Thank goodness for understanding bosses. J’s company “corrected” the paperwork to get me insured starting the beginning of this month. They can do that because since I haven’t seen a doctor yet, I’m not “officially diagnosed” so it doesn’t count as a pre-existing condition. YAY FOR INSURANCE. That’s a load off my mind.
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I was thoroughly guarded last night. For some inexplicable reason, our fun-loving puppy (who will always be “puppy” to us, even though he reached adulthood over a year ago) was on orange-alert the ENTIRE night. No matter where I went, he followed and intently watched the door as if some monster was going to come in and attack us. He was up ALL NIGHT guarding the bedroom. He wasn’t noisy or anything, but he was awake and watching the door the whole night while we slept. This is the same dog who doesn’t wake up when you shove him half-way across the bed.
At about 4:30am he woke us up by growling at the door. We let him explore the house and he was totally spooked about it. Then he went back to the bedroom and continued to guard it for the rest of the night, his little ears perked to full attention. Sometime between then and when the alarm went off this morning, he relaxed and seems to be ok now. Weird.
And he wouldn’t come back inside this morning when I let him out before I left for work, which consequently made me late. He ALWAYS comes inside when you call him, at worst when you offer him a treat. But no, he had no intention of stepping foot back into the house. I eventually had to resort to dangling the leash in front of him. I hate doing that because he LIVES to go on walks and I feel like such a SCUM BAG for tricking him into coming inside and then not taking him for a walk. You should have seen the wide-eyed look he gave me when I left. GUILT GUILT GUILT.
I was also late for work because I spent 20 minutes this morning looking for my keys. I should have been looking for my brain the whole time. Somehow, I managed to find them. In the trunk of my car. Thank goodness for the extra set of car keys J leaves on the counter. And for whatever prompted me to look in the TRUNK for my KEYS.
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I broke the news to J at dinner. Here he was expecting a nice quiet dinner out. BU-WHA-HA-HA-HA! I gave him a bag that contained a pooper-scooper*, a pair of infant booties with baseball puffs on the toes, and a book entitled “Father’s First Year.” He had that “deer in the headlights” look all night. He’s so cute that way. But I think he’s excited. He took it better than I did.
By that, I mean he didn’t give himself a stomach ache by jumping up and down and screaming obscenities.
But I’m doing better. I thought it would really annoy me that everyone else is really excited about this news that is going to change my life much more drastically than it affects theirs… but now I find it kind of helps with the anxiety. For some reason I feel that if nobody else is contemplating hurling themselves off a building, perhaps it’s not so neccessary after all.
J is going to talk to his boss tomorrow to see if it’s too late to add me to the insurance policy. He’s got a really good plan, so it would be great to be on it. That, and the fact that there aren’t any personal insurance plans in Texas that cover maternity, so it’s pretty much company insurance or bust. I don’t like the sound of bust.
*Evidently not everyone is aware that pregnant women aren’t supposed to have contact with the litter box. Hence the pooper-scooper.
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AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGG-GGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!
After calling my best friend the pharmacist in a frenzied panic this morning, I took her suggestion about ignoring the 1-line-2-lines test and instead getting the digital version. The kind that says “Pregnant” or “Not Pregnant.” I thought that sounded like a great idea.
Guess what. Evidently, 1.5 lines = Pregnant.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGG-GGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!
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1 Line = Not Pregnant
2 Lines = Pregnant
WHAT THE HELL DOES ONE AND A HALF LINES MEAN???
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Before anyone else sees fit to inform me, I think I will just go ahead and make the admission:
I am addicted to this game.
And I don’t care. This sucker keeps me entertained for hours during the slow times at work. And I’m getting better. So far my skill level is 2.5 stars out of 5. For those who have never played this game before, that’s over 110,000 points, which is DARN HARD to do. Well not so much hard, as requires a lot of patience.
If you have never played this game before, I highly recommend it. Make sure you have some time on your hands. And DON’T trust the hints...they will certainly lead to your demise. And if you ask for hints it costs you 50 points. Have fun!
PS: Finally got The Boss to admit he didn’t have any dirt afterall.
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We were watching Ripley’s Believe It or Not last night, and among the showcase of a Siberian Forest Ranger with a Snap-on Face and some Dervish guys who think it’s cool to hammer stakes through their heads, was Ashok Verma, a man whose claim to fame is the ability to lift a 13-lb weight by holding buttons in his eyes to which the weight is attached.
He embarked on this pastime because he is a jeweler by trade, and was beginning to worry about the condition of his eyes. After all, a jeweler who can’t see doesn’t have a career. Makes sense. But that’s about where they lost me.
Concerned about the strength of his vision, he decided that if he could strengthen his eyelids, his vision would improve. Think about that for a second.
Further, he was convinced that the best way to strengthen his lids was to tie weights with pieces of string to two buttons and STICK THEM IN HIS EYES. Then with his eyelids closed over the buttons, he would try to lift the weights held by the strings.
Now that’s some stone cold logic, right there. In the (likely) event that he jeopardizes his family’s stability by dislodging his eyeballs or scratching out his corneas, at least he can become a circus performer. Do they have the circus in India?
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The Boss told me today that he “had some dirt” on me that would make me blush.
WHAT THE HECK WAS HE TALKING ABOUT???
I’m not a member of any secret club, I don’t participate in any obscure sexual rituals, and I can’t really think of any skeletons that are locked away in my emotional closet.
What possible piece of embarrassing evidence could he possibly have come across?
I’m confused. He probably just did that to irritate me.
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