The family was crazy before, right?

I’m a paranoid person.  Not so paranoid that I’m wearing tinfoil on my head to prevent the aliens from reading my thoughts, but paranoid all the same.

How would you react if your once very cold in-laws are suddenly all warm and fuzzy towards you?

Everyone is trying to tell me that babies change everything, which yeah, they do.  I still can’t help but be suspicious of the food that is suddenly being brought over to me, and the flowers that are arriving at my door and offers to buy anything we need for the baby, not to mention the year-long membership to Costco, the stamps for the baby shower invitations and the invitations to random meals (they have never wanted to have a meal alone with my husband and I before, not ever, not even for a birthday).

I want to be the kind of person who can take this all in stride and enjoy it, but…

Part of me wonders if I made it all worse in my head and they weren’t actually that bad.  Maybe they’ve been trying to reach out for years and I was just too stubborn to notice it.  Maybe it was me…

Then again, I just got a phone call from my sister-in-law telling me everything I’m missing from my baby registry, so maybe not.

Things I learned today…

1. Baby showers are only fun if you aren’t socially awkward.
2. Baby showers are not more fun if you are actually pregnant at the time of someone else’s shower.
3. Why shouldn’t the father be involved in the process?  Did he or did he not contribute to the need for a baby shower in the first place?
4. Baby showers, maybe shouldn’t have a bar option.
5. If one grandparent thinks the party should have been a surprise but the other grandparent doesn’t, the losing grandparent will be bitter through the entire party and try to bail out early.
6. The desire for cake is directly correlated to what kind of cake is being served.  The good news is, if it’s a type of cake that you don’t care for, you won’t want the cake.
7. Red velvet cake should not be used for baby showers, no matter how badly the mother to be may want it because when push comes to shove, you will be cutting into a cake with the picture of a pregnant woman on it and it will be blood-red on the inside.  Not a good or appealing combination.
8. Pregnant woman red velvet cake will alter your desire for cake as well.
9. Three baby showers in one building means that there will only be one women’s washroom with one functioning toilet.  You only get shuffled to the front of the line faster if you are a senior citizen or visibly pregnant.  Everyone else will be waiting.
10. There really is no number ten, I just don’t like to end things on odd numbers, sorry.

I think I changed my mind about this whole wanting a baby thing.  Too much stress involved.

Big year coming up…

Ok, so before I start:  Happy Halloween, Happy Thanksgiving, Merry Christmas and Happy New Year.

I realize it’s been awhile.  I’m incredibly behind on what everyone else has posted too, and I’m incredibly sorry about that and hope that I can catch up sometime before 2011.

School has kept me busy.  I get new clients and some of them are worth having, and then there are the few who I would rather shoot out of a cannon to get them as far away from me as possible.  Teachers keep coming and going like there’s a revolving door on the place.  And to make matters even more challenging they brought a new manager in who has decided she wants to use this year as the time to fully uphold the dress code policy (we’ll get to why that bothers me this year more than it would have last year). 

After my meltdown post I had an epiphany.  It occurred to me that I absolutely had to do something.  My husband and I had tried to get pregnant for about 4 years to no avail.  This hurt me to a core that I couldn’t even really put into words other than to say that I hated my sister-in-law, who only had tried for two months when she got pregnant.  Which was…unfair.  I never hated her, not really.  I was just jealous that everything that my husband work and struggle for, comes so damned easy to her. 

Jealousy is an unattractive trait.  I realize this.  There is a reason that jealous people are called green-eyed monsters.  And trust me, I was a monster.  One post doesn’t begin to cover the hate and resentment that I was living with and directing toward her and my husband’s family on a daily basis.

But, I had my epiphany.  I could continue to be angry or I could go and find out what the hell the issue was.  So, I made an appointment.  And since it was with a fertility doctor and I was a new patient, I was getting in for a couple months.  My appointment was for right before Christmas.

And then in late October, something happened. 

My car broke down, in the most dramatic of fashions.  After melting down over that, something happened to our cat.  I melted down over that (she’s fine, little shit decided to chew on some wires and gave herself a nice little shock).  Later that day (the cat day) I noticed that things were a little weird with my body.  The crimson tide was coming in early and not in the fashion that it usually arrived in (spotting, sorry guys, I tried to keep it as not disgusting as possible).

So I called my girlfriend who has had two children and I asked her what it could mean.  She confirmed what I thought, I was possibly pregnant.

And then my head exploded.

My head exploded because it occurred to me that we were in no place whatsoever to bring a child into the world.  We live in a third floor apartment, for the most part we live paycheck to paycheck, sometimes we have issues feeding ourselves and I suddenly felt like I wasn’t even close to ready.

I took a test a week before the crimson tide was due to arrive and it came up negative.  And then the sigh of relief.  At this point I had forgotten about the fertility testing.  We went to a Halloween party where we took second place for our costumes, it was a dead celebrities party and we went as Sid and Nancy (it was awesome, I got myself a blond wig and put makeup on my husband, then we taped a prop knife to my abdomen because she got stabbed and taped one of those pens that look like hypodermic needles to his arm cuz he died of a heroin overdose).  I proceeded to get so wasted at that party that I barely remember anything about the actual party.

A couple weeks later, the same neighbors just had a couples only get together thing.  I proceeded to get so wasted at that party that I remember nothing about the next day.  And then Thanksgiving rolled around, and I proceeded to wolf down a quarter of a turkey.  In between all of this, I was so tired that I was starting to think I might be anemic.  I was going to make another doctor appointment about that as soon as Thanksgiving passed.

And then, I was late. 

And then I was very late.

And then I peed on a stick, and it came up positive way before the 3 minutes were up.  So I peed on another one, with the exact same results.

Then I freaked out.  Then I cancelled the appointment with the fertility doctor with this phone call:

“Hi, Dr. ____’s office, how can I help you today?”

Hi, my name is Sarah and I have an appointment for later this month (this was the first week of December) and I need to cancel it.”

“Oh, that’s too bad.”

“No, it really isn’t, because I think I may be pregnant.”

“congratulations!!”

“Thank you, is there an Ob/Gyn you could recommend to me?”

So yeah, I managed to get in to see him on December 7th where he insisted that I was only 5 weeks along.  I continue to doubt that, but I’ll let him live in his world of delusions.  Right now, every time I go to get blood taken I expect to get a call from the doctor saying that it’s a mistake and there is something really wrong with me that isn’t me being pregnant.  But so far, at this point, according to my doctor I am 10 weeks pregnant.  I feel pretty good, you know when I’m not throwing up or falling asleep or feeling dizzy.  Turns out that at the slightest mention of foods I found disgusting before I got pregnant, now make me violently ill.  It also turns out that when a perm is being done at school that I have to leave the building or become violently ill.  And as it so happens, doing hair color and highlights are a challenge, because they just make me ill.

The thing is, the person who I thought would be all pissy about me being pregnant while she is, has been compeletly great.  My sister-in-law has been great through this.  She calls me once a week, says reassuring things and forwards articles that she read and found helpful to me.  My husband and I saved her for last when we were telling family because we thought she was going to absolutely freak out.

She did freak out, just not in the way that either of us thought she would.  It was great.  This is the closest I have ever been to her and it’s my interpretation of what having a sister must feel like.  For the first time in my life with my husbands family, I can’t wait to see my sister-in-law.

Ok, this has gone on long enough and I still have a lot more to tell.  Apparently, I’m going to try my hardest to get back onto this horse.

That wasn’t a good moment

So.  Yeah, I’m embarrassed by my post the other day.  While I’m not embarrassed about my reaction to the news (just trying to be honest here) I didn’t think. 

This is one of those things that I’ve been struggling with for awhile now. 

My sister in law and I have been silently competing for years now.  We are the only two aware of the competition (aside from our best friends, maybe; I know mine is in on it).  I don’t like that it exists.  I wish I could find a way to grow up and get over it.  The problem is that, while I’m grateful for every single thing I have, she has everything that I want.

My husband and I have been having issues with conceiving, and I’m having a hard time dealing with that.  I am finally going to talk to a doctor about it, because I can’t beat myself up for something that may or may not be the cause of these difficulties.  The problem is, I’m blaming myself.  I’m blaming myself for stupid shit that I did when I was younger, and awful things that happened to me.  I’m blaming my ex, who was always so careful about making sure that he hit me where no one would see it and now I’m wondering if something he did is the cause of all of my problems right now. 

My best friend, who went through quite a few miscarriages herself, was the one who even made me aware of the fact that I had a biological clock.  The birth of their first child had a voice inside me going, “I want one of these!”  My biological clock announced itself that day, it introduced itself and told me all about it.

The pregnancy and birth of my Godson, was…difficult.  I would leave her house while she was pregnant with my Godson and either cry or be unreasonably angry.  Not at her, but just filled with a rage I couldn’t and still can’t make sense of.  Now, when I say I cried I don’t mean a few little tears.  I mean huge wracking sobs that make it impossible to see, or think or function.  The kind of sad that knocks you down to the floor and takes your breath away.  Only to find a way to calm down and be taken over by a panic attack. 

The day my girlfriend brought the youngest home, I melted down.  There she was, a day out of the hospital, bringing her son home a day after she came home (he was jaundiced and had to stay an extra night) and comforting me.  I tried to leave and she wouldn’t let me until I told her what was wrong.  I hated telling her that I was so jealous of her that it was tearing me apart.  I still hate to admit it.  I hate to admit to her that being at her house and holding him, hurts me to the core. 

So, when my sister in law called…

I just fast forwarded to the upcoming holidays.  I became green eyed and started to think of all the things I would have to endure.

Thanksgiving, she will be around 4 months.  Maybe she will be showing but she will still have the attention of every single person in that house.  The grandmother, who can’t even remember my name despite that fact that my husband and I have been together for over 10 years now, is already making guesses to what the sex will be.

Christmas, I’m thanking the Lord above that I won’t be here for Christmas this year.  Back in February I finally submitted to my father and step mother and said that yes, I would come and visit them for Christmas.  Thank God for small favors I guess.

But, there will be the baby shower.  Which my girlfriend didn’t have with her second child.  I was thankful for that because I wouldn’t have been able to survive that.  But now I have to not only survive my sister in laws, but my mother in law has called me and wants to involve me in the planning of it. 

This is the sound of my heart breaking.

I realize my sister in law hasn’t actually won.  Yes, I get to go back to school to start a career I genuinely enjoy.  I have my freedom and full nights of sleep.  I have some extra time to try to get mine and my husbands lives together.  Maybe try to find a way to get a house so that all the money we dump into rent can be dumped into a mortgage and get something at the end of it. 

But that phone call the other night, it broke something in me.  Maybe it was my hope that I could actually somehow be able to give my in laws something first.  I deprived them of seeing their son get married.  We have been unable to get our shit together enough to get a house first.  I guess I kept holding out hope that I would have the first grandchild. 

And then I got the phone call.  And I knew at that moment that there would never be anything I could do for this family that she hasn’t done first.  I have struggled for their acceptance.  I have fought to make myself one of them.  All of this has seemingly been to no avail.  And now I have to face the fact that I need to see a doctor to make sure that I can even have a child.  And then I have to find a way to deal with whatever the doctor says, while my sister in law has a baby of her own.

Not whining, just wanted you guys to know why the FML meltdown.

FML

I was just informed that I’m going to be an aunt.

This time I’ll be a “real” aunt.  My sister in law is having a baby.  The sister in law that I have been competing with since the day we met. 

She got the big wedding, the nice brand new house built especially for them and now she’s having the first baby.

Clearly, she wins.  I’ll just take my broken heart as a consolation prize and all my self doubt and fears as my parting gift.

Fuck my life.

Love and Marriage

A tale as old as time itself. 

Girl meets boy.  Girl and Boy get it on (sorry Girls family).  Girl tells Boy she never wants to get married, and Boy says “OK.”  Girl and Boy eventually move in together.  Girl insists that marriage is not an option, Boy still says “OK.” 

Six years later, Boy has to go into the hospital because he is epileptic and won’t stop seizing.  Girl hasn’t slept in two days and calls Boys family.  Girl takes Boy to hospital while Boys family follows in a different car.  Girl, Boy and Boys family walk into hospital.  Girl registers Boy with the hospital while Boy is being fixed up with a drug cocktail to stop him from seizing, but when Girl goes to see Boy in his little area of curtained privacy Girl is told that she will need permission from Boys family to go see him.  Girl gets pissed off and even more upset.  Mostly because Girl is living with Boy, Girl has not slept in two days, and Girl had all of Boys possessions upon walking into the hospital. 

Two days later when Girl and Boy are out at dinner, Girl tells Boy that she thinks it’s time that they get married (do you see how romantic Girl is?).  Girl and Boy start planning a big extravagant wedding, only to have plans blow up in their faces because Boy may possibly lose his job, along with his medical insurance.  So Girl and Boy decide to go to court house to get married so that he can have some kind of insurance. 

Girl tells her family, who all say it’s a smart and responsible choice.  But, when boy tells his family they all say “You’re ruining everything!  We hardly know her!  We want to be there!  Wait until your Dad gets home!”  Girl (who has chosen to be the bad guy in all of this) says that it isn’t fair to have Boys side of the family at the little wedding if Girls side of the family cannot be there too.  Girl has family who lives out of state.  There is no time to get Girls family out to Illinois in time.   

Boy agrees, his family…not so much.

Girl and Boy go to court house to get married, about three days before Christmas (a holiday that girl loathes, girl wanted to get married closer to Halloween).  Boy’s family asks if Boy will still be joining them for Christmas (as if Girl has ever chosen to keep Boy away from his family, Girl knows better than to interfere in family affairs).  Boy says “Of course, nothing is changing…this year.”

Girl and Boy fight for the next year about where to go for what holidays, all the while Girl is getting the cold shoulder from Boys family.  Boy (bless his heart) doesn’t seem to notice that his younger brothers “fling” is getting better treatment (not to mention gifts) than Girl.  Girl hates that Boys sisters’ (who is getting divorced, while simultaneously dating her neighbor from across the hall) boyfriend is getting better treatment and a much warmer welcome into the family than Girl ever received.   

And when Girl says ever, she means ever.

Boy’s sister remarries Mr. Wonderful (Girl can’t be too mean, Girl actually likes him quite a bit since he is like her; a hostage to this family) and Boy and Girl stand up in the wedding.  It is wonderful, but Girl feels the looks that Boys family gives her while pictures are being taken.  It should also be noted that this is the second large wedding that Sister has had.  Really, to balance things out for lack of Girl and Boys wedding, Girl thinks this is fair. 

To this day, while things are not as strained between In-Laws and Girl, things are definately far from comfortable enough to be with them alone. 

And that, dear readers, is why Girl is reluctant to go help Boys sister move into her new house. 

***Please don’t Grammer Police this, I know it’s bad.  Especially the apostrophes, or perhaps the lack of apostrophes.

Recovered memories

What I remember about growing up in my house is mostly the Beatles on Sunday morning until 11:00 am.  During the football season, the radio would go off then and the games would go on.  Keep in mind that as a child and a moody teenager, this was a form of torture.  I don’t remember missing it, until it couldn’t be recaptured.

My mom was the big Beatles fan.  I’m sure both of my parents were, but I remember more clearly my mom being the fan.  My mom was a John girl, my dad a George boy.  I can see the appeal of both, but in my heart of hearts I believe that if I had to choose than I would choose George. 

Funny how both the people that my parents liked so much both died untimely deaths (ya, I’m not sure why that’s funny, bare with me).  John by the hands of a mad man with a gun, and George by his own bad habits.

My point is music, while it wasn’t the center of our family because nobody could agree on anything, it was the one thing that both of them were able to give to me.  Admittadly I took to my dads (although my dad was/is a huge fan of Eric Clapton and I distinctly remember trying to piss my dad off by calling him Airlick Clapton, I have no idea what was wrong with me and why I thought that was funny either) music quicker than my moms (four words, Peter, Paul and Mary; who could expect me to embrace that?), but it takes time for children to see the wisdom of their parents music (Peter, Paul and Mary don’t count; I still can’t justify that). 

Actually age will do wonders to understanding why you’re parents may like certain songs.  Age helps you understand exactly how dirty the words to some of their parents favorite songs are.  My parents, while I love them to death, listened to very dirty songs.  Some of their songs put the filthiness of some of my favorite songs to shame.

The point of this post was not to wax poetic about how filthy some of the songs of the past are.  Songs will be dirty forever.  I think things were put better in 60′s and 70′s.  They weren’t as all out as songs today.  No, my point is actually about the wisdom of some of these songs.  I love a song that can make me tear up just reading the lyrics.  I don’t even have to hear the song, and already I know exactly what the writer was feeling when the song was written.  How do they do it?  How did they know what they were feeling so clearly that they were able to put pen to paper and write it out?  How?

My dad told me that one day Garden Party by Ricky Nelson would mean something to me.  I honestly don’t remember him telling me about this song.  Therefore he either told me about it when I was too young to comprehend what he was saying to me, or I was too old and stupid and was just nodding my head and making “uh huh” noises that made it sound like I was agreeing with everything he was saying and yet I wasn’t listening at all.  My mom also insists that when I was a small child that I used to say Dirty Puppy which apparently has something to do with some song that my parents used to listen to all the time or something.

Apparently, I still have no real listening skills since she told me about this about a year ago.

I looked up the lyrics to this Garden Party song.  Without even hearing the music that goes along with it, I know that Ricky Nelson was a very wise man.  A very wise man who died in a plane crash*.  Go ahead, look at those lyrics and tell me that he didn’t know what the hell was going on in life.  I’ll wait.

So, there it is.  I can now justify everything that I’m doing in my messed up little life.  Ricky said it best when he said, “You can’t please everyone, so you got to please yourself.”  Life is messy, I’m not doing what everyone thinks I should be doing.  I can’t please everyone, so I’m going to please myself.

Now I’m going to go listen to a song about a man who got up to wash his face and when he came back to bed, he discovered someone else had taken his place.  (Seriously, if you don’t know it…do yourself a favor and look it up.  You’ll be wiser for doing so.)

*Note:  I did not know how Ricky Nelson had died.  I started writing that sentence when I was assuming that like most other rock musicians he died of some kind of drug overdose.  I was too proud to change the sentence.  Live with it.

Tat-two

I crack myself up with that title.  It seemed so clever in my mind, but when I see it in print I’m not so sure. 

I’m home from getting the new tattoo, and my leg hurts like hell.  I don’t know what is going on that this one hurt so badly, but I kinda want to cut my leg off at the knee.  On the bright side though, it looks fucking awesome! 

The original tattoo was done when I was 18 and a friend had just passed away from Leukemia.  I had also just found out that my parents were getting divorced and I was angry, really angry.  Neither parent wanted me to get the tattoo, but I did it anyway.  Did I mention that I was angry?  Fast forward twelve years later and while my mom is mentioning that out of all of my tattoos only the first one still makes her angry.  I told her the next time I had enough money that I would gladly go and get it covered up.  I walked out of that house with a check for $200 to go and get the ugly tattoo covered up. 

When I went to the tattoo shop to talk to my guy (yup, I have a guy now) I told him that I thought maybe a flower would work.  Flowers tend to have enough detail to cover up writing, and writing is what I had.  I left him on Saturday evening to draw up something, with the promise that I would be back on Monday afternoon (the shop is closed on Sunday’s). 

Well without further ado, I present you with the before and after:

 

I took the first picture, in case you couldn’t tell.  My tattoo guy took the second picture.  I did declare my love for him when I saw what he did.  He made a face like it’s something he hears all the time.  The whole thing hurts like hell.  Even now, two hours after it’s done, my leg is still throbbing.  I can’t believe how much this tattoo hurt.  The outline hurt, the coloring in hurt…it just hurt like hell.   I was a trooper though, I didn’t whine about it once.  I’m not really dumb enough to whine about it since I volunteered to have this done to me, not once but twice. 

I mean look at that, you can’t see any remnants of the original.  How cool is that?  Trust me you can’t see it when your live and in person either.  I’m just so glad that I’m never going to have to look at that ugly tattoo ever again.  I love, love, love my new tattoo(s). 

I guess I can safely say that with two new tattoos within one week of each other, I’m definately back to my old self again. 

It was so much fun, I'm doing it again

Twelve years ago, I made a mistake.  I got a tattoo that I shouldn’t have gotten.  I got it to piss my mother and father off.  They had just told me that they were getting divorce, and while I was relieved I was also angry as hell at both of them.  So when I found a tattoo shop in another county where you only had to be 18 to get tattooed, I did it.  It got the reaction that I had been hoping for, they were pissed.  My mom was so mad that she didn’t talk to me for like a month. 

My mom saw my new tattoo the other day.  She doesn’t love it, but she doesn’t hate it either.  She makes the mistake of taking my tattoos personally.  She thinks that it’s about her when it so clearly isn’t.  I love her to death, but for the love of all that is good and holy, it’s not about her.  I seem to have strayed from my initial topic.  As I was saying, she saw the new tattoo and doesn’t hate it.  We started talking about all my tattoos and she told me that the one on my leg is the one that pisses her off the most.  Ok fine, I can understand that.  Hell, I regretted that one about 2 years after I got it.  I started wearing jeans in the hottest of weather and when I had to dress up I would pick long dresses so that no one would see that ugly ass, jail house looking tattoo. 

When I told her that the next time I came into $200 or more, I would happily cover that one up.  Here’s the part that still shocks me, she wrote me a check for $200.  She then proceeded to push me out the door so that I could go to the shop and have the guy draw something up for me, while she was telling me that if it went over to tell her so that she could write me another check for the difference.  Well, when someone is making that kind of offer to help you get rid of a source of tension from twelve years ago, you do it. 

I must admit that the guys in the shop looked at me a little funny when I walked back in their doors less than a week after getting a tattoo.  But they seem totally willing to take my money in exchange for giving me another tattoo.  The guy looked at my birthday one which seems to be taking on a bit of a lizard quality, but healing nicely anyway, aside from the itchiness taking over. 

So yeah, lucky girl will have two new tattoos in less than a weeks time.  Don’t worry (as if you guys would) I’ll post pictures…as soon as I figure out how the hell I’m supposed to take a picture of my own leg…

                                                                                       

For the record, I’m working on my six words tag.  I find it difficult to define myself and my life in six words.  Tattoos on the other hand, easy.  I just wanted it to be known, that I’m not ignoring the tag that Toaist threw at me, I’m just having issues with it.

 

 

It's my party

I’m turning 30 in a little less than a week now.  I’m not going to go on and on about how hard it’s been for me, because let’s face it, my problems are petty when compared to the problems of others.  Let me just say, that I would be much happier if this was 31 instead of 30 because at least then I would be over this daunting hump.

Anyway, my husband is a good guy who listens to me when I really wish he wouldn’t.

My sister in law (his sister) also turned 30 this year, back in February.  Her husband had thrown her a surprise party for this occasion.  I was jealous because the last time I had a birthday party I think I was turning one or two.  My birthday is at the beginning of summer when people tend to go out of town for vacations, so my friends were usually gone and there was no party to be had.  I’m also an only child so I never really knew what I was missing until I went to friends birthday parties.  It sucked a little to realize that I didn’t get to have something like that, but at the same time I was never prepared to have that much attention thrust upon me so I was thankful that I never had a party.  The point is though, that I told my husband that I was jealous. 

Back when we found out that my brother in law was throwing a party for my sister in law, the green eyed monster game out for a visit.  I wanted a party too dammit.  I’m turning 30, why should she have everything?  I should have mentioned that I would have liked to have been clued in on these details, because my husband managed to throw together a surprise party.  Damn him. 

Since my husband started his new job, I kind of stopped wondering about what was going on.  He had plausible excuses for everything.  He asked about my favorite colors (weird) but had a good reason for why he was doing so.  My girlfriend who is getting married a week from Friday called him at one point and left a message.  My wonderful husband who thought he had nothing to hide from me, was listening to his voice-mail messages on his speaker phone.  I heard the familiar phone number being recited by the voice-mail woman and then my girlfriends distinctive voice saying hello to my husband.  He immediately deleted the message without listening to it.  When I asked what she wanted, he looked at me and asked me how he should know.  I spent two hours saying he might know if he had listened to the message.  He finally called her back in front of me and told me it was because of the wedding, she hadn’t received our RSVP yet and wanted to know if we would be at the wedding.  Weird that she would call him instead of me, but we had gotten new cell phone numbers and maybe I transposed whose number was whose when I sent an email stating that we got new numbers.  Plausible. 

My hair dresser was determined to get me into the salon to get my hair cut and colored before Father’s Day.  Weird.  My mom was insistent that I come over on Father’s Day because my husband was working and her husband would be spending the day at a baseball card show.  Neither of these woman would relent in my wanting to get together on a different day.  I’m now incredibly grateful to my hairdresser, apparently she knew the shame I would feel at being photographed with about 2 inches of growth showing. 

What gave it away was seeing my girlfriend and her fiancee walking into the place where the party was being held.  She saw me, I saw her and she ran away from me.  Curious.  I then started to look at the cars in the parking lot, and asked my mom why my in laws van was there, and why my other girlfriends truck was there.  At that point I knew for certain what was going on.  My mom had to drag me into the building.  I’ve never been so embarrassed in my whole life, and this includes the time that I told my psychology teacher that I had to go to the bathroom because my tampon was leaking down my leg.

All in all it was sweet and it was nice to have all of my favorite people in one room.  I wish my one girlfriend would have kept her trap shut and not taken it upon herself to complain about my in laws (that is my right, and my right only), but all in all it was nice.  It felt awkward as hell to have that much attention on me, but it was nice to be able to deflect some of it to the father’s in the room. 

I’m also very grateful that the hangover that I acquired from the night of drinking tequila shots the night before decided to take leave and let me have a semi normal day, you know, free of the pounding headaches and queasy-ness.