Thursday, December 8, 2011
Sunday, November 6, 2011
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
Today, I am on cloud nine. Who knows, maybe I'm even on cloud ten. We went in this morning and had our twenty week sonogram. The baby looks awesome! It was the cutest little baby brain, and baby femur I have ever seen. Not only did my rocking doctor (whom I love) tell me that the baby looked great, he also told me I was skinny and still looked hot! (Thank Heaven for male doctors who have a knack for flirting with fat pregnant ladies).
The gender of our baby is sealed in an enveloped which has already been delivered to one of my best friends for safe keeping. We will gather with friends and family Saturday night to reveal the sex of our little one. If some of you are thinking, "Wow, that sounds like LOADS of fun!" (hence the sarcasm) don't worry, we will be providing our guest with loads of booze and catered Mexican food. I will make up in Mexican food what I can't enjoy in booze.
TOTAL WEIGHT GAIN: 12 pounds
WEIRD CRAVINGS: Bacon, carrots, MEAT, MEAT, MEAT (my sweet baby carnivore)
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Despite the lingering nausea; excessive vaginal discharges of question; constant bloating; severe constipation followed by room-clearing gas; back aches; woolly-mammoth belly; AND National Geographic nipples.....I'm actually really starting to enjoy this pregnancy. Seriously, I am!
The past week, I've actually transfered out of the "that lady is fat" stage to "that lady is pregnant" stage. Thank God! I was beginning to convince myself that (despite the sonograms and heartbeats) maybe I wasn't pregnant....maybe, I was just fat. But I'm not, I now look pregnant. Forget science, I just needed the belly. And I am loving the belly love. I know a lot of women are all "hands off my belly". Well, not me. Touch it. I know you want to. Touch me all you want. Rub this belly and rub it good.
TOTAL WEIGHT GAIN: 8 lbs
CRAVINGS: Dill pickle chips, Mexican Food, Grapes, Indian Food
Friday, September 9, 2011
I know, I know. It's been a while. I've been busy getting uber affection with my porcelain thrown. Honestly, pregnancy has been hard for me. Sickness and nauseous have become a dear friend to me, never leaving my side always there to greet me hour upon hour. I think I had some fantasy that I would be one of "those" pregnant ladies who breezed through the nine months with nothing worse than enlarged nipples and a few stretch marks. Well, not only are my nipples increasing rapidly by the day, but my sickness hasn't seemed to decrease.
Hello, second trimester??? Can you please assist? Keep your fingers crossed for me because there is nothing more I want than to eat a chicken fried steak and not have to experience the meal again 30 minutes later. On a good note, since the last time we talked....I CAN POOP! Praise the Lord and pass the cornbread! That has been such a relief (both literally and figuratively!)
Okay, enough icky poo stuff (Jef Swann, have I grossed you out enough?) Let's get to the belly pic and the stats.
13 1/2 Week Belly Picture
CRAVINGS: Mashed Potatoes and Dill Pickle Chips
SEX: Yes, please!!
Saturday, August 6, 2011
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
The Oasis- Austin, TX
The Oasis- Austin, TX
The Oasis - Austin, TX
We also went to Shlitterbahn Water Park (World's Largest Waterpark) where I soaked in stranger's pee for 9 hours. Side note: I was dumped at Shiltterbahn one time for a pentecostal girl with no boobs in a one piece swimsuit but I digress. The next day we floated the Guadalupe River and exposed the kids to a little Texas "culture" a.k.a. drunk people blasting out songs such as "Those Oklahoma Boys Roll their Joints All Wrong" out of a cooler that is also a radio.
Thursday, July 14, 2011
I had to put my Britney shirt on at the end of the night! (Notice my shoes are now in my hands and off my feet).
Yes, I will love Britney Spears Until the World Ends! Sure, she's gone through a few Womanizers who were Toxic which drove her Crazy but I don't care. Don't Hold it Against Me. When I first became a Britney fan, I was Not a Girl, Not Yet a Woman but now that I'm all grown up all I can say is Gimme More Britney Spears! I am so Lucky to have gotten to see Britney progress and become Stronger through this Circus we call her life. So when her concert arrived Monday night in Dallas I knew I had to see her Baby, One More Time. Let's be real; Britney, I'm a Slave for You.
I have loved Britney for 14 years! I will never forget buying her very first single CD to "Baby One More Time". She has been a consistent to me through my life. Boyfriends, relationship, friendships have come and gone....but Britney is forever. Thank you Brit-Brit, once again for an amazing experience!
Monday, July 11, 2011
Sunday, Buckethead and I volunteered at church to run a Toddler Sunday School. We ended up with 9 very quick, and rambuncous 2-3 year olds. We lost one. But then we found it. Luckily the lost toddler was just playing in the toliet. Aside from that, it pretty much went off without a hitch. Well, except for one tiny, little, itty-bity slip of the tongue.
Mind you, I'm not usually the one to stick my foot in my mouth. Mainly because I care too much about what other people think (strange, as I share my bowel movements with strangers via the internet).
So we're trying to get the kids to line up, and although we have their names tapped on their backs, at times there were still too many of the little rascals to remember. So this one little tyrant, umm, I mean angel was running out of the line and I call out to him using the name......
Sugar Butt? That sounds like a glittered stripper or possibly a name you call your husband (or Pimp) but a total stranger's toddler at CHURCH?? Yep, that's what I decided to call him. Sugar-Butt.
Let's just hope he's one of the few toddlers that, haven't been able to express themselves through words yet. Otherwise, I may be in line for a relatively mortifying call from the head of Children's Minstry.
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
I'm going to climbed up on my soap box for a minute (which is really hard after the burrito I had at lunch) and take a few moments to express my humble opinion about the Casey Anthony verdict. Sure, maybe I didn't go to law school and I don't have a fancy JD after my name. However, I have had several last names and I am an expert at the television network, Oxygen. A channel that survives off of re-runs of Forensic Files and Snapped--both shows about serial killers and convictions. Oh, and the Bad Girls Club, but I don't watch that one.....often.
Anyways, you may say I'm a little obsessed with crime theory thus I have been interested and slightly following the Casey Anthony Murder Trial. A few hours ago, Casey was found NOT Guilty of the murder of her daughter, Caylee. I'm not going to go into a large hypothesis theory or even say that I don't believe that she killed her daughter. Actually, I'm pretty sure she did.
BUT, did you hear what I just said....I'm PRETTY sure she did it. I think the Jury gave justice to this trial. Where was the concrete evidence? I couldn't find it and all I saw were clips from Nancy Grace and Fox News. I didn't sit for months in a court room going over the evidence, but twelve US citizens did. Twelve normal Americans, not a King or a Dictator. Those twelve citizens found her NOT guilty.
All over Facebook, my friends (whom I admire and respect their opinions) are saying Justice was not served. I beg to differ. You can't send a person to jail for life or even decades of their life if you are basing this on a hunch. The irony of the trial ending the day after Independence Day shows us in a hard way that we truly do live in the best country in the world and that we truly do have the best justice system in the world. Because, in our country everyone deserves a fair trial. Everyone is innocent until proven guilty. And regardless if Casey is actually guilty, the verdict wasn't made on speculations, it had to be determined by facts, proven and convincing to a Jury of 12 peers.
Again, I can't say that Casey didn't kill her daughter. Honestly, I think she is guilty as the day is long but even if she isn't convicted here on this Earth, we have a God who is Just. Caylee will be justified if not in this lifetime, in the next.
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Earlier this summer I went to a "white-trash" birthday party.
For those of you who don't know, I am slightly white-trash by nature. I'm from a very small Texas town; I went to Homecoming my Sophomore year with a 4th cousin whom made-out with afterwards; my favorite fast food is the Dairy Queen and every male member of my family bears the name "Earl".
So given the blood that runs through my veins, getting dressed up for this party was a piece of cake.
Cut-off shorts? CHECK.
Colored Bra under a wife beater. CHECK, CHECK.
House shoes and a cigarette. CHECK.
When contemplating what to do with my hair, the infamous scrunchie immediately popped into my head. I knew that I had to have a scrunchie to make my fashion statement. That being said, I was a bit hesitant because this meant I would have to venture out, leave my comfort zone of Target and visit the great unknown; Wal-Mart.
I should mention that I'm not the biggest fan of the Wal-mart. The people are barefoot; poopy diapered toddlers are running amok; someone in a spandex onsie is squeezing an avocado next to me saying, "Take this one home. You can chew it. It's delicious".
Plus you can buy tires at the same place you can buy your meat. Basically, it's just not for me.
However, if I was going to get that scruchie I would have to put on my big girl panties and go to the Super Center. Upon entering, I knew I had come to the right place. Wal-mart has to be what is keeping the Scrunchie makers a-float because they pretty much had a designated Scrunchie aisle.
There were Velvet Scrunchies; big scrunchies; multi-colored scrunchies; tortise clips from the maker of Scrunchie. denim scrunchies; and banana clips. Yes, they even had banana clips!
Instantly, I began to channel my inner 90's child and fell back into the days when Save By the Bell's Kelly Kapowski was my idol; the idea of fashion was neon girbaud shorts and a No Fear t-shirt; and throwing around little paper circles called Pogs was a sign of a good time.
Yes the era of the scrunchie was a happier time. When I was growing up prostitution was cool because Julia Roberts played one and got to end up with Richard Gere thus changing my idea of future job paths. Pee-Wee Herman was still just a creepy looking adult that had a playhouse and not a guy that was arrested for charming the snake in a parking lot. Mark Walburg still ran around without his shirt off; I had a dance routine for every Ace of Base song on my tape track And As if! Clueless was my all-time favorite movie.
Walking out of the Wal-mart with a bag full of scrunchies made me recall the seriously awesome aspects of being a teeny-bopper in the 90s. All I wanted was to go back to a school dance and rock out to the Macarena with a head full of scrunchies and a pair of Doc Martens on my feet.
So, call me classless but ever since I got the scrunchies, I can't stop wearing them! I big pink puffy heart the scrunchie. They're convenient, they don't pull out my very expensive Asain hair, you can sleep in them AND let us not forget that they come in tie-dye! How could something so great disappear along with the Spice Girls?
I'll tell you what I want, what I really, really, want. I WANT MORE SCRUNCHIES. Yes, if you want to be my lover, you gotta get me more scrunchies.
Am I relatively mortified that I go to the gym in a hot pink scrunchie? Possibly.
But, if we would all make a stand and say, "NO MORE. I REFUSE TO BE THE VICTIM OF FASHIONABLE HAIR WEAR" and say, "YES" to the scrunchie. This world would be a better place and maybe, just maybe Hanson would make a come-back.
Monday, June 20, 2011
Friday, June 10, 2011
Before I begin, I must note that this blog post is about hair removal. If you don't know me that well, I tend to be somewhat graphic in my tales. So if you don't want to know what happened between my butt cheeks this morning. Look away; please, please, look away.
Now, I assume most of you know about the wonderful, mystical world of Groupon. A flying unicorn that farted glitter couldn't get me more excited than when my email bings with an out of this world good deal on Groupon. So, a few weeks ago when a laser hair removal coupon-Groupon was posted, I immediately jumped on that smooth deal. Mind you, I could have selected any menacing section of hair to remove but I chose to "de-hair" my private lady parts.
It sounded like a good idea at the time. Although I thought I was intricately prepared for my 9:30 a.m. appointment for my first out of six sessions, I had no idea what I was getting myself into.
I was told 45 minutes before I came into the appointment to apply a numbing cream that I bought at the consultation. Fervently, I applied the cream, getting every nook, cranny and crevice completely covered. Then I washed my hands. Apparently not good enough. Within 15 minutes my lady parts, three fingers, my right eyelid, half my tongue, my bottom lip and an ear lobe were completely numb. But, being the optimist that I am, I looked at this as a positive. I figured with the cream's potency I wouldn't be feeling a thing from the laser treatment.
Now, if you remember a blog post of mine from a few years back, this ain't my first rodeo with hair removal in a "delicate" place. I have had many moments in the back room of a nail salon, being tortured by a lady named Ping. That was painful, but I had gotten out alive. Surely, this wouldn't be any worse.
The place were I was getting the laser treatment done was at a medical "spa". Medical Spas are almost as common in Dallas as a Starbucks. There is one on every corner. The mass amount of money women will spend in Dallas to be brought close to the brink of death for beauty is insane. Sure, peel 10 layers of skin of my face, just make sure the room smells of lavender and I get a foot rub at the end.
Yes, the spa setting is very deceiving. Walking into a beautiful room, with fresh flowers and calming music makes you believe your their for a Swedish massage. The cushy bed was far from a examination table and the cucumber water added a nice touch.
Perhaps it was the esthestican advising me to let her know if my pain got above an eight that got me realizing this wasn't going to be a walk in the park.
"An eight?!?!" I thought to myself. I cry for 20 minutes and ask for a bag of ice if my pain scale hits a 4. But, "an eight??!" I needed some liquid courage, but there wasn't a margarita in sight. I was going to have to be on my own on this one.
One. Two. Three.
Explicitive. Explicitive. Explicitive.
After the first zap, you could have stuck a fork in me. I was done. My common sense finally kicked in and I was thinking, was the heck am I doing? Why in the world would I subject myself to such pain? No scratch that, why in the world would I PAY to be in such pain? It felt as if Chuck Norris had shot laser beams out of his eyes and onto my....you know. The tech had to coax me into staying on the table, assuring me I would get use to the zap and that it wouldn't take much longer.
30 zaps later and 5 minutes in a position where I had to be on all fours; I was finally done.
After the treatment, I looked as if I had run 10 miles, in 100 degree weather through a hurricane. I was drenched in sweat and yes, I was crying although I blamed in on allergies.
One treatment down. Five more to go.
Ouch, ouch, ouch.
Monday, May 23, 2011
It's that time again. You know, Bachlorette time. Time when I invest 8 weeks of my life watching the demise of a relationship that won't make it past the reunion show. But, I can't help it. It has a hold on me I tell ya. It takes over my mind, soul and body stronger than a Celine Dion CD.
My birthday was over the weekend. I'm not a huge fan of the birthdays idea that you have to have 5 different celebrations with huge amounts of people. It makes me nervous. I know what you're thinking, "How in the hell could a narcissistic, self-absorbed, amazing, awesome person, like JPO who likes to refer to herself by her nickname, in the third person, in all caps, NOT want to have a day where everyone focuses on her amazing awesomeness??"
I know, I know. Sometimes I find it a little crazy myself. Don't get me wrong, I LOVE birthday presents. Actually, I like pretty much any kind of present; birthday, Christmas, Easter, YOUR birthday, Hanukkah, St. Patrick's Day, National Pet Week, Michael Jackson's Death anniversary, Halloween and Memorial Day. A present is expected on those days....and a few others. So of course, on MY birthday. I expect THE PRESENTS. And thankfully, Buckethead did not disappoint.
My Dad joined Facebook. Crap. My FB updates will now talk about Rainbow Ponies and Disney Princesses. My fear is that one day he will actually figure out HOW to use the FB and will somehow discover this blog and then I'm completely toast. Don't get me wrong, it's not like I keep my musing a secret. My mom reads this as does my Grandmother, Grandfather, my pastor brother and a large part of his congregation that I'm sure keeps me at the top of their prayer chains....but my Daddy? I mean, I'm his "baby girl". He thinks I'm angelic and that somehow I was miraculously a virgin on the night of my honeymoon to my second husband. I can't shatter his dreams.
Nothing else to say except I painted my toes green. That was a bad decision.