh, ooh and here’s another peeve.  I go to Subway and run the risk of my sandwich being prepared on a surface covered in mayo.  I mean I can’t even describe how much I cringe when the obese person ahead of me goes “Yeah go ahead and put some mayo on it.  No, more than that. A little more.  Just a couple more squirts.  OK, that’s good.”  Then the intelligent worker uses the knife to compress the contents and slice the sub before wrapping up that oozing mess of a meal.  The knife that’s now visibly glossed with mayo, and my sandwich is next.  Awesome.

I was organizing the medicine cabinet today.  Well, OK, organizing in this case (OK, OK, any case) means shoving stuff into the cabinet and quickly shutting the door before the bottles precariously teetering on the edge of the shelf crash down onto the counter.  Anyway, I found two bottles of Tums and then it occurred to me.  I am soooo glad I am no longer pregnant.  I mean, god, it is so nice knowing I’m done with that F O R E V E R.  The heartburn, the constant peeing, the whole-body-discomfort.

Even better, the little one is finally sleeping decently well at night so I am no longer a zombie.  I typically get her to bed by 7:30 or 8, then she sleeps until 4 or 5, which is exponentially better than the hourly screaming of just a couple of weeks ago.  Just when I thought it would never improve and my outlook was super bleak, it seemed to suddenly turn around.

Well…  in a strange way, this makes me a little sad. I’m not planning on ever having another baby – a baby to cuddle and rock and soothe.  So I’m trying to savor my moments with C as baby, hard as they are sometimes.  It seems like J went from wiggling baby to precocious preschooler in an instant.  I know it sounds cliche and everyone’s always telling you that, as a mom of young children, but it is so true.

When I was tucking in J tonight, she was frustrating me because every time I stood up to leave her bed, she yelled, “mommy, I want just one more kiss!” and kept doing this several times, and grabbing onto me tightly.  She’s really into eskimo kisses these days, so had her nose planted on mine while giggling her head off.  I couldn’t leave her room until I’d convinced her that if she didn’t go to sleep, she’d be too tired to go shopping tomorrow.  So I got away and and went to the kitchen to do dishes and there she appears, standing behind me at the kitchen sink asking for yet another hug and kiss goodnight.  I initially wanted to yell at her to get her butt back in bed, but I’m looking at how genuine, hopeful,  and happy she is just by anticipating a hug so I just scooped her up and covered her face in kisses then told her to go back to bed, which she did.  It makes me sad thinking how in just a few years she’ll probably want to avoid hugging or kissing me at all.

I think I am going insane.  The other night, in the throes of inexplicable insomnia, I started image googling the word ‘queef.’  It was just out of curiosity; me wondering what sorts of images could exist for a queef (keep in mind this was at 1am with me only partially functioning on minimal sleep for the past 2 months).  Bottom line,  it’s pretty damn hilarious.  Go ahead and try it.  My favorite was this image of Toby Queef.

A poor, yet hilarious, photoshop

I texted several choice images to my sister immediately, deliriously laughing my ass off so hard I had tears.  That’s a good thing though, since tears of delirium are far preferable to the depression tears that I’m pretty much constantly fighting to hold back.  So hey, I’m going to go do some more funny google image searches now.

When I was in elementary school, my report cards contained comments from my teachers such as “courteous and cooperative; good listener.”  But I feel like nobody listens to a word I say.  Basically 90% of people talk at me like I am a trash receptacle for their stories that I’ve without a doubt heard countless times over already.  Even strangers I somehow, inexplicably, end up in conversation with talk, talk, talk and I can’t get a word in edgewise.  And people wonder why I am “shy.”  It’s not shyness, dipshits, it’s because I gave up long ago after learning no one is interested in anything I say and are, instead,  just looking for someone to talk at, and since I am generally a quiet person  I fit the bill.  They like it when I ask questions about their stories or them, etc., as a good little listener will do, but there’s no reciprocation.  And when I do attempt to say something, I can tell all they’re doing is formulating what they’re going to say next, rather than actually listening.  Sometimes they actually interrupt me, which infuriates me.  So that’s why I am so quiet, ladies and gents, the secret is out.  It’s not a conversation if it is one-sided, which seems to be the case almost always.  I don’ t know why this is bothering me so much right now… I suppose lack of sleep since it’s been, oh, literally 2 months since I’ve had anything remotely close to a decent sleep and am just running on fumes at this point.  I have no patience, no contentment, no real feelings whatsoever.  I have barely left the house.  I feel like a zombie just going through the same motions day after day.  I had a dream last night (at some point during the one of three total hours I actually slept last night) that I was hanging off the edge of a cliff and everyone I know was standing nearby socializing and chatting with each other, totally oblivious that I was about to plunge over.  I mean, fuck, nobody will even read this.  This is exactly what I mean – who gives a shit.  A very small minority, I can tell you that.

So…. three month hiatus.  Yes, you could call me a slacker.  I’ve been very busy of course.  The last few months at work have been hellishly busy due to my upcoming leave (which I am  now in the midst of), then the last month I have had a newborn at home so am just… exhausted.

Today’s story is about my lovely little baby who inexplicably decided she no longer wanted to poo.  Up until about 3 days ago, she was spewing copiously into nearly every diaper, sometimes filling a freshly placed diaper  immediately upon placement on her butt.  Well, at some point over this weekend we noticed her poo volumes trickled to almost nothing.  A shart here, a streak there, but nothing substantial.  Didn’t think too much of it at first because it didn’t really seem to bother her much.  But then she started getting more and more flatulent, farting constantly and acting uncomfortable.

We got some gas drops from the store and I’ve taken extra care to burp her several times a feeding.  Despite these efforts, she’s progressively gotten more and  more upset and gassy.  Last night she was clearly in pain.  She couldn’t fall asleep despite having just eaten and being rocked.  Eyes closing, obviously sleepy, but crying out and grimacing her face while gripping my fingers.  I knew she must have to poop since she hadn’t done  it all day.  I felt terrible for her and nothing was working so when you don’t know what to do, you turn to google of course (yes, I am aware that the doctor should be called in serious situations but this is just gas – I’m  not calling the ped for gas and farting unless it doesn’t resolve soon-ish).

I discovered that this is a pretty common problem.  Common resolutions included things like warm baths to relax the baby, gently moving their legs, massaging their tummy, and stimulating their anus.  Wait, what?  Yeah, so apparently with a baby people are saying you can gently insert a rectal thermometer (or q-tip with vaseline) like you’re taking their temp and this stimulates the muscle and makes them go.  I said, sure why the hell not.  Can’t be more uncomfortable for her than this gas that is making her writhe around in agony on my lap.  So I gathered up the supplies and made my way to the changing table with her.

Q-tip, vaseline, diaper, wipes, more wipes, and another handful of wipes set aside, I undressed my infant who was just looking at me curiously by this point.  I called C in since I wasn’t sure how I could really hold her legs up and do the other stuff at the same time.  So he came in and lifted her while I took the cotton swab to her butt.  Sure enough, she let out a huge puff of noxious fumes.

I’m freaking out at this point thinking her ass is going to erupt like old faithful all over me, so I’m awkwardly holding a clean diaper in one hand and the Q-tip in the other, and tried it again.  Another loud fart and a little squirt.  Surprisingly, the baby is not at all upset or angry we are doing this.  Some  more liquid and squirt leak out and she starts tensing like she wants to try going on her own.  So C  starts rubbing her belly while she tries and splooooooosssshh, out flows the horrendous smelling paste like soft-serve.

It just kept coming.  When it stopped, I wiped up the mess and put a couple  of wipes under her thinking she would go more.  And oh yes, another tense-up and belly rub resulted in more squirts.  And I’m holding nothing more than one single baby wipe up against her to catch it.  Lovely squishy warmth in my hand, and as  I tried to wipe her clean I wiped some right onto C’s hand so he was most appreciative.

After this all went down, baby C was visibly relaxed and calm, and even happy!  I got her dressed and rocked her for just a couple of minutes before she fell right asleep and stayed asleep for the typical 3 hours before having to eat again!

The things you have to do as a parent…

Little J has been very amusing lately.  She’s talking non-stop, which in itself isn’t a great characteristic considering we are a family of quiet introverts.  Nonetheless, she’s a fun kid and the dialogue can be quiet entertaining.

For example, we regularly visit the park near our house to take walks in the woods.  They have a pretty nice trail system, well maintained and not a lot of people use it so it’s a peaceful little spot to take a break.  J likes to try to find animals and play with sticks and leaves and so forth.  She always likes to pick up sticks to drag along and use to whack at weeds.  On a recent stroll, she grabbed a stick and ran ahead.

“Mommy!  Look at my big dick!” she exclaimed.

“Whoa, what?!”  I choked.

“MY.  BIG.  DICK,” she calmly explained, staring at me with frustration and disdain.

Oh, oh…she’s just saying stick.  Stick is what she means, I realized.

“Oh, ok – you found a big stick.  That’s awesome!”

“YES!’ she confirmed, clearly annoyed at my lack of understanding.

Oy vey…

Then tonight after her bath, we were playing pirate.  Pirate is just where we talk like pirates, meaning we say a lot of “arrr’s” and “ayyye’s.”  She usually takes it to the point of making up ridiculous scenarios, usually involving getting stuck in mud and needing to be saved.  Tonight though, we ended up talking about the pirate climbing up a tree to get the parrot back.

“Arrrggh!  Where’s my parrot!?” she cried.

“Ayye he’s up in the tree!  Go get him!” I ordered.

“NO!  There’s a pirate up there!  Oh, he came in my hand!” she cried, holding her hand out to me, wanting  me to look in her palm.

I choke and start laughing.  She obviously doesn’t have any idea why I’m laughing.  She was  just trying to say the pirate came down out of the tree and she caught him.  I, being a hugely inappropriate person, had to take it ‘that way,’ thereby ruining our improv session.  I had to end it and tell her it was time to pick a book for her bedtime story.

Sometimes you just want to get trashed.  You don’t always need a specific reason.  It may be as simple as you haven’t been trashed in months and want to give your mind a little break from thinking.  Unfortunately, I do have a desire to get shit-faced and unfortunately I do have a reason other than ‘it would just be fun.’  Even more unfortunate, I cannot partake right now.

I wish people didn’t bother me so much just by… well just by their presence and their voicing of ignorant and passive-aggressive comments in my general vicinity.  I mean I can handle it if intoxicated;  then I just don’t care.   Even a slight buzz would take the edge off and keep my mind resting calmly in a happy, non-asshole adulterated place.

I’m not the type to confront the ignorance and asshole-edness (it’s my blog- I’ll make up words if I feel like it) head on, so I bring this on myself by not calling them out directly as comments are made.  Instead I seethe and steep in disdain until the next time I am exposed to the same people who naturally pile on more fodder without even realizing it, then I find my resentment at a boiling point.  What to do…what to do…