Happy Mother's Day!

It's Mother's Day!

I am an emotional hot mess.

And still pregnant.

I need to eat before I blog

The sooner I realize that money doesn't matter, the happier I will be.

How much more annoying and cliche can this blog get?

Don't challenge me.


I am just waiting for that turning point in my life when all the lessons I have learned, and all the wisdom I have blogged, and all the knowledge I have spit come together in a way that is conducive to real life. Yeah. I have said, "Money doesn't matter," but I sure as hell don't believe it. I have said, "Looks don't matter," but I still know the only reason I am such a successful stay-at-home pregnant writer wannabe (I want to be a writer; I actually am pregnant) is because I am so damn attractive (My sarcasm and ridiculous displays of confidence are just defense mechanisms. I don't need them because I am so perfect in every sense of the word, but I use them to make my blog more relateable.)

Today I am feeling heavy. Mainly because the baby inside my belly has to weigh at least 20 pounds at this point. I am also feeling heavy in the emotional sense, though, because.... well I am having a baby (did I mention I'm having a baby?) and that shit is real.... but also because I know big changes are about, and I feel all the past mistakes and decisions and lessons and blog musings are very present in my life now but I cannot yet put them into action. Everything is a big blob right now... a big leaky, awkward smelling, waddling blob of baby goo, and maybe when this baby thing is actually real then this blob phase will finally make sense. If not, I have gotten pretty good at squatting down to pick things up as a blob of baby goo and my glutes are pretty fantastic....so things really aren't that bad. Maybe that's the point of all this. All these life lessons culminate into amazing glutes.



I find such joy in simple moments, but somehow cannot resist making them more complicated. Today at the park I was so enjoying watching the dogs play and the poor people try to have fun without money, but soon I started putting pressure on myself to write and be productive on this "day off" (whatever that means.) Then I started worrying about if I am wasting time and life and if this baby blob will prevent me from accomplishing my goals. Then I started telling myself to shut the "f" up you crazy pregnant whore face (I'm very hard on my my whore face). Then I tried to be all Taoist and Zen and calm myself. And then I got hungry so I ate an orange and didn't know what to do with the orange peels so I put them in my shoe. Then I didn't have a shoe to wear to bring the orange peel to the trash can.

In the end, though, all my craziness allows me to blog about my craziness and spread the craziness and I can feel good about that.


The longer I am out of college, the worse my grammar and syntax and diction and all those other thingy things get.

Did I mention I am friggin pregnant?

And starving.

That explains a lot.


Goodnight, playas.

Work

I just don't get why I'm obligated to do things. I don't know how I get in situations where I have to do things. That's why I always end up hating my jobs. I always forget that is what jobs are about: doing things that you have to do and all the while hating every moment of it. I just sit and put up with dumb bullshit all day. That is what a job is to me.

Money makes me do things I am morally opposed to. I have sold credit cards to people that do not need credit cards because the job required me to do so. And I hated it. I was extremely uncomfortable. I just suppressed that discomfort, though, and that is why I will eventually lose my hair, become addited to pain killers, and find happiness in plastic surgery.

People can call me lazy because I don't like to work. But I'm not lazy. I'm just too arrogant to accept that I have to do things that I don't want to do.

Until you feel hiccups in your butt, you don't understand what it's like to be me.

I'm watching another friggin documentary (the life of a tired pregnant twenty-something year old tool. ((That isn't the documentary. That is my life. Although if their was a documentary about me, it would probably be called something like that. ). This is a Discovery channel special about stress. And watching it is stressing me out. It discusses the function of stress in mammals and how our culture copes with excessive amounts of unnecessary stress. Stress is supposed to be a survival mechanism, but we use it every day with financial issues, finding work, keeping work, watching too many documentaries about everything that is wrong with the world, pressure to be a sassy unique lady in the world, and other such things and stuff and junk.

This is what is stressing me out most about this documentary, though: They used rats to test the effects of stress on the brain, and yes they found some interesting things about stuff (I'm going on 4 hours of sleep right now so pretend I am much more intelligent than I actually am), but was that really a necessary study?
Why do people always need to "study" and have "numbers" and "charts" to back up things that are pretty obvious. Um. Do you enjoy being stressed? No. Oh... Has anything good come from excessive stress? No. Oh... then it's bad. Ok.

But NO! This study was SOOOOOOOOO groundbreaking because it showed that scaring the shit out of rats for their entire lives had a negative effect on them.

Brilliant.

 They could have saved the time, money, and rats, and just studied the lives of the millions of animals already being tested on for even more useless scientific research/ household products/makeup. These animals endure entire lifetimes of stress.

People just need to listen to their bodies. If you are feeling miserable, you are doing something that is making you miserable. So find that something.............. (long pause)............and stop........doing it.

People are so smart and sciency, that they are actually stupid. They say things like sciency.

We really do need to slow down and breathe and realize that the nonsense that humans create (mortgages, politics, religious differences, etc) are not the important things in this life, and yet we allow them to dictate our actions and feelings a majority of the time.

I'm tired and the baby in my womb has hiccups and I can feel them in my butt (just keeping you up to date on the facts of my life).

I may blog more later. I probably should because this isn't a very good post. I really need to work harder to maintain the quality of my blog. I'm a failure.... Fine... I won't sleep. I'll just dwell on the mediocrity that is my blog. Who needs sleep? I won't believe I need sleep until I see charts that prove 1 million rats suffered and died because they didn't sleep. Then... I'll know.

Stress.

Butt hiccups

What is this prego talking about?

I like it when people surprise you in a good way.


What a dumb statement. Who doesn't like that?


I can't be held accountable for things I say or do anymore. As much of a tough badass baller I am as a pregnant chick, I'm starting to feel really pregnant, and it is exhausting. My back is pissed, my shins are pissed, my ribs are pissed, and my brain is pissed. All of a sudden, my brain is expected to comprehend that I am about to push another human out of my body.... and that's the easy part? Then I am supposed to make that human a functioning member of society? Isn't it enough that I grew her arms and eyeballs and spleen? Now I have to make sure she eats her veggies, and does her homework, and doesn't murder?

I like to complain because it's more fun than being happy (there is a peek into how my brain works), but the truth is that women are the lucky ones. Yeah we gotta endure the gruesome parts of pregnancy, but we also get to feel a baby hiccup in our bodies. We get to feel some of our child's earliest movements. And we get that surreal moment when our child goes from being inside of our body as a mysterious little moving belly creature to suddenly sitting on our chest and existing in real life as a real baby. Pregnancy has to be the coolest thing I have ever done. Except for going to the Coldplay concert.... this baby is going to have to be pretty awesome to live up to that concert (and so the psychological damage I will inflict on my child begins).

Enough pregnancy talk.

Can I help the fact that sometimes I really want to be a snobby rich girl with hair extensions and a personal assistant? Sometimes I just want to bling my accessories with pink Swarovski crystals and wear big sunglasses to hide my anorexia.

hmmm... can I be such a girl and be a good role model to my daughter?

I think so....

Ok. Done

What else do I have on my mind today besides the beautiful and awesome power of motherhood and the equally awesome power of being a materialistic narcissistic socialite?

I have way too much on my mind actually. I am trying to accomplish so many things because I feel like I am getting old. How absurd. But in the world of rich socialites, 22 is 42.

I gotta get botox.


Gosh. I'm pregnant.


-Mom-to-Be

Marriage

Your other is not another you

I would worry that old people are going to read this and get offended, but then I don't care because I am so young and unruly and disrespectful

When old people (aka anyone older than me) talk about youth today having no respect for what prior generations have done for this country, I look at the atrocious acts of violence we commited on other nations and look at our decaying educational system and look at our extreme disrespect for the environment and the blatant disregard for other cultures, particularly in the third world, and I get rather offended. These old folks do not wish to own up to any of these things. They like to talk as if our youthful angst and discomfort with these facts are things to be offended by (the grammar of that sentence are offensive. And yes, that last sentence is ironic) They like to sit and watch the news and talk with their fellow old people and feel as if they are doing something great for this country just by passively observing and defending it. These such old people underestimate my passion and love for this country and mistake my thirst for change as hatred for this country. I am well aware that if I hate America so much that I can just leave. And if you notice, I have not left. That is because I don't hate America.

I hate old people.


Except when I'm old. Then I'll probably hate young people too because they will remind me of a time when I was actually useful and mattered in this country.

I don't really hate old people.

I just hate being underestimated because I am young. I am young, but I am also educated, curious, strong, hardworking, and passionate about equality.


Except for equality for old people.


I hate old people.



No I don't.