Wednesday, May 20, 2015

What I Learned by Stalking Rich People

So every day I walk by a bunch of galleries and high-end furniture stores on my way to work in NYC. I glance into the windows and wonder who actually shops there, since everything as far as the eye can see costs more than my month’s salary, I’m pretty sure. But it’s all so perfectly decorated and laid out that I gaze longingly, though I’m clearly not their target audience. I’m pretty sure these places are catering to a class of people who wouldn’t want to hang with me unless they were doing a charity outreach program to people who shop at Target and consider Pottery Barn “a little rich for my blood.”

But as I longingly peer into the lives of people much richer than I will ever dream of being, I also think to myself: Super Rich people are weird.

Because, as you’re about to see on the visual virtual tour of my walk to work every day, super rich people like some wacky stuff, you guys. I mean, this isn't a scientific study, I suppose, but I'm pretty sure the seven pictures I'm about to show you sum up ALL SUPER RICH PEOPLE. Because that's how science and opinions work.  

Let’s proceed: 

1. This terrifies me every day. It's the ad for an art exhibit about a block from my office and it makes me happy that my unborn baby can't see through my skin. 

The exhibit is called "Enchanted Space." However, this photo always gives me "Horrific Nightmares." 

What is happening here? I don't get art and I kind of don't care? I really, really, really hate art exhibits. Like, to the point that I think maybe there's something wrong with me. Because the last thing I ever in my life will ever want to do is go look at art - pretty much any kind. I mean, if you're my friend and you've done something artsy and I'm coming to support you? Cool. But I'm banking on free champagne and hor duerves to get me through the event, and we should both know that going in. 

Even "good" art, which I deem as anything not "modern" and/or made during the Baroque period. I'm pretty sure the last time I went to an art exhibit and spent any sort of real time there is when I was visiting a hot guy I was in love with who lived in Vienna and he thought it'd be "fun" to take me to a super-boring Viennese art exhibit. I woud've preferred just going to have coffee and looking at his face, but instead, we looked at a bunch of paintings of people who looked depressed sitting perfectly still and sometimes eating fruit.

I mean, I just don't get it, and I don't really care if I ever do. And stuff like this just confuses me instead of enchants me. I'm so uncouth! (also, I realize that you don't have to be rich to appreciate art. However, this art exhibit looks so fancy that I'm pretty sure you have to dress up to go inside. Sort of like those stores in Beverly Hills from "Pretty Woman" where she wasn't dressed well enough and so they wouldn't even serve her. I'm guessing it's the non-prostitute version of that.) 

2. This is the first of many random animals that rich people supposedly like to decorate their homes with. This, I think? is a cheetah. Or a house cat on steroids. Or some exotic rich cat found in the wild on safaris that I've never been on. 

It also looks like it's thinking of eating me and so I'm struggling to reason why you'd want this in your living room. 

Do super rich people like to be scared in their homes and/or while enjoying leisure time? Because between the art exhibit and this, I'm deducing that the answer is yes. 

I should have a PhD in sociology, you guys. 

3. It took me a minute to figure out what this was, but it's, duh, giant grapes on a table. 

Super Rich people love giant things! 

But seriously. Where do you put this? Is this, like, instead of flowers as your centerpiece? I'm guessing it goes on a table since the display has it on a table, but it just a grape display table? Because you can't really functionally use that table to, like, work from home or eat a snack. Right? 

And when you visit someone with giant fruit on their table, are you obliged to acknowledge it? Like "Hey, where did you get your giant gold grapes? I've wanted something to complement my enormous bowl of peaches for a while and just haven't quite been able to find the right accent piece." Oh, also, rich people say "accent piece," not sure if you knew that. 

4. Now, to be fair, I'm guessing a super rich person with taste wouldn't have ALL of these things in their home at the same time. Maybe, like, the giant grapes and the cheetah go in your primary home, and the horse heads and the snail (below) go to your lake house? Because that would be too many oversized animals/food products in one place, right? 

But this just creates more questions than answers for me. Is the snail a garden piece? Would you be foolish to have this in your foyer (pronounced "foyAY" if you're fancy) and your other friends would all talk about you behind your back after the cocktail party and be like "Wow, Elaine really has no eye for where that giant bronzed snail should go. How could she NOT know that it belongs in her atrium?" 

And AHHHHHH! Where do the three giant sheep go??? This is getting out of control!!!!

What if you can't afford all three? Is it just not done to have one sheep? Or two? Are they for counting at night? Are these bedroom sheep? I need answers about the giant sheep, you guys! Plus, do you have to buy the sheep pedestal that the one king sheep is on in the display? Do rich people just know these things?? This is so stressful!!!! 

5. And finally, if you're looking for a luxury condo to put all of your giant animals in, look no further than a place that apparently doesn't discriminate against 18th century people, 18th century people who don't wear tops, and the shockingly buff tattoo artist who kind of gives you the creeps because he lives in the garage behind the shop but also is sort of artsy and aloof in that way that college girls really like? They'll totally take all of those people! I really need to get a wig and/or more tattoos. It'll be my key to success. 

Or so I'm guessing based upon this very specific advertisement that just has the website for the condo building and pictures of these people on it. You must just know what to do if you're Super Rich and like to wear corsets while staring at your giant grapes and petting your massive flock of sheep. But I know for sure that they probably definitely like terrifying art exhibits

Is this what rich people in SoHo look like? I'm learning so much on my way to work, you guys! Thanks for taking the tour with me. 

Happy Wednesday! 

Monday, May 18, 2015

Friday Monday Wrapup

It's that time...only a few days late! Let's get to it.


First: Mama Bear is gettin' irritated, you guys. Poor CB has had to hear me rant (and apparently "yell more than you used to") about people on the subway not offering their seats to an eight(plus) months pregnant person more than they acknowledge and offer. I take the train 10 times per week. On average, I'm seated and/or offered a seat about 2-3 of those times.

I'm terrible at math and even I know that's really bad, you guys.

However, to the people who immediately get up and insist I take their seat? You're saints and heroes and my giant cankles thank you. For the 95% of you who pretend like you don't see me even though I totally saw you see me? YOU'VE BEEN WARNED.

Because step one for me is all of the (in-apartment) yelling I've done after a long day/week of commuting. Step two is me rehearsing in my head what I will say to people when I finally snap (insert: all last week and today). Step three is me snapping and the 5 o'clock news footage of a tired, potentially cry-y pregnant woman talking about manners and scolding strangers because she just can't take it anymore, you guys.

So, society: you've been warned. GET. UP.


On a lighter and way less scream-y note, the book of the week is here! "In a Sunburned Country" had me at the cover. Anything with a kangaroo on the front basically gets my vote. However, it also sounds, as the review boasts, like "a good summer read." And since we're heading up to Memorial Day, this is timely! Go Amos Family!

So click here to check it out and browse around for other inspiration!


You guys. I didn't watch the Billboard Awards because (a) I was probably sleeping and (b) I don't even know who half of these people are anymore because I've purposely aged myself out of listening to or being familiar with any music by someone named Waka Flocka Flame.

So instead, I'm going to highlight a band that popped up on my iPod this morning that immediately brought me back to a specific time and place in my life nearly 6 years ago. I was obsessed with Airborne Toxic Event and when this song came on I fell in love with them all over again. There's just something about music from your past that sucks you back in every time (I'm looking at you, "I Wanna Dance With Somebody"!)


Friday, May 15, 2015

Ahhhh! Happy Friday!

Having some internet/video posting issues today so I'll save the Friday wrap up - complete with a new book of the week - until Monday.

Happy Friday, enjoy your weekend!

Monday, May 11, 2015

I Might Join AARP for the Swag.

I got a letter in the mail the other day from AARP, inviting me to become a member. I kept staring at it, assuming I was misreading. But alas, I was not.

So I showed it to CB, who promptly had a field day with this information.

CB: “Look at the tote bag you’d get! That’s really nice, you should join!”
Me: “I’m not 50 or older!”
CB: “Maybe they’re just going by your average bedtime?”
Me: “I hate you.”
CB: “Plus, we might get discounts and stuff. You should really consider it.”

And then he started reading the letter out loud to me as I walked away to pretend I couldn’t hear his laughter. However, as he got to the last sentence, he started laughing so hard that I started laughing just by watching him laugh, even though I didn’t know what we were laughing about.

CB: “We have to frame this.”
Me: “I hate you.”
CB: “Listen to this last sentence…. ‘It can help you protect your health, your money, your family, your career-“

And then he took a long pause to wipe away laughter-tears:

CB: “-and make the most of life over 50.”

And then he had to sit forward to let the laughter out more, as he clutched the favorite piece of mail he’s never received in his hands.

I’ll begin speaking to him sometime this fall. 

You do have to admit, though, that's a pretty sweet bag. 

Friday, May 8, 2015

Friday Wrapup

Let's get to it!


This week's book is "The Road to Character" by David Brooks. I kind of dig David Brooks. I don't always agree with him (which I could say literally about everyone...except Beyonce), but oftentimes he makes me think and is so darned rational that I'm like "You know what? I think you're right!"

Which is why I'm glad that my dad blogged about this new book, though reading has been a challenge for me lately (laying down + doing anything but sleeping = not up my alley). I'm going to download this to my Kindle, though, and have it at the ready for when I finally keep my eyes open for longer than 10 minutes while stationary!

Click here and enjoy!


This Sunday is Mother's Day and while I've always loved and appreciated my mom, I think I'm just hitting the tip of the iceberg now that I'm about to be one myself. Holy crap, mom....thanks.

Also, a friend sent this to me yesterday and I've watched it, like, three times and just keep on laughing. Some of my favorite moments are "It’s nice to know that your body wants to destroy you" and "If anyone tries to f___ with me, how f___’ing dare you.”

Every single mother has gone through some form of this, though the getting out of bed and bending over the dishwasher are daily routines I've found myself dreading. Also, found out yesterday that Chubs McGee (that's my new name for our baby) is FOUR POUNDS already. Hence, my Fred Flinstone feet. Love you, Chubs!

Also also, CB and I both accidentally watched/read about birth stuff that happens the other day (mine was an accident, he was the big dummy that read about an episiotomy on purpose) and I've decided that I'll just carry my child on the inside for forever.



And now, the Video of the Week! This is one of my favorite The Streets songs so figured I'd share it! And then I couldn't remember if I'd posted it before. And then I didn't care and so I'm posting it anyway. Happy Friday, Happy Mother's Day Weekend, and see you Monday!

Wednesday, May 6, 2015

Someone has to have me as a mom.

So yesterday, my awesome co-workers threw me a surprise baby shower, complete with cake, balloons, and games. It was great, they’re all great, and I was so surprised that I immediately turned red and started sweating out of adrenaline/shock. It was a good time.

However, one of the games made me realize a few things. It was a baby animal game, duh, where you're given the names of the adult animals and then had to come up with the baby word for that animal.

Sounds easy for a grown up, right?

See below and then let’s focus in on a few things:

  • I literally wrote “baby” in front of a few adult animal names thinking maybe that was actually right. It was not. Also, NOBODY knows what a baby elephant is called. 
  • Everyone but me knew that horses and ponies were two different animals! WHO KNEW THAT? When did you learn it? How did I miss this? I was unsurprisingly, not embarrassed that this was happening in front of my boss and my boss’ boss. At one point, my director put his head in his hands when I mentioned that it’s a good thing I didn’t have to take this quiz in order to get my job. However, I did suggest that we start implementing it as a good way to filter out other dumb people like me so that we don’t hit a critical mass of people who think ponies are baby horses. 
  • Nobody knows what a baby raccoon is called. That’s just ridiculous.
  • Cheater’s tip: if you’re unsure, write “calf.” That was the answer to almost every one I didn’t know. Not “baby _______", FYI.
  • I high-fived my coworker when it was confirmed that a baby butterfly is a caterpillar. Because we had this actual, adult conversation (oh, and yes, we were conspiring because he didn't want to actually play, but is too competitive to not be involved): 
Me: "I'm pretty sure it's caterpillar....right?"
Him: "Maybe? I don't know, are all caterpillars baby butterflies?"
Me: "That's a question for the ages. I'm going with caterpillar." 
  • When writing down “gosling” for baby goose, I then told my director: “Not like Ryan Gosling, in case you were confused.” To which I think he was really impressed.
  • My friend and co-worker pointed out that I’m essentially a 5-year-old in a woman’s pregnant body because I put sad faces next to the answers I got wrong. 
Him: “What are you, in kindergarten? Who writes sad faces next to wrong answers?”
Me: “I do. Why, you don’t?”
Him: “No, I’m an adult.”
Me: “So what do you write?”
Him: “I don’t know, x’s?”
Me: “Wow. That’s boring.”

I’m going to be a mom to someone, you guys.

Happy Wednesday!

Monday, May 4, 2015

I've Become a Giant Marshmallow Man. Plus, CB totally loves life!

Good news: I’m done peeing into a jug.
Bad news: My hands and feet have disappeared and someone has replaced them with the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man’s extremities.

CB is really liking this stage of marriage and life, you guys. It’s fun for him to watch me transform before his eyes, get a running start at sitting upright, and fall asleep prior to 8pm. The upside is that he could literally be leading a much more exciting double-life that starts around 8:15 every night and I’d never know it.  

Also, his life now includes a fun new game called “Becky doesn’t know what she’s talking about but I end up doing a lot of work for nothing anyway.” It’s a working title, we’re open to suggestions.

Example 1:

On Friday, CB bought me gorgeous flowers because that’s how he rolls. So of course I broke our really nice fancy vase a few weeks ago because I’m me, but knew that we had another less-fancy vase somewhere in the apartment.

Me: “I think it’s above the refrigerator.”
CB: “Ok.”
Me, staring at him walking over to the table to eat the hot pizza that just got delivered.
CB, turning to see me staring: “What?”
Me: “Any chance you could get the vase now?”
CB: “Right now?”
Me: “Yes, because then we’ll start eating and watching the movie and then the flowers will just sit there slowly dying on the counter for hours otherwise.”
CB, grumbling about hot pizza while he walks over to the kitchen: “It’s above the refrigerator?”
Me: “I think so? I’m not really sure, but that’s my guess.”
CB, beginning to move all of the liquor bottles we have on top of the refrigerator to get to the cupboards: “Why is everything we ever need in these cupboards?”
Me: “You’re being dramatic. We barely ever use those cabinets.”
CB: “Yes, I’m the dramatic one. And I seem to remember doing this about two weeks ago looking for something that you then found in the linen closet.”
Me: “That sounds unlikely.”

Finally, he moves everything down off the fridge and opens the cupboards.

CB: “I don’t see a blue vase.”
Me: “Are you sure?”
CB: “I’m positive.”
Me, thinking.
Me: “Oh! I remember, I think it’s in the front closet!”

So I went over and opened the closet and there it was.

CB: “You do this just to mess with me, right?”
Me, laughing: “No, I swear I thought it was up there.”
CB: “Ok, but next time, let’s check the closets first, ok?”
Me: "Deal.”

Example 2:

Walking to the car the other day, CB had his hands full of bags as we had this conversation:

Me: “Oh, I think I gave you the car keys.”
CB: “Why would you give me the car keys, you’re driving?”
Me: “I know, but I don’t have pockets.”

So, CB puts all of the bags down and starts rifling through his pockets.

CB: “I don’t think I have the keys.”
Me: “You definitely have the keys.”
CB, searching.
Me, putting my hand in my pocket: “Oh! I have the keys. And pockets! My bad.”
CB: “How did you not know that you had pockets?”
Me: “I don’t really know, I guess I forgot what I was wearing. I think I was thinking about yesterday.”
CB, picking all of the bags back up: “I’m not even going to go down this road with you because I’ll just end up even more confused.”
Me: “Story of your life.”
CB: “You have no idea.”

Happy Monday! 

Friday, May 1, 2015

Friday Wrapup

Let's get to it!


Man, this kid loves dandelions. And it makes me laugh every time. Plus, his name is Buzz - that's kind of the best.


This week's book is "Bring Up the Bodies" by Hilary Mantel, which we posed about a few years ago. But for those of you PBS watchers, you may recognize her name as the author of "Wolf Hall," which is a series at the moment. So, we're timely! Or ahead of our time! Obviously.

So click here to check it out and then click around to some other book favorites - enjoy!


I want to be friends with Amy Schumer.


And now, the Video of the Week. Actually the video this week was going to be "Hero" by Enrique Iglesias for one sole reason: when I was in a coffee shop this morning on my way to work, it came on the radio and these three construction workers, taking a break and having a cup of coffee, started quietly singing along to it. I instantly smiled because the scene was just so....funny.

But instead, here's the new video from the Alabama Shakes. Happy Friday!

Wednesday, April 29, 2015

The Jug

There are a lot of moments in my life that I’m not proud of; or, I should say, lots of moments in my life that others react so shockingly to, that I pretend I’m equally as shocked and appalled at my behavior/misfortune/adventures. But usually, these moments don’t really faze me until someone is like “it’s not normal to consider it a ‘good travel day’ to take a train that caught on fire while you were on it to the airport, where you were then delayed for five hours.” And I’m like “It’s not? I was busy playing solitaire and dominating on my phone. I didn’t really notice.”

But there’s one relatively recent moment that got even me to admit that there are limits to what I’ll share with you guys.  And that’s gotta’ tell you something. I’ve told you a lot. CB cringes all the time. And yet, after this one occurrence, I was like “I cannot ever, ever blog about this.” Partially because I apparently had a certain level of respect for myself, and partially because people at work might read this and then THEY’LL KNOW.

Notice that I used the word “had” in that second-to-last sentence? Self-respect is fleeting, you guys.

So, it starts with a pee jug, as most good stories do, and it ends with two more pee jugs. Which makes sense if you’re in my life.

You see, for several years I had high blood pressure – mainly because my body likes to prepare me for what it’s like to be old because I’m so close to acting elderly as it is, that we figured we’d just go ahead and get there sooner. But also because it’s hereditary and I like salt and yadda yadda yadda. But, since I actually didn’t want to die at 45, about a year and a half ago I changed my diet and exercise routine a bit and was able to marvel modern medicine by coming totally off of blood pressure meds because I’m amazing.

But when I got pregnant (since I’d had a “history of chronic high blood pressure” and I’m geriatric) they started monitoring me pretty closely during the sassy baby development process. Basically to make sure I didn’t stroke out and/or make the baby too big or too small, is the long and short of it. I read between the lines.

And part of this monitoring process is a torture device in the form of a giant, brown pee jug.

Here’s what you do: you pee into the jug – AND ONLY THE JUG – for a 24 hour period. You put your dignity and self-esteem in a box, kick it down the hallway, and never think about those two useless traits again. You use a lot of bleach-based products, as well as hand soap and sanitizer, and pretend like this isn’t totally ruining any sex appeal you possessed when describing in detail later to your husband what you were experiencing, even though he really, really didn’t want to know.

And also, you bring the jug to work because the doctors hate you.

You see, they told me that I had to start the next day. And the next day was Wednesday, a day where most adult people work. And I was like “Wait, so I have to bring the jug to work?” and they were all breezy about it, like that wasn’t ridiculous and embarrassing. I mean, they gave me a plastic bag to keep it in after all. Why did I have to be such a diva about it?

And so, because I was taught not to question authority, I packed up the pee jug the next morning, held onto it as if this was normal on the train, and went to work to lead my life like a person not carrying a jug of pee.

Can we think about this a minute? Where does the pee jug go in between visits? How does one covertly bring a giant white plastic bag into the bathroom with them and then try to pretend like people can’t tell that you’re peeing into a big, hollow jug that makes big hollow peeing-into-it noises?


And so you use the private handicap-accessible bathroom so that you have some dignity and privacy, people.

What you also do is fast-forward a few hours to where you bring your pee jug back into the bathroom for a visit and realize that you may have not secured the lid tightly last time and so, yes, the bag is now holding some contents itself. Not in the jug.

And then you quit your job, change your name, and never speak to anyone who knew you pre-jug again.

OR you panic. You stare. You get hormone-tears in your eyes for what’s happening. And you immediately realize that you should always question authority, especially when they tell you to bring your pee jug to work.


I’m going to spare you the details and just skip ahead to the part where I throw the jug in a dumpster, sanitize everything I’ve ever owned or touched, and call the doctor’s office to consult.

Me: “So, I need a new pee container.”
Nurse: “You need a new container?”
Me: “Yes. Something happened to my other one.”
Nurse, sounding confused: “Ok…..”
Me: “I don’t want to gross you out, but basically I lost a morning’s-worth of pee and need to start again.”
Nurse, sighing into the phone: “Well ok……you’ll need to come back to the office to get another receptacle.”

RECEPTACLE! Much nicer word than pee jug. Noted.

Me: “Ok, no problem, I’ll come by at lunch.”

Fast forward to 2 hours later when the nurse met me in the waiting room with a new “receptacle” and brand new white plastic bag and gave me side-eyes while saying: “Now be careful with this one.”

Dear Judge-y Nurse,
You have no idea what I’ve gone through to collect my pee for you people. GIVE IT A REST. I’m building life and just trying to keep it together.

Oh, also, I did it over the weekend that time because they can suck it and I’ll never bring that thing to work with me ever again. It’s called dignity, people. I found it that day at the bottom of that white plastic bag.

However, I put this all behind me, didn’t blog or breathe a word of it (except to pretty much all of my friends), and acted like I was still the lady I’ve pretended to be for years.

UNTIL THIS WEEK. When the jug returned.

Me: “Noooo…..I have to do this again?”
Sympathetic doctor: “Yeah, I know it sucks, I’m sorry. But we just have to check your protein levels again. It’s the last time.”
Me: “Oh man, this thing haunts me.”
Doctor, laughing because she thought I was kidding.
Me: “I’m going to do it over the weekend, if that’s ok?”
Doctor: “Sure, that’s fine. Whatever you’re most comfortable with.”

SEE, Judge-y Nurse? THAT’S how you talk to a hormonal pregnant woman with a pee jug. TAKE NOTES.

Anyway, you’re welcome, blog readers. I’ve literally just shared the most embarrassing thing I’ve done since at least 2014. And that’s saying something. So feel good about yourselves and be grateful that you don’t actually know me in person.

You haunt my soul, pee jug. 

Happy Wednesday! 

Monday, April 27, 2015

And then CB wrote a love song.

So, last week CB and I pretty much sealed the deal on this marriage thing. I mean, it’s not like we were up in the air about it before then, but there were definitely more than a few moments over the course of one day, in particular, that we both looked at each other and were like “well, we’re in this thing now!” And maybe high-fived? Which is how you seal any sort of true love pact, if you didn’t know.

You see, last Sunday I woke up feeling so dizzy that I thought I was going to be sick. The room was spinning, I couldn’t open my eyes, and I basically laid in the fetal position on our bed for about an hour until it subsided enough for me to eat something (which is always my end-game). CB rolled over to see me gripping my forehead in pain and said “You ok?”

Me: “No. I really don’t feel good.”


Me, about 30 seconds later: “Um, when I say I don’t feel good, you need to respond.”
CB, sitting up: “I was thinking about it.”

Which is when he became lucky that the room was spinning so I couldn’t locate his torso and slug him. (this is not the love part.)

But then he sprang into action, getting a cold compress for my forehead, bringing me water and a granola bar (I thought maybe I was dehydrated and/or had low blood sugar) and generally being sympathetic to my pain. Which, if we’re being honest here, is all I wanted anyhow.

Eventually, though, the spinning subsided enough for me to sit up, actually eat a proper breakfast, and even watch a little tv before deciding I just wanted to go lay down and read (note to self: when you’re feeling spinny, DON’T READ, dummy.)

Fast forward to about 15 minutes later when the room started violently spinning again so much that I was sure this was not getting better (I should really have gone to med school). So I called to CB in the other room.

Me: “CB…..”


Me, a little louder: “CB…..”


Me, louder and hating him: “CB!!!”

And then he came into the room. (this is still not the love part)

CB: “Yeah?”
Me: “I’m going to be sick. Can you get me a bucket? I can’t sit up.”

And then, though my eyes were closed, I could tell that CB went into panic mode and began running, knowing that my willpower to keep from vomiting on our bed and/or floor was not quite as strong as his desire to really make sure that it didn’t happen. So within a few seconds – and a lot of banging around out in the living room and kitchen - he returned with our recycling bin and a plastic bag. Ingenius.

So I’ll skip the part where I may have missed the bag a bit or that I think all of my insides came outside at that moment while CB held the bucket (we’re circling in on the love part), and will just fast-forward to about 10 minutes later when I was finishing up a call to my OB. She insisted that it was time to head to labor and delivery and make sure baby and me were vomiting and spinning for reasons outside of baby problems. And so I slowly started to get up, with CB’s help (who was still holding the Lysol can he’d been spraying throughout the entire apartment), and we made our way into the city to get checked out.

Three hours, several tests, and an adorable ultrasound later, we were on our way back home with a referral to a neurologist because nothing was wrong with baby, and OB people just do baby stuff. (I’m paraphrasing.) I was still dizzy, but feeling good enough to sing along to the radio, and the Survivor song “The Search is Over” came on.

Don’t pretend like you don’t know that song, you guys. It’s a classic.

So I started singing along and said “It's sort of like the story of us!” 

To which CB responded:

CB: “Yeah, except they left out the last verse.”
Me: “What’s the last verse?”
CB: “Where they get married and he’s cleaning up her puke. Why doesn’t someone write a song about wiping puke out of the wastebasket? Now that’s a love song.”

To which I laughed until there were tears in my eyes, high-fived him in agreement, and realized that we’d pretty much honed in on the love part of this story. Granted, our love part includes puke, but what good romance doesn’t?  

Of course, apparently our love part also includes a week of CB sleeping on an air mattress in the living room so that there was no movement in our bed to make me spinny and pukey again. But if we’re being honest, I think that was a two-fold decision by CB: I have a shot at sleeping and he can sleep on his back and snore without being kicked.

I think we should definitely write a new love song.

Happy Monday!  

Friday, April 24, 2015

Friday Wrapup

Let's get to it!


You guys. I haven't even watched "Grey's Anatomy" from last night and I already know what happens. Thanks a lot, all news outlets.

Also, we should re-examine what we consider "news"......


This week's book is appropriate since all I can think about these days is the fact that a human being is currently living inside of me and will, in about 10-11 weeks, come out.

Which is cool and terrifying and makes me cross my legs, which I think is how you keep it from happening in the first place? Live and learn.

Anyway, it's called "Birth: The Surprising History of How We Are Born" and I just downloaded it onto my Kindle, even though my sister blogged about it several years ago. I'M A LATE ADOPTER, you guys.

Click here to check it out and browse around for some other great books out there!


Speaking of pregnancy and babies, CB and I have had quite a ride over these last seven months. This baby is SERIOUSLY sassy and has caused us to grow closer in ways CB was really hoping we never would. Stay tuned on Monday for the story that kept me from blogging this week! Oh the excitement.


And now, the Video of the Week.

Um, I'm an emotional wreck today, you guys. I, of course, blame the baby. IT'S SO EASY and makes me virtually blameless for pretty much everything. I highly recommend it.

I started full-on CRYING at my desk while listening to a song this morning that isn't even sad! And so I'm very fragile when listening to Pandora these days. You've been warned, people who sit near me.

However, I heard this song on the radio a few days ago while CB and I were driving through the city and it turns out that they're a local band that I am now seriously digging. So, hopefully you guys enjoy them, too!

Happy Friday!

Wednesday, April 22, 2015

I'll be back!

Sorry, guys, for being so MIA since the middle of last week! Had some posting issues Friday for the wrapup and have been feeling under the weather this week. But I'll be back on Friday and have lots of stories to tell you next week - stay tuned!

Wednesday, April 15, 2015

Conversations from Cohabitation

Ok, so the bottom part of this conversation is from a year ago, but I stumbled across it yesterday and it still makes me laugh and will likely still embarrass CB. Win/win.  

But first, this is a conversation that happened yesterday. I was leaving for work while he was in the shower, so I was attempting to say goodbye to him through the bathroom door.  

Me: “Bye, I’m leaving!”CB, no answer.Me, a little louder and knocking on the door: “Bye, I’m leaving!”CB: “What?”Me: “I’m leaving!”CB: “I can’t hear you!”Me, exasperated and louder: “I’m LEAVING!”CB, swinging open the bathroom door, soaking wet: “What, you’re bleeding??!!”Me, laughing: “Um, no. I’m leaving. I was just saying goodbye.”CB, shaking his head: “Oh my God, Beck, why didn’t you just open the door and say that? I panicked!”Me: “Clearly. I also didn’t think it’d take me five minutes to tell you I was leaving or I would’ve just opened the door.”CB: “Between now and when you give birth, you can’t randomly yell things at me through the door.”Me: “Like ‘hey, I’m in labor!’”
CB: “Right. You have to open the door for that.”Me: “Good to know. I’ll make sure I try to accommodate you when that happens.”CB, closing the door back in my face: “You’re a piece of work.”


Coming out of the bathroom after showering:

Me:  “So I accidentally shaved off part of my eyebrow.”
CB: “What?! How does one accidentally shave off their eyebrow?”
Me: “I’m not really sure.”
CB: “You’re not sure? You don’t remember having a razor near your face?”
Me: “Well, I was about to shave and this one hair kept falling into my face and so I went to wipe it away…”
CB: “With a razor in your hand?!?”
Me: “Yeah…it was just an instinct.”
CB: “That’s a terrible instinct.”
Me: “Not instinct. I meant impulse.”
CB: “Well, try not to impulsively do things with a razor in your hand in the future.”
Me: “But then I felt to see if I cut my face and didn’t feel any blood, so I just kept showering. But I just looked in the mirror and part of my eyebrow is gone. Can you see it?” (leaning in to show him my eyebrow)
CB: “Yes of course I can see it. You look like you’re constantly surprised with one eye now.”
Me: “Oh no, really?!”
CB, laughing: “It’s really not that bad. But now that you point it out I can tell.”
Me: “I guess it could’ve been worse. I could’ve, like, shaved off the whole thing. And it could be the day before our wedding. Or I could’ve blinded myself accidentally.”
CB: “How about we just don’t put razors by our face anymore, ok? You could’ve really injured yourself.”
Me: “I know. I’ve learned my lesson by rendering myself perpetually surprised for the next week or so.”
CB: “There’s something not right about you.”


Hanging out with a few friends Saturday night, I remembered to tell CB something that happened outside of his earshot earlier that day:

Me: “Oh, by the way, I think I may have accidentally told your college friends that you sometimes wrap me in paper towel in a sexual way.”
CB: “What?!?”
Friend, laughing: “You have to immediately tell us how that happened.”
CB: “Yeah, how does someone accidentally say something like that?”
Me: “Well, you were telling the story about how you guys wrapped Chad in paper towel while he was passed out and I made some side comment and said ‘Yeah, he does that to me sometimes, but for other reasons.’ And then your friends looked at me and were slightly confused and impressed?”
CB: “Jesus Beck, why would you say something like that?”
Friend, still laughing.
Me: “I don’t know, it just seemed like a funny thing to say. But then I realized that they’d just met me and maybe didn’t know I was kidding.”
Friend: “About CB wrapping you somehow seductively in paper towel?”
Me: “Yeah, I mean, how on earth would that be serious? They had to know.”
CB: “Oh God. Some of these people are going to be at our wedding, Beck! And now they think we do freaky things with paper towels!”
Me: “It could’ve been worse.”
CB: “HOW could it be worse?!”
Me: “It could be true!”

Friday, April 10, 2015

Friday Wrapup

Let’s get to it!

This week’s book is “The Narrow Road to the Deep North” by Richard Flanagan. Just the description of a “subtle, horrific, deftly layered and deeply moving story” means it’s going on my list. It also means that CB will, once again, point out that I get my darkness from my parents. I mean, my mom once actually said the sentence “Well, the good thing about that murder was….” And that was at Christmas dinner.

Anyway, enjoy! I’m definitely adding it to the list – what about you?  Click here to check it out! 


So, I hung a sweater over our kitchen chair the other night to air dry so that I didn’t accidentally shrink it (as I’ve been known to do). But when I went to put it on this morning, it had weird chair bumps on the shoulders that I needed to iron out asap.

CB was in the bathroom brushing his teeth and I was unsuccessfully trying to iron out the bumps, so I called him into the room to help.

Me, handing him the hot iron: “Could you iron these bumps for me?”
CB: “Wait, on you? Why do you have the sweater on already?”
Me: “Because I tried ironing it flat but it didn’t work. So I figured it’s easier to actually see the bumps when it’s on me.”
CB: “But I’ll burn you! This is a really bad idea.”
Me: “Oh, it’s fine. I iron clothes on myself all the time, I just can’t reach these.”
CB: “You do this all the time??! That’s really unsafe!”
Me: “Oh my god it’s fine, could you please just do it? Just be gentle so it doesn’t burn my skin.”
CB: “Beck!”
Me: “C’mon!”
CB, ironing my back: “This is an awful idea.”
Me: “But it’s working, look! Ok, now do the other side.”
CB: “This isn’t normal, I can’t believe you have done this before.”
Me: “Relax, I unplugged the iron, so it’s not like it’s getting hotter. Which is why we have to move fast before it cools down.”
CB: “There, I think it’s done.”
Me: “Perfect! Thanks so much!”
CB: “I really need to start videotaping these moments. Nobody would believe the stuff you ask me to do.”
Me: “Yes, your life is very hard.”


So I was feeling all frustrated at work this morning and the baby was kicking to tell me to cut it out. And then this song came on and I started bopping my head and instantly felt better. Ne-Yo has that effect on me.

Plus, I want CB to refer to me as “fly effortlessly” since usually he’s having to pick crumbs off of my outfit before I leave in the morning. Which is my own version of independence.

Happy Friday!

Thursday, April 9, 2015

An update

I passed the glucose test! Thanks for all of your support, guys.

However, I'd like to give Nurse Shannon some advice when calling to tell people good news: pretend you're excited for me, Shannon! (note: it helps, when reading the voice of Shannon, to do it in a slightly robotic/neutral/monotone voice, to really get the point across.)

Shannon: "Hi Rebekah, I'm sorry we've been playing phone tag."
Me, trying to sound calm and like I had low blood sugar, just in case: "Oh, that's fine, I understand." Totally breezy!
Shannon: "You passed your glucose test."
Me: "Oh thank God!!! That's so exciting!"


Me: "I was really nervous!"
Shannon: "I can imagine."


Me: "Wow, that's such good news."

Silence, maybe some keyboard typing.

Me: "Ok, well thanks so much for letting me know!
Shannon: "Congratulations. Have a nice day." 

For reference, this is the reaction I
was expecting. 
And that was it. Shannon didn't offer to go out for cake with me, or start excitingly talking about how nervous SHE was until she got the results back from the doctor, or ANYthing. It was just straight professional, monotone, show-no-emotion Shannon.

Which is why I may need to request her in the delivery room, because I have a feeling I'm going to be a little excited/panicky/potentially yell-y, and Shannon will be all like "Now push. Push. Congratulations, it's a boy/girl. Have a nice day." (that's how labor goes, right?) And I'll be crying and overreacting to regular human experiences, per usual, and Shannon will be all like "Ok, I need to go make some glucose phone calls. Your baby is beautiful."

Also, it's possible that this is what CB is referring to when he says that I have "strong emotions" and/or "have only on or off, no in-between."

Anyway...I passed, you guys! Who wants to eat celebratory cake and gummy bears?! (not Shannon.)

Happy Thursday!

Monday, April 6, 2015

Conversations from Cohabitation

Update: I didn’t faint OR stab the nurse, so Friday was a success! I’ll likely get the results today or tomorrow, so I’m mainlining sugar just in case. Pretty sure those were doctor’s orders. Thanks for all of your comments and support!


So over the weekend I was in major spring cleaning mode and started going through my and CB’s drawers to organize and de-clutter. However, as I started going through his sock and underwear drawer, I realized that my husband had a whole secret, weird level of his personality that I never realized: he’s a sock hoarder.

About 30 minutes after I went through everything, he came into the bedroom.

Me: “Um, we need to have a discussion at some point about how we haven’t been featured on the show ‘Hoarders’ yet.”
CB, laughing: “Why, what are we hoarding?”
Me: “Um, ‘we’ are hoarding about 80 pairs of your socks.”
CB, still laughing: “I take good care of my feet.”
Me: “Right, but why do you have 30 pairs of black socks, 20 pairs of brown socks, some argyle, a bunch of white socks with yellow toes-“
CB: “-They’re called ‘Goldtoe’ remember? They were featured on ‘Jeopardy.’”
Me: “You have some serious issues.”
CB: “I don’t want to ever find myself needing socks.”
Me: “Uh, mission accomplished! You literally could not do sock laundry for a month and still not run out of socks. You have, like, 8 pairs of underwear and one million socks. WHO needs that many black socks?”
CB: “I had a scare once where I ran out of socks.”
Me: “You have sock PTSD. I never knew this about you. It actually makes me feel better knowing that you’re weird, too. You just hide it. In your sock drawer.”
CB, laughing and leaving the room.
Me: “Anyway, I need you to go through the rest of the socks on the bed and find out if they have mates.”
CB: “Ok, no problem.”
Me: “And then maybe get rid of some of the socks you don’t need?”
CB: “I need all of them.”

An hour later I returned to the bedroom to find 7 random socks laying in a straight line on the bed.

Me: “Great, you went through your socks!”
CB: “Yep.”
Me: “And these are the ones without mates?”
CB: “Yeah. I’m going to have a memorial service for them later. They’ve been left alone in this cold, dark world with no partner and no one to love them.”
Me, laughing: “Great, as long as their memorial ends in the garbage, I’m happy.”
CB: “You’re a heartless, soul-less woman.”
Cut to: Yesterday, as I was getting into the car, I noticed a pair of brown socks in the back seat of the car.

Me: "Oh my God! You're hoarding socks in your car, too!"
CB, laughing: “I just want to have them on-hand in case I need them.”
Me: “What sock emergency are you having where you need a backup in the car?”
CB: “It’s like you don’t understand me at all.”
Me: “And for the first time in my life, I’m completely OK with that.”

Happy Monday, everyone! 

Wednesday, April 1, 2015

Doctors and Nurses: You're on Notice.

There are times in life when you’re truly tested. For me, nearly all of them have occurred while growing a human being inside of my body and trying not to completely f it up.

For example: While pregnant, I’ve tried to make sure that I’m eating enough fruits and vegetables on a daily basis. I mean, this is not my go-to move. But also, let’s get real, most adults don’t do this on their best day, let alone when all their body-that-isn’t-their-own-anymore wants to do is eat a bag full of Sour Patch Kids (fruit flavored!) with a side of hamburger pickles. Or so I’ve been told.

But you look up the daily suggestions for intake, add two of each more to your day, and consider yourself light years ahead of the women who birthed babies back in the days when smoking cigarettes on their break from drinking whiskey was considered standard practice. However, I call foul on the doctors who have decided that part of this mom-test is checking to see if your alien body can tolerate sugar by basically putting you in a medically induced, low-level torture situation that involves orange soda, all of your blood, and no food.

You guys.

I mean, to be fair, this isn’t how it starts. They start by letting you eat like a normal (pregnant) person, giving you the sugar soda, making you wait an hour, not letting you pee, and then taking your blood. The torture test is only for those of us who under-achieve and fail the test so that the poor nurse has to call and talk to you in a soothing tone about the “next steps.”

Which I’ll be taking on Friday morning.

Let me set the scene for you: You’re 25 weeks pregnant (do the math), not allowed to eat or drink for 8-9 hours leading up to the test, and are then handed over to a friendly, sadist nurse who draws your blood, sets 8 oz of orange soda with three extra tablespoons of sugar added to it in front of you, and tells you to drink it in 5 minutes or less. AND YOU CAN’T PEE. Or throw it up. Or, I’m pretty sure, stab the nurse, but I'll double-check all of the rules on Friday.

And then you wait for an hour until they draw your blood again. And then wait another hour so that they can draw more blood. And then wait one more hour so that they can take whatever is left of your sugar-blood and then probably also remind you of your name, address, and the fact that there’s a baby person inside of you that is causing all of this chaos in your life. (Mother of the Year).

Which obviously I’m looking forward to and not at all being dramatic about. Except that doesn’t sound anything like me, so let’s just assume I’ve already jumped ahead to the days that I’ll have to say no to cake and prick my finger once a day as a reminder of what a mom-failure I am and how my sugary ways almost hurt the baby and made it forty-five times bigger than average upon birth or something (I only skimmed the article).

Which is why I’m baking two desserts for Easter this weekend and making sure I consume whatever I want on Sunday because I feel like it’s my last time to enjoy sugar until sometime in July. Which is also why I already gave the baby a pep talk about bucking up this weekend and not kicking me every time I eat a jellybean, BABY. I’m doing this for US.

Wish me luck! (and won’t be blogging Friday because I probably won’t even know what a blog is by then since I’ll be on hour 12 of my forced starvation and trying to eat my own sweater.)

Happy Wednesday! 

Monday, March 30, 2015

Blog housekeeping and the Best Conversation I've Ever Had with My Husband

First, a few housekeeping notes:

  •  LET’S GO SPARTANS! (applies only to those of you who care. Which should be everyone.)
  • I did not, in turns out, win the Bloggie Award for Best Humor Blog 2015. However, I also forgot that the announcement would be made, and then got a bunch of very sweet emails from you guys saying I was robbed. Which obviously I totally agree with, except not really, since I still can’t believe I made it into the Top 5! And the Bloggess didn’t win that category either, and so – can I really complain? THANK YOU, though, for voting and nominating me in the first place! It was a very cool experience. And maybe next year I’ll know it’s happening! But probably not.

And now, to a conversation I had with CB on Friday that basically made me laugh so hard that I had to brace myself against the counter because the baby doesn’t like it when I laugh too hard because then I don’t breathe a lot.

Me: “Guess what’s on DVR for us to watch this weekend?
CB: “I’m going to assume something by Shonda Rhimes?”
Me: “Yes! Scandal AND Grey’s Anatomy!”
CB: “Lucky me.”
Me: “Which one do you want to watch first?”
CB, thinking.
Me: “I think we should watch Grey’s first because remember how maybe Derek cheated?”
CB: “Right, but he definitely cheated because, why would you fly home if you didn’t do anything wrong?”
Me: “True. Except maybe he just wanted to explain the misunderstanding?”
CB: “No, any guy would just do that over the phone if he didn’t have anything to explain. Plus, it’s the last season, so of course he cheated, that’s an easy way to end the show.”
Me: “Oh my God, quit saying it’s the last season! You’re literally the only one who says that and you KEEP saying it! I think it’s wishful thinking.”
CB, laughing.
Me: “Plus, you’re just mad that Lexie’s not on anymore after she died in that plane crash.”
CB: “I mean, I wouldn’t even know she used to be on the show if you didn’t have to DVR every repeat! But yeah, she was cute.”
Me: “They’re all cute.”
CB: “Which is another reason that show is ridiculous. NO staff of doctors looks like those people, male or female.”
Me: “But I wish they did.”


Me: “I still don’t understand why you didn’t like Mark Sloan.”
CB: “Which one is he?”
Me: “He’s the other one you didn’t know existed until repeats who died in the plane crash. McSteamy.”
CB: “Oh right. There’s a McDreamy and a McSteamy. This is totally a realistic show.”
Me: “ You’re just jealous because he got to make out with Lexie.”
CB: “But he was such a jerk. No woman would actually take him back.”
Me: “Untrue. There are a lot of dumb women out there.”
CB: “He was just such a jerk. ‘I love you, I want you back, but I’m going to be a childish jerk about it.’”
Me, laughing.


CB, staring at me totally seriously: “Beck, I swear to God, I’ve never hated you more. I can’t believe we just had that entire conversation.”

And then he walked out of the room while I laughed for literally three minutes straight. 

Friday, March 27, 2015

Friday Wrapup

Let's get to it!


This week's book is a throwback, of sorts, because it was posted by my sister a few year's back. But since my dad and CB can't update the blog ALL the time, I thought I'd do a little digging because there are some gems on there! So, check out "Helping Me Help Myself" by Beth Lisick and then perhaps do what I did and browse a bit - I forget about all of the good books out there sometimes!


You guys, I did something I'm pretty ashamed of, but I have to come clean: while in San Francisco on business, I watched TWO EPISODES of "The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills" and then watched TWO HOURS on the plane of a season wrapup of a show I've never seen before called "Vanderpump Rules."

I've never seen RHOBH before, but apparently that's the abbreviation people in the know use? To be fair, I've never seen any of the Real Housewives shows. Not because I'm above it (though I want to be), but because I'm too busy watching repeats of "The Golden Girls" and "Gilmore Girls" before heading to bed at 8pm.

But when you're in a hotel and there's no channel guide, and the first channel you recognize after all of the Hotel ads is Bravo, you just stick to it so you can eat your Subway sandwich in a comfy king sized bed. It's what adults do, people!

And when you're trapped on a 6 hour flight across the country and you're pregnant, stuck against the window, and afraid to keep asking the two people next to you to get up so you can pee again, you get yourself involved in the lives of people who need to spend time in a dark box alone for years so they can think about how awful they are and what they're lives have become.

Which is why I love Nick Kroll. His parody of everything I just watched this week was eerily spot on. And if you've ever, ever turned on the Bravo network (or E!), you will appreciate this as well.

I think I have PTSD.


And now, the Video of the Week.

YOU GUYS. It's March Madness (do you care?). And MSU is in the Sweet Sixteen, going up against Oklahoma tonight. Um, except clearly they don't know they're target audience since the game is on at 10:07 pm! As I said to CB "I'm going to have to take a nap so I can make it through the first half!"

But I will do everything in my power to watch - but only if it seems to be working. If they start losing, I will take one for the team and go to bed so as not to jinx them from getting into the Elite 8.

Let's go Spartans!

Wednesday, March 25, 2015

A Quick Conversations from Cohabitation

Sorry I’ve been MIA, guys – had a work trip on the west coast and just getting back to the land of the living. But here’s a quick conversations from cohabitation to keep you occupied until Friday’s wrapup!

So last week I had to go to the doctor for a baby checkup and was in the actual labor and delivery wing of the hospital where little BC will be born. And it was terrifying, so I texted CB:

Me: “BTW, in labor and delivery and have been laying here for more than an hour and can hear a woman next door in labor. Um….uh oh.”
CB: “Haha jeez! Maybe she’s having triplets?”
Me: “Nope. I asked. And she has an epidural!”
CB (being sarcastic): “Tell her to stop being dramatic.”
Me: “I think someone is stabbing her.”
CB: “Yeah, stabbing her with parenthood.”

Happy Wednesday!