all my friends were vampires

Yesterday we received roughly 1/5 of our deposit from the Provo apartment management company with the following letter:

"Additional cleaning at new residents request: kitchen cupboards, drwares (their spelling, not mine), sink, floor, behind appliances, oven, shower, tub, sink, medicine cabinet, etc 5 hours at $35 an hour. Total charge against refund: $426.53
Amount of Refund: $73.47"

This is outrageous for many reasons, since we passed our cleaning check, were constantly told how clean our apartment was, scrubbed the sink raw, blah blah blah. But what really gets my goat is that I spent five years and thousands of dollars on a college degree when it turns out that I could be making $35 an hour cleaning medicine cabinets. That's nearly double my current earnings. EDUCATION FAIL.

baby darlin dollface honey

I could be wrong, but what I've learned from my various interactions with professional animal people is that those who choose to work with animals for a living are usually not great at interacting with humans. For example, yesterday I was buying dog food at Petco and the following conversation ensued:

Me: Do you sell heartworm medication here?

Nice Teenage Boy Cashier: Um, I think it's on aisle 5.

Scary Eavsdropping Dog Trainer: We don't sell it here, but if your dog gets heartworm he will die.

Wow. Super helpful. Thanks.

A few hours later I had another customer service adventure. I was just wrapping up a gift card purchase on oldnavy.com when my session timed out. So I called the toll-free hotline and was sorely disappointed when a robot answered. The most horrible kind of robot, a "voice recognition" robot. A voice recognition robot who only sort of understands english. After answering Yes and No to 20,000 questions Ms. Robopoopface asked for my phone number. I recited 555-555-5555 (changed for blog safety, obviously). "Ok," she said, "Did you say 792-583-4639?" Not even close. It was late and I was in one of those moods, so this struck me as the funniest thing I had ever heard. When asked to repeat the number, all I could do was giggle. Then laugh hysterically. Five tries and ten minutes later, I was finally pulled myself together and repeated my number with perfect clarity, and then Ms. Robopoopface determined that my number was not on file and transfered me to a flesh and blood representative, just like always.

certainly certainly

There is no bad part of a banana cream pie. With most food there are good and bad parts. Parts that you seek out, like the mushrooms in an omelette, and parts that you avoid like the bone on a pork chop. But every part of banana cream pie is delicious, and I don't really even like bananas. I do, however, like bananas covered in vanilla pudding and whipped cream placed atop a graham cracker crust. Is it the perfect food? It just may be. Did the two of us eat half a pie in one sitting? I don't want to talk about it.

I had always heard that pregnant women become extra emotional. I thought that meant getting upset really easily. I envisioned myself furiously breaking plates and bawling and making Stephen fear for his life. But it hasn't been like that. Instead, I am moved all the freaking time.  It takes very little to give me goosebumps and misty eyes. So little in fact, that I cried at the end of School of Rock. I cried when I heard Beyonce was pregnant. I cried thinking about the Kennedy assassination. I cried shopping for baby clothes online. I've turned into one of those people that I used to look at in disbelief and ask, "Why are you crying?!" and one one of those people who answers, "Because the cat on the commercial is enjoying his Fancy Feast so much!".

the gypsy and the hobo

I'm about as good at interior decorating as I am at tap dancing- really really bad. Our apartment is full of bare walls and Target lamps. It wasn't a big deal in Provo because our apartment was the size of a shoe box. But now we're in a grown-up apartment that has some sort of square foot count and it is painfully obvious how little effort I have put into sprucing up the place.  I hung a few frames (crookedly), and haven't even bothered to rehang the ones that have already fallen down. I do, however, have one knick knack displayed in the living room. The wooden giraffe.



I bought him while in Namibia, along with fifty other items I have since lost. But for some reason the giraffe has been with me through probably ten different apartments and is the lone survivor of the college move every semester life. And now it sits proudly, boasting my world travel record, making me feel like I at least tried a little to add color to our humble abode.

Did I write all this just so I would have an excuse to take a picture of the giraffe? Yes. Yes I did.

NEW CAMERA

Maybe it will help improve my blog's asthetic? We all know that needs to happen.

Ollie, looking deep into your soul.

Stephen, using an ironing board as a shelf.

Me, pregnant!

This post is worth 3,000 words. You're welcome.

runnin' just as fast as we can

I'm embarrassed about yesterday's post. I was really tired, but I really wanted to blog about baby girl. The result was ugly and didn't make a ton of sense, so I've learned my lesson. But yay! Baby girl! I have never in my entire life enjoyed a visit to the Doctor, but I love my prenatal appointments. When Dr. N told me he was going to do an ultrasound, I actually cheered. There's nothing cooler than getting a peek inside my belly and watching the little one move around. And she moves a lot. It was hard to get a picture because she was so wiggly, so I guess she reacts to caffeine the same way I do (I had a diet coke before the appointment). She did pause long enough for Dr. N to determine that yes, she is a she (woot!), and that she's a week older than what was originally predicted (math has always been hard for me). I'm 18 weeks, not 17, and due January 26. I spent many hours after the appointment looking at little dresses and tights and hair accessories online.

I've been watching a lot of Mad Men. One might say I've been watching too much Mad Men. So it's not a surprise that Jon Hamm made an appearance in my dreams. I was watching him perform in a production of Pride and Prejudice. He played the role of Mr. Darcy, because my dream world is a perfect world. The only problem was that whenever he was supposed to say a line, all he said was "Bzzz". Elizabeth would say something Jane Austeny, and then Hamm would respond with "Bzzz". I remember thinking "That's awesome, you go Don Draper!". Then I woke up and Ollie's snoring sounded just like the Jon's Bzzzing.
There is no moral to this story.

if it makes you feel alright

I wanted a girl. Is it ok to say that?