OH JOY!!!! OH JOY OH JOY OH JOY!!!!!!!!

Several very quick things here for you:

Thing 1: 

This woman (please check her out) sent me a package. I thought I was just getting some cosmos seeds (that I am going to plant today, God willing). But she also beyond kindly sent me my NEW VERY FAVORITE ACCESSORY. I will edit this later to add a photo. 

I just wanted to mention her and say that she's made my week. 

Thing 2:

WE GOT A NEW CAMERA WE GOT A NEW CAMERA WE GOT A NEW CAMERA!!!!!!!!

Lots of exclamation points, I know. But I mean every one of them. 

Um, Thing 3:

I REALLY like playing Tekken 6 with my husband. I am not by any means a gamer - I never owned any sort of gaming system until I got married. Mr. Smith really likes to play video games. He has tried to get me into them before, but I just would rather read or sew or do something else. 

However. Tekken 6 is a fighting game. 

And you can win fighting games by mashing random buttons...

And a little friendly competition between you and your SigOth is good! Especially when your husband is a soccer player with the metabolism of a hummingbird and a CPA degree, and you are ...well...

not.

Love to all! I think we might go to the Groves today and walk around WITH THE NEW CAMERA!!!!!

Apathy and Justin Beiber and Dreams

He's catchy, I can't help it. My Bff's daughter was having a dance party with Milo last night, and one of JB's songs got stuck in my head. 'its like, baby baby baby...ooooohhhh'

Gah. Pop music. 

I am currently fighting through a wave of the aforementioned apathy. I just don't wanna. 

BUT I GUESS THATS WHAT BEING A GROWNUP IS, EH???

Doing the shit you don't wanna do, when you don't wanna do it? Like now, I do NOT want to go have Jillian Michaels yell at me, but I know I will feel better if I do. I do NOT want to go unload, reload, and run the dishwasher, or scrub Monaboogers off the bathroom floor. 

But if I don't do it, it won't get done, and if it doesn't get done...well, that's a slippery slope to becoming gross. 

Saw an old friend last week(end). She and I used to be inseparable. She was a major part in me leaving my hometown and my exposure to 'the real world'. Now she lives in Portland, Oregon; living her dream of going to school to become a gemologist and jeweler. She and I are not as close as we used to be, and I think that's best. So does she (I think). Sometimes that happens-the closest of friends grow apart. And it can be okay. I am beyond happy for her and I hope that she gets everything she wants in life. I always admire people who follow their dreams. 

I guess I never really knew what mine were. 

If I had a choice and could pick any job to do...well right now I would truly choose the job I have now. Yeah, I have to clean up poop and squashed goldfish a lot more often than I'd like (and I will spare you those details), but I am also forming a bond with my son that will last forever. 

But someday, when my son is grown, I will be able to pursue my other interests fully. Like painting, and writing. 

Don't get me wrong. I KNOW that I could still pursue those things. But you know what? After a day of shit-cleaning, cooking, playing, selling and all the other random crap I do during a day...I cannot seem to find the energy to do anything other than flop onto the couch with a drink. Someday...someday I will rally. I just know it. 

That's it for now, babes...I'm gonna go enter my calories and work out. Middle sister's wedding is SOON!!!!

just a wee bit meh

Haven't posted in awhile. Mostly because I don't have a camera to capture all the crazy shit that happens to me daily. 
Like today when Milo hid in the closet, pulled turds out of his diaper and threw them on the floor. 
Or Saturday while I manned the garage sale and sold Kinkade prints for an amount so low I wouldn't tell my father in law. Or later that Saturday when I got wine drunk alone. 
Or Sunday when I broke my toe and then worked a 5 hour shift on it.
Or later Sunday when I begged my neighbor to go buy me cigarettes and got wine drunk alone. Except for when she was hanging with me on the balcony. I will miss her when she moves to California.  


I had my review at work last night. I got demoted. In the best sense of the word, if such a thing exists. Basically there are things I need to work on in order to be a better keyholder, and I will be more able to work on these things as an associate. 
I love my managers and I know they love me.I am grateful that they are willing to put more time into me, when they could have just as easily fired me then and there.  The bitter pill for me, I guess, is that I seemed to be the last to know about this. 
People talk in retail. I get it. We're all learning and growing. I know they took a month to tell me because they were searching for the best time and place. I just feel all skin-crawly when I think about people discussing my job performance when I am absent. Maybe that's just me. 
Plus, my BFF told me I only had until lunchtime to sit on the pity pot , and its noon now, so I am gonna quit bitching. I just hope that I don't lose the small level of respect I've built for myself in that store. 
Thursday (tomorrow) I will be at Ravinia watching a boy band I never liked with the cool girl clique from the office I used to work at. It was truly the only time I've ever been a 'cool girl'. 
I am looking forward to more wine, food and cigarettes. Oh, and also a night out alone. That will be nice. 


It is 12:35 pm. I have already cleaned pudding out from Milo's neck, and cookie dough from his eyebrows. He is currently whining in his crib during a time-out. He sneaks into the bathroom, grabs the toothpaste and and hides. And he eats the toothpaste. Childrens' non-floride, but WHY CAN'T HE LISTEN. No question mark. That was a statement. 
Days like this I feel like ... terrible. Parenting a toddler is the biggest lesson I have had in my life. 
Ugh. Get off the pity pot, Althea. 


ON A LIGHTER NOTE, I want to advertise my friend Maggie's blog. I worked with her for a short while at Lush. She now lives downtown and basically is living the dream. She's got stellar musical taste, a grand sense of humor and a cute blog. Go read it. 

Thanks, Mom and Dad

As a rookie mom, I cannot help but constantly compare my parenting style to that of my mom and dad, and my other 'parents'. 
I want to use this space to lift them up in praise, because parenting is fucking hard, and one day a year for each of them is just sort of bullshit. 


I feel as though I have a couple sets of parents, for numerous reasons. Parents of besties, parents of my hunney...


But I am going to start with my biological parents. 
Mom, I thank you for teaching me tolerance and acceptance of ALL people. You taught me how to rise above those that made fun of me, of you. Thank you for teaching me how to escape into books. You taught me that my emotions are valid. Thank you for letting me freak out and break terra cotta pots when I found out that Carl cheated on me. Thank you for not being mad when I punched that hole in the living room wall when I found out. Thank you for not sending me away to military school when I had my run-in with the police. 


Dad, thank you for teaching me/giving me an amazing sense of style and humor. You taught me acceptance as well, by finally living your life the way you always meant to live it. I never forgot going to Gurnee Mills with you and trying on evening gowns. It showed me that I WAS girly and my self-confidence grew. Thank you for supporting our family. Thank you for driving me to Stevenson so I could take a college class. You also taught me when 'she needs a necklace'. 


Both of you...thank you for always telling me I was smart, and loved and beautiful. Thanks for letting me express myself through my music and my outward appearance. I struggle, and I know that you will both always be there for me. I know that we have had our bad (no-good, awful, terrible) spots, but I think that they make the good bits better. 
Now to go wash this KNOT in my throat down with some coffee. 
Love you guys. 

HELP ME

So, I have hair ADD, I can't decide. Leave your friendly opinions in the comments, eh?

Long and black-that's me on the right-obvi

short and blonde. i like this but sometimes I feel like a stepford wife

dark brown, i've gone through every shade, i think

browny with highlights. this is the least likely to make a comeback b/c it was expensive

reddish brown-i think this is henna

and i dont have a pic of me with striight-up red hair, only this one....with highlights again

Day Four-ish

It should come as no surprise to those who know me that I am not a graceful, co-ordinated person. I can dance, but I cannot catch, throw, kick, or catch any sort of football, basketball, soccerball et al. 

Fitness has really only become a part of my life recently. I ran daily before my wedding, and am now working off the final jiggly bits of my baby weight. 

YES I AM STILL CALLING IT BABY WEIGHT EVEN THOUGH IT IS OVER TWO YEARS OLD SHUT UP

Last week I started to log my food intake an fitness output (?) on 

*this is where my son wakes up an hour too early crying pitifully for me. this is my life. I cannot do one thing from start to finish anymore. I am going to wait and see if he goes back to sleep but I doubt it*

the daily plate section of the Livestrong website and to purposefully sweat daily.

I took this past weekend 'off'. I didn't really watch what I ate (but did pay attention to portion control), and I didn't work out. 

And by Sunday afternoon (I had a jr beef and cheddar at Arby's in the mall) I was bloaty and gross feeling. 

My plan is to continue to take the weekends off in order to not get burnt out completely. 

We shall see how that works out. I can already feel a difference in my body and my confidence. A tiny difference, but it is there. Don't get super-fat if you get pregs, ladies. Its a LOT more fun to put the weight on than it is to take it off. 

TRUSSSST. 

This was taken on the only non-American vacation Brian and I have ever been on-to Punta Cana in the Dominican Republic. It was beautiful and I love this photo. 

Now to slam the rest of this coffee and go sweat. Peace in the Middle East. 

Day Two

I hurt. 

In so very, very many places. 

I want numerous doses of opiate-based painkillers. 

The satisfaction of doing something good for my body is almost enough to counteract the pain. I know I am awakening long-dormant muscles. I like being able to 'earn' more calories by working out;and then NOT ingesting those calories. 

I will not be a fatty. I will be a healthy mom and wife and friend and sister.

But still....ow.

The thing I like about the 30-Day Shred is that just when you start cursing her name and begging for mercy, you are on to something else. 30 seconds of each exercise. You can do anything for 30 seconds. And yes, I mean anything. I gave birth , for chrissakes. 

Okay, peace out. I need a shower and then I need to find my wiccy magic muscles. 

Here we go

After being inspired by the gorgeous Rebecca Woolf, my best friend Dana, and my little sister's upcoming wedding, I will start Jillian Michaels' 30-Day Shred DVD. 

Tomorrow. 

Today it is about all I can do to get showered, dinner on the table and my ass to work. 

Expect a post tomorrow all about how sore I am and how I am getting used to Jillian's face. 

xo

-a. 

Rage. Sometimes.

I have a terrible temper. When I was younger and rebelling against my parents I had a tendency to throw jars of change through windows and to punch holes in drywall. 

My teen years sucked. I hated them and hope to make my son's better than mine were. 

I have grown and changed, obviously. I no longer resort to violence when I get angry. 

Okay, that's not to say that I haven't thrown a shampoo bar here and there or stomped upstairs to pout. Its a slightly more mature reaction. 

But the rage is still there. I get angry and have thoughts of driving my car into crowds of people. Of cocking a shotgun into that asshole's face. Of losing my shit and beating some ass. Of screaming all those clever, hurtful things that I think of after the fact. 

I feel it-the heat, the trembling that comes right before you lose it completely. 

I simply do not act on it any longer. I realized (with the help of LSD, the late 90s Phish lot scene, and being incredibly impressionable) that it is MY choice to turn into a raving, bitchy lunatic when I do not get my way. 

I frighten myself sometimes. I don't want to be an angry person. I want to be a happy person with the ability to be angry sometimes. 

Let's just say I have given myself some time-outs. 

And THAT is how I know I'm growing. 

However. We have been without our air conditioning for over a week. Over a sweltering, humid, fan-less, sticky week. Yes, I have taken Milo to the in-laws to bask in their cooled air. But I like my house, filthy though it is. 

I also like sleeping without a film of sweat on my nethers. I like NOT smelling the fishy garbage stink that wafts through my open windows because we live downwind and two dumpsters are not enough for the FOUR buildings that use them. 

And if homeboy doesn't show today to install that motherfucking blower motor I may very well regress. 

Or just bite the inside of my cheeks until they bleed. 

More From the Halfway House

I am being schooled by Jessica (though everyone calls her Jess) on the rest of the ragtag bunch of folks from the halfway house down the street. What to bring them, and how to treat them. 

There is Steve, the blind man with a gentle face. He gets a cup of black coffee and tons of sugar and creamer. He spills the sugar everywhere, but I can't get irritated because he loves Steppenwolf. He seat-dances and I give him tons of free plays on the jukebox. Steve very occasionally orders breakfast and Jess tells me where to place the ketchup so he can find it on the table. Steve always comes in alone and sits for hours. 

Then there is my personal favorite. I can't remember his name. His story is the most interesting. This man has wiry hair and a deeply lined face. His smile is full of holes, and he speaks with a very heavy accent that I cannot place. I ask my fellow servers and discover that he is a former boxer. From Bosnia of all places. Apparently he was in the states for a match and was hit by a car. That not only explains his halting speech, but the dent in his forehead as well. He lives in this halfway house because, for some reasons unexplained; he cannot return home. This makes me very sad almost daily.  His breakfast order never changes: two eggs (up) with hash browns and toast. I am warned to deliver his eggs to him unbroken. And one day I fail in this. Doris hands me his plate and whispers intently, 'Bring this over to him quick, I broke one but if you haul ass he might not notice.'

He notices. 

'MEAN WOMAN!!!!!! YOU MEAN WOMAN BREAK EGG!!!!!!!!MEAN WOMAN BREAK EGG!!!!!'

Never in my life; before or since, have I been shrieked at by a possibly brain-damaged Bosnian ex-boxer. Its an experience that sticks with you. 

I apologize and bring the plate back to Doris. He keeps yelling and I am a little afraid. Doris re-makes his breakfast and takes it over personally, since the sight of me only angers him further. 

The next day he walks in wearing headphones and an ear-to-ear smile. He walks right up to where I am standing at the counter, stocking coffee filters. 

"Hey man, how's it goin'? Whatcha listening to?"

The grin on his face grows as he lifts a headphone from one ear. 

"Peeeeeeenk Fllloooyyyyd" he croaks. 

I smile, and he gently places the headphones on my head so I can hear a scratchy recording of 'Wish You Were Here' on his Walkman. 

And I know he doesn't hold a grudge.