tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-87267335195924600642024-02-07T04:42:47.921-05:00Mee ThymeNobody understands me!Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04911729800477668321noreply@blogger.comBlogger30125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8726733519592460064.post-87431785949628579042012-07-02T20:23:00.001-04:002012-07-02T20:24:21.559-04:00Nice jay oh bee, Micah!We hosted a baby party for our sweet and wonderful friends this weekend. It was a great afternoon. Micah made this awesome photo booth thing!
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp7xY15ubBCPn6jjxOmA2wJbqbwUBqsYd3SR0yxrgCkLXntuWTevHpgxG0DVlFhErw3t4NJOz4wbOvmJyVrIG7mXEOKViu11eI_fEof8jHlLEHzRMbZ2FTO95l7EDEUaFRKGHX2zMAoQjU/s1600/photobooth.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="400" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp7xY15ubBCPn6jjxOmA2wJbqbwUBqsYd3SR0yxrgCkLXntuWTevHpgxG0DVlFhErw3t4NJOz4wbOvmJyVrIG7mXEOKViu11eI_fEof8jHlLEHzRMbZ2FTO95l7EDEUaFRKGHX2zMAoQjU/s400/photobooth.jpg" /></a></div>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04911729800477668321noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8726733519592460064.post-55268905616419175792012-06-21T23:27:00.001-04:002012-06-21T23:43:06.528-04:00I know so much about breasts and it's so lonely.I've been doing a lot of blogging for my sister's social media biz - mostly for a plastic surgery practice. I thought I would hate the doctors and the evil things they do, but I don't. I think they're great. They are really kind. I feel like if I met them I would want to hug the two of them at the same time. I still think that plastic surgery for cosmetic reasons is pretty sad, but, after looking at so many before and after pictures I think I am coming around! I had no idea how terrible some women's breasts are. So sad.
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqf66tCpZ_Ggacps_KnmY7aPNMP3K4AVZJ_M8fi_HYdiI88JXpYBQZdTOiSPTyxRh4dTjMxbXPsXXhx-vR5mNRl2sUt5Fyjj0cG9IbxEeu3PbmK_mLeUJ9JTtsu9uT2h85ZXh3I49g0nou/s1600/Dolly-Parton-with-Crossed-Eyes-58695.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear:left; float:left;margin-right:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqf66tCpZ_Ggacps_KnmY7aPNMP3K4AVZJ_M8fi_HYdiI88JXpYBQZdTOiSPTyxRh4dTjMxbXPsXXhx-vR5mNRl2sUt5Fyjj0cG9IbxEeu3PbmK_mLeUJ9JTtsu9uT2h85ZXh3I49g0nou/s320/Dolly-Parton-with-Crossed-Eyes-58695.jpg" /></a>
Anyway, I have been doing research for my posts and now I know a whole bunch of different types of implants and different ways they do the surgeries. I spent my work time yesterday immersed in breast reconstruction reading. They can tunnel fat from your stomach or butt through your body and up to your breast! Or, they can remove the fat and muscle and then mess with the blood vessels with tiny instruments to integrate everything seamlessly to the breast. Wow!
I have so much plastic surgery stuff on my mind this week and have no one to talk about it with. Maybe I should go on a message board pretending to be a patient and unload some of this.
Next assignment! Irish wigs!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04911729800477668321noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8726733519592460064.post-62210467746085198832012-06-12T13:08:00.000-04:002012-06-12T13:08:15.498-04:00Get a jobNico is almost 9 months old. I quit my work-from-home computer job in November because it was impossible for me to do the work like I had for 3 years. It was online publishing, and sometimes tasks were last minute and assigned late at night and really urgent. I quit while I was ahead. I was hoping to phase out that job anyway. The plan was to go back to work after the new year, hopefully doing something cheese related again. I had an interview for a good place in February. The dude that interviewed me seemed really into the "culture" of his establishment; that it was "quirky" and "creative". He had a tiny beard and what I think were no-iron pants. His face dropped when I mentioned that I had a 5 month old baby. So, the interview that was going rally well, ended abruptly. Blech.
In March I pitched a cheese position to a place that was expanding their operation and space. I wrote them this whole thing and sent it and then cried. I felt really fragile about putting myself out there, being the master of my own destiny, grabbing life by the balls, taking our country back. They sent me a very nice response that was all We Can't Right Now But This Sounds Great, Thanks!
Then they called me and May and wanted to talk. I had a lovely long talk/interview thing and it was great. They liked my ideas and I felt really good and creative. Then my friend sent my a CL ad for the job they posted. They didn't even call me to say that they weren't going to hire me. Also, the ad was full of stuff I talked about in the interview, some stuff from my cover letter, and one (unique) line from my resume. Sad sad what the fuck. I emailed them and gave the benefit of the doubt. To their credit, the responder said that they loved my ideas and realized that they DO want a position like that, but my availability didn't work for them. Woooowwwwwwww! Zen Master Micah helped me to let it go. I replied, "Thanks! I'll see you around!"
Now I'm looking for volunteer opportunities. I emailed two organizations that I like. One said that they would let me know in the future if they need anyone, and the other has not responded. Man.
My sister does social media work for a bunch of small businesses, so I've been working some for her. I've blogged for a plastic surgeon, a self-storage company, and a music for kids site. So, that's ok. I haven't done any voice over auditions for a while, and I really need to get my demo on this voice bank that everyone uses to get work - but it costs 300 clams, and I don't have the extra bucks right now.
In the meantime, Micah is working very hard, as usual and is a great provider. Everything is fine, I would just like to have some work that makes me happy. For now though, I really, really like taking care of Nico. She is awesome and I think I'm getting good at momming her. However, I think I could be a better mom, especially when she gets older, doing some other things that I am good at.
I'm staying positive! I feel good about what's going on right this minute - especially since I got my hair done and we got the hall painted, and I almost have Nico sound like she's saying "hot dog". It's very funny for me! <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCkCs7kw68L4hu0dMnHrtCEK4Odt8YZhA_224-mRkIn7PwsWUi4r84apxS9uDBt9CnbW2H88d6LljuoDS0NPpVNJLGXwYEhRDbPB1jRVOvoDEW8_2rlulq_eImd1Bf1RhQ29uG-iuCXJH1/s1600/Don-t-worry-be-happy-keep-smiling-8901048-400-400.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCkCs7kw68L4hu0dMnHrtCEK4Odt8YZhA_224-mRkIn7PwsWUi4r84apxS9uDBt9CnbW2H88d6LljuoDS0NPpVNJLGXwYEhRDbPB1jRVOvoDEW8_2rlulq_eImd1Bf1RhQ29uG-iuCXJH1/s320/Don-t-worry-be-happy-keep-smiling-8901048-400-400.jpg" /></a>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04911729800477668321noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8726733519592460064.post-71325310202700334472012-05-06T14:45:00.002-04:002012-05-06T14:46:56.345-04:00Fantastic<iframe width="420" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/c2i0VRMjvl0" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04911729800477668321noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8726733519592460064.post-2178194155577833672012-04-09T19:42:00.000-04:002012-04-09T19:42:02.994-04:00Easter happened!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaphpvH6ivObqeIA314W_qbv61-0xQWvDWLGHlDzheVHzY5rHtaLdL3A1nyjRT5_WQcCjXdJmaEdYb7tmcogSIWKrg6mvoP9bTWUXZVwQA7KnFyYmwVnULBKvRG5Fu3bQN3J8dObECDHg9/s1600/IMG_0846.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaphpvH6ivObqeIA314W_qbv61-0xQWvDWLGHlDzheVHzY5rHtaLdL3A1nyjRT5_WQcCjXdJmaEdYb7tmcogSIWKrg6mvoP9bTWUXZVwQA7KnFyYmwVnULBKvRG5Fu3bQN3J8dObECDHg9/s320/IMG_0846.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><span id="goog_654844940"></span><span id="goog_654844941"></span>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04911729800477668321noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8726733519592460064.post-18593461264528847662012-03-29T19:27:00.000-04:002012-03-29T19:27:37.966-04:00$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxj6h_VI5sjNBrX7ee3d9d-dRPs8umlkUKoIn6v14wpWCCtLHRA1mXvN6soVDuhSNaTbnME_DJOTyOo6IyVqA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><span id="goog_1951973984"></span><span id="goog_1951973985"></span>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04911729800477668321noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8726733519592460064.post-35879953216012345362012-03-09T11:00:00.003-05:002012-03-09T11:00:04.668-05:00Nico watching the cat throw up<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwkKY2OdVKd4newycLPWdSaZwyDdfpR7m8lzztCExPAyswHKKAIrvUReNRx1QhG0blmq8lCEYGOgCL_kgBEYQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04911729800477668321noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8726733519592460064.post-61865258517351428822012-03-08T13:21:00.000-05:002012-03-08T13:21:25.331-05:00Places everyone!My Pandora jam these days is The Sound of Music station. Showtunes! Oh man, it is so good. I find that lip-synching to musicals is a great stress reliever. I've been doing it for years. You should try it sometime. When I'm cooking or doing the dishes I'll go beyond just mouthing the words and belt out my favorites, dancing wildly like wild person who has spent their day eating candies and drinking pepsi and snorting lines of cocaine off of the sheet music for "Feed the Birds" from Mary Poppins. I enjoy it and so does little Nico Mae, who requires constant and diverse entertainment. She stares fascinated and delighted, which is a dream come true for me. My constant singing and dancing has always been unanimously annoying to all of those close to me. Get over it friends and family! I have a lust for life! I also have a mental illness that is under control however a harmless byproduct of that illness is abundant energy and I don't really mind and at least I'm not talking to myself and cutting my own hair anymore and calling you crying and you are probably jealous anyway!<br />
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I pretend that I am indifferent to the Disney songs that play, and I act downright disgusted with The Phantom of the Opera. Truth is, I am secretly giddy with delight every single time. My most favorite of all is the one from The Sound of Music where Rolfe sings and dances with Liesl in a gazebo. I always feel like playing the part of Rolfe more than Liesl. Maybe it's because I can relate more to a know-it-all than to a sexually naive teenaged girl that sneaks out of the house and gets herself unknowingly involved with young Nazi. I dunno. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><object width="320" height="266" class="BLOGGER-youtube-video" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0" data-thumbnail-src="http://1.gvt0.com/vi/F6U_QGjAwGU/0.jpg"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/F6U_QGjAwGU&fs=1&source=uds" /><param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF" /><embed width="320" height="266" src="http://www.youtube.com/v/F6U_QGjAwGU&fs=1&source=uds" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"></embed></object></div>The only song I am NOT cool with is this song from Disney's Mulan. Even though I love makeover scenes, especially ones that transform dowdy tomboys into fancy Chinese escorts, this tune played over and over in the theater where I worked at Disneyland for three (long! fun! tedious!) years. When I hear it now, I feel tired and mad that the costume department does not offer the required denim shirt in a smaller size. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/TkmsyhSEaWc?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>Nico really likes music, but I hope I am not exposing her too much to these songs. Nothing good comes of a person who only listens to showtunes. I've met these people. They have alienated themselves into a world where they are a scrappy, smudged-faced dreamer. "You've got it all wrong!" they say. "You know, we're not so different, you and me. Sure, I'm an adult who recently sold her car so she could buy a playbill autographed by the original cast of Rent! Ok, so I have been married twice, both times to gay men that I didn't realize were gay. One looked like Jean Valjean from the 1987 U.S. tour (I have daddy issues) and the other looked EXACTLY like Prince Eric from The Little Mermaid! SO SUE ME!!!!"<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiENCw4Sc83AqMVVLP1jlqnuD5O-ZnNfJY402MqZnoPBXdWF3s5yENaqyTVcGjr7VDWOXS8s7x6MEhIaSXwLVsAqBNuBPPx1EZzu6o8Dno8Etf9laH-Z_059A3vGFnXIV-4GiZ-odG1H0gG/s1600/short.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiENCw4Sc83AqMVVLP1jlqnuD5O-ZnNfJY402MqZnoPBXdWF3s5yENaqyTVcGjr7VDWOXS8s7x6MEhIaSXwLVsAqBNuBPPx1EZzu6o8Dno8Etf9laH-Z_059A3vGFnXIV-4GiZ-odG1H0gG/s320/short.jpg" width="181" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oonnnn myyyy oooowwwnnn</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>I must save Nico from this fate! Tonight we listen to the Fugazi station. I'm sure she'll love that!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/c/c0/Mackaye.jpg/220px-Mackaye.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/c/c0/Mackaye.jpg/220px-Mackaye.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sweet dreams!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04911729800477668321noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8726733519592460064.post-19493188888365659042012-02-22T21:12:00.000-05:002012-02-22T21:12:10.581-05:00Trying harder to blog in the name of remembering precious moments<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwMQrxcRF8nuJJJphdLDalWWr--XFA8nZl-N3e4qLDJ5l1H4Wc5bJkeiKLRDXJ6O5mZbJ8qjAL13qYY-rK52g' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>Like this one! This was yesterday afternoon in the tricky hour before Micah gets home.Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04911729800477668321noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8726733519592460064.post-74878115506819544822012-01-16T21:03:00.000-05:002012-01-16T21:03:25.695-05:00Memory ThymeI just remembered that when Micah moved to California he went to the Richard Nixon library thinking it was a regular library. He went inside looking for the books and everything. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM9dEs_pqfzzeohWnSxRfMz-PZ_4SylwPCKGSVYP1Ys50lmjcR-rk_mpzdTNeVMKefOeezd0Ogz07MPovspTy0cY0_fMpbho1nJQVGfr5Inspw1FW3ROFYieUJQvMMxRfdPOOBcLvkPTU7/s1600/Richard-Nixon-003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="192" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM9dEs_pqfzzeohWnSxRfMz-PZ_4SylwPCKGSVYP1Ys50lmjcR-rk_mpzdTNeVMKefOeezd0Ogz07MPovspTy0cY0_fMpbho1nJQVGfr5Inspw1FW3ROFYieUJQvMMxRfdPOOBcLvkPTU7/s320/Richard-Nixon-003.jpg" /></a></div>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04911729800477668321noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8726733519592460064.post-61448399153847363272011-11-29T20:53:00.000-05:002011-11-29T20:53:04.630-05:00Micah and I were just reminiscing about the moments after Nico was born. He said it looked like someone hit me in the crotch with a sword. hahahaha!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnzGAzWwGfrU7SvwKFmUpT6kZgZat0Aj4cjJWrrSMHCC0hbNUHMKZwXE2yxf38WT14osPsKz_oeSEHtKteOFGsMofNMMZ8TZIfp3DVbspfqMO1cVxRg2rv_27p6ux1NKsFlcyIT2k-UzU2/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="229" width="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnzGAzWwGfrU7SvwKFmUpT6kZgZat0Aj4cjJWrrSMHCC0hbNUHMKZwXE2yxf38WT14osPsKz_oeSEHtKteOFGsMofNMMZ8TZIfp3DVbspfqMO1cVxRg2rv_27p6ux1NKsFlcyIT2k-UzU2/s320/images.jpg" /></a></div>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04911729800477668321noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8726733519592460064.post-82054348036201868052011-11-17T20:42:00.000-05:002011-11-17T20:42:49.658-05:00On the up and friggin upI will write on this more now. I used to be the first to roll my eyes when ladies with sunglasses used as headbands (sorry sister Jenny, you really do pull it off!) would say they hardly have time to take a shower. Now I work hard to judge no woman. Taking a shower is a delicate endeavor. <br />
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The first few weeks of parenthood were precious and hard and fun and funny and hard. There was no sleep, very little time out of the apartment and lots of learning. I am grateful that I am feeling more like myself again and have (I think) left that foggy place. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMY3D4SVOmw-GHvKyafLoTqvUojj1zARI6y-ATsG1yZPCsxZrwC4zTO8TjYS5An4OaHtjobaHyan3tMUyT5NTIhXQjLPOcFmpYHTK8M8OWvp2-hikHbYCbtQuf3L4gLFRXCT4kxlYJ3f8w/s1600/175px-Foghorn_Leghorn.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="240" width="175" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMY3D4SVOmw-GHvKyafLoTqvUojj1zARI6y-ATsG1yZPCsxZrwC4zTO8TjYS5An4OaHtjobaHyan3tMUyT5NTIhXQjLPOcFmpYHTK8M8OWvp2-hikHbYCbtQuf3L4gLFRXCT4kxlYJ3f8w/s320/175px-Foghorn_Leghorn.png" /></a></div><br />
I had a really incredible birth experience, and I think that the feeling of accomplishment was super helpful when the shit got real in those very early days. I wanted little to no intervention and wanted to enjoy the process. All of that happened, which was awesome. I am trying to write the whole thing out. I think it will be too long of a read. It took a really long time to get that kid out. <br />
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That's all. Enjoy your normal sleep life and showers. And enjoy the out-of-this-world adorableness of my child:<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiuovOwaHoU8yUPgRsHtAioVoXKBhmYwUSugwgHF1qTCCuMN-AL7VlgCXahX7KG7cROk12WdMDxcm_XGLzXDnlqHTcEOMnyIWW4N-Ba-U7e4gSe4xmXFfgm9qUWLUbjns0hyFNtWTmW2TN/s1600/IMG_0009.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiuovOwaHoU8yUPgRsHtAioVoXKBhmYwUSugwgHF1qTCCuMN-AL7VlgCXahX7KG7cROk12WdMDxcm_XGLzXDnlqHTcEOMnyIWW4N-Ba-U7e4gSe4xmXFfgm9qUWLUbjns0hyFNtWTmW2TN/s320/IMG_0009.jpg" /></a></div><br />
Bye!Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04911729800477668321noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8726733519592460064.post-84818888050382313752011-10-29T23:21:00.000-04:002011-10-29T23:21:43.247-04:00I never realized how much Nancy Sinatra sucksShe looks like someone's tipsy mom dancing at a wedding.<iframe width="420" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/yRkovnss7sg" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04911729800477668321noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8726733519592460064.post-74447519471613747002011-10-16T16:13:00.000-04:002011-10-16T16:13:05.805-04:00Big Questions<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioypVGbotzNYnPRxbw9UsJitL5f4LAlOWujNSmWrqqZ58QRLkp9Ewe8P9y8Punn96wJyUFsy_f8SMu06M-v3uIWcpu97bYMeIe6SLRhxy-zw4m3GpQw_CeRaYsm9h1O6GkpPM4aLAqYrfK/s1600/Does-God-Have-A-Flan-For-Me-full.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="299" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioypVGbotzNYnPRxbw9UsJitL5f4LAlOWujNSmWrqqZ58QRLkp9Ewe8P9y8Punn96wJyUFsy_f8SMu06M-v3uIWcpu97bYMeIe6SLRhxy-zw4m3GpQw_CeRaYsm9h1O6GkpPM4aLAqYrfK/s400/Does-God-Have-A-Flan-For-Me-full.jpg" /></a></div>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04911729800477668321noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8726733519592460064.post-40885251321626578642011-10-13T01:33:00.000-04:002011-10-13T12:35:58.841-04:00My baby won't go to sleepDid you know..."Indian Style" refers to people from India and not Native Americans? Maybe you already knew that. Did you know that I dropped out of college?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPoQEgpS_o8Fgg0hrhyphenhyphenLK-B0Mfvpk9ezJzeZaHNKMd3NiH2ZiDNG0iOAvZDPzXooiRv3EYHhYo5kGqMkb-IeEK7l-6y7z0SIq0jz5ji0iaeb7jkEHmU4MRYO1JttzMxrFkGNv_RAcN1M2g/s1600/beatles-india-727343.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="245" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPoQEgpS_o8Fgg0hrhyphenhyphenLK-B0Mfvpk9ezJzeZaHNKMd3NiH2ZiDNG0iOAvZDPzXooiRv3EYHhYo5kGqMkb-IeEK7l-6y7z0SIq0jz5ji0iaeb7jkEHmU4MRYO1JttzMxrFkGNv_RAcN1M2g/s400/beatles-india-727343.jpg" /></a></div>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04911729800477668321noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8726733519592460064.post-77661494797984214942011-10-05T10:53:00.000-04:002011-10-05T15:03:57.899-04:00Reasonable things to cry about in the days following giving birthAs a child, I was very, very sentimental and very much a big cry-baby. This is a great way to spend your childhood, especially if the mother assigned to you is maybe a touch insensitive, and thinks the unreasonable tears of a small child are HILARIOUS. I cried when Christmas was over, when mylar balloons deflated and when cut flowers died. Then I grew up and got jaded and medicated and decided to only cry watching Pixar movies. Then, two-and-a-half weeks ago I had baby, and poof-a-rino! I'm five years old and bawling like g.d. idiot in the car after seeing E.T. <br />
<br />
In my defense, my labor and delivery experience was very, very long and very, very dramatic and totally awesome and has colored all this "new mom" business and makes me sob anytime I remember any small detail about those two days. Also, my baby is the most beautiful and the most sweet and precious and patient person ever. She's worth crying like a dummy over. <br />
<br />
Here are some other reasonable things I've cried over:<br />
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1. When we were leaving the hospital, we were double checking that we had all our stuff. My water bottle was on the side table and Micah said "Uh oh! Don't forget your water bottle!" I told him that I thought I would leave it there as a symbolic gesture. I explained, voice quivering, that I'd had that water bottle, purchased at a CVS in the Port Richmond neighborhood of Philadelphia for $2.99, throughout my pregnancy. Now that my pregnancy has ended, I explained, I shall leave behind that water bottle--the water bottle that hydrated me and my then unborn child during the long and hot summer months. I would abandon that Rubbermaid brand water bottle in the building where my pregnancy came to a happy end. Adieu, water bottle with the blue cap! I will never forget your kindness! Your generosity! The way you never leaked in my purse! Micah laughed at me and grabbed the water bottle. I'm glad I still have it. <br />
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2. I was emptying the bathroom trash several days after being home from the hospital and starting crying at its contents. You see, the layers of trash were a timeline of the week that changed my life: The bottom layer of the garbage's contents were from a time before I knew that my beautiful daughter would have my dark hair, her father's face, the most lovely long fingers! There was the empty package of soap I unwrapped before I knew I would give birth in less than a week's time! The mascara that I discarded when I realized that I may have bought it when I still lived in Los Angeles! Then, the disposable underwear they give you at the hospital; the empty can of Dermoplast; used ice packs--there it all was. Nothing but a few snotty tissues serving as border between my life as an uncomfortable pregnant woman, and the mother of the most extraordinary human beeeeeeeeeeeiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnngggggggg! Oh! If only my bathroom trash could speak! What would it say (besides, um, you should empty your trash more often)?<br />
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3. I could barely listen to any music when we first got home. Just like your first break-up with a boy, any song can be completely applicable to your life at that moment. I liked to listen to this song and cry, cry, cry while holding my tiny baby:<br />
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<iframe width="420" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/cuZo7pLnL7c" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe><br />
<br />
So, I guess I am no longer as dead inside as I thought. Amazing people that inexplicably fall out of your body and stare like they know you will do that to a gal, I guess.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9N-62z6siVVsmAvebYxld_cG5PYjIHoNzyxmMA28SGksGuGVysJEKAJ8fynW6lILP-liV8nW2ynwONy-ZOQdK14pH6IcPR9nKSHUpxwutOqlrYProIwRWrtLnYiDsN2r-3J__2XhWMmCu/s1600/IMG_2780.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="180" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9N-62z6siVVsmAvebYxld_cG5PYjIHoNzyxmMA28SGksGuGVysJEKAJ8fynW6lILP-liV8nW2ynwONy-ZOQdK14pH6IcPR9nKSHUpxwutOqlrYProIwRWrtLnYiDsN2r-3J__2XhWMmCu/s320/IMG_2780.JPG" /></a></div>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04911729800477668321noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8726733519592460064.post-77201829798682916572011-09-25T16:21:00.000-04:002011-09-25T16:21:11.491-04:00She's heeeeerrrrrrrrrrrrreeeee!Nico Mae Patricia McGraw<br />
born 9/17/11 at 3:43p.m.<br />
8 lbs. <br />
20 inches<br />
<br />
Named for Great Aunt Dathel Mae, Aunt Nora Mae and Aunt Patty. Nico is very lucky to carry a bit of these women with her. I feel lucky to have carried Nico and am so glad she's here. We are really blessed. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQUJsuFxsIzbl9AUP78k8WSs4lbSRZLvwSoNkg3v_jAOuz1zq8R34bnA3F9XuxMXAG4zJ22FO8dMKX59thdGxPqUxgRErAQjkPbTGpwbW60ifyBLx9Xg4z7Dt_F8iyEIcqoBv-CYPty-br/s1600/IMG_0686.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQUJsuFxsIzbl9AUP78k8WSs4lbSRZLvwSoNkg3v_jAOuz1zq8R34bnA3F9XuxMXAG4zJ22FO8dMKX59thdGxPqUxgRErAQjkPbTGpwbW60ifyBLx9Xg4z7Dt_F8iyEIcqoBv-CYPty-br/s320/IMG_0686.jpg" /></a></div>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04911729800477668321noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8726733519592460064.post-6159642314801480042011-09-15T22:59:00.000-04:002011-09-15T22:59:22.537-04:00Everyone in this apartment needs to RELAXXXXXXX!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL_cx_oqRpo81nDulbVOOp4zm67VwFAovLANvESidtnzkp9koc91jm3pbvwA_CQVpL3VfdaoD00xDFTKQcw1oWse9nVHiT8XMlbfYlTrs9GJcERD4m8ES4buGfNmJueIgn7Xjh0S4lu29a/s1600/WebsiteKippyinhammockE2_rect540.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="206" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL_cx_oqRpo81nDulbVOOp4zm67VwFAovLANvESidtnzkp9koc91jm3pbvwA_CQVpL3VfdaoD00xDFTKQcw1oWse9nVHiT8XMlbfYlTrs9GJcERD4m8ES4buGfNmJueIgn7Xjh0S4lu29a/s320/WebsiteKippyinhammockE2_rect540.jpg" /></a></div>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04911729800477668321noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8726733519592460064.post-40098048248299990972011-09-12T14:11:00.000-04:002011-09-12T14:11:23.140-04:00Last night, my friend Mike B. described The Dave Matthews Band as "A saxophone full of mayonnaise." I woke up in the middle of the night laughing about this. Then I couldn't go back to sleep. Thanks a lot Mike!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT2hvKHSqZ5Mv8x3fs0_KC0VEf7b33Jqba7RB4u33fh7dkQQJFKtGN14BNM_SqrDAuvDz-2XMDKlb-IEh6WDL6a5N2lqi6WqL-V7VFgQvBExVz1o_km7yTYTQT3R7978ky8gyBYCyoYRuY/s1600/Dave-Matthews.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="261" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT2hvKHSqZ5Mv8x3fs0_KC0VEf7b33Jqba7RB4u33fh7dkQQJFKtGN14BNM_SqrDAuvDz-2XMDKlb-IEh6WDL6a5N2lqi6WqL-V7VFgQvBExVz1o_km7yTYTQT3R7978ky8gyBYCyoYRuY/s320/Dave-Matthews.gif" /></a></div>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04911729800477668321noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8726733519592460064.post-3674883099224398092011-09-12T13:33:00.000-04:002011-09-12T14:01:00.133-04:00Decision ZoneI'm still pregnant, so I've decided that this week I need a plan to keep busy. That's the only decision I have settled. Ideas for this week:<br />
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<b>A) 12:00 Mass:</b><br />
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I could go downtown daily at noon and attend Mass at my church. The only thing is that I have only been once to this service. I was really nervous about when to stand and stuff and kept messing up. When I went before, it was just me and a construction worker. Maybe a bravery test is a good distraction.<br />
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<b>B) Walk to the hardware store and buy spray paint:<br />
</b><br />
Micah made a beautiful cradle for the baby. He painted the base gray, per my suggestion, but I don't like it and think it should be white. I could go buy the white spray paint. <br />
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<b>C) Make up my mind about my Wednesday evening plans:<br />
</b><br />
I go to prenatal yoga on Wednesday nights and I really love it. I feel great after--it's the best thing for my brain and mid-week body. Here's the rub: <a href="http://ministryofsecretjokes.com/">Ministry of Secret Jokes</a>, a great monthly comedy show is Wednesday and <a href="http://www.philebrity.com/2011/04/06/from-the-desk-of-juliet-hope-wayne-just-cos-its-in-my-head-its-not-real/">Juliet Hope Wayne</a> is performing. I first heard her on The Moth podcast and love, love, love her storytelling. So, should I do yoga? Or should I laugh hard and see friends? Go to my (probably? hopefully?) last prenatal yoga class? Or my last comedy show for a while? It's bothering me. <br />
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These are the decisions I am facing. Tough stuff.Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04911729800477668321noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8726733519592460064.post-7112158242503261352011-09-07T13:25:00.000-04:002011-09-07T13:25:42.373-04:00Food JournalSince I'm about to give birth, I thought it would be a great idea to keep a food journal to keep me accountable in maintaining a healthy diet in order to prepare for the big task ahead of me! I'll start with my dinner last night:<br />
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I started things off with rice and these tuna things from TJ's:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-pJUoDLws4yb0c4Ac_NtCTLzOzCsYhqQccKlAWHxjvDpvlPok8kqRu6DmER442d_uUzlYfY8NO37mxJPuAjydWP0EY9NpgrZB47fr_0Hn2KjQfJnZLMMSTb6EK_fgvBCfjJ-pMW_jUrnF/s1600/tuna.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="238" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-pJUoDLws4yb0c4Ac_NtCTLzOzCsYhqQccKlAWHxjvDpvlPok8kqRu6DmER442d_uUzlYfY8NO37mxJPuAjydWP0EY9NpgrZB47fr_0Hn2KjQfJnZLMMSTb6EK_fgvBCfjJ-pMW_jUrnF/s320/tuna.jpg" /></a></div><br />
These are great for a quick meal, especially if your life partner has lost his freaking mind and decided at the last hour to build a cradle for your baby and said he would have it done in a week and is not finished yet. The tuna is fortified with nutrients that make it possible for a mother-to-be to understand that people cope with the unknown in different ways--like putting on old episodes of Love Line while building large pieces of furniture. <br />
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After 2 servings of the tuna, I was still hungry and sent Micah to the Fuh Wah to get me a cheese hoagie:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8EugwLauCm57TZQYu7BoQx0obpB3qnrwkCqwj46_qDSYfHfdUdiTbiVB4La2Z6HKfzMtUmZgHeUjGWQsixlMtuiSrZrnuiCfHBxdFiUo-fCuUs5rAyvx1ligBX6OdOHSYuJQ1g1x0bHec/s1600/IMG_0022.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="239" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8EugwLauCm57TZQYu7BoQx0obpB3qnrwkCqwj46_qDSYfHfdUdiTbiVB4La2Z6HKfzMtUmZgHeUjGWQsixlMtuiSrZrnuiCfHBxdFiUo-fCuUs5rAyvx1ligBX6OdOHSYuJQ1g1x0bHec/s320/IMG_0022.JPG" /></a></div><br />
I thought "I will eat half of this and save the other half for lunch." 5-7 minutes later, I looked down and the hoagie was gone! HAHAHA! Just call me Heathcliff Huxtable!!!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxcikEI1MHG7fUFXqrWs8HjfWGhGO-Kc3TVjWoiunL5hrA6bhPG44mLpcgLfVnhW5LngOcqVXmcPPsXxwrFgK4ywurzh4mMrfnz54vydib7yEzA3EX7aMDFwK4GMF-wipS-T7Ud84arDTC/s1600/seven_cosby_00.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="200" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxcikEI1MHG7fUFXqrWs8HjfWGhGO-Kc3TVjWoiunL5hrA6bhPG44mLpcgLfVnhW5LngOcqVXmcPPsXxwrFgK4ywurzh4mMrfnz54vydib7yEzA3EX7aMDFwK4GMF-wipS-T7Ud84arDTC/s320/seven_cosby_00.jpg" /></a></div><br />
Well, after my hoagie, there was still a rumbly in my tumbly, so I capped things off with some candy:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr1JBXAdR1z6hVQXCe1gQMajfWsrD2eXnSE5kLEqd275xSPKMiaXRMh95f4P4lwGkiy9DIPw1MHlKTRFxfHQUyPV5wYeoTYZ0E-vogLU0kNGA2kVxrXZnaA3Y7kFsoFqyieDXMy2dNLesN/s1600/ritter_sport_dark_chocolate_with_whole_hazelnuts.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="258" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr1JBXAdR1z6hVQXCe1gQMajfWsrD2eXnSE5kLEqd275xSPKMiaXRMh95f4P4lwGkiy9DIPw1MHlKTRFxfHQUyPV5wYeoTYZ0E-vogLU0kNGA2kVxrXZnaA3Y7kFsoFqyieDXMy2dNLesN/s320/ritter_sport_dark_chocolate_with_whole_hazelnuts.jpg" /></a></div><br />
Even though I wasn't quite full, I decided not to ask Micah to go out again to get some popcorn. It was raining pretty hard. I think I'm on the right track with my pre-labor diet! These particular courses, in this order, work like a charm in getting nice and lethargic for when Micah asks you questions like "Shouldn't we pack you a bag for the hospital?" Once your belly is full of spicy tuna; bread; chocolate; and a baby that probably weighs about 25 pounds, you can reply with ease: "Uhhh, I've got a lot going on in my head right now and your frantic energy is bumming me out." Getting ready to give birth is kind of like training for a marathon, nay, a TRIATHLON! Good thing I've got a palate for athlete food!!!!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGOKYXwALvNzWFj6Hx91o1JhFrZ468JtzXT9a3qKxazsUBwC7LWyw4NwVlao7TCq6KiEg9X3SUi-j6aWrqCTAsRQC8Z-_t2hYAwDkGRVfYR7OFdikl0WDdj756koaBa1PaJGX-GZdWz86Q/s1600/bruce-jenner-surgery.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGOKYXwALvNzWFj6Hx91o1JhFrZ468JtzXT9a3qKxazsUBwC7LWyw4NwVlao7TCq6KiEg9X3SUi-j6aWrqCTAsRQC8Z-_t2hYAwDkGRVfYR7OFdikl0WDdj756koaBa1PaJGX-GZdWz86Q/s320/bruce-jenner-surgery.jpg" /></a></div>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04911729800477668321noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8726733519592460064.post-39229353011178999512011-09-05T20:07:00.000-04:002011-09-05T20:07:45.942-04:00More toilet humor at my sister's expenseI asked my sister how she was feeling today and she said, "I thought my water broke, but I think I just peed my pants a little bit."<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnc5YjecP1CQlxeldkb6nbD3bsJobD8xBreimC3pYARNNwAMFuB4gXhhbpmpcZ71SaKHxVo2oZ3RNrUuBGMfFagC24l8p5Wmy_4oKptzSYZxB7SS1mFgFWdsTerZ9P4yX5LCNMgFGgtbfF/s1600/fergiepants.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnc5YjecP1CQlxeldkb6nbD3bsJobD8xBreimC3pYARNNwAMFuB4gXhhbpmpcZ71SaKHxVo2oZ3RNrUuBGMfFagC24l8p5Wmy_4oKptzSYZxB7SS1mFgFWdsTerZ9P4yX5LCNMgFGgtbfF/s320/fergiepants.jpg" /></a></div><br />
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Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04911729800477668321noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8726733519592460064.post-63608766400511453092011-08-31T21:57:00.000-04:002011-08-31T21:57:26.814-04:00Update on my sister's attempt to induce labor by giving herself diarrhea:<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEircpEVou96uVJMhsOcju3O0BJ7kFTmI2pQBN1rXuMAlY76cnDqCIlN8d3SaucvzGEWOpE4Fv1TEmASDDVaooyDtHANewKElERfo8WrjNfGkhwMO6D89JY8VH_AK7UnP892Ju9UvdqwEaQy/s1600/diarrhea-stomach-cramps.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEircpEVou96uVJMhsOcju3O0BJ7kFTmI2pQBN1rXuMAlY76cnDqCIlN8d3SaucvzGEWOpE4Fv1TEmASDDVaooyDtHANewKElERfo8WrjNfGkhwMO6D89JY8VH_AK7UnP892Ju9UvdqwEaQy/s320/diarrhea-stomach-cramps.jpg" /></a></div><br />
I need to first point out that she asked me to not blog about her. I told her that I was going to anyway, so don't worry, it's all on the level. <br />
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Anyway, my sister wants to have her baby immediately and decided that she would try giving herself diarrhea. Her logic is that her irritated GI tract would communicate with her uterus and labor would begin. Here's how I imagine that conversation would play out:<br />
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GI TRACT: Hey! Hey you!<br />
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UTERUS: I'm busy, go away.<br />
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GI TRACT: I've got something to say!<br />
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UTERUS: Yikes, you smell bad.<br />
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GI TRACT: Oh, yeah? Yeah? What are you gonna do about it? <br />
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UTERUS: Um, nothing really. I just have a lot going on right now and am a little indifferent towards you. You should get that checked out though. <br />
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GI TRACT: Thanks for nothing!!!<br />
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SCENE<br />
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So, basically, my sister put cream in her coffee and had to get up with hot shits in the middle of the night. I think we can all agree on one thing: MY SISTER IS AN IDIOT!!!!!!!!! <br />
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Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04911729800477668321noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8726733519592460064.post-58450739340203697132011-08-29T23:11:00.000-04:002011-08-29T23:12:52.983-04:00Allllmosssttt duunnnnnI am finally feeling done with this business. Smug Emily is a goner. I can't breeeeeatheeee! My sister says she's going to eat nothing but dairy from now on to induce diarrhea, and, in turn, labor. She literally wants to poop her baby out. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimJhKtScjJo0gToSME7Tynflv44741uGW_4-364FBXqlnCIxXx59YzEnFfdd4__N-HIlNZLRMaLM_u0qWkcd1Hmt4cGz7l2ik9SGlrUT75OV5D0rhRjpXwOCIt2mXZ4eaOT23q4ZmI0d_m/s1600/Photo+on+2011-08-29+at+21.46.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="240" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimJhKtScjJo0gToSME7Tynflv44741uGW_4-364FBXqlnCIxXx59YzEnFfdd4__N-HIlNZLRMaLM_u0qWkcd1Hmt4cGz7l2ik9SGlrUT75OV5D0rhRjpXwOCIt2mXZ4eaOT23q4ZmI0d_m/s320/Photo+on+2011-08-29+at+21.46.jpg" /></a></div><br />
Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04911729800477668321noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8726733519592460064.post-82546899141459116772011-08-24T11:20:00.000-04:002011-08-24T11:20:03.284-04:00I got a pedicure the other day and the lady asked if I would like her to wax my feet. Waaaaaaaaaah! My people, they are a very hairy people. I can't see my feet very well! I asked Micah to look at my feet that morning and he said they were fine. He must love me more than I assumed he did. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTKdp6t3HZbYIkezPhC_-sMJUNPU7hV2V4YVYOBVB5HExS1a2hlg7Vks27BX2qYXxfFvuI08h7M05UaAaTOZgRiKtHBVL10V3XCZKbWF7ec_DEE45pqWQ5_fh-asEXnYGlfJApbROpYVUZ/s1600/Yeti.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTKdp6t3HZbYIkezPhC_-sMJUNPU7hV2V4YVYOBVB5HExS1a2hlg7Vks27BX2qYXxfFvuI08h7M05UaAaTOZgRiKtHBVL10V3XCZKbWF7ec_DEE45pqWQ5_fh-asEXnYGlfJApbROpYVUZ/s320/Yeti.jpg" /></a></div><br />
Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04911729800477668321noreply@blogger.com0