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Wednesday, August 27, 2008

Quirks Tag from a Kitty Kat

I got tagged by a kitty Kat to tell about 6 unspectacular quirks of mine.

1> I hate throwing up, so I refuse to. I rather have diarrhea. (Don't click on the link if you don't want to read my diarrhea post! You've been duly warned.)

2> If I was on Survivor, I'd take a small shatter-proof mirror as my luxury item because I'm anal (ha!) about a clean nose and about food in my teeth. (A) I'm constantly checking/blowing my nose and invest regularly in Kleenex with lotion. (B) I've tried to relax about NOT checking my teeth because it makes David's eyes roll, but the two times I did, I found I had an obvious intrusion in my teeth AFTER talking with people face-to-face. I distinctly remember the last time was when chatting with my neighbor Clarice near the end of my pregnancy. Needless to say, I'm sticking to my compulsive ways.

3> I'm trying to grow out my prematurely gray hair. I want to see what it looks like long. I've never dyed my hair before, and I'm not sure yet if I ever will. Maybe I can make going gray cool? Maybe?
(I posted this confessional photo of my graying hair on Flickr about a year ago, and it got 451 views. Some people are just sick.)

4> I feel on the spot when people ask me to share a scary/embarrassing moment or personal quirks. (Ahem.) I just don't feel very interesting.

5> I don't like eating at the same restaurant twice. For the most part, I feel like "been there, done that." I do make exceptions for genuinely ethnic restaurants (Bombay House, La Dolce Vita, Thai Village, etc.) and for Olive Garden (lunch only). (Don't click on the Olive Garden link.)

6> I love throwing things away and regularly declutter. I'm always surprised about the amounts of stuff I get rid of each and EVERY time. Before you start rummaging through your husband's stuff, I'll have you know I am EXCELLENT about staying away from David's belongings; I wish he would weed them regularly though.

There you have it, six unspectacular quirks about me. And now your life is the same as it was before.

Monday, August 25, 2008

Trapped in the Get-Away

I was gone out of town all last week to what I had hoped would be a nice change of pace, a get-away from my routine. David's job was sending him to Carson City for a week via road to deliver and set up some equipment, and he suggested Baby and I tag along. We thought it would be a good opportunity to introduce Baby Adhis to David's ailing grandparents in Sacramento, only 2 hours further. I had never been to Carson City or Sacramento.

We stopped at the Bonneville Salt Flats on the way and I thought, "I'm going to get to see all sorts of new things!"

How was Sacramento? Never made it.
How was Carson City? I don't know. In the entire week, I got to spend a WHOPPING 10 minutes out of the hotel room; I was trapped by a non-sleeping baby, exhaustion, and no stroller. So, I can best describe Carson City as a constant 73 degrees, furnished in cherry veneer furniture, a 5-piece lamp set, and great television cable.

Our 7-hour trip was 12-hours each way. Baby Dhis did not like sitting in her car seat for long, no matter how comfy or how many baby animals were printed on it. Once in the hotel, she reverted to her newborn sleep/wake schedule to make up for being stuck in a car all day.

I came back from that trip in a foul mood. I'm better now, but I wasn't "better" then. I was so stinkin' bored. I would have rather stayed home and spent the week weeding our lawn with tweezers.

I took photos through the SUV's window as we sped along:

I took photos of the inside of the SUV:
I took photos when I got out to stretch my legs:
I took photos in the hotel:

That was my trip. The highlights were (1) sitting at a desert exit nursing my child before realizing I was staring at the decomposing body of a coyote and (2) discovering that the hotel's cable package included HGTV. David was glad I had at least that for a few hours each day, but realized on the way home that it would come back to bite him in the wallet when I began our car conversation with "I have some ideas for the master bathroom and the bedroom..."

Saturday, August 16, 2008

... a whole lot a-that.

I am obese.

Now, wait, before you object, hear me out.

Last year, at the beginning of the pregnancy, I weighed 143. Two and a half months after giving birth, I weigh 154. Through the power of estrogen, I can hear two different reactions going on out there:
1) Pfft. That ain't nuttin'! I weighed 154 in kindergarten!
2) Gasp! I can't believe she just revealed her weight.

I'm going to derail for a second:
Why is the number such a SECRET if people can already see you and what shape and size you are?? Hello! Does the number really matter when it comes to appearance???

Back on track:
This week, my friend Aubrey measured me on her magical scale, which is how I found out how much I weigh, among other statistics about the sexy thing you know as Adhis. I don't care about the weight number since it doesn't distinguish what the weight is from (water, fat, muscle, hair), but I can tell that I lost a lot of muscle throughout my stagnant pregnancy. Also, my midsection looks like soft-serve ice cream that's getting softer and is slumping over the rim of a sugar cone, which, incidentally, is how I got a midsection that resembles aforementioned soft serve. (Mmmmmm... ice cream...)

So, what I *am* concerned with is my body composition: how much of my body is muscle or fat. Excess fat taxes the functions of the body and immune system and contributes to stress, illness and sluggishness, among other things. I'm not a fan of any of those.

Aubrey's magical scale told me what percentage of my body weight comes from fat: 34%. ONE THIRD of my body is fat. (Perhaps, I'll change my blog title to "A little bit Adhis, a WHOLE LOT a-that.") I was only familiar with Body Mass Index (BMI) (which, BTW, is going the way of the dodo) so, I was unsure at the time where 34% fell on the health spectrum. Being made of 1/3 of fat doesn't sound good when you take into account my body is also composed of bones, flesh, water, and charming personality, but who knows? Google did.

After a little internet search, I found that comparing BMI and fat percentage is like comparing apples to doctors. Wait-- that's a different blog entry. It's like comparing apples to Symphony bars (the one with extra toffee bits and almonds). (Mmmmm... Symphony bars...) I knew this already but had forgotten. (Don't tell my college fitness class instructor.) Anyway, it turns out that the body fat % charts I found online state that 34% is obese! This means only one thing: Aubrey's magical scale is actually a witch and must be burned at the stake!! (Mmmmm... steak...)

I'll admit I was a bit disconcerted when I found I had entered the obese classification, but thought "good to know!" Then, I remembered I just had a baby and am nursing. Yes, I do actually still forget those crucial things; I'm new to the club. I couldn't find a chart that takes these things into account. Does anyone know anything about that? Anyone? Bueller? Bueller?

I'm not making excuses for myself, I'm just big-boned. It's hereditary; I have the gene for caramelholicism. I'm just a full-figured girl with more junk in the trunk. I'm large and in charge! I put the fat in PHAT and that's where it's at! Eat, drink and be merry! (If I missed any of the other commonly-spouted excuses, please let me know because I'm sure it is also a reason for my current state.)
My doctor gave me the green light to work out about 3 weeks ago. I started walking and jogging and then a little injury I had been ignoring for 6 weeks started nagging for attention. I *think* I sprained my ankle a month and a half ago, but I don't remember anymore as I was maneuvering around my house with little to no sleep. I vaguely remember thinking something about something (am I being too specific?) being off in my ankle as I was walking down the stairs one day. Anyhoo, what has ensued in my attempt to "walk it off" may remind you of a song from childhood. Sing it with me!

"The sprained ankle is connected to the tight calf, the tight calf is connected to the achy knee, the achy knee is connected to the burning thigh, the burning thigh is connected to the pained hip, the pained hip is connected to the bad back!" Catchy little tune, ain't it? I bet you'll be singing it the rest of the day.

So what if I hurt my ankle while sneaking down to the kitchen at 2am to finish a carton of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream and a pound of Twizzlers. I've just always been this way! Plus, I was just pregnant. Never mind that my placenta was basically a blob of cake batter complete with candles and sprinkles. Don't get me wrong, I do SOME exercise. I jog whenever I hear the ice cream man and I have to speed-strip my couch for enough change to score a strawberry eclair ice cream bar before he leaves the neighborhood. (BTW, when did the ice cream man start driving so fast? I'm not a freakin' Olympic sprinter, Mr. Good Humor Man!)

Anyway, I'm not worried about my current state, but I know my mom reads this blog (I see you, Mom!) and she and my dad will be worrying about their newly obese daughter. Mom, remember that I did just have a baby-- your cute granddaughter. I *am* exercising just not at the intensity and frequency I want to yet. I am also carrying more fat to feed your cute granddaughter! I'm fine! I don't need you to stop by with special foods (unless they're double-churned and drizzled with strawberry sauce)! And if you do drop by, don't be alarmed if I start drooling when I look at you. I'm probably just hallucinating and see you like this:

[Posted song: "Fat Mama" by Herbie Hancock]

Update: I still haven't found a body fat % chart for postpartum, but I did find an age-adjusted chart. For my age and gender group, I am Overweight. Well, duh. But I guess that's better news than before.

Thursday, August 14, 2008

Brian Regan; Kermet Apio

I love living by Thanksgiving Point! Everything is beautiful there and there is something for everyone, unless you are one who dislikes beauty and variety.

Last night we saw Brian Reagan at Thanksgiving Point's Waterfall Amphitheater.

A couple months ago, I mentioned to David that comedian Brian Regan was coming to Thanksgiving Point. Dave waited a couple days to buy tickets and found that both the Thursday and Friday night shows were sold out! He was bummed. Then, I heard Thanksgiving Point was adding a Wednesday night show. David immediately bought tickets. Good thing because it sold out quickly as well.

We love Brian Regan. Funny, clean, funny. This was our second time seeing him live and our first time at a show at the Thanksgiving Point Waterfalls. Partway through the show, I imagined sitting at home and hearing the audience laugh. At home, I can always hear the audience cheering or a band performing at the Waterfalls. The last time Brian Regan was at Thanksgiving Point, I could hear the audience laughing from my bedroom window. (Maybe I should close the window when I'm changing?) Now, I was in the audience and someone back at the 'hood could hear me! (Yes, JUST me.)(Maybe also David.)

These were taken with my point-and-shoot. I wish I would have caught the funnier segments but... I was just enjoying sitting and relaxing.

Opening act was Kermit Apio, from Hawaii

Brian Regan on flying in the emergency exit row.

The next two videos are NOT from last night's show, but they are of some of my favorite material. Here, Brian (we're on a first name basis, me and Bri) talks about airline experiences.


This is his popular "I Walked On the Moon" joke.


Monday, August 11, 2008

A Tiny Baby Rant

You don't need to turn off the music to watch this video. (I had planned to post a new song but I'll leave the dog song on for a couple more days before replacing it because I chuckle more watching this video with it.)


Lucky girl! She's got her Daddy's dance moves. Look out, world!

She's a week short of 3 months old and she has FINALLY grown out of her Newborn size clothes. It has only taken her 2.5 months to be 0-3 months. Go figure. At this rate, she will be able to wear her cute summer dresses with snow boots!

Baby Dhis had her 2-month check-up on Friday. She weighed 8lbs. 10oz. putting her at 5th percentile. Her reflux is still there. I was about to ask the doc if it was ok to lower her crib mattress when my baby choked on the oral vaccination the assistant was administering to her. There was my answer.

Did I mention it was vaccination day? Baby Dhis was happily sucking on her pacifier when the assistant inserted the first of five needles into her thigh. Baby's sucking paused, her eyes got big, her mouth opened letting the pacifier tumble down her body and onto the examination table. Such a sad little cry began, and as the 2nd, 3rd, 4th, and 5th needles were put in, her face turned red and she silently inhaled for her big cry. (You know the one.) "Cry it out, sweetie!" I said as the energy built up in her face. She screamed her pain out. My heart winced. Once the band-aids were on, I held her close and she buried her face into my neck. Then... she was fine and dandy. So much so that the receptionist didn't believe me when I told her she had, in fact, just received her shots. (Na-ah. Ya-huh. Na-ah. Ya-huh.)

Here's my rant...
I am taking care of this baby. Asides her acid reflux, she is feeling great! I feed her, clean her, rock her, play with her, love her. She is sleeping, playing, and chilling. She is a small girl compared to a lot of babies, but she is the same size I was at her age. Small does not equal undernourished. Her pediatrician says she's fine, just petite. Stop telling me to feed her longer, more often, and in greater quantities. Stop telling me I need to give her a bottle of water. Don't tell me she's hungry when I've told you she's crying because she's sleepy. Don't tell me she's hungry when I've told you she needs her diaper changed. Don't tell me she's hungry because she's sucking her pacifier. Don't tell me she's hungry because __(fill in the blank)__. Baby and I have each other down for the most part; we're together 20 to 24 hours of the day. We're tight like that. I don't mind advice or suggestions, but do not hound me with feed-her!feed-her!feed-her! after I've told you what my baby is asking for because you're essentially telling me that I am wrong and you would be a better mother to my baby. And don't try the passive route by telling my baby "Oh, why you cryin'? Are you hungry? Yes, you're hungry. Maybe Mommy will feed you" because that crap don't fly no matter how many miles you try to log with it. My baby is lightweight, not underweight.

(The preceding paragraph has been edited to remove the multiple uses of the words"$%@#!" and "#*@^$!")

Baby Dhis says: "Do these look like the muscles of a wimpy baby??? You don't want tickets to this gun show!"

So, there.

Saturday, August 9, 2008

A Little Peek Into My Head

Whilst lying in my sickly delirium this morning, my mind wandered to a place in the wooded rural. I was sitting on the porch of a tin-roofed shanty when a country doctor walked up the dirt road to my property and yelled "Adhis! I'm here to help youuuu!"

"Go away," I yelled and picked out a red apple from a metal bucket of apples next to my rickety wooden chair. I stood up and launched the apple at the man, hitting him in the forehead and sending him into a comical slump on the ground. He picked himself and his worn leather doctor's bag up and ran off my property.

The next day, I was sitting on the porch of my little house again. The same doctor walked up the dirt road to my property and yelled, "Adhis! Let me help youuuu!"

"Leave me alone!" I yelled, picked up a red apple from the bunch and hurled it at the doctor's head, sending him backwards onto the ground and his legs flying up. Dazed, he got up, picked up his bag, and staggered off the property.

Tell me, what's the moral of this story?

The moral of the story is "An apple a day keeps the doctor away, but only if you can hit him hard enough with it."

Friday, August 8, 2008

I Have a Toad

I can't remember the last time I was sick.

Oh yeah... it was September 23, 2007. (How's that for exactness?)

I had taken this photo and posted it on Flickr.

I rarely get sick. I'm often tired but not sick.

We had planned for today to go to the farmer's market at Thanksgiving Point and then to the luau at the church. Ugh. I bet I'll go anyway. Just stay away from me!! I promise not to double-dip at the food table.

Thursday, August 7, 2008

Taz & Christian

These signs have been posted all around my neighborhood. I feel kinda bad about laughing at someone's unfortunate situation... but not bad enough to leave it off my blog.

Taz! *giggle giggle*
In circles! *giggle giggle snort*

My neighbor's 12-year-old son asked, "Then how did he get lost?" To which his uncle said "Yeah, they should just check outside; they'll find him running circles in the side yard!"

But seriously,
if you are a reader of my blog and this is your dog (yo-- checkmeout, I'm a rapper!) I hope you find little Taz...
... ... ... before he gets dizzy! *giggle*

No, seriously. I wish little Taz luck in finding his way home.
Hopefully, he won't get stuck in a roundabout. *gigglesnort*

No, seriously. I'm sure he'll come around.
And around and around and around. *BWAHAHA!*

No, really. Good luck, little fellow.

Speaking of pets...
Pause the music on the upper right of this page.
You may have seen this video already, but I thought I'd post it for you anyway. Every time I've watched it, I've gotten something in my eye. Darn video allergies!

Ladies and gentlemen, Christian the Lion!


[Posted song: "Who Let the Dogs Out" by Baja Men}

Saturday, August 2, 2008

Breaking Dawn

I can't believe Bella dies, and Jacob and Edward run away together!!

Never saw THAT coming!

[Posted song: "Vampire Heart" by HIM]