Wednesday, March 6, 2013

Tinfoil Security AKA Batsh*t Crazy

7 COOOOOOMMENTS! Now you speak up!
I don't know if I have ever mentioned it, but I am educated in architecture. I took architectural history courses, but still couldn't tell you the difference between the Pantheon and the Parthenon. Shit like that comes in handy when playing trivia board games. Or, at least I assume it does, but I didn't retain the knowledge either way.

I always wanted to be in something construction related. My Dad always had an interest and a gift for building things, including designing and physically building his own house with the help of my naive and terrified mother.

So, after a stressful run at advertising in the big city of Toronto, I went back to school for Architectural Technology.

Pretty.Bad.Error.

Not my cup of tea. Not only do I NOT understand many of the concepts, I also happen to SUCK at retaining information and feeling comfortable alone with a dude or bunch of dudes on a job site.

However, in the years I did work in the field, I learned a few things. One of those things?

Architects can really be assholes.

Really.

Some have their big, grand ideas and not a lick of sense when it comes to practical layouts and functionality.

Now that you are all asleep at your computers, I will get to my next point:
Windows in bathrooms. More specifically, windows in motherf*cking showers.

Who thinks this is a good idea? I am not an exhibitionist (unless I have had a few too many vodka and cranberries, current belly situation excluded).

I am also not fond of mould, mildew, rust, and rotten wood frames.

Whoever believes a window in a shower is a good idea is, quite frankly, a dipshit. Unless the window is sealed properly, and the layout is designed with water infiltration in mind, it is going to fail.

In our rental house, I present exhibit A:


Shower to the left, and window to the right. Large window, at that.



But it gets better. First off, these aren't privacy mini-blinds - you know, the kind with the sealed holes where the string lines up. But even BETTER, I present exhibit B:

It could be said that with the blinds down someone PROBABLY couldn't see in, but I have way too many trust and body issues and far too much paranoia to just believe that.


That's right. Just outside that window is the top of the stairs where our front door sits. So if anyone is standing there, they could, realistically, look left and see you in the shower naked, even with the blinds drawn. The holes where the strings go could easily display some nipple. And the strings are all stretched out of shape and ready to fail, as they are not intended to be wet all the time.

Not only that, the metal blinds that are in there have rusted, and always stick together, making it impossible to raise the shade when you are looking for some grey BC daylight.

Not that you'd want someone to be able to watch you on the crapper, too, but I digress.

Seriously - an elderly lady lived in the house before us. Who redesigned her bathroom and felt this was a good solution?

So how did I handle it? Logically and maturely, of course. I brainstormed with my mom and decided plastering tinfoil would solve my problems. (Well, not ALL my problems... wouldn't that be nice? No, just my fear-of-displaying-nipple-at-the-front-door problems). So that is what I did. I used some packing tape and made it impossible for the UPS man to watch me suds up my pregnant belly. At least, you know, from my front door.

The webcam shows I do are TOTALLY different.
At least those are on my terms.
Heh.

So at least now I am quite certain that tinfoiling over a window puts me in the "undeniably f*cking batshit crazy" category, instead of your ho-hum "major depressive disorder" kind of instability.

But stop me if I start wearing it on my head.

_______
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Wednesday, February 27, 2013

I Moved, I Saw, I Have Not Yet Conquered...

14 COOOOOOMMENTS! Now you speak up!
I have been utterly absorbed in my move.

Life has revolved around packing tape, cardboard boxes, lost utility knives, and furniture assembly.

Throw in a little falling-down-the-stairs action and chasing-the-dog-up-slippery-rocks-while-too-pregnant action, and you've got yourself my existence since the start of February.

I had sort of felt invigorated and ready to write lots again after you and I had that chat about my not being sure of what to write about. Then the move came and bitch-slapped me onto my (growing) ass.

The new house has stairs. Lots of them. Some more slippery than others. But at least my glutes are finally getting some exercise (unless eating ice cream bars counts as ass exercises? No?)

I had taken lots of pictures of random things to share with you, but now all I can focus on is the 1,405 loads of laundry that need to be done to wash the musty smell of two houses ago out, along with the moldy death smell of the last house. I can set the load up with my eyes closed, source the Tide and the Borax, and haul shit up and down two full flights like a champ.

Unrelated - don't try to run down stairs with your eyes closed.

Oh, right, and I'm not supposed to be lifting anything at all.

Anyway, just felt the need to assure you all once again that I am still alive, just terribly distracted and terribly tired.

What's new with you?
Know of any ice-cream related ass exercises you'd care to share? You know, ones that involve eating the ice cream?

________
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Tuesday, February 5, 2013

Defcon Level Food Whore

8 COOOOOOMMENTS! Now you speak up!
I had been trying to deny it for some time.

I hadn't looked my situation on, straight in the face.

Unless said face had mashed potatoes dripping from its chin. Or maybe some milkshake. OR BOTH.

For years, as many of you already know, I've struggled with horrific nausea. I can't eat wheat without rotten consequences and Guinness-book world record level bloating. Dairy sometimes hits the "undo" button immediately after ingestion. Sometimes it sits okay, I just don't feel great. Food is a struggle. Sometimes I would eat far too much for too long, other times I was eating far too little for too long.

The first three months of pregnancy were horrific for me. Between the fatigue (couldn't do a half set of stairs without crying, usually) and the extreme nausea, I was a weak and thin shell. A weak shell with a mad carbohydrate craving. If I did eat, I had one insane, unavoidable craving and I had to give in to it or else I was the most miserable bitch ever. And I could only seem to eat after 7pm.

Then - the second trimester started. It was rough at first, and it still has many-a-challenge... but one MAJOR shift has taken place.

ALL I THINK ABOUT IS FOOD NOW. ALL.THE.TIME.

Classy shit like this should only comfort others and reinforce that Imma be a great mom! HA!


When I am out of the house, in the car, I am inventory-ing every single goddamn fast food place I pass, envisioning a food (or foods) that would really hit the spot. I will tune out conversation. I will not hear the dialogue on the radio. I will briefly consider the lack of nutritional value, then give myself a free pass because, you know, BABY.

I'm bringing the hubs down with me. He has no excuse for his newly-acquired horrific eating habits, except for the obvious Not-Wanting-To-Deal-With-A-Whiny-Hungry-Determined-Pregnant-Wife. He's a trooper.

But I am dragging him down this Skittles-streaked ditch with me. We're leaving trails of melted ice cream and Orange Julius fruit smoothies on our heels.

If I agree to go out somewhere, I am already mapping out what food places we pass, what I can get on the way home, and then I fixate on it like nobody's business. I recently went to Maui (more on that later) and the size of my carry-on shoulder bag was impressive. It was comprised of approximately 90% food products and 10% reading materials. I even planned for the return flight.

I am not myself. I am achy, tired, creeped out, sluggish, inactive and overwhelmed. But I won't be swayed, oh no.

Even the most severe constipation can't slow me down. Well, okay, yes it can. And actually literally DOES. But I will continue to stuff food into my stomach even when my brain is screaming "STOP, You CRAZY Bitch!"

I can now admit it: I am an utter food whore.

I'd type more, but this cherry applesauce is staring me down. Hey, at least it has carrot in it. 
I think.

I plan to inhale it after I finish my vanilla milkshake. Though, actually, I just realized that my sweet potato fries are getting cold... and where the hell did I put the ketchup??

____________
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