Barrel of Monkeys

September 2, 2008 at 3:47 pm 11 comments

My dear friend, Deez, used to date a rather laid-back gentleman when we were roommates in college. He was, unlike us, a very quiet sort. In fact, I’m pretty sure in the 2 years Deez and I lived together, I probably only heard him speak a grand total of maybe 5 sentences. Somewhere along the line, when Deez was frustrated with Mr. Cool, Calm and Collected for his apparent lack of the fun gene, she (or I? or someone else? I can’t remember) sarcastically referred to him as a Barrel of Monkeys, which the two of us thought was just THE FUNNIEST THING EVER. I mean, HIM? A barrel of monkeys?!

Uh…we were kind of high. A lot.

Anyhoo, apparently it is MY turn to be the proverbial Barrel of Monkeys, as the non-fun hormones are in full force around here, and I ain’t even kidding. In fact, don’t stand too close. You might get some on your shoes.

And now, for your entertainment:

THINGS THAT HAVE OVERWHELMED ME TO THE POINT OF TEARS TODAY, TWO DAYS REMOVED FROM WHEN MY 6-MONTHS-PREGNANT SISTER ASKED ME, “SO, ARE YOU ALL WEEPY YET?” TO WHICH I REPLIED, “NO, NOT AT ALL,” SO YES, HA HA HA, UNIVERSE, I GET IT, YOU WIN:

  • Work, and the emails/tasks/people/meetings/software therein.
  • Work. Did I already say that?
  • The ten jillion Outlook reminders I set sometime last week, so that in my nausea and crankiness this morning, I had about 3049573046 annoying reminders of how much fucking work I have to do popping up in my face left and right. RAGE.
  • Qdoba, which provided me with the most delicious veggie tacos that their website claims are totally healthy, but in my heart of hearts I know there is no way they can taste that good and not be increasing the square footage of my ass. LIARS.
  • My midsection, which looks like it is sprouting a beer gut without the joy of actually ingesting beer; the fact that I have to try to suck in said midsection around coworkers who do not yet know The News, and OW, sucking in is HARD today.
  • My mind, which cannot seem to comprehend that my body feels assy and lumpy and achy and pukey because of THE BABY that is in there; mind is instead convinced that the baby exists somewhere in outer space, possibly adjacent to Saturn; mind really needs slapped right about now.
  • Girl Talk’s Feed the Animals. Yes, I became emotionally moved by this album, which contains so much profanity that if my mother listened to it, she would never stop passing out. Please don’t ask me what my emotional reaction to this means, because frankly, I’m afraid to find out.
  • Husband, who – after enduring a very long phone call of hushed hysterics from his very unstable wife this morning – showed up at her office with FLOWERS (and cash money so she could fill her belly with tacos). And no, I do not deserve him. And no, you cannot have him.
  • This whole maternity leave hoo-ha, which OH MY GOD, AMERICA, you are SO FUCKED UP when it comes to this. Parents should have sufficient leave when it comes to their fucking babies (ESPECIALLY for the parent who shoots said baby OUT HER VAGINA), so please get your shit together and take a lesson from the other countries who provide such generous leave and still manage to function just fine, thank you very fucking much.
  • The creeping feeling – no, the SOLID BELIEF – that the maternity leave issue would be obsolete if it was MEN who had to shoot the babies out their privates. I mean, are you kidding me? If men had babies, there would be free, in-house day care for every company, as well as Pregnancy Leave AND Menstrual Leave. I mean, can you imagine a man having to come to work with CRAMPS? Bitch, please.
  • The realization that I didn’t make the connection in the whole Barrel of Monkeys story clear. I didn’t mean that he was a Barrel of Monkeys because he was calm, I meant he was a Barrel of Monkeys because he was NOT FUN. Like me. Because right now, I am about as fun as rectal transplant, and yes, they do actually have those. Ow.
  • Me. I mean, can you blame me? Listen to me. Shut up, me.

For reals.

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Entry filed under: And you KNOW THIS!.

“Don’t Look at the Fat-Ass Losers and Freaks, Look at ME!” Am I Being Pregnant?

11 Comments Add your own

  • 1. Husband of Said Turkey  |  September 2, 2008 at 4:03 pm

    Strangely, even at your worst, I’d rather spend time with you than anyone else in the world. 😉

    Reply
  • 2. 4th reader of said turkey  |  September 2, 2008 at 4:42 pm

    HoST rocks.

    JT, you rock, too. Cuz even when you’re being a Barrel Of Monkeys, you’re pretty damn funny.

    Reply
  • 3. kristin  |  September 2, 2008 at 4:46 pm

    Hmm, what we have here is one hormonally-driven Turkey. But at least you got to have Qdoba! I LOVE Qdoba, and I am probably 300 miles from the nearest Qdoba. This makes me sad. So at least you got that going for you!

    You want to slap me now for trivializing your anger, don’t you? Go ahead, I don’t mind. You can just blame the hormones.

    Reply
  • 4. jiveturkey  |  September 2, 2008 at 4:54 pm

    All of you: WAAAAAAAH. I love you guys. Kristin, when I come visit on that yet unspecified date, I am bringing you Qdoba.

    And PLEASE trivialize my anger, because I am being ridiculous. I blame the adorable fetus (it is officially A FETUS this week!), because no one will be able to stay angry at the adorable fetus.

    Reply
  • 5. MLE  |  September 2, 2008 at 6:27 pm

    Hooray for Official Fetus Week!

    (And your comment about rectal transplants made me think of my friend Heather, who can no longer poop or fart because she had an ileostomy. Can you imagine never pooping or farting for the rest of your life?)

    Reply
  • 6. 4th Reader of Said Turkey  |  September 2, 2008 at 8:53 pm

    I just had to Blackle Qdoba because I didn’t even know what it is. Apparently we have one here in this very city!

    And, lest you get all impressed with me, I didn’t know what Blackle was, either, until a couple of days ago.

    Reply
  • 7. Sara  |  September 3, 2008 at 11:11 am

    I just looked up Qdoba because I’ve never heard of it. And apparently there’s not one anywhere near here.

    Anyway, JT, use the hormonal changes to your advantage! Use them as an excuse to cry at something sappy when you don’t want to admit that it makes you emotional. Use them as an excuse to eat anything you want. And so on. Use them as an excuse…because the rest of us wish we had an excuse for doing all those things they cause you to do!

    Reply
  • 8. The Constant C  |  September 3, 2008 at 11:13 am

    I totally get it. That’s all.

    Reply
  • 9. SF Reader  |  September 3, 2008 at 5:22 pm

    Long time lurker / 2nd time commenter (I commented a hundred years ago about giving cancer to the black man) / former colleague of Brad / former Pgher now San Franciscan…

    I’m so, so excited for you and Brad. Congratulations! Bill and I are also expecting a little bundle of tears, poop and vomit in January so I’m a few months ahead of you on the whole “miracle of pregnancy” thing.

    Everyone will tell you through the 1st trimester that you’ll hit this magic time in the 2nd where “all of a sudden” you a) stop feeling like a totally un-fun version of yourself who takes a 2 hour nap each day, goes to bed at 8:00 and doesn’t feel like doing anything. fun. ever. b) stop suffering from all the first trimester symptoms and c) magically have tons of energy.

    I’m here to tell ya: not so much.

    From week 13 to 18 I kept waiting for that “magic time” and it didn’t hit. I spent a lot of time telling people that pregnancy is remarkably annoying what with the ridiculous alien parasite living inside you causing all sorts of malaise…

    Anyway, around week 19 I started feeling a lot better. Now (at 21 weeks) I only need a ONE hour nap and I can stay up… wait for it… until ten o’clock or even MIDNIGHT on a special occasion. That’s right. I’m flippin amazing.

    Also, now that I’m clearly pregnant and not just fat (which is how I looked until around week 18), I’ve got a less commonly known tidbit of good news for you: I’ve stopped getting panhandled. Evidently, people who ask for money on the street don’t want pregnant money. It’s remarkably convenient.

    Also, white men and black men stop giving you the “lust eye” and whistle on the street but the hispanic men? They like the fatties! I still get all sorts of Spanish cat calls, most of them now involving the word “mama.”

    Sexy.

    Reply
  • 10. jiveturkey  |  September 4, 2008 at 8:30 am

    Hey, SF Reader! Congratulations!! I had heard your news a while ago and we are so happy for you guys. Yeah, pregnancy is…weird. I mean, I expected it to be weird, but I didn’t expect to feel SO different ALL THE TIME, even when I’m not actively nauseated or exhausted.

    I can’t wait to stay up until midnight! Woo! Right now, midnight is the time I wake up from my 9pm nap and stumble upstairs to bed.

    Also: the fact that you didn’t feel good until week 19 or so may have may me cry a little. Or a lot.

    Reply
  • 11. SF Reader  |  September 4, 2008 at 11:05 am

    Oh… wait — didn’t you know that I LIVE to dash hopes and dreams? Weird… guess you forgot.

    Call me when your baby can understand English, and I’ll be happy to demystify Santa, the easter bunny, the fact that Mommy and Daddy do some nasty stuff in the bedroom after you’re in bed, the well-known truth that Lemony-Orange (or some other “contemporary” kid) is waaaaay cuter, and funner than you, etc.

    Reply

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