Stress aborted.

On the upside, I got through my ultrasound today with the encouraging words of a doctor. No shit. I didn’t write about it, well I kind of did, ANYWHO the fetal medicine woman with the shiny shoes and the pooh bear scrubs (which I found incredibly tacky) told me three weeks ago that the nuchal fold (back of baby’s neck) looked le suspicioso and that it could have a heart or genetic defect.


Made me fucking panic and have nightmares for three weeks and think about things like money and abortion.

Today she was all smiles, showed me my kid in 3D, and told me everything looked normal. And she didn’t wear those ridiculous scrubs.

I then proceeded to Taco Bell (because they don’t fucking deliver yet) and got Nachos Bellgrande. 

But nobody had told me that my morning sickness was on an evil conquest back to me, and I spent the whole day nauseous. That’s a fucking hard word to spell.

And no throwing up was done, no. I spent the day praying to the porcelain gods to just let me hurl and be done with it. Nothing prevailed, and I stayed in limbo all morning, afternoon, and night.

On the downside (again) I found out I was a carrier of Cystic Fibrosis, and I could have gestational diabetes. I was like WTF I’m sorry my tits got fat. And in fact, I’m losing weight from not wanting to eat. Eh, my mom was average sized and she had it too. Whatever.


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What I want to tell a few people but I don’t.

     1.) Don’t fucking ask me to go out clubbing/bar hopping.

This is my biggest problem. You guys are supposed to be my friends. I am pregnant. Pregnant. PREGNANT. I am physically and emotionally exhausted usually by 8:45PM. I will not for 10 months (give or take) be a part of bar hopping or clubbing. We are in Japan. Bars are smoke filled. I can’t fucking be in them. The smell of alcohol makes me want to vomit, which I have mentioned repeatedly. I am not going to be the idiot pregnant woman dancing at a club. Seriously. I understand that you are living a party lifestlye just as I did before I found out. That is FINE. I know you are trying to make me feel included, but just stop already. Being invited to this stuff just in turn makes me feel more upset and alone since I can’t do it.

I will go to your house parties for a while to mingle in a smoke free environment, but that’s it.

I am sick of declining all invites. It makes me feel like the bad person which I’m not. So please do me a favor by either being a real friend and planning an alcohol free day at the beach or shopping spree with me and stop inviting me to shit you know I can’t be a part of. I’m not trying to sound selfish, it’s just seriously all I can do…

     2.) If you are Mike’s friend, stop asking him out.

If you are reading this, you probably just thought to yourself “WTF bitch.”

Just, hear me out. You need to understand, that you are all single. Mike doesn’t hang out with any married men. I don’t mind him going out, just not fucking right now. And more than anything I’m sick of comments like “Are you gonna let him go out tonight???” and “COME ON just give him a kitchen pass!!!”

I am fucking sick of you putting me on the spot like that and making me look like a bitch wife.

He has a family. He is married. His wife is pregnant. Not only that, but we are both going through a very, very rough time right now with not knowing if the baby is healthy or not. I am a fucking mess and since all my friends DROPPED like fucking flies, all I have is him. Please, just stop for now. I need my husband right now to myself, the bars can wait. He works 60 hours a week already which I can barely handle and he gets to party with you for a month straight when he’s TDY every couple months.

So just listen, do me a favor, and leave us alone for now. No drunk calls at 2am, no ringing our doorbell and just showing up, no wasting my fucking time texting me demanding I let him join you at a bar or strip club, and NEVER fucking show up at my house at 4am, waking my pregnant ass up, making my dogs wake up the whole neighborhood, just because you are shitfaced and need a place to crash.

With that said, when shit clears up with my pregnancy problems and I can relax and seperate myself from him a little, he can go party. But right now he is my husband, not your wingman. And I need him right now much more than you do.

     3.) QUIT touching my stomach.

I think that about sums it up.

     4.) If you are going to bitch and complain about stupid stuff, at least use grammar and punctuation.

I think this bothers me a lot more than most. I can’t help it. I took four years of journalism in high school and can’t help that my mind is about the same as spell check. If you are going to make a facebook status update and spell shit wrong, fine. But if you are going to complain as WELL as spell shit wrong, I pity you. You had the life option to go to school unlike millions of children around the world. At least make it look like you are proud of it. Another thing that bugs me is double letters. “Omgg I hatee whenn I hear this song it makes mee soo depresseddddddddd 😦 #andthenyoutagabunchofshit”

Seriously I pulled that from my news feed. Time to do some friend cleaning.

Okay, I’m not perfect. But I strive to make the shit I read not difficult.

     5.) Music.

My husband and I are music genuises. So if one of use shows you a band that we’ve loved dearly for years, please don’t play their albums over and over and over and OVER. We’ve heard it all already, and you doing that makes me get sick of the band or song in a heartbeat. You are ruining some of my favorite artists that I showed you by typing lyrics on facebook like an idiot, posting videos on facebook like an idiot. and talking to me about them like I don’t know who they are….like an idiot.

Petty, I know. It’s just so damn annoying.


There’s so much more. I’m just tired and irritated now from venting. To be continued.



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Pregnancy laughs-the ugly truth.

This will be a series of posts, there is way too much to be said.

On the first trimester of pregnancy my true love gave to me-a hospital bed and an IV.

My morning sickness was so bad at one point that I was in a hospital for six hours hooked up to an IV. Glad that’s overwith.

I hate the women who talk about the beauty of pregnancy, the tears of happiness, the rays of sunbshine. HA. They probably just don’t want to admit that their gas can make someone throw up. Or that their boobs have got so ginormous that they now have national geographic nipples. Or that black lacie somethings’ have turned into white tents and super padded full coverage boulder-holders. Or that vomit sprays from your mouth like the exorcist, and prenatals turn your piss a pretty shade of neon. Or that you’re so constipated that you mistake your baby bump for bloat. Or that your hair is greasy, skin is blotchy, and body hair goes quicker (this is one section I lucked out on)

I could go on, it’s fun. And if you have been/are pregnant, you are laughing knowing it’s the sad and disgusting truth. If you want to get pregnant, you might be nervous, and if you aren’t pregnant you are probably thinking we are disgusting.

I do find a good amount of pregnancy disturbing. I have to see so many tubes of my blood every month. I’ve gotten so many shots and I’ve had so much blood drawn that I look tired and mangled.

They want us to drink a gallon of water a day, but even 5 cups a day has us pissing every 30 minutes and all night. They want us to eat fruits and vegetables all day which makes the shit explode. And in the first trimester, the things you love make you sick.

I watched my favorite foods become my enemies, and said goodbye to anything spicy or alcoholic. I watched my greatest addiction (coffee) drift away as my $150 brewer collected dust. This human can not only have one cup a day.

I watched friends dissapear and let new ones enter.

But all of this is simple to say goodbye to compared to the love I have for this squishy pink thing growing inside of me.


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To lighten things up.

I will start with my husband.

I have a lot of things in common with my husband. Well, who doesn’t. That’s what marriage is all about. Music brought us together when we first met, over four years ago. The band A Skylit Drive in particular, but then dozens of others.

We have a lot of things in common. Like video games. Mainly COD which turns out I’m better than him at a good amount of time 😛 We both knew that we wanted a dog. We wanted her bad enough that we adopted her before we even had a house. Well only a couple of days, but still enough of a struggle.

 He knew that I wanted a career, school, and a good life.

He joined the military and gave all of that to me, under the terms that I deal with the military lifestyle, moving every minute, and stuck up military wives. I kindly accepted, I love him.

And turns out not all military wives are stuck up.

Things I didn’t know before we moved in together.

  • His gas could stink up an entire house in three seconds.
  • Groceries are never enough, we spend a good $500/month. He eats up everything (mind you, he weighs 160.)
  • Dirty sock and underwear trail from the stairs to the living room every time he gets off work.
  • Boogers flicked and chewed nails on the floor.
  • Extreme sleep twitching, and sleeping with the eyes half open, and sleeping taking up the whole bed.

I could go on, but I won’t. If you are reading this babe, I apologize and still love you no matter the yuckies.

I never thought marriage could be so fun. I always heard the horror stories, especially in the military. But I am still as in love with my man since the day I met him. We rarely ever fight, and when we do it’s usually because my pregnant ass wants McDonald’s, and he wants Popeye’s. Or he wants to play COD, and I want to watch TV. People say if you don’t fight, you’re not normal. And fighting is healthy. Uh, false. Maybe arguing and coming to an understanding is healthy, but fighting every day over stupid shit is not.

Since I got knocked up, I look like shit a lot. And he still kisses my forehead and tells me I’m beautiful. He massages the knots out of my lower back, and rubs oil on the protective layer of stomach fat pregnancy has graced me with. He holds me on Friday and Saturday nights that used to be spent partying and wasting away. Turns out a lot of people flaked out when I became pregnant, and I became the no fun pregnant friend. I’ll get to that later. Bottom line, everyone deserves a love like that.

I lucked out in the love department, I guess.

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I dream so much. I feel like I dream all night every night. I dream about pink elephants a lot. I dream about body parts falling off. Sometime I dream that I am budding (growing miniature me’s all over my body). I dream about ice cream. I dream about someone that I met once when I was a kid. I dream about dead people that I miss.

Then there are the nightmares. I have nightmares that people’s faces are melting off or exploding. I have nightmares that I lose my dogs. I have nightmares about dead babies hanging by umbilical cord nooses from my ceiling fan above my bed. I have nightmares that I wake up and turn around to see my husband dead and gutted like a fish. Fun, right? When I tell someone I had a horrible nightmare, I usually mean it and would prefer to not tell you. But only a select few will read this, and now it’s too late.

You now know I have a fucked up subconscience mind. 🙂

It got to the point about three months ago that I wasn’t sleeping from these constant night terrors. I went to a counselor to talk about this. Which also, no one knows. They said it was the stress manifesting itself. That I needed to get it under control before the manifestation became too much. They gave me ridiculous fucking breathing exercises. I don’t need that. I just need to talk about it. I guess they were under the impression that I have someone to vent to. I do of course, but like previously stated, I’d rather not burden the world with my troubles.

The stress was gone. I got everything under control. I started dreaming again of elephants and ice cream. Until last night.

Have you seen the movie Insidious? My dream was sort of like that. I know, theatrical and ridiculous. But when it’s you in the dream experiencing an evil entity, you kind of panic.

The source of the dream is probably the stress of my next ultrasound in a couple days. We were told the baby could have problems. I think he/she will be fine but I guess the mind continues to stress.

Everything will be either better or worse in two days.

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I am many things.

I am a lover. I am a realist.

I am many things, but collected is not one of them. I mean, of course I look it on the outside. That’s just how I was raised. No one needs to throw their emotions around. It’s ugly, it’s messy. So, I prefer to keep it to myself. Which, in the long run, still has chaotic results. I learned to mask everything, and keep to myself.


That’s the result. So, if you are one of those many people who push their emotions on other people, you are probably sane. Cheers to you. Doesn’t make you any less fucking annoying.

I am here to tell the world how it is. I know everything, I do. I can win any arguement, I can make you collapse with words, I can fight any fight with wit and honesty.

But I don’t. I refrain, because I like difference in this world. I am also very nice and probably don’t want to tell you how it is. I like that people are dreamers. In fact, if I could be one I would. But I am a cold realist. And in this large world of possibilities, I am factual and pessimistic. There is always a cloud over me. It’s how I’ve always been.

I am a republican that doesn’t believe in religion. What the fuck is that? I am a human that loves Christmas and Easter, but doesn’t believe in Jesus. Not that it matters, no one knows the exact birth and death of a human that hasn’t even been proved to exist.

But we are human, so we look for something to believe in, to love, to talk to when we have no one. Well, everyone else does.

I am simply a person on the side, watching humans exist in this fucked up world. And I don’t mind, it’s fun. It can make me laugh, cry, or shake my head.

I am many things. I love animals too much. I am a military wife and a soon to be mom. I am in love with so many things. I am fun and happy when I want to be. I am boring.

I am hoping that writing will once again clear my head and make the nightmares formed by stress go away. I will vent, rant, make you laugh, and probably piss one or two people off.

I am starting now.


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