Kellybeans!

So, time to reveal the winners of my little truths and lies contest.  Two of you could distinguish between fact and crap, and you are…

drumroll, please?  Congratulations, Shelley and Rachel!  So here are the rest of my truths and lies.

TRUTH:  I sell sex toys to make a little extra cash.  Some people sell Mary Kay or Avon, but I sell battery-operated boyfriends… oh yeah!

Yep, it’s true.  I currently have a suitcase filled with every kind of vibrator you could imagine, along with other *ahem* bedroom accessories, which I sell at sex toy parties.  I got involved with Slumber Parties last year, after going to a Slumber Party as a guest.  I had a blast and thought it might be a fun way to make some extra money with a very flexible schedule.  It’s proven to be awesome!  Women love getting their girls together for a fun night and lots of crazy romance-enhancing products, and I love that I get to leave Aiden and Daddy together for some fun while I get out of the house with my suitcase o’ dildos.  So… um… if you are ever wanting some bedroom accessories, help a girl out and make sure you purchase them through me, please… I promise I won’t tell the internet what you bought! (Your 10 inch double dong is secret with me, I swear!)

TRUTH:  I studied political science, and I’ve talked smack about those who fail to vote, but I don’t always vote myself.  Isn’t that an awful thing to admit?  Eek.  Voter apathy and hypocrisy at its best, I suppose.

I know, I know.  This is terrible, isn’t it?  I’ve never missed a truly important election, but I’ve skipped a couple of primaries before and I never voted while I lived in Nebraska for my first television job. 

LIE:  I “sabotaged” another pageant contestant during my Miss America days… I hid her evening gown shoes, so she had to wear mis-matched shoes on stage and it made her look pretty dumb.  I won that pageant, by the way.

So some of ya thought I actually did this, hmm? So. not. true.

LIE:   I have been singing all my life and have performed in an national tour of Les Miserables.

This statement is partially true… I have been singing for a long time and I have performed in many musicals.  However, I don’t think I am anywhere close to talented enough to perform in a national tour.  So nope, no Les Mis for me.

TRUTH:  I’ve been kicked out of a bar for having a physical altercation with another person, and had to be escorted to the door because I refused to leave.

Yep, I might not seem like the kind of girl who’d get into a bar fight.  But this is true.  Here’s how it went down:

First, alcohol.  Lots of it.  Then, my boyfriend (now huz) Jason glances at a nearby waitress and says in a haze of booze, “Hey, that waitress is hot.”  Big mistake, dumbass.  As a notorious lightweight who is way too drunk, I am both offended and not impressed with the aforementioned waitress.  Soooo… I lean toward her and flick her shoulder while saying, “She is so NOT hot.”  You know, how you put your thumb and pointer finger together and flick?  That’s what I did to her while her back was turned. 

The waitress whirls around, pissed off, and says, “Who did that?”  I gaze at her with a drunken smile and proudly pinpoint myself.

And I then I lean forward slowly, deliberately, and flick her on the shoulder again. 

She goes apeshit and demands that I leave.  I turn from “playful, flicking” drunk into “angry, you’re not the boss of me” drunk.  I refuse to go anywhere.  She turns to call the bouncers.  I flick her shoulder again.  Bouncers escort me from the premises.  The end. 

I should note that I still blame Jason for this entire episode, however.  Because, dude, no matter how fricking drunk you are, you don’t blatantly point out other hot chicks to your girlfriend.  Just ogle them from afar like other guys do, you idiot. 

Thanks for playing truths and lies with me!

First of all, wow!  I actually had a few guys comment on my ’stache entry.  I never knew that any males (other than my huz) actually read here, especially since the last year or so has been focused on pregnancy and then baby.  Anyway, welcome, boys!  Hope you enjoy your visit, and I’ll try not to scare you off with my mommy bloggerishness.  Kellybeans…. it stands for diversity, equal opportunity, and all that crap.

 On to the truths and lies.  I don’t have time to do the whole shebang today, so I’ll reveal two of the lies today, and get to the rest later.

LIE #1:  I have breast implants, and I’ve never actually admitted that to anyone other than my very close friends and family.  That is, until now.

My girls are 100% real, despite the fact that they are pushing the DD limit right now.  That’s thanks to milk, not silicone.  I’ve always been blessed in the boob department, I suppose, even prior to breastfeeding.  I do, however, wonder about the state of the sisters after I stop nursing.  Will the funbags shrivel up and just sort of hang there, pointing south?  Ugh, I hope not!  Maybe then it would be time for a little enhancement.  (Remember those male readers I mentioned before?  They are now frantically clicking the “x” in the upper right corner while screaming).

LIE #2:  I’ve parked in those “expectant mom” parking spots before, when I wasn’t actually pregnant.  And I once had a person call me out on it.

Yep, this is a lie.  I’ve never parked in a handicapped or expectant mom parking spot when I wasn’t actually qualified to park there.  I actually hate when people do that.  Interesting story, though.  When I was hugely pregnant with Aiden, I had to stop at the grocery store one night after work.  I was exhausted and huge, and the lot was full of cars.  So, rather than park a mile away, I pulled up in front of the store, at the end of the fire lane.  Yeah, noone is supposed to park there, but I was fat and miserable, and hey!  I wasn’t taking some handicapped person’s spot!  I flipped on my hazards and waddled into the store to get the two items I needed. 

As I enter the store, I hear this voice say, “What, are you crippled or something?  Why can’t you park in a regular spot like the rest of us?” 

I glance over my shoulder to see this middle aged guy glaring at me.  Apparently he had deemed himself the unofficial “fire lane enforcer” or something. 

Shocked that he was calling me out on this, I turned around to give the full effect of my belly.  “No, asshole.  I’m pregnant, not crippled.  But I didn’t think I was hurting anyone by parking off to the side out front.  Any more questions?”  Yes, I really did say asshole.  And I was proud of myself, too.

Obviously he was shocked at the sight of my belly and he just stared back.  Belly: 1  Asshole: 0

So, I did get called out once on where I chose to park.  But it wasn’t in a handicapped or pregnant lady spot.  The end.

More truths and lies soon, I promise.  Maybe I’ll get my act together over the weekend.  Speaking of that, have a great one!

I haven’t had a chance to write up my entry about my truths and lies, but I will finish that up this week.  In the meantime, I promised a picture of my mustache, and here it is.

I know, I know.  I need to wax it, but I think my nose is so sexy it deserves to have a line drawn under it, you know?  Perhaps I should just trim it a bit, so as to expose my lips.  I’m on the ’stache starvation diet over here, simply because the damn thing is BLOCKING FOOD FROM MY MOUTH!  (Ohh!  This may be the next big diet!  Forget Je.nny Cr.aig or Wei.ght Wat.chers.  “Slim and Sexy with ‘Stache Starvation!  Start today!”)

But, truly, this mustache is a family-wide problem.  We’re all hairy mo-fo’s.

Hot damn is that one sexy man with a sexy ’stache!  Really, the squinty eyes and flared nostrils are making me so hot, but the mustache sends me over the edge!

Even the dogs are getting in on the action.  Hairy little beasts.

(Thankfully the baby still has a smooth and hairless upper lip.  This may or may not be because he is asleep when his parents decide to come up with fun and clever ways to prove that they are still… um… fun and… clever.  Yeaaah.)

After deciding that my husband and dogs look way more sexay with hair on their faces, I went through the painful process of removing my facial hair.  A crowbar may or may not have been required.  And then I dyed the hair on my head.  Again!  I know!  Make up your mind already!

And here I am… sans ’stache and back to my natural haircolor (though it’s been years since I saw my true natural color, so perhaps this is just a guess):

Aiden says: “My mother applied makeup, curled her hair, and brushed her teeth for this photo.  I am smirking because this is not the same woman I see every day.  Who the hell IS this chick?”

One of you got the answers right to my truths and lies post!  Tune in on Monday to find out who can see through my bullshit, and who can tell what I’ve really done!

I’m looking forward to a fun weekend… we’re going to see Blue Man Group on Sunday (Jason’s valentine gift to me) and we get a night out to ourselves!  Gram is coming to babysit and I can’t wait.  Seriously, I love this child but I need a break. 

Plus… next week… pictures of my mustache.  No, really. 

Happy weekend, everyone!

I’ve seen a couple of bloggers do this recently, and it looks like fun! 

Below, you’ll find three truths and four lies about me.  Which ones do you think are true?  Can you pick out the lies?  Leave your guesses in the comments and I’ll reveal the answers next time!

 1.  I have breast implants, and I’ve never actually admitted that to anyone other than my very close friends and family.  That is, until now.

2.  I sell sex toys to make a little extra cash.  Some people sell Mary Kay or Avon, but I sell battery-operated boyfriends… oh yeah!

3.  I studied political science, and I’ve talked smack about those who fail to vote, but I don’t always vote myself.  Isn’t that an awful thing to admit?  Eek.  Voter apathy and hypocrisy at its best, I suppose.

4.  I “sabotaged” another pageant contestant during my Miss America days… I hid her evening gown shoes, so she had to wear mis-matched shoes on stage and it made her look pretty dumb.  I won that pageant, by the way.

5.  I have been singing all my life and have performed in an national tour of Les Miserables.

6.  I’ve been kicked out of a bar for having a physical altercation with another person, and had to be escorted to the door because I refused to leave.

7.  I’ve parked in those “expectant mom” parking spots before, when I wasn’t actually pregnant.  And I once had a person call me out on it.

I’ve been tagged by Law Student Hot Mama to do a meme. Do yourself a favor and head over to her blog.  She’s funny, writes really well, and has an adorable six month old who is just delicious!

On to the meme!

Here are the rules:
* Post about the meme and link back to the person who tagged you
** Go back to your archives and link to your five favorite posts

Link One: must be about family
Link Two: must be about friends
Link Three: must be about yourself
Link Four: must be about something you love
Link Five: can be anything you choose

** Tag five other people (at least two must be new acquaintances so that you can get to know them better).
** Let the person know that you tagged them by leaving a comment saying something like: I’ve tagged you. Check out my blog for details.
** Readers, don’t forget to read the posts and leave comments - lots of comments.

LINK ONE: Family…   Stressing about family,  sad about my dad’s smoking (which he still does), and remembering my grandmother.  And of course, all the BABY posts!

LINK TWO:  Interestingly enough, I don’t write much about friends on this blog.  This actually is inspiring me to write about that fact.  The issue is, I don’t have many close friends.  I’m just not good at building relationships (isn’t that awful to admit?) I do have lots of regular friends and acquantances, but only a few close friends, and unfortunately, they have moved pretty far away!

I have a few links, but they are all boring, so I’ll skip this.

LINK THREE:  About myself?  Okay….  my hilarious bikini wax experience, being introspective after sobbing over a TV SHOW (p.s. get.a.life.please!), how a shy teenage girl scored a hot boyfriend (at McDonald’s no less!), and How a Fucking Scooter Nearly Killed Me.

LINK FOUR:  Something I love.  SomeTHING?  Um, here’s a post about my patio and garden that I slaved over.  Really, though, let’s focus on someONE I love.  First, my hubby and our anniversary.  And of course, my baby and his birth story. Oh, and when we found out he was… a he!

LINK FIVE:  Cookie po.rn.  Probably my most fun post ever.

Now, ya’ll can just tag yourselves if you’d like to play. 

Contrary to what one very short person living in this house may think, it is NOT appropriate to wake up at:

8:30pm

9:30pm

11:30pm

12:30am

1:15am

2:30am

4:30am

6:00am

7:00am

wide awake and ready to begin the day at 8:00am

… all in the same damn night.  And here I thought we were making great progress lately.  {snort}

Also, it is not at all polite for the aforementioned VSP (very short person) to wake up 10 minutes into his morning nap and refuse to go back to sleep.

That is all.

{collapses in an exhausted heap}

I need to complete an article and submit it to my editor today, so I’m going back over the recordings I made of the four interviews I did for this assignment.

But I must have plugged the mic in the wrong spot on the recorder for one of the interviews, so I can’t hear what the guy is saying.  Not a single word.

Instead, I have a very crisp and clear recording of Aiden mumbling and his toy duck saying “quack quack quack.” 

I wonder if my editor would accept that as part of my article?  No?  Shit.

Since quitting my job last year, I’ve been doing a couple of things to bring in some money and establish some business opportunities where I can work from home.  So far, the most successful venture has been working as a freelance writer.  I love that I can do my interviews over the phone, doing my writing in our home office, and never leave the house for my job. 

I originally thought it would be really.really.difficult to do this while also taking care of Aiden.  For the most part, it hasn’t been too bad.  At first, when he was nursing a lot more, I would just pop him on my boob right before I’d make my phone call to the interviewee.  Aiden would nurse the whole time, and the person I interviewed never had a clue that I was… um… multi-tasking.

Now that he’s older, I try to plan my phone interviews around his general naptime.  Of course, that isn’t always possible, so I’ve found that surrounding him with a bunch of toys keeps him occupied.  Also, using the mute button on my phone is pretty helpful, to drown out the baby shrieks and squeals so my interview subject doesn’t wonder if I’m running a damn daycare while also working as a writer.  Plus, I record all my interviews, so I don’t need to take copious notes while we are chatting.  So it’s all (mostly) good.

Really, it’s all been working out okay.

Until yesterday. 

I settle Aiden down with his toys, but then can’t get in touch with the person I need to interview.  Ten minutes later, as I am comforting a crying baby who bumped his head on a chair, the phone rings.  I know it is the interviewee calling me back.  Shit.

I quickly put the sniffling baby back down with his toys and answer the phone.  Aiden starts to cry and complain at the injustice of being forced to play with his toys!  this is torture!  call child protective services!

I run up the stairs and sit at the top of the steps to get away from the noise for just a moment.  I figure that if I can just get past the pleasantries and get the interviewee talking, I can hit that sweet, sweet MUTE button and simultaneously calm the baby and get the damn interview finished.  Then…. I see Aiden.  I must have forgotten to shut the baby gate, because he is crawling up the steps to get to me.  Mama, I know you are there!  You can’t hide!  I will get you!

I carefully creep down the steps, trying not to startle the baby, who I am sure will lean backward and tumble down the stairs.  Aiden grins and thinks this is all very funny.  Thank god I manage to get to him before he falls to his doom.

I settle Aiden downstairs with his toys, and this time I stay with him, using the mute button liberally.  Occasionally I un-mute to add a thoughtful “yes, I see“  “mm-hmmm“  or “sure.”  But mostly, that mute is working overtime while I try to keep the child entertained.  If only the guy I was talking to could have heard what I was really doing while I was supposed to be listening…

This whole workin’ from home thing sure isn’t easy.  I deserve a raise.  Can I get a hell yeah?

Dear Aiden,

Where did my little baby go?  Although there are still some times that I see how young you are, most of the time you remind me more of a toddler than an infant.  You are ON THE GO, ALL THE TIME!

Just a few days ago, you turned 8 months old.  The time… it flies.  I am simply amazed at all the new things you do, and changes that happen day by day.  Just yesterday you woke up and decided that you were in the mood to chat, and off you went, babbling “babababa” all day.  You even said “mamama” a few times, too! 

This morning you realized how to keep your palms flat enough to actually clap.  For a few weeks now, you have been “clapping” by flailing your arms and sometimes bringing your fists together.  But this morning you saw how to actually do a real clap!  Wow!  (Well, other people might not be super impressed, but I sure am!)

You continue to eat very well, and you’re trying lots of fun new foods.  I just talked about that recently, so I won ‘t go into that detail again.  Lets just say that you love any food that mommy or daddy are eating, and you’ll complain until we give you a taste!  Even spicy foods don’t deter you… you want it all.

You remain such a happy and easy boy to care for.  You never cry, unless you are overly tired, need to nurse, or have hurt yourself.  We can take you out to public places for hours… to parties, restaurants, you name it.  You love seeing new places and you are so very good!  It makes things easy on us, that is for sure.  It also gives me hope that you will be very good on our upcoming cruise.  I’m not worried about traveling with you at all!

The only area which we have any trouble with continues to be sleeping.  The good news is that you have decided that your crib is not a torture cage, so you generally go to sleep in your crib without a huge fuss.  The bad news is that you still wake up pretty frequently.  I think it is a combination of teething and separation anxiety that makes you wake up and start crying.  Whatever the reason, you generally don’t sleep for more than 3 or 4 hours at a time.  The other night was awful… you went to bed at 8:30, then woke at 11, 12, 1, and 2.  I felt like I was gonna collapse! :)  But I really don’t like letting you cry alone, so I come in every time you wake up scared and I soothe you back to sleep.  That’s what mamas do, you know.  It might sound crazy, but I love when you cling to me in the middle of the night and bury your nose in my shoulder.  Someday I might even miss our nighttime nursing and snuggles!

I always bring you in bed with me in the morning after Daddy wakes up, and you love to sleep with me.  We have a bed rail on my side so I can be sure you won’t fall.  You seem to savor curling up with me and getting a few extra zzz’s.  I always wake up to your little smiles and your open-mouth kisses,  which is the best way to start the day, if you ask me!

We read to you all the time now.  You like books but you’re so active that you get easily distracted and sometimes wander off to play with other things.  One book that does hold your attention is a Thomas the Tank story that plays sounds.  You love when we push the buttons and hear the train sounds.  I think we need to get you a few more books like that.

You have started to play games well, too.  You are a pro at dropping your basketball through your little sportscenter hoop.  You like to knock over the block towers I build for you.  Peekaboo makes you giggle like mad, because you finally understand that we didn’t disappear… we are just hiding!  And you love tickles.  Daddy is your favorite person and you guys play together for a long time when he gets home from work.

Making you sit still for diaper changes or to dress you is nearly impossible.  It’s like trying to wrestle a wiggly snake!  You flip over and twist your body all around.  I’ve started using the word “no” a lot, but you either don’t get it, or are choosing to ignore me.

Obviously, we love you so much.  Every day is a new adventure and I am so grateful to be here with you everyday as you learn, grow, and mature. 

I wonder what the next month will bring!? I can’t wait!

Love,

Mama

Mom, please stop taking pictures and change my clothes!  Can’t you see I drooled my lunch all over myself?