Whilst I sit here actively growing a human, I can’t help but think about how weird I can one day make her. I’m terrified that she’ll become some shallow, materialistic thingy that knows how to apply makeup by 6 and ask to “totes talk to friends” by age 4.
In my quest for understanding the balance of making her weird but not…like…weird…I searched out the weirdest beginnings for tiny humans.
And boy does it get fucking weird.
Finland thinks outside the box….or sleeps in the box?
Apparently in Finland it’s cool to shove your infant in a cardboard box to sleep. But where do you get such a lovely sleeping box? From Buy Buy Baby? Nope! Just use the normal ‘ol cardboard square your gifts come in! HOW CONVENIENT!
Think about it, that baby isn’t going anywhere. And if you need to ship him or her off to the grandparents for a weekend visit, it’s like the baby packed itself!
You Drool? I Spit.
Bulgaria is a place that has the baby’s best interest at heart. They figured out a way to protect you from the devil himself. I mean, that’s pretty effing considerate.
When the baby is born it will obviously be fawned over. Told it’s a miracle and precious and such a cutie pie. And that right there is the best way to make the devil soooo jealous. He’s normally pretty chill, right? But those babies, getting all that attention, he can’t stand it. So parents think quick and spit in that babies face! Spit right in it! As if to say, see Devil? This baby is poop! Plain poop! Absolutely nothing to be jealous of.
And it works.
Let Them Eat Cake! Or Wear It!
In Ireland, I would eat babies.
Wait…let me start that again.
In Ireland, I would eat babies! …..Okay, so it doesn’t get better. But hear me out.
The luck of the Irish save their top tier wedding cake for as long as it takes to bake a human. Then, at the christening, they sprinkle cake over the baby’s head. Holy water be damned, cake is where it’s at. And if I attended that christening while on this low carb boring no cake diet, I would freaking eat that baby….or at least lick the cake from its baby fresh head. Cake and new baby smell? I mean…if that flavor doesn’t exist then the Irish should hop on it.
So yeah….shit gets weird. I didn’t even mention China’s potty training methods from two months in, seawood soup diet for the Koreans or Bali’s “Don’t You Dare Touch The Ground” traditions. But you should def check them out.
And i’ll keep you up to date with my methods of weirdness training once I birth this wonderous fetus.
I’m in New York. I share my morning with millions of assholes on a commute to work. I also share it with a handful of preciously plucked whackos who steal your attention with a rape on all five senses on any given day.
So what about a crying baby has you suddenly staring down the heathen woman who gave birth to such a demonic distraction?
Seriously, you people are jerks.
This is not a revelation that came with growing my own possible demon- i’ve always been cautious of shooting a stare towards the sudden sad outburst of a baby. It’s fucking rude. We can ignore someone yelling for help on train tracks but for some reason we must look at a crying baby. And i’m not fooled, you aren’t looking to make sure the baby isn’t caught under stroller wheels: You’re staring because the noise just cut off your favorite part of a Miley Cyrus song or had you miss a triple point row of Candy Crush. Losers.
A mariachi band makes its way down the train car, narrowly missing your feet while his accordion goes to and fro, and you’ve got the headspace to pretend your N train didn’t just make a left turn into Mexico. How is that not applied to someone else’s child being whiny for a second?
I watched this morning as a girl (among others) openly gawked at a whiny 1 year old who cried for maybe 25 seconds. She had this look on her face that seemed to ask, “1 year old, what could you possibly be crying about? And why won’t your mom shake you into submission? Don’t you have the wherewithal to see I’m reading?”
I wanted to slap the girl with my baby bump. Cast your eyes back down to your book, silly girl, and put to use the methods you developed for the hobos, hip hop dancers, group of happy black men singing and annoying chatty Kathy’s.
You don’t have the power to mute a crying baby but you do have the power to mind your own and remember one day you’ll be the mom holding a blood curdling scream in a flesh suit.
There’s really nothing to say about the imminent breaking up of Breaking Bad last night.
I’m not here to sing spoilers, lament on Lambert, or cry in my chemistry withdraw.
I’m here to do the one thing we all need after a night like last night: Let’s eat our damn feelings.
In celebration of the finale, my friends came over and we threw together a feast that would have Flynn (Walt Jr) fling off his crutches and eat with vigor.
I tried my hand at a cupcake recipe that called for yogurt, and holy Hank, does that chemical reaction call for overeating. They were moist, fluffy and flecked with Sky Blue meth. And by meth I mean meth. Just kidding, it’s sprinkles. (I might add that my grocer didn’t have blue sprinkles so I bought rainbow ones and picked the blue out- because I’m obsessive.)
The finished product was Breaking Bad on the outside and crystal blue persuasion on the inside- altogether a cupcake for the true fan. Check out the prediction sheet we filled out prior to the show, Maki’s creation of course.
She also accurately predicted the use of-oh, I said no spoilers. Moving on.
And the feast de resistance, Captain Cooks Extravaganza!
What we have here is Jesse’s onion (Funyun) rings, Flynn’s waffles, Pollos Hermanos fried chicken and Hank’s Brains cole slaw. I mean….are we cleverly amazingly awesome or what? Maki’s first flirt with fried chicken turned out delicious, a new waffle recipe I whipped up came out lovely and Hanks brains were much better in my mouth than on the desert floor (and much less sad).
All in all, I gorged myself to keep the feelings stuffed down and I’m not ashamed. Last night was a hard ricin pill to swallow and even though he could be an evil mofo- I’ll miss Walter White like no other.
“My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!”
When did we start taking objects aptly named for their purpose and turning them into other things for our convenience.
Case and point: Train….Trashcan….Train….Trashcan.
“I’m on a train, but I need a trashcan…By gosh, I’ll turn this train INTO a trashcan!”
IT’S LIKE MAGIC! FOR ASSHOLES!
This isn’t some new trend in human behavior, I get this. But it never decreases my initial shock when I see someone just crumple up some trash and throw it under their seat.
I had to physically restrain my preggo hormones from standing up with my empty tea cup and walking over to this woman and placing my cup in her bag. Because I’ve decided that her purse is now my trashcan, not unlike her decision to make a public area her trashcan.
People. We’re in New York. There is a trashcan the second you get off a train. And if there isn’t, the second you get to street level. And if there isn’t one there, you are more than likely going somewhere that a trashcan lives. And the tiny crumpled wad she decided needed to live on the train could have gone in her purse for the second, possible few minute walk to the place she was headed.
WHO ARE YOU?
I was just wondering….when do we stop turning into assholes and respect the place where we live everyday?
What’s in a phone case?
Apparently everything if you want your personality expressed through another fashionable outlet that’s not a fedora. And fedoras don’t protect your phone- in fact- they’re harmful to phones because I want take a fedora wearing person’s phone and smash it on the ground.
I recently iStepped into the iWorld and got an iPhone. Yay me and conformity!
It was a big deal for me and I can’t say I hate myself for it- the phone is pretty legit (don’t talk to Frankie about this concept though as Steve Jobs has selected my baby’s daddy to fuck with on an electronic basis).
BUT HOW DO I PROTECT SOMETHING SO PRECIOUS AND VALUABLE?
Go into the depths of a cave like Gollum? That’s a little extreme.
I get a case! But who do I get a case from?
My friend Maki! Who is famous on this blog and apparently in the case world as well. I’m about to blow her shit up! (not literally, that would be financially stupid- cases cost money.)
I did sit here for a minute wondering how I take a pic of my case if it’s hugging my phone. I’m sharing brain cells with a fetus so I’m not at my sharpest level. Science.
And then I remembered the internet.
I’m trying to add color into my life and I trusted the chevron stripes. Also, how many people can whip out their iPhone and be all, my friend made this case. (she can also make donuts and other things, keeper much?)
THIS IS MY FUTURE CASE!
She created a Katniss (unbeknownst to her) themed case right after i snagged the colorful chevron one and I definitely volunteer as tribute for this sucker.
Here are some more neat ones! All from the brain of Maki! iPhone and Galaxy options for the droid lovers.
To check out her full repertoire, go here! And may the phone case odds be ever in your favor. (I can’t help the Hunger Games shit, don’t judge.)
News surpassing the release of a certain album by a certain 4 men on September 24…news surpassing the impending release of my child into the world.
NSYNC IS GETTING THEIR DIRTY POP BACK ON THIS SUNDAY!
I’ve already watched three past vma performances and scrounged up albums on spotify since my hardcopies are sitting pretty in Texas. This is real, ya’ll.
And if it turns out the true rumor is just another rumor- You will find the sudden release of cleverly conceived pregnancy hormones released like the spawns of satan as I sob on my couch stuffing donuts AND cupcakes in my face.
In case that doesn’t reveal to you how intensely I love this band, here is a list of items in my life that I used to get that much closer to five boy band members:
1. Every damn album. But what’s that really? Nothing. Just wait.
2. Concert t-shirts…the best being a red “No String Attached” one that my mom ended up packing away before I wore holes in it…from excess wearage, get your mind out of the gutter.
3. A rare, UK only released album from their pre-pubescent beginnings which included a wonderful acapella version of “More Than A Feeling”.
4. A woven blanket depicting the No Strings Attached album cover.
5. THE Madison Square Garden concert DVD that I watched incessantly- I even managed to convince a few special ladies to learn dance moves with me and audition for our middle school choir show. Real, ya’ll.
6. The fact that I STILL STILL know every “ooooh” “yeaaah” “yuh” and all other background onomatopoeia that Justin and JC belted out in EVERY SONG ALIVE.
To say I’m excited for this reunion after how many damn years of nothing would be quite the understatement. I mean, look at that fucking list. I should be mortified, but obviously it just strengthens how I awesome I am.
My future child is going to think I am so cool. Yes.