A glimpse into my mind. The Antonio edition.

Setting: It was Friday night and I was having a migraine so I was laying…lying?…you know what I mean, in bed flipping through the channels. I came across an Antonio Banderas movie that was so bad it was….bad. And go!

Damn, I’ve forgotten how hot he was. What year is this? 1995. That was the year my hubby and I got married. I remember how he could never pronounce Banderas right and would say Ban-der-ass. Okay, this movie is getting worse by the minute. I think the producers thought it would be some awesome Fatal Attraction type movie but it’s just laughable.

I can’t even keep a straight face during this sex scene. Oh, Antonio’s butt! Wow, now that’s just an awkward position. I’m having second hand embarrassment. But damn, Antonio sure was hot. Shower scene with Antonio. Uh! This guy has the hairiest armpits I’ve ever seen.

That reminds me when my sister came to visit me several years ago. My hubby was deployed and I had let things go wild….down there. When my sister saw my bikini line while I was getting dressed, she laughed and laughed and laughed.

A few days later we were watching Saturday Night Live. Someone was doing a spoof of Antonio in a speedo and he had bushels of hair coming out of that thing. My sister nicknamed me Antonio for the rest of her stay.

We went to see a movie about a week later. What movie was it? Thinking….thinking. I guess it was either American Pie or The Blair Witch Project. When the movie previews came on, Antonio appeared in one of them and my sister and I took one look at each other and were in hysterics.

Not only that, it was for a serious movie so the people around us were giving us the side eye. They probably thought we were high. Throughout the movie we would nudge each other and start laughing again.

What in the world is my hubby doing downstairs? I thought he would be up here by now.

Me: *goes downstairs* You are missing out on a really bad movie.

Him: Why are you watching it then?

Me: Because it’s so bad that it’s funny. It has Antonio Ban-der-ass in it. You know, when I think about it I don’t think he’s ever been in a good movie (with the exception of Philadelphia).

Him: *thinking* Wasn’t he in that cool movie where the guy had a gun is his banjo case?

Me: *thinking* Oh yeah. It was Desperado but it was a guitar case not a banjo case. I don’t think that would be as cool.

Him: Banjo’s can be cool.

Me: You really think that movie would’ve been just as cool if Antonio Ban-der-ass was walking around killing people with a gun in a banjo case?

Him: Okay, maybe not.

Me: You really should come upstairs. This movie is craptacular. *goes back upstairs*

Him: *calls out* Does it have a banjo?

Me: *calls back* Haha, you’re so funny.

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Sex and Insecurity.

*I would like to thank Melissa from Rock And Drool for giving me the opportunity to write this post on her relationship and intimacy site You Won’t Go Blind.

My husband and I used to have a great sex life. He joined the Navy a year after we were married so we would have to go months without seeing each other. While he was gone I had to *ahem* take matters into my own hands. When he came home from being deployed, it was all I could do to not rip his clothes off right there.

“There” being in front of the other wives watching and waiting for their men on the dock. I have to admit my sex drive has never been that high except in High School but my mom is reading this so sshhhh but when my husband was gone for several months at a time, it was all I could think about.

We’ve been married for over 15 years and during that time, things on my body have stretched and sagged. He would assure me that it didn’t bother him but I would still be self-conscious. Over the years our sex life has gone down because of it. Nearly 2 years ago I had my daughter and there was more stretching and sagging.

With my post-pregnancy body came more insecurity. Sex became exhausting but not for the right reasons. Before our clothes came off, I would make sure the lights were out. His hands would roam all over my body and I would suck my stomach in.

I would also do a move to make my boobs look perky. You know the one. Arms laying at my side and lifting my breasts up so they wouldn’t fall into my armpits. Instant perkiness…ish. I would lay down in the most uncomfortable positions so I would look better.

There I was on the bed, stomach sucked in as far as it would go, arms to my side holding up my boobs, head turned a certain way so I wouldn’t have a double chin, all while trying to guide my husband’s hands to a place on my body that I wasn’t self-conscious about, like my hair. I know, totally wild and sexy. RAWR!

I had an emergency caesarean and never had an issue with the scar but I had complications with my cesarean which caused us to have less sex because of the pain I was in. 11 months later I had to have another abdominal surgery. I was left with four small scars on my stomach. Four small, raised, red scars. It took me a few weeks to even look at my stomach and when I did I felt like some kind of Frankenstein.

When I finally recovered and my husband and I started having sex again, I would leave my shirt on. He assured me like always that I have nothing to worry about but those scars made me feel so insecure about my body.

Sure I became a pro at being a contortionist so he might possibly oversee the extra weight I had put on with pregnancy but the scars are like a big flashing neon sign to me. It’s been almost a year since I’ve had surgery and the scars haven’t gotten much better, even after using over the counter treatments that promise to reduce them.

Fortunately, I am becoming better with my insecurity although it’s been slow going. I no longer feel the need to wear a shirt but I still don’t feel like I’m at a place where I can fully enjoy sex like I used to.

Every now and then my husband makes fun of his love handles or a little thinning along his hairline and I hate to hear him talk that way about himself. If only I could get it in my head that he feels the same way when I put myself down.

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The awesome of the week.

My laptop is still in computer intensive care (don’t worry, I’ve shared some of my Valentine’s chocolates with it while it quitely lays there by the side of the bed) and yesterday I started puking nothing to do with the chocolates but oh gawd please say I’m not getting the flu again so instead of writing a real post, I wanted to share some posts from the past week that I thought were funny.

Me and Mine. Allison has a hilarious post that you just have to see for yourself. Last night I had to show it to my husband and then he wondered if this thing was for real. Not Allison but the thing in her post which I don’t want to mention because then I would just give the awesome away. I googled it and found it on Amazon. The reviews for this product, which obviously aren’t meant to be serious, are so funny and my hubby spent a good 5 minutes reading them.

The Fordeville Diaries. What do you get when you start a post with cute pictures of kids making Valentine’s Day cookies and end it with some guy’s buttcrack? An awesome post, that’s what!

Taming Insanity and The Flying Chalupa are dueling banjos this week. They’re writing posts on the same topic. You can’t miss it. Check out Taming Insanity’s post on Ke$ha and the Muppets here and The Flying Chalupa’s take here.

Last but not least, welcome new bloggers Mommy Knows Best who has a toddler and a newborn and Molly from Wonder Kids who has 3 children. And here I thought keeping up with the little hummingbird was exhausting.


Since it’s my daughter’s 2nd BIRTHDAY! in 8 weeks, I’ll be going down memory lane in the coming weeks with pictures and video. Just a few months ago I said that I’m not going to put as many pics of the little hummingbird on my blog like I used to but MY BABY IS TURNING 2 YEARS OLD! Ahem.

I think her 2nd BIRTHDAY! is harder for me than her 1st. When she was turning a year old, I couldn’t wait for her to walk and start talking but now that she’s a pro-walker more like runner and talking more every day, I miss my baby girl. It doesn’t hurt that when she was turning a year old she didn’t whine as much either. heh. It really does go by so fast. ::sniff sniff::

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* This is super whiny. I’ve had two migraines in the past week so I haven’t been in the best mood.

My laptop has a virus. Crappity crap! It won’t even let me open up a browser and is completely unusable. I use my laptop to write most of what I post on my blog and it’s become like a security blanket in a way. I’ve gotten in such a habit of taking my laptop and writing while I’m on my bed so it feels really weird to write anywhere else.

I’ve been having major writer’s block since I don’t have it to write on. This post alone took all day to finish although it wasn’t several hours in a row. If I had several hours in a row, I would use it to sleep, free of my husband’s snoring. One can dream. :^) We have a home computer, which (needless to say) is what I’m currently using, but it has been slooooow and needs an upgrade. It gets me so irritated that I want to throw it out of the window.

Since I’m computer illiterate, it’s up to my hubby to fix my laptop. We found out what virus it is, I just don’t know when he’ll have the time to do it. My husband tried fixing it Monday night and when that didn’t work he said he has to do it manually. I don’t know anything about this stuff but that doesn’t sound good. He told me that this virus is especially a pain because it blocks the windows that he tries to open so he can fix my laptop.


On Monday night while I was upstairs trying to find out what was wrong with my laptop, my daughter and husband were downstairs and it was nearing her bedtime. He likes to put her to bed since he’s gone at work all day. We have four baby gates throughout our house. One is at the bottom of the stairs, another is at the top, one is in the doorway of the living room, and one is between the kitchen and dining room.

I heard the little hummingbird climbing up the stairs and just assumed my husband was with her. Expect for a few times whoopsie, we’re really good at making sure the gates are closed tight. But our cat can be a real pain about wanting through the gates so if we’re in the living room with the gate closed, we’ll leave the bottom stairs gate open so we don’t have to hear our cat pawing at that gate while doing her awful MEOWRRR.

To my horror, I heard my hubby in the kitchen and realized my daughter was going up the stairs alone. Fuck! Before I had a chance to get to my daughter, I heard her falling down the stairs. Her cry will forever be burned into my brain. I ran out of the bedroom, saw her lying on the landing of the stairs, and I lost it.

My husband got to her first and picked her up but I took her from him, looked her over to make sure she was okay, and gave her millions of bear hugs and kisses. I know my hubby is perfectly capable of consoling her and I feel bad that I did that but when she’s hurt, I have this uncontrollable urge to take her in my arms and never let her go.

She was fine and calmed down shortly after but I feel awful. It was such a major mommy FAIL. I feel so guilty that I just assumed my hubby was with her as she was climbing the stairs. Of course that’s what they do every night; he walks upstairs with her for bed.

I also don’t know if one of us forgot to close the gate downstairs or if she figured out how to open it. After opening and closing them for a time, they loosen up and don’t always close all the way.

So that is what has been going on. My laptop is melting, I’ve been having a hard time writing, and I suck at being a mom. I really hope next week is much better.


I didn’t have any plans to watch the Grammys but ended up catching some of it. I’m glad I did because otherwise I wouldn’t have heard of Mumford & Sons. I used to be so on top of music and would spend my days listening to bands like Pearl Jam, Sublime, and Nine Inch Nails. Now I spend my days listening to Elmo and The Wiggles please help.

Mumford & Sons – The Cave

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17 times an hour!

In past posts I’ve complained that my husband snores. He sounds like he’s part freight train and part bear with a touch of Cujo. After several years of me bitching about it, he finally did a sleep study back in December. We waited for the results. Then we waited some more. Aaand waited more. He finally got the results last week.

They want him do ANOTHER sleep study, this time using a C-PAP machine, and it’s not scheduled until the end of the month. It took several weeks to get the results the first time and I can’t imagine waiting even longer. I know the sleep people have to go over lots of data which takes time but our 14-year-old senile cat could diagnose him with sleep apnea in a more timely manner.

My mom uses a C-PAP machine, which I call the Luke Skywalker mask, and it took her a lot less time to be diagnosed so I don’t know why my hubby’s doctor is taking his sweet ass time.

So my hubby has to wait until the end of the month to do the second sleep study, wait for the sleep study peeps to go over his results, wait even longer to get in to see his doctor to make it official, and then wait to get his Luke Skywalker machine, which I know needs to be programmed.

At this rate I’ll be a grandmother before my husband gets this machine so we can both finally get some sleep. What was so shocking to me is the doctor told my husband that he stops breathing 17 times an hour. Holy effity eff!

 Not only do I have to worry about zombies attacking me while I lie in bed, I also have to lie there worrying that my hubs stops breathing every 3 and a half minutes.

What was even crazier was my husband was so blasé about it.

The first night of me knowing this information had me in a panic after we went to bed. Every few minutes I would kick him in the bum and frantically shake him by his shoulder to wake him up so I knew he was breathing. For some odd reason this bothered and annoyed him. Men!

Him: What are you doing?!

Me: I’m keeping you alive.

Him: What?!

Me: You were snoring really loud and then you got quiet so I’m just making sure you’re still breathing.

Him: Obviously I’m still breathing because I’m talking to you now.

Me: Yeah, but if I didn’t shake you and kick you in the ass, you might be dead.

Him: ……………

Me: What? Stop giving me that look.

Him: Even if I stop breathing, I’ll start again. It’s no big deal.

Me: Are you kidding me? What if this is the one time that you don’t start breathing again.

Him: Argh! I’ll be fine. *flips over and puts a pillow over his head* *lifts the pillow off of his head and turns back to me* And what are you still doing up? I can’t sleep when you’re on you laptop. I hear you typing.

Me: Seriously? *feels like taking his pillow and smacking him with it* You have been snoring really loud for the past two hours but I’ve been keeping you up?

Him: *flips back over* *a few minutes later he starts snoring again*

I kicked him in the bum, picked up his pillow, and smacked him in the face with it, all in the name of making sure he’s still breathing……yeah, that’s it! Uh huh…Yep.

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Toddler PMS.

Who? Me?!

*Updated 2/17/13. I’ve gotten such horrible comments  from some in the child free community. I don’t blame the community as a whole, just the idiots who are leaving stupid fucking comments. Here’s one to be really proud of. “Wow. I suggest that you beat your little shit until it stops crying. In no way is this behavior acceptable.”

After my daughter turned a year old and became a walking hummingbird who would get into everything, I naively thought that would probably be the most trying part of having a toddler. HaHaHaHaHaHaHa! *breathes* HaHaHaHaHaHa!

Enter what I call toddler PMS. I now know what my hubby has to put up with every month except my little girl’s toddler PMS is chronic. I’m sure that he would argue mine is too but he doesn’t want me to rip his head off, both of them.

My daughter is usually very sweet and well-behaved. She also has such a gentle heart and when I catch glimpses of how she will be when she gets older, I feel so proud.

But out of the blue she will have meltdowns and tantrums. At 21 months old, she has been climbing the terrible twos ladder for awhile and according to a terrible twos calculator I came across online (I couldn’t resist doing it and regretted it right after, kind of like when I lost my virginity) she will be in this stage for another 428 days – 23 hours – 42 minutes – and 32 seconds. Note to the terrible twos calculator people: bite me.

Before I had my daughter I would see parents standing there with blank stares while their child would be kicking and screaming at a store. I would always think why aren’t they doing anything. Now I know.

You aren’t quite sure what to do because in an instant your precious babe can go from talking in such a sweet little voice and giving you MWAH! kisses to acting  possessed while you’re waiting in a long line at the drugstore.

Your possessed child starts screaming at the top of their lungs because you will no longer let them hold a box of tissues that they have chewed holes in and they throw themselves on the floor while everyone in line and behind the pharmacy counter looks your way since it sounds like you’re slowly killing said child.

Not that I would know anything about that. *snort*

Yesterday was especially sucky and bad interesting. No matter what I said to my daughter, she would look at me, stick her bottom lip out, and do her “I’m being murdered” cry with tears streaming down her face.

“Be gentle with the kitty.” CRY. “Do you want your sippy?” CRYYYYYY. “Let’s go to the playground.” *she runs to the front door* “We have to get your shoes on before we go.” CRYYYYYYYYYY!!!

Me: ………mutters “holy crap”……..

The playground is less than a block from our house and I carry her across the street, then let her run on the soccer field that’s next to the playground. She didn’t like this setup yesterday and was struggling to break free while I was crossing the street. I’m sure it looked like I was kidnapping her.

After I set her down she ran a few feet, stopped, and just stood there for several seconds. Could she perhaps be changing from a cranky toddler to a cranky zombie toddler? Nope. It was toddler PMS. She threw herself on the ground and started pointing at me while whining. I had no idea what she wanted and had to play 20 questions with her, finally realizing it’s the keys in my pocket that she wants.

Happy again with keys in hand, the little hummingbird and I made it to the playground in one piece, barely. She went down the slide a few times and then ran around by the swings. Then she tripped. I ran over to her and picked her up, making sure she was okay. That made me THE most horrible mother in the entire world.

She does this thing where she’ll take a few steps, she falls on her bum, and then repeats it a few times. She finds it so funny.

While on the playground having her tantrum, my little girl was screaming and pushing me away as I tried to help her up. While continuing to scream, she got up, walked a few steps, and slammed right down on her bum. She also started wailing “MAAHHHMAA!” This went on for a minute or so.

It was one of those moments where I thought someone slipped something in my coffee because I felt like I was having a bad acid trip.

After getting over the “what in the hell” aspect of her meltdown, I looked at her while she continued doing this and it took all I had to stop from busting out laughing. I felt bad for even thinking it’s funny but oh my gawd, it was. I know I would lose my mind if I didn’t see the funny side of it.

Even with all of the tantrums, the crying, the flopping around like a fish when I try to pick her up, and the whining, I still can’t wait to have another baby. But I’m sure the next one will be a perfect little angel. HaHaHaHaHaHaHa!

I encourage your comments on the terrible toddler years.

*Blog of the week: Anne Nahm. I’ve mentioned her on my blog several times because Anne’s blog was the first one I read and it’s still one of my favorites. You have to check this post out, it’s hilarious.

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Parking space.

*I had to change the title because weirdos are finding my blog by looking up some nasty photos.

While at the grocery store on Sunday I couldn’t get over how crazy people were being. It seems like it’s a battle zone these days. I don’t understand what brings out the basket of insanity in people when it comes to grocery shopping. Take the crazy lady my family encountered awhile back. The shopping trip reminded me of a man I had to deal with when we were living in the D.C. area.

It was December 2009, there was a lot of snow, and we were stuck in the house for 3 or 4 days. We probably could have left the house sooner but I didn’t want to chance it with my babeh, who was 8 months old at the time. The snow had let up one weekend and we took the little hummingbird out for the afternoon. On the way back home it started snowing again and we stopped at a grocery store to get some essentials.

I decided to just stay in the car with my daughter while my hubby ran in. A few minutes later I smelled something stinky coming from my daughter’s diaper. We weren’t that far from home but I decided to change her anyway. It crossed my mind that I should wait because I was worried that some dumbass would want to park next to us.

When I looked around, I saw plenty of spaces available and also saw a big pile of snow partially blocking the space right next to us. I thought there wasn’t any way someone would want to park there so I got my daughter out of her car seat, layed her down, and tried to keep the car door as close to me as possible in case there was some idiot who would attempt to park next to a woman changing their baby in the backseat of their car.

I was in the middle of wiping the little hummingbird (she was living up to her name and kept on trying to roll over) when I heard someone yell “Move your ass!” I thought damn, I would hate to be at the end of this guy’s wrath. Then I heard it again. This time it was louder and closer. I turned around slightly mid wipe while trying not to let my little girl move around since she had poop all over and saw there was an old man in a ginormous Buick trying to park in the space right next to me.

Out of all the parking spaces that were open, he picks the one that’s somewhat blocked with a pile of snow and with a woman standing right outside of her car. What a fraking idiot. I had both hands on my little girl as she was being such a wiggle worm and I didn’t want to get poo all over the car.

I looked at the guy and because I was in disbelief at what an asshole he was being, I said “Excuse me?” He replied ” I told you to move your ass or I’m going to run it over with my car!” For a few seconds I thought I could hop into the car and close the door so I could let Mr. WTF park but I knew if I took even one hand off of my wiggly daughter, it would be a disaster and our car would end up permanently smelling like baby poop.

I thought I could try to reason with him and be relatable so I told him that I was in the middle of changing my daughter’s diaper and I would just be a minute. His response “That’s YOUR PROBLEM! You should have thought of that before you decided to change her diaper while blocking a parking space!”

Mr. WTF’s yelling scared my little girl and she started screaming and shaking. I was almost done with her messy diaper and at this point, I was shaking too. He kept on yelling at me but I have no idea what he said. I was in mama bear mode and wanted to kick this guy’s ass.

While he continued his yelling and my daughter continued her crying, I wanted so badly to take that poopy diaper and whack it facedown on his windshield. I was pretty sure that he would be the type to call the cops. I could just see getting arrested for destruction of property or vandalism…by way of a poopy diaper. heh.

The minute I had asked him for took longer. I was a nervous wreck because of his behavior but I was finally done and climbed into the car while closing the door and holding my screaming baby girl. This whole incident only lasted a few minutes but it seemed a lot longer.

He got out of his car, walked towards the grocery store, and kept on looking back at me while yelling. By the time my hubby got back to the car, both my daughter and I were crying. I told him what happened and was ready to give him the little hummingbird while I went into the store to find this guy. I don’t know what I would have done when I found him but I didn’t care. Not only was he a jerk but he scared my daughter and that was all I needed.

I calmed down somewhat and my hubby left a note on the guy’s car. I wanted him to use lots of words containing the letters F and U but he only wrote something like you need to learn some manners. My hubby is waaaay too nice. Since it was snowing, I’m sure the note disintegrated by the time Mr. WTF came back out. I know he wouldn’t have cared even if he did read it.

Oh how I wish I would have whacked my daughter’s diaper onto his windshield.

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