Summer Fridays

Five years ago (five? really?!), I was working at a marketing firm downtown. I took the job in order to escape my job in retail hell, and my official title was “Administrative Assistant,” which was perfect because that is what I spent the bulk of my previous work experience doing.

I’m proficient in Word, Excel, PowerPoint, and at hiding my extreme loathing for each and every one of my miserable coworkers.

Nine Years

Nine years ago today, Brad bought the cow.

Liked it, put a ring on it.

Googlemania: SUPER HAPPY FUN CAFFEINATED EDITION YAY!!1!

INTERNET! HAVE I TOLD YOU HOW MUCH I LOVE COFFEE?! ESPECIALLY SINCE MY SLEEPING-THROUGH-THE-NIGHT BABY DECIDED TO START WAKING UP EVERY TWO HOURS?!? WE’RE THINKING IT’S PROBABLY A GROWTH SPURT BUT OH MY GOD WHO CARES BECAUSE THIS COFFEE IS FUCKING AMAAAAAAAAAZING YOU GUYS!!!!!!!

HAAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!

People Who Need Smacked

No deep thoughts in today’s post, Internet. Just a list of some people who need smacked. Feel free to add your own!

First on the list: Whoever’s fault it is that I have to leave this face each morning.

Big Times

Whenever we’re about to do anything outside the house with Sadie, we always tell her she’s about to embark on “Big Times.” “We’re going to Target today, Sadie! Big Times!” “Daddy’s going to take you to the museum this week! Big Times!” And so forth.

For some reason, when I tried to think of an image that related to “Big Times,” the only thing that came to mind was “Big Top Pee Wee.” Yeah, I don’t know either. But I nearly pissed myself laughing at this ridiculous picture, so enjoy.

Those Are Not Where I Left Them: Marvels of the Postpartum Body

When I was 19, I got a tattoo of a dragon on my hip. Getting a tattoo was something I’d always wanted to do, and I used to doodle tattoo ideas all over my lecture notes in high school.

THANK GOD I did not go with my original tattoo idea, because it involved a heart and looked somewhat like this and would sort of give the impression that I give handy-jays at truck stops for a living.

Check Yo’self Before You Wreck Yo’self

Over the weekend, I found the “Pregnancy Journal” that a friend gave to me when she heard I went and got myself properly knocked up. During junior high and high school I used to keep journals religiously, so I thought the Pregnancy Journal would be a fun way to keep record of my transformation into a real, live, burrito-inhaling pregnant lady. And I actually did write in it for, oh, the first ten weeks or so. Looking at the journal when I ran across it this weekend, I wondered why I neglected it past that point. And then I remembered: I tend to only keep journals when I am kind of miserable, like those first nausea- and exhaustion-filled weeks of pregnancy, and MY ENTIRE FUCKING EXISTENCE throughout junior high and high school.

Good Lord.

Why-yi-yi OH WHY

Sadie loves it when you sing to her. Specifically, when you sing, dance, and generally make an ass of yourself. She gets still, focuses on your face, and will eventually nod off if she’s even remotely close to naptime or bedtime. I’ve decided she either really enjoys music, or is trying to figure out why in the world she was saddled with this spastic freakshow of a mother, and falls asleep to escape it all.

Oh Sadie, this is merely the BEGINNING of your embarrassment.