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August 2005
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October 2005

The Thing About Assvice

"I know you hate assvice, but..." "Just my two cents worth of assvice..." "I'm not going to tell you what to do, but here's my completely biased opinion and some scary statistics that will mean death, destruction and doom if you ignore them..." Okay, Internet. We need to Talk. I'm not exactly sure who coined the word "assvice." I first saw it on the infertility blogs. And it was not a good thing. It was something to Refrain From Giving. It was a synonym for You Probably Should Have Kept Your Big Trap Shut. Urban Dictionary defines it as "The unwelcomed and unsolicited advice given to someone." Get that? UNWELCOMED. UNSOLICITED. But somewhere along the line, assvice has lost its meaning -- and its stigma. And this needs to stop. It's not some kind of cute disclaimer. "Hee hee, I know this is assvice but because I label it as such, you can't be annoyed by it..." No. You're basically admitting that you're butting in with advice that the other person probably doesn't want and definitely didn't ask for. You're basically admitting that you're being an asshole. And that you're the type of asshole who lectures pregnant women at Starbucks... Read more →

No, I Am Not Off Having the Baby Right This Very Moment

It was nice of everybody to jump to that conclusion, but in reality I was: 1) Being told that I will probably not ever have this baby, and 2) Trying to figure out how to put the Wednesday Advice Smackdown on an impromptu hiatus, because people, I CANNOT WRITE ABOUT SHAMPOO ANYMORE. I saw my OB this morning, FULLY AND COMPLETELY CONFIDENT that I was going to be told lovely tales of effasement and dilation, because...well, I've been getting these stabbing pains in the lady-business area and I read that this could be a sign of your cervix dilating. And I chose to believe this with my entire being. So I laid back, smiled proudly when my doctor marveled at my sudden and rapid belly growth ("Yes! The Internet thinks the same thing!"), gritted my teeth in hatred when he told me that keeping my skin moisturized would prevent more stretch marks ("Liar! LIIIIIAARRR!"), and spread my legs for the cervical check. "No change," he said, and furrowed his Christopher-Guest-in-a-bald-cap brow. "No change at all." And I made some noise that can only be transcribed as something like, "Whhhaaatttthefucknooocraaap!" Then he said, "We need to talk about your pelvis." What... Read more →

I Barely Even Thought About My Kitchen This Weekend...

...because the fabulous Diana came to visit. Diana brought me spiced wafers and trashy magazines, tolerated my putting us on the wrong bus to Georgetown, ignored the fact that it took me 20 minutes to find all the pieces to my coffee maker and also walked my dog so I could take care of important things, like sitting down. (Diana is now Ceiba's best friend in the entire world, and that dog was clearly and openly pissed when I returned home on Sunday afternoon without her.) We took not one, but two trips to Lush, purchased approximately 97 bath bombs and openly abused a tester container of $78 moisturizer, spent forever in Sephora in search of Chanel lipgloss and the perfect green eyeshadow, decided that Paris Hilton's perfume smells exactly like filthy whore, and bought lots and lots of wee baby boy clothes. Jason took us to a fancy restaurant like the divas we are, schooled us on why the 2002 vintage is the best for Burgundy, got wasted on said Burgundy and then broke our new wine glasses from Target by accident, which was really funny and this totally absolved Diana for knocking her water glass clear across the... Read more →

In Which I Do Not Talk About My Kitchen

All week, I've been kind of waiting for someone to comment or email the inevitable how-dare-you-write-about-your-stupid- kitchen-problems-when-people-are-homeless-and-have-no- kitchens kind of thing. I was actually surprised it took as long as it did, but yesterday somebody finally said it. (Now, she has since apologized so I order everybody to lay off. I love the minion-like way y'all rush to my defense when needed, but this time? Not needed. Be nice.) Of course, I'm going to harp on it just a wee bit. Then I will drop it. I swear. There was the typical "have you not been watching the news?" aspect to her comment which always bugs the crap out of me, as if simply because I have not specifically addressed Hurricane Katrina here, therefore I must not even be aware that there is a national tragedy going on. Because I have only written about IKEA and kitchen mishaps, those must be the only things registering on my shallow plane of existence. Which: Of course not, fools. And I'm not writing about my little problems with the expectation of empathy and head pats (which y'all have given in spades anyway), or to imply that oh my God, my life is so... Read more →

In Which I Start To Think That Maybe Remodeling the Kitchen Was a Bad Idea

My apologies for the lack of an Advice Smackdown yesterday. I was too busy not talking about my kitchen to write anything. We are still not talking about my kitchen. (Silence. Angry, terrible silence.) Well, since there is clearly nothing else to talk about, I suppose we can talk about my kitchen. When we last visited my personal Land of Make Believe Kitchen Progress, I had many cabinets in my dining room, minus two base corner cabinets that were mysteriously missing, and one small upper cabinet that was all busted to shit, or something. The two corner cabinets were located, thanks to an Amber Alert and somebody deciding to maybe go check that there delivery truck one more time. Wednesday, 6:30 am: We are reunited with our corner cabinets, and work can now begin, as these corner cabinets are the cabinets that, of course, need to be installed first and from whom all other cabinets and blessings flow. Or something. It was early. Either way, our cabinets were going to be installed yesterday, just one day late. The broken cabinet was not essential and LORD, I DON'T CARE ABOUT IT, JUST INSTALL SOMETHING SO I CAN GET MY CASSEROLE DISHES... Read more →

How to Drive a Pregnant Woman to a Sobbing, Hysterical Breakdown in Three Easy Steps

Step One: Deliver Pregnant Woman's new kitchen cabinets on a Friday. Deposit in dining room. Do not open, because what this place really needed was some more goddamn cardboard boxes. Step Two: Tell Pregnant Woman you will demolish her old kitchen and install new cabinets on Tuesday. Which is today! Which means every item in her kitchen needs to move to the living room. Preferably, in boxes. Step Three: Call Pregnant Woman and tell her that one of the new cabinets is cracked. And two are missing. Because the boxes? When they were delivered? Were not opened. Begin discussing new-cabinet-ordering timeline that simply does not match up with her countdown-to-baby timeline and listen to her crumble in defeat. For bonus points, tell her that her old cabinets have already been demolished. You aren't blaming this one on me, bitch! At least you got your goddamn drawer already. Love, IKEA Read more →

He Said, She Said, They Said, You Said

Since comments for yesterday's post turned into an impromptu "guess the birthday" game, I figure it's time for the inevitable Official Guess When I Will Give Birth and What Size Child I Will Pass Through My Vagina Entry. BUT FIRST: Also from yesterday's comments: "you must share you pregnancy fitness plan with us." Fit...ness? Plan? Pregnancy? HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA. No, seriously, HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA. My entire fitness regimen began and ended with the purchase of a prenatal yoga video in the first trimester. I put it on once, only to read a warning that said if "you are still in the first trimester and suffering from morning sickness, it is advised that you not perform these exercises." Well! Who am I to ignore a warning like that? I gleefully stopped the tape and parked my ass back on the couch. And then never hit the play button ever again. Basically: I haven't excercised at all beyond walking the dog and climbing the stairs to my condo, and I've eaten whatever I've wanted and as much as I've wanted, and most of what I've wanted has been doughnuts, ice cream and other evil processed foods high in carbs and trans fats. So clearly, that's the... Read more →

36 Weeks. And Also, Poop.

I was out walking Ceiba last night when I noticed a DC United van was pulled up in front of the building next door. And various soccer-player types were out and about, unloading furniture from this van and carrying it inside. In their soccer-player arms. Flexing their soccer-player legs. Flat-screen TVs, stereo equipment and expensive modular furniture: the calling cards of a teenaged professional athlete blowing his signing bonus. Even though I could not tell you the name of a single player on the DC United roster, I still stopped and stared and gaped like a damned fool. And those nice young men all smiled and waved at me, which is right when I realized that Ceiba was taking a huge dump. And struggggggling with this dump. Straining. Wandering all over the place, dropping turds left and right. Which I then had to squat down and pick up, one by one, lest the soccer players label me as the neighbor who lets her purse dog shit all over their new lawn, but really, that might be preferable to being the neighbor who huffed and puffed and finally managed to bend down to the poop's level only to have her ill-fitting... Read more →