The Napkin Diaries

Today is my 2-year wedding anniversary!

Husband just had a dozen pink roses delivered to my office. He also just booked a romantic weekend getaway in Savannah, GA. We're going to stay at the Marshall House this coming weekend and be all cute and cuddly and sappy all over that city.

Cannot.wait.

For those of you unfortunate enough to not know Brudder, you are totally missing out. Michael aka " Brudder" (brother, duh. Get with the program) is 4 years younger than me and insanely intelligent. Total gym rat, life of the party kinda guy, and most importantly, is wildly amusing.

The kid makes me laugh. Every single time I talk to him. Seriously. And I don't just mean face-t0-face talk, I mean even stupid little IMs on Facebook talk.

Sometimes he sends me stupid shit, like this, to take up space on my Facebook so I look popular...
And then our conversation goes like this:

Seestor: Ewww, WTF is THAT?
Brudder: A bat being tooth brushed. Obviously.
Seestor: Obviously.



And then for the hell of it I googled "quotes about bats" and found this:

Bats have no bankers and they do not drink and cannot be arrested and pay no tax and, in general, bats have it made. (-John Berryman)

You're welcome.

Happy Friday, bitches.

Today I have Senioritis.

For those of you unaware of the symptoms of Senioritis, it goes something like this:

I don’t feel like doing shit.

Senioritis didn’t really hit me too hard in high school, mostly because I was just a teenager with a hellacious schedule of cheerleading, boys, and homework. Not necessarily in that order. It was demanding, let me tell you. It wasn’t until college that my Senioritis became more prominent. My prior schedule, now had new priorities: DRINKING, boys, and homework. Totally in that order. It was demanding, let me tell you. Let me also tell you that I really really enjoyed 2/3 of my schedule. Mmmmm, college…

I started seriously utilizing my maximum number of absences allowed per class during my senior year. And I would conveniently schedule them in a row. And there was no pre-requisites for taking these days off. Usually I’d wake up and be like “Oh today is totally a Personal Day,” (i.e. I ain’t doin’ SHIT). Well, sometimes the pre-req was that I drank the day/night before or was planning to drink during said Personal Day and therefore needed ample time to recover and/or prepare.

So, I have Senioritis today. But why? You ask. Because I don’t want to do anything. I don't care that I haven't been an undergrad in 4 years. I have Senioritis today, damnit.

I want to sit in a grungy apartment with my favorite people and fart around and do nothing but stir up trouble, or play Nintendo, or wear my crab pants (they totally have little crabs on them and I wore them all the time in college. I mean, they were pajama shorts, but I still wore them to take out the trash, and to hit on boys ( this one time I was totally wearing them with a trucker hat cocked to the side at 3 in the morning when I met this guy-turned-boyfriend as he busted all up in my girls’ apartment when I was partying in Columbia). Where the hell was I going with this??)

::wanders off aimlessly::

So you know what's like the weirdest feeling in the world? Thinking you are pregnant. It could also classify as the worst feeling in the world, but that’s more so when you’re 16 and don’t have any damn idea what you’re doing and you run to the bathroom every 20 minutes to check to see if “it” came, and then when it does you jump up and down in the hallway after class and hug your boyfriend and yell “I got my period!!” like you just won the non-baby lottery or something, but that’s not the feeling we’re going to talk about. (And I so don't know anything about that...)

We’re going to talk about when you’re a married woman, at an age when society considers you an adult, and you accidentally might be pregnant.

I thought I was pregnant last Halloween. I was at work (at the job from Hell) and something “weird” happened. This post is weird enough as it is, so I’ll spare you the details, but this weirdness, like doesn’t happen to me. My shit is on schedule and predictable. This weird business that occurred was neither scheduled or predicted. And so I freaked.

I called Husband early in the morning and the convo went like this:

Wife: So uh, I might be pregnant.
Husband: Whaaaat? What did you DO?!
Wife: Uhhhhh… you...?

I guess if I had to think about how I’d want Husband to respond if I told him I was pregnant, it wouldn’t really have gone like that. But I mean, that shit was funny, regardless. I got off the phone with a look of distraught strewn across my face and called the “Girl” office.

Nic: So uh, I might be pregnant.
Girl: Did you take a test and get a positive reading?
Nic: I took a test, but it said “no,” but I don’t believe it and now I’m pretty much freaking out.
Girl: Okay, we can do a blood test.
Nic: Okay, like now? Now would be good. Please?
Girl: Yeah, go to blah blah Emergency Care office and do a blood test.
Nic: Kaythxbai.

::Running to blah blah Emergency Care office::
Husband drove me there. I was all like “WTF. This is so going to ruin Halloween if I’m pregnant.” Obviously drinking is totally my priority. Like always. Don’t judge me.

Nic to Emergency Care Office Person: So uh, I might be pregnant.

…

So I did the blood test, but I wasn’t going to get my results until friggin Monday! Ack! Oh the decisions!! What do I do? Do I “ignore” this potential… baby?… for the night and drink my face off one last good time? Do I go out and not drink? (Yeah right. Who wants to be that guy?) Do I have just ONE drink? Do I fake sick and call my friends and tell them I have swine flu? What the HELL do I DO?

I know what I do: I go to Halloween Party. And I don’t drink. Or at least that is the plan…

So I get all slutty, because that is what every girl does on Halloween – it’s you’re annual “get as slutty as you want” free pass and I totally take up the offer every year. We had these ridiculously awesome costumes picked out – German Beer People Costumes. (Totally the Official Title) And we were going to rock that party, regardless of our intoxication level. Riiiiight.

And so we got in the car and headed downtown to the big ass party…And as I was all dressed up in my pig tails and Beer Wench costume, with Husband next to me in his little lederhosen, I burst into tears, ruined my slutty eye makeup and demanded he turn the car around because I could not stand the thought of being dressed like a whore and possibly being a mother at the same time.

I called my BFF all blubbery and squeaky and told her, “Hey BFF, I think [sniff] I [cry] might be [soooobbbb] preeeeegnaaaaant!”

And with that, Husband turned the car around and drove my crybaby ass home.

And I cried. Not so much because I was mad that I could possibly be pregnant, but because I DIDN’T KNOW if I was pregnant. And man, I suck when it comes to anticipation and surprises and all that crap. I need to know and I need to know NOW.

Then I found out a few days later I was totally not pregnant and wasted a perfectly good Beer Wench costume.

Fingers crossed I wear it this year…

So I wanted one of those fancy Linked-In profiles that all the other cool kids are getting... so uhh, I got one. I set up a little goofy profile and found some people I know and voila, now I am part of the Corporate Facebook, if you will.

While completing my little profile [that doesn't say jack shit because I don't know how to "sum up" a damn thing mostly because I'm the wordiest motherfucker on the planet... case in point], I noticed that I could add my screen name. "Why of course, I want everyone I've met in the working world to be able to IM me at any given moment!"

::Shaking head:: Me. I'm a tard.

So I totally add my screen name. And then a little twitch happened in my face because I remember something mildly important about my profile.

I made it while I was in college.

And do you recall what I did while in college?

I shook my ass. Furiously. All over town. I even had DJs stop the music to announce just how furiously I shook that ass of mine.

So, obviously, I did what any smart college kid does... I made an awesome AIM profile. That says this and only this:

“I have hydraulics in my ass”

And now I don’t know how to take it off because I do not even know how to do AIM crap anymore because (1) I'm not in college anymore, (2) Husband is a computer whiz kid and hooked up this thing called Pigin that like combined a bunch of shit, and (3) I don't know. I just don't effing know.

Looks like I'll have hydraulics in.my.ass. for the rest of.my.life.

So uhh yeah, I'll let you know what happens when a co-worker asks me just what I meant by that whole "ass hydraulics" thing in my profile.

::Smacks forehead::