You have no idea what I’m talking about so I shall explain.

This morning my mom called and asked Cara and me to breakfast - Cracker Barrel.  [Give me a break, ok?  This is the South and it's a law that you must eat at Cracker Barrel at least once a week.]  We ate, we talked, we had a generally pleasant time.  Since I had an OB appointment today, Mom offered to keep Cara.

Sweet!

Well, I’ve been child free for about an hour now and I should have gotten a shit ton done but I haven’t.  Glenn Beck was talking to Ty Pennington about them both having ADD and that twenty minute period just cracked me the hell up.  It was a fast paced conversation and I followed every single minute of it and LOVED it.  Beck mentioned how he feels that his ADD is responsible for a lot of his success in business since he’s able to manage so many things at once.

Interesting thought.

A glaring downside to ADD is the fact that you [and I mean me] never finish a damn thing.  Not tasks or jobs or sentences.  I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been telling a story or explaining something and then I’ll totally take a different direction and if I’m lucky, I might remember twenty minutes later that I never finished the first story.

That’s damn embarrasing.

I’m better when I’m pregnant but I still get wonky sometimes and Tucker just shakes his head at me.  Poor Tucker.

Hmm…did I finish the part about this being a study in ADD?  Back to that I guess.

I was editing a photo in Photoshop right before I left for breakfast.  When I came back, I was utterly lost cause I couldn’t figure out what I had been doing with the photo.  Also, I the stupid Glenn Beck interview thing caught my attention and got me off of the post that I was going to write.  SO, I started looking for an image for this post which led to me looking at stock images for my Twitter account.

WTF?!

An hour later, I’m finally typing this post.  Proud?  Me too.

I’m gonna appologize in advance here and tell you that I’m not going to go back and reread/edit this post.  Normally, I copy edit it cause I’m pretty damn anal like that but not today, folks.

I guess today is actually a study in stream of consciousness.

*Note - I scanned this and the only thing that bothered me was whether or not “shit ton” was a compound word or not.  I got two different answers so I left it as is.*

I attribute this temporary sanity to the fact that I’m pregnant and pregnancy seems to agree with my brain.

Sure, I’ve been a tad more angry than I normally would be but it’s not like I’m constantly pissed off [just on Fridays from now on].

But the crazy train pulled into the station today.

For the past few days I’ve been angrier than normal and extra-emotional.  Then, this morning at the ass crack of dawn, our new next door neighbors woke Cara up with their alcohol assisted noise.  It was 3am, they were outside and I could hear every word of their conversation via Cara’s baby monitor.  She heard them too and was up from 3am till sometime around 5am.

Needless to say, [but I'll still say it] not much sleep was had here.

Cara and I played hooky from church due to the fact that we resembled zombies and my fundus tends to hurt like a sonofabitch if I sit in one place for more than fifteen minutes.

Also, I don’t go for me; I go for Tucker and he didn’t want me to be miserable.

After church, Cara and I met Tucker and his folks at Cracker Barrel.  I had suggested Cracker Barrel earlier that morning to Tucker because they have blueberry pancakes and Cara is just a tad bit obsessed with all things blueberry - she even has blueberry shampoo.

While we waited on the food, Cara played with Tucker’s dad and was generally content to drink out of the 1/2 and 1/2 cups and put her colors back in their box.

Once our food came, I cut up Cara’s sausage and Tucker passed the plate over to Tucker’s dad.

This bothered me for a number of reasons.

It’s not Tucker’s dad’s responsibility to feed our child and since Cara doesn’t use a highchair or booster seat, I didn’t want to inconvenience my father-in-law.

Another thing that bothered me was the fact that Cara kept getting her sausage fat covered hands percariously close to Tucker’s dad’s white dress shirt.  A sausage fat stain on our clothes is one thing but it’s not something that I want my kid sharing with other people.

Also, I got the blueberry pancakes for “small and loud” and I wasn’t about to cut up some mess-ass white shirt staining pancakes and send them over for Cara to smear and mush.

I asked Tucker to hand Cara to me so that I could feed her.  But, as Tucker later pointed out, I didn’t do a very good job of explaining the things I just explained here.

I guess all everyone else could see was Cara sitting quietly on her grandpa’s lap, eating her sausage and me trying to fuck up the quiet by moving her.

All I could see was the inevitable purple smear that was fated to appear on that stark white shirt.

I tried a couple of times to reiterate why it was of the utmost importance that I feed Cara but all I really remember about that minute or so was an amazing amount of pent-up pressure and the only release was her sitting on my lap eating those fucking pancakes.

Tucker assures me that I looked pretty crazy and jittery around this time and I can only hope that the only people who noticed were the people seated at our table.

In the end, the little shit at MAYBE two bites of the undercooked pancakes and I got a bite containing egg shell.

All in all, it was a thoroughly shitty experience for everyone involved with the exception of Cara since she was blissfully unaware that her mother lost her shit over some pancakes.

It’s been like a month since I actually cooked a dinner.  Somehow we’ve managed to be invited out to lunch or dinner quite a lot in the past few weeks and we have had mad leftovers from those invites.  And of course, there have been the occasional pizzas or Chinese take-out but we won’t talk about those.

Tonight, I made pan seared chicken breast [which sounds better than saying I browned some chicken in a pan], jasmine rice and some mixed veggies.  AND, it tasted damn good.  I was a bit concerned that my knack for cooking would be lost and that I would be stuck with nuking microwave dinners.

Didn’t happen and that makes me happy.

Tonight’s dinner for your viewing pleasure:

I’m sure that once this pregnancy has run its course, I will blame my bitching on being an angry mom to a newborn and toddler which will eventually lead to me blaming my bitching on being the angry mom to two kids under four.

Do you see a trend?

I’m going to attempt a mid-summer resolution of sorts here - for you and for me.  I resolve to try and keep my bitching to a minimum during the week.  I’m sure the occasional time-sensitive gripe will be necessary.  However, on the whole I intend to reserve Fridays for the REAL gripe sessions.

Hence the bear.

<br/><a href=”http://TasteLikeCrazy.com/” mce_href=”http://TasteLikeCrazy.com/”><img src=”http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3283/2680913545_f79b7e8989_o.png” mce_src=”http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3283/2680913545_f79b7e8989_o.png”/></a><br/><br/>

I’m sure you can guess what the “F” and the “U” mean [kinda obvious] but I figured that maybe if I didn’t spell it out [literally] then the adorableness of the pink bear might overwhelm your readers so that they don’t get too offended by Mr. Bear’s “naughty” finger and its true meaning.

Then again, if you’re putting “Mr. Bear” on your blog then I doubt your readers will be too offended by much of what you write.

I digress.

Feel free to add the above button to your sidebar and use and abuse him as an excuse to truly let your gripes be known.  But, try and corral said gripes to [mainly] Friday and then let them go.  Since it’s really LATE on Friday, I’m gonna put this up tonight and let ya chew on it tomorrow.

Happy bitching!

WIkipedia defines sellout like this:

“Selling out refers to the compromising of one’s integrity, morality and principles in exchange for money, ’success’ or other personal gain. It is commonly associated with attempts to increase mass appeal or acceptability to mainstream society. A person who does this, as opposed to following the original path s/he laid (or claimed to lay) out for him/herself, is labeled a sellout and regarded with disgust and immediate loss of respect. Selling out is seen as gaining success at the cost of credibility.”

Nope.  Not me.  Integrity, morality and principles still firmly in check, thank you very much.

All that being said, there are some people who think that I am “selling out” and/or being a whore because I make money doing what I enjoy - writing.

I don’t get that.

First off, it’s no one’s business how much [or little] I make with my blog.  And anyway, why do you care?

Secondly, if someone wants to pay me to write then why shouldn’t I let them?  It’s like cake AND ice cream.  I get to write about whatever I want to write about AND I get paid.

I think that fucking rocks.

I write for two other websites - SimsGamer.com and IronicGamer.com - and get paid rather handsomely for doing so.  This allows me to make my car payment and pay for our car insurance and sit at home with Cara while I bake a second kid.

I think that fucking rocks too.

My way of thinking goes something like this:

I enjoy riding and training horses.

I enjoy it so much that I would do it even if not paid [and I have].

However, if someone offers to pay me to train their horse and they aren’t asking me to do anything I’m uncomfortable with then I’ll gladly take their change.

Does that make me a whore or sell-out because I’m getting paid to do what I love?

I don’t think so and I look at writing the exact same way.  Just because I like what I do doesn’t mean that I shouldn’t also make money at it.

Should you give up your paycheck just because you thoroughly enjoy your job?

Nope.

Then why are you telling me that I shouldn’t make money doing what I thoroughly enjoy?

I found this news story on http://kensingtonvictoria.com/ and laughed my ass off.  I’m going to hell for laughing but it is funny.

When you don’t want your kids to wear something or it’s not the time for them to wear something then you can’t pry their grubby hands from the item.

Tucker was in Millington at Drill and Cara and I were at home.  For some reason, him leaving on Friday night really had an affect on me and Cara seemed to be more affected than last time.  To keep from moping around the house all Saturday, I drove down to Little Rock to see my ex-step-mom.  And now that I type that I’m wondering if I should explain.  Oh what the hell.

My dad married my mom and then they adopted me.  My dad showed his true crazy colors and Mom and Dad got a divorce.  Years pass.  Mom gets remarried and divorced and Dad gets remarried, has two kids, and then lets his craziness show again.  Cue second divorce.  Quick and dirty explanation just for you.

Ever since they got a divorce, I’ve gotten along famously with my step-mom [Dottie].  My dad isn’t around all of the time to play us against each other and that’s a very nice thing.

I didn’t feel the need to call my dad and tell him that I was coming to Little Rock.  My baby shower was on the 28th of June and I haven’t talked to him since the 26th of June…when I called him to see if he was going to show up.  He said that he would and then he no call/no showed on me.  I left him a message about a week later and he never called me back.

SO, Cara and I showed up after my dad had picked the kids up for their weekend and Cara had a grand ole time tearing apart Dottie’s living room.  Dottie’s kids called her a total of seven times before Dad brought them home.  Seven times in a one hour period.  They were miserable and bored and wanted to come home.  Dad had no idea that I was there until he pulled into the driveway.  He was a tad surprised to see me there.

Of course Dad acted VERY happy to see Cara and me and suprisingly enough, Cara went right to him.  After maybe two minutes he left and we had lunch.

On my way out of town [as I was sitting in Starbucks line] I called Dad and he spent the five minutes telling me how much he had missed me and how “perfect and healthy and beautiful” Cara looked.  Honestly, it was a bit creepy.

I sarcastically thanked him for calling me back and he said that he had thought about me every day and had been meaning to call me.  Normally, I would have swept it under the rug and just let it drop but I really didn’t feel like playing nice.  I flat out told him that it was rude to not return people’s phone calls and that I didn’t appreciate him being rude to me.  The “visit” ended and Cara and I drove home.

Fun times.

Tucker got home Sunday night and a new week begins.  Hope it doesn’t suck.

Hence the post about the baby shower and hence this post.

We went to Target yesterday for something supremely important [I've forgotten what it was.] and of course I had to pee because I have to pee every fifteen minutes or so. [This post talks a lot about pee and bathrooms...you've been warned.]

Since Tucker and Cara were with me, I made a beeline for the “family” restroom - family implies more than one person will by using the bathroom.

Let me make sure you get this concept. If you are by yourself, then wait your ass in line just like everyone else who is by themselves and doesn’t have an infant to change or a child who needs to go to the bathroom.

A couple of weeks ago, I stood in line for ten minutes while three kids playing in the bathroom stalls. After finally escaping bathroom hell, I was just in time to see a middle aged white guy leave the family restroom and unless he had his family tucked in his pockets then the guy was by himself. Tucker almost had to physically restrain me from saying something “constructive” to the pasty man.

Anyway, I didn’t write about it. I didn’t even Twitter it. I just let it go. I’m Zen like that.

Back to yesterday.

The family bathroom door was locked. I waited in line. As I was about to open the women’s bathroom door to leave, I heard Tucker talking to someone.

Apparently he was bitching with a mom about the fact that the woman who came out of the family bathroom was by herself. Luckily, I didn’t see the woman because I probably would have lost my shit.

Bravo to Tucker for being pissed for me.