This posts bleeds seriousness. I’m not playing. In fact, I had to muster up all my guts and blood to even type these words. I’m going to start by saying that yesterday was a very traumatic day. Before I go on, yes the baby is fine. This is UN baby related. But please take this as a lesson to us all, that when you bitch about things like “being pregnant at a wedding” and say things like “worse than a yeast infection” the universe says, Really? I’ll show you shitty so you appreciate your worthless little life. And now I have to actually type out the words.
bed bugs. sickvomitcringediepukegagsickcisickjas;bleeeegeghhhhhh breathe breathe breathe. OK.
BED BUGS AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!
To start, you NEED to know that I’m not just the average girl about bugs who screams and gets over it. I NEVER GET OVER IT. I have severe ocd anxiety that is no joke about any and all bugs. I think they are starting an army of evolved intelligent bugs and will smother me in millions of their friends and family so they can eat for 4 years. Once I saw a cockroach in our city apartment and I didn’t leave the kitchen stool for 5 hours. My feet didn’t even touch the ground. And I cried. OH THE CRYING.
So about a week ago I was like, weird, 2 matching itchy bites on my ankle. B was like, shut up about it don’t be dumb it’s summer and regular bugs like summer. But I was smart about it and washed the sheets. B thinks washing sheets is for hospitals and squares. This morning though, I get to work and see a new flat, red itchy bite on my arm. I do what any human does and google that shit. Turns out I either had Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever or the BB words. I knew then. I just knew.
I called B:
Me: B B B I I I (heavy breathing) think thi thi think we have a prproblem
B: WHAT? IS EVERYTHING OK?
Me: We have bed buuuuuugs! SOB SOB SOB CHOKE CRY SOB And you need to rip the room apart including the mattress and clothes and nightstands and headboard and carpet and lightswitches because I have bites on me and I’m going to pass out and I can’t focus and I can’t eat the food I brought for lunch because I know it has bug eggs in it and I’m shaking and Plankton is scared and I have no where to sleep and I need a hotel and this is the worst thing that could ever happen in my life eveeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.
B: ok.I will fix it.
Now you’re thinking, it’s unlike B to be so agreeable. This is new since I’ve been pregnant and he does get my thing with bugs and knows it’s not a thing you F around with because reasoning doesn’t fly with the crazy. Now B did everything right in his search for bugs, eggs, shit, stink, but we didn’t find anything. But that doesn’t convince me. You’re supposed to like see them with your own eyes when you look. They aren’t tiny like you think. They are sick foul creatures put on the earth to ruin my life. And they are just hiding right now.
I went to the doctor who was no help in identifying my spots. She’s like, I don’t know. GO BACK TO MEDICAL SCHOOL WORTHLESS WOMAN. Then I called an exterminator, he told me because I’m pregnant I’m screwed and apparently bug killers are also baby killers. So I just have to let the bugs EAT ME ALIVE.
This means I’m totally in some horror movie nightmare when your worst fears come true, like a murder clown, there is just no escaping. You’re in a corner and the clown is going to suffocate you with his rubber chicken. It’s completely like that.
So tonight I’m sleeping on the wood floor with no blankets. I refused to go into the bedroom to get any sort of sleeping attire so B had to get it for me and that’s why I’m in a too small Obama t shirt and purple silk boxers from 1999. I can’t wait to see what he picks out for work tomorrow.
Now here’s what I DON’T need from you. Horror stories about bed bugs. Don’t leave that for me in the comments. I will scoop those bugs in a bag and mail them to your house with a note on it that says, “sprinkle me on your pillow for good luck”. You instead need to tell me that I probably don’t have the B word and you’re sure it’s nothing and then give me a cookie and and a hug.
The bug man comes in the morning. By the way, if we DO have them, it’s like 5000 american dollars to fix the problem. And it MAY fix it. They are like bugs on the invincible Mario Bros flower.
So yes Universe, this is way worse than being pregnant at a wedding. YOU F-ING WIN OK?
This is some F-d up shit. The cross eyed kid explains it all
circa 1997
For 29 years of my life, I always thought I was pretty awesome. Well, actually minus years 12-17. Those 5 I wore insanely padded bras, chokers and overplucked my eyebrows and was therefore, un-awesome. But this weekend kind of confirmed for me that I’m kind of lame still. What did make me awesome all of those years, was alcohol. Straight up booz. Yes, even at 5 years old. I’m pretty sure.
I’m not going to bore you with how haaard and annoooying and looong pregnancy is. You get it. But do you know what IS hard? Being at a wedding pregnant. It’s even worse than being on a cruise pregnant. See, I view being a wedding guest as accomplishing a few points:
1) I get to wear a pretty dress and try and out-hot my friends and see other friends and be all, See? I’m hot. It’s definitely not the superior power Spanx and 50 dollar spray tan.
2) I get to get a lot of free booz in all concoctions and colors and glasses.
3) I get to request Britney Spears 50 times to the DJ or band even if it’s a banjo playing square dance band. Yes that happened. Then I get to dance like I’m a paid performer for the Toxic video and not care because of reason #2.
4) Oh, I get to see my friends get married. That’s nice also.
But throw a baby in your bellly and this ALL goes out the window. My hotness no longer comes even close to the size 00 sorority girls who are all in strapless mini dresses in every color of the neiman marcus rainbow/rhoOC rainbow. I am now limited to dresses with a thick strap that can hide the industrial rope that now holds up my sinking boulder breasts and an “appropriate” hemline. People now tell you how “cute” you look. And say things like “wow you look good… for 6 months”. I miss, wow you look good. Period. This is no one’s fault. They are just being nice and nice is nice. But it’s a far cry from Megan Fox. Because I was totally that. I was.
As you may have deduced by now, I was at a wedding this past weekend. And what made it even harder was that it was a GOOD wedding. You know the one with like awesome food and great music, all of your cool friends and TONS of top shelf booz. Booz. Man. At one point I saw it flow straight from the clouds and sparkle in the sunlight down into 100 beautiful sparkle glasses, garnished with pink magic fruit and shaken with hugs. And that booz does so many magical things. LIKE ALLOW YOU TO BE A BACKUP DANCER FOR MS. SPEARS.
So the Britney song was on, the Britney song was on THE BRITNEY SONG WAS ON. And I stood there. Where were my hot moves? What do I do with this protruding belly? Do I shake it? That’s not hot. No one wants that. Do I put my hands on it and move it around? No that’s creepy. I can’t dance. I CAN’T DANCE. So I stand there and I am fired from the dance troupe. And everyone gives me the sad face. And I go back to the cookie table where I’m accepted. But not before this travesty occurs.
It's like watching Tom Cruise try to be tall. Sad and useless.
And there is the realization. I was never that awesome. I was always the girl at the cookie table. The booz was the true awesome. The booz put me in the Toxic video and made me think I was Megan Fox, when in reality I was probably more of a Mandy Moore….I know.
Also feel free to report B to those people who burn witches or something
But this is not a pity party. It’s a pity post. Ok no. What this really is, is a secret message to B to justify the gobs of money I now need to spend on the dress for the ONE more wedding that I have to attend pregnant. And the shoes and the jewelry and the spray tan that I’m GOING to get. And I can say this because he never gets to the end of the post. So it will be our secret, Double Hearts Club. Because in reality, you all know B by now. He’s a nice guy. And he was ok with my lameness. I however am not.
A new dress will make it all better. RIGHT? (agree with me)
Love, MODG
Oh…by the way, Single Guy says hi.
I know. You are ALSO amazed that he is still single.
Nothing says “appropriate” like 4 bottles of vodka and a pregnant woman in leggings. Last time the MODG house brought you a Walmart crib and beer. Today we bring you babies and vodka.
love. sweet love.
One thing you may not know about B and I is that we are known for our infused vodkas. And I don’t say “known” necessarily in a “wow did you have some of the MODG’s awesome infused vodka?” More of, “yeah B and A make that weird vodka every year and usually it’s gross” kind of way. Like last year for Christmas I was all, I’m an expert at infusing vodka so I’m going to make a special Christmas miracle called gingerbread vodka. Let’s just say our friends and family within a 100 mile radius will never consume a ginger product ever again. Ever. Except my co-worker’s 18 year old brother who took a case off my hands. So if you want to get on our Christmas list, let me know. We have some openings.
B: "mine, all mine and not yours". He was totally thinking that. Rude right?
Now I don’t know about you, but when I hear “baby shower” (I’m going overboard on the ” ” today. apologies) I think hard liquor. I mean, I’ve never been to one, but if I did I would hope and expect serious drinks to be available. So since we’re planning our own baby bash, I plan to create the party I would want to be at. And this is only stage one.
But can I TELL you the hard core misery dispair I felt making this Plankton Potion? It’s like locking Britney in a Starbucks and shutting the whole operation down for a week, and then times that by 9 months. Or whatever that is divided by a week. Whatever. Math, sick. But I am doing this all for the good of the people. Like I said, I hope at the future baby showers which I will attend, my upper AND downer needs are adequately taken care of.
so I TRIED to frown for this picture to display ultimate visual sadness. But vodka makes smiles shoot out of my heart. Even if I can only touch it. That is love.
Oh and I have to stop calling it a baby shower. It’s a baby bash. Which is actually a keg party. Which I had to plan on the only Saturday in the fall when Penn State was not playing. Which is also why my wedding was in February. Not bitter.
So, it’s Friday and that means you have to prove your worth and contribute something to this blog. Like I said, I’ve never been to a baby shower OR a baby bash. I HAVE been to many keg parties. But I need to know from those who have been to baby parties, what was awesome? What blows? I’m open to some traditional things as long as no one has to touch me. Also I’m not opening gifts for everyone to see. I would imagine that’s right up there with watching the NFL draft. THAT’S RIGHT, I SAID IT B.
Happy Friday and bring it. You’re good at telling me what to do. The 300 comments telling me what to name my baby, prove it.
Love,
Sober MODG.
;laksjdf;aiowuer[08uq;foiakjsdfl;kj!!!
After my panic post, some oscar worthy crying and some emotional shoe shopping, B realized it was time to take a big step in the world of Plankton parents. We did what any American family does and get on the internet and order a crib. From Walmart. YOU DON’T EVEN HAVE TO SAY IT. I KNOW.
Here’s the thing: I trust internet strangers a stupid amount. Like if you have a cool blog and look pretty and clean and know what you’re talking about, I’ll trust you more than my bank. DON’T TELL B THAT. And Young House Love is one such blog where I get lots of house/design/decorating advice. And by “advice” I mean I copy what they do and take the credit for myself. So the fine couple who run that fine blog got this crib, well a very similar one (that was sold out because I’m not the only one trusting internet strangers). They are super into the earth and environment and being chemical free and riding to work on ponies like I am. Well, like I try to be and maybe was for 10 days when Oprah told me about the trash circle in the ocean and I cried about the sick baby seals. But then I kind of forgot. Whatever. So when these bloggers showed me their research and their reasonings and their budget, I said yes please, sign me up for a Walmart crib. I’m an American Asian after all. Kind of.
And here it is. And here is B building it. And here is B building it with a beer even though I told him that it’s not ok to build your child’s sleeping place while drinking a beer. Then I remembered that I ordered a crib from Walmart and who am I to speak?
The savvy reader will notice the dresser was also a blatant YHL copy as well. I can't help it.
Pray those screws were righty tighty
After a solid 8 minutes of sweat and tears. A crib was built.
This is what Walmart and a beer get you.
Stay tuned for more details about the nursery going forward. I do have a plan. And those curtains are not part of it. I mean come on, I always have SOME sort of plan. And it usually involves glitter. B told me no on the glitter though. So that set me back.
But B did not say no to hearts and MOD PODGE. So I made Planky a craft right quick. Whenever I hear this Green Day song I think of Plankton. I usually cry. He usually kicks. I choke and cry more. It’s a whole thing and I’d love to be the person in the car next to me watching this scene. BUT I’M STILL AN AWESOME PUNK ROCK BITCH AND I COMPLETELY BLAME HORMONES BECAUSE PUNK ROCKERS DON’T CRY THANK YOU.
I made Plankton a craft.
That’s Plankton’s lullabye. (tear)
We’re excited for him to be here. Although B is worried about his other baby.
CHARLIE LOVE
MAN this was a mushy post. I’m going to go vomit up my Activia now.
Have a farty day.
MODG
Have you noticed my Monday trend of disappearing? I bet some of you thought it’s because it took me 72 hours to go through every comment on the baby name post and that’s partially correct. However in real life I AM TOTALLY OVERWHELMED WITH BABY CRAP. LIKE WOAH.
So next week is my 6 month mark. Most people see this and are like, woohoo, 6 months that’s great! And they make a really smiley face about it. Not me. I see this and say, SHIT how can I get all the crap I need, which takes 8-10 weeks to deliver for the nursery? Well? Answer me?
This gem is 1600 dollars. And babies puke on it. Rightfully so.
Baby furniture is bullshit. If you’re at home all poor in the pants saying, “man I want to make money today,” go start a company that makes rocking chairs for non senior citizens and don’t charge a mortgage payment for them. I promise you every preg under the age of 40 will scoop that up. Think like Forever21 for gliders. And what on earth are they actually DOING for 8-10 weeks anyway? I can buy a pair of shoes that costs more than your dumb glider and have them in my hands tomorrow. But try and buy a chair for a baby and the baby people are all, we’re going to realllly drag this out because it’s not like having a baby is TIME SENSITIVE or anything.
Breathe. Breathing. I’m not supposed to get worked up, it’s bad for Plankton.
Here’s what else is on my agenda as of late:
• Breastfeeding class WITH B. I’m hoping if I bring him, his milk will come in too and we can work in shifts.
• Prenatal Yoga on Sundays. Which I haven’t started yet because it’s in this like shack above the place where they spray tan me and I can’t see inside and I’m afraid of the hippies doing weird things to me and not being able to call for help because there are no windows.
• Hypnobirth home classes. Now this is a whole post for another day. But I ordered the teachyourselfathome stuff from Hypnobabies which is comprised of 6 CD’s and a book and you teach yourself how to hypnotize yourself during birth. You picture special places and special things and shoot glitter and unicorns out of your vagina and feel no pain. It’s a whole thing.
• Supplemental childbirth class. This basically is mandatory at the birth center. I don’t have to take the 4 week one because I’m teaching my self hypnoshit. But this class is like, well we KIND of trust you to teach yourself stuff but not really so you have to come to this anyway. Awesome.
• Decorating the GD nursery. I can’t. even.
• The baby shower. Ok most people aren’t involved in their own baby shower. I am. But it’s for good reasons I promise. The economy has been rough to many of my friends and family and I don’t want this burden on anyone else. So B and I are having a co-ed shower at our house that is actually a keg party. I know. But add this to my list of brain hurts.
And then I also have like a regular job still and I try to go to the gym and I try to make dinner for B and I try to clean my house. And I try to tell you all about it.
And I cried about all of this to B on Friday and said I quit. Apparently I can’t do that.
I’m guessing this gets harder when Plankface is actually here. F.
PS no name yet. Still leaning towards Wolverine Thundercat Asianface.
Send me peaceful special places thoughts.
MODG
PS. Here’s how you can help. Want to design my nursery and do it awesomely? I’ll let you. Want to give me your cool baby stuff that you sell to for a million dollars but cheap to me? I’ll take it. Want to give me stuff and in exchange I’ll pimp you out on my blog? Ok, I can be bought. Word.
