Get in My Belly!!!

This pretty much sums up why I am not getting maternity pics taken.

This Heifer's Gonna Calf!

Most of you who read this already know, but for those of you who don't...

IT'S BABY TIME AT THE BODINE'S

We heard the heartbeat yesterday so I figured it was safe to tell EVERYONE. Plus, it's not official until you tell the internet right?!

Cravings?
None. If I could stop throwing up and get that sick taste out of my mouth I'm sure I'd be craving something. It's just not like me to not want to eat. I don't even know who I am anymore. The only thing that is different preference wise is that I used to like my water at room temp. NO ICE. Now I like it ice cold. It's like taking a nice, disturbed sip of Edward Cullen. "What's cooler than bein cool? ICE COLD!! alright, alright, alright alright, alright, alright!" (FYI for those who are over 40: that is a song by Outkast. I know, I know, It's hard to keep up. Just don't worry about it. Occupy your mind with something else. Go try to figure out the DVD player, I dare you. bahaha!)

Emotions?!
On the "boo hoo" scale I think I'm doing very well. Sometimes I cry when I'm hanging my head over the toilet because I don't understand why my fetus hates me so bad. Other than that I've stayed pretty stable. On the "I could shove ice picks in your toenails, cut you with razor blades, and leave you for dead" scale I'm not doing so great. I just figure if I don't end up in prison at night, it's been a good day.

Here's a snippet of the advice we've been given so far:

"Dude, make your wife run and lot and rub aloe vera on her stomach so she doesn't get stretch marks."
-some D-bag Derrick carpools with

"Derrick, remember that milk is just for the baby"
-Chase, my cousin's husband

"I suggest you get a C-Section so that everything stays the same "down there". If you have the baby the other way you'll have shiz leaking out of there all the time"
-a D-bag I have the privilege of working with

(He follows this comment by saying "Hopefully that's not too invasive." Talking about my vagina with someone other than my doctor, invasive?! Pssshhh H-no! I'm totally fine with this. Hey, next time you take a dump let me know and I'll come rub your feet and you can tell me more about this vaginal leakage I'm about to experience, you sickening pig.)

"You can even go waterskiing, if you're careful. It's not the fall that will hurt the baby. You'll hurt the baby when the boat is pulling you out of the water. You'll get power douched."
-Dr. Dibble

To sum up: Pregnancy is Magical.
(That's it, I love it. I'm putting that saying in vinyl above my toilet)

Try not to eat me.

Have a wonderful weekend everyone
and remember you are all sex panthers to me
Grrr baby... Grrr!

Priceless.

I've reverted back to cutting my split ends and I'm giving myself a headache.
I decided that I will stop the madness and tell a personal tale.

I'm not a big potty talk person. Sure, I can joke around about how I pee my pants and pee the bed as an adult because it's a fact of my life and rather than be embarrassed about it, I have decided to embrace it. However, when it comes to "taking the Browns to the Superbowl" I'd like to pretend it just doesn't happen. I mean really? Why do our bodies do this? I figure Heavenly Father has a sense of humor that I just don't understand.

For my senior trip I went to Lake Powell for 5 or 6 days with a BFF and her aunt and uncle. If we had to pee we could go in the lake, but if we had to make a nasty we had to ask the aunt and uncle to turn the water on in the boat and then they would all be sitting on the beach while you're in the crapper and they knew EXACTLY what you were doing. My solution? I didn't poop the ENTIRE trip. That takes talent people. My friend was even like, "Uh, you didn't even go to the bathroom the whole time we were there." I was like, "Yeah, I guess I just never had to go." When in reality I lost 5 pounds when I finally made the release. Haha, I can't believe I'm typing all of this! Do you see what my job is doing to me?!

For all Derrick knows I NEVER fart or make number 2. It's been a little tricky to conceal for the last 5ish years, but I'd like to think I've done a stand up job! The real challenge started when the endometriosis came because it makes your body act like it has IBS. What is IBS? It's Irritable Bowel Syndrome. So basically, when it hits you gotta find a toilet like PRONTO or you're scewed. And don't even think about farting to release the pressure or you could shart! What is sharting? It's when you think you're gonna fart and instead you shiz your pants.

Once upon a time we lived in an apartment with only one bathroom. I was making dinner like a good slave... I mean wife (oopsy!) and Derelict was in the shower. Suddenly, a meteor expolded in my stomach and my intestines opened a can of serious whoop-A. I doubled over and weighed my options as fast as I could. A - Go into the bathroom and scar my husband for life with no chance for recovery. B - Try to hold it, drive 5 minutes to the nearest gas station and hope to make it back before Derrick notices I left. The gas station wins! Although, I was not fast enough. The truth came out and I've yet to live it down.

Last week I was having serious stomach issues. I was laying on the lovesack watching a show and decided to let a silent but deadly fart escape from my body. This episode of flatulence probably could have killed a small village. Derrick came downstairs and lifted up the blanket to sit by me and watch the movie. The stench hit his nostrils and he pulled back in disgust. His poor face was priceless! I still crack up every time I think about it. I'm cracking up right now. Good thing the rest of my office is at lunch. It leaves me wondering, why did I wait so long to unleash the beast?

I hope you enjoyed my very long story about pooping and farting.
Until next time.

-The Princess of Phenomenal Flatulence
(my sister is the Queen)

I'm Surrounded By Morons.

Pet Peeve #582

SAHM Facebook statuses that read:
"Hubby lover buns is away on business for two whole days :( Being a single mom is SOOOO gosh darn stinkin hard!"

I will slap you until you bleed, you stupid idiot women. Yes, women-plural. I see this comment probably bi-weekly. Now call me crazy, but I believe when your husband is away making money for your family that does not qualify you as a single parent. REAL single mothers have to dump their kids in daycare, work at a job or two or three away from home all the live long day, AND make dinner, do dishes, do laundry, go grocery shopping, bathe, etc.

I honestly can't believe people are that freaking stupid.
That's like me saying:
"My new Nikes gave me a blister on my run this morning! As I limped along, I could feel the pioneer spirits guiding me on my journey back to my heated three story home. What a testimony builder!"

I feel a brain anuerysm coming on so, that is all for today.

I'mma Bust a Cap!

The other morning, while in peaceful slumber, my doorbell rings at 7 AM.

1st thought, "It's probably some chick in the Relief Society."

2nd thought: "Pssshhh. If those beeotches wanna talk to me, they can come back at a decent time."

I'm waiting for the lightning to strike me down, but let's be honest. Church people are the only people who will consistently show up at your door time and time again unexpected and unannounced. I'm just telling it like it is.

I proceed to roll over and capture some more wonderful shut eye, but I hear doors and cupboards slamming. Then, the mind games start.

"Oh shiz. It's a maniac killer/evil robber/menacing rapist. They rang the doorbell to see if anyone was home and then came through the back door when they thought the coast was clear."

After some serious debate, I decide to trek downstairs to see what's going on. First, I have to get dressed. "Hmmm, what should I be wearing when the cops find my mutilated body?" This decision took a shameful amount of time. Much longer than I'm going to admit. I finally settled on some gray sweats and one of Derrick's black zip up hoodies. I pick up my phone, dial 911, position my finger over the green send button, and grab Derrick's gun.

Halfway down the stairs, I rethink the gun because I can't even cock it. The last time I tried my fingers got stuck in the freakin thing and it hurt like a motha! So, as soon as my attacker figures out I have no intention of actually using the gun they'll take it from me and kill my with my own gun. Then, the police will come, trace the gun to my husband and they'll think Derrick killed me... What to do, what to do?

I decide to stick with the gun. It makes me look gangsta.

I slowly make it downstairs and check all rooms, closets, behind furniture, etc. I open the front door and peek out. Well what do you know, I guess it was just the neighbors slamming cupboards and doors. Haha! Don't I feel sheepish.

I walk back upstairs, lock myself in my room - just in case, and go back to sleep until it's time for work.

First thing I google after arriving at work.

Taser.

That's right I am soon to be armed and dangerous. Either with a taser or this cute little gun that I can actually work called "The Pink Lady". So, don't come knocking at my door earlier than 8:00 AM unless you want to suffer the consequences.

Word.

Pee is Fascinating

Oh Em Gee my job is boring.

I can't take it anymore.
I even read an article the other day and Dr Oz said
it's worse for your health to be
bored than it is to be stressed.
I honeslty can't wait to get knocked up.
It's going to be my golden ticket!

Obviously, my sanity is becoming more and more debatable. I'll give you a little rundown of what my job has been like lately.

About a month ago I took to cutting my split ends all day long. Kind of gross considering that my desk area had constant plethora of 1/2 inch hair pieces floating about, but it killed the time. It probably killed my eyesight too. Then I got a trim. Bye bye gross habit.

Yesterday I had the task of hauling a box, taller than I am, upstairs to our filing room.
The boy who sits by the stairs, (whose calves are twice as thick as my head) turned around, folded his arms, and intently watched me lug the box upstairs. He is a creeper and an absolute douche. I spent the rest of the afternoon contemplating ways to kill him using only office supplies.

Today when I went to the restroom I noticed my pee was a little too yellow.
So, I've been drinking lots of water and going to the bathroom frequently
to watch my urine change colors.
I heart clear pee.
I'll probably pee the bed tonight.

Help me.

The end.

HONEEEEY!!!!!!!

When I was a youngster my mom and dad would call me honey.

"Honey, rub my feet."

"Will you change your brothers diaper, honey?"

"Honey, get over here, fan my face, and feed me grapes while I watch Young and the Restless."

You see what I mean.

So, when my wee brother started learning names he called me honey. He couldn't get down the stairs all alone, so he would stand at the stairs and scream: HONEEEEYYY, HONEEEEEY!!!!!! I would come running, push him down the stairs, and have a good laugh.

My parents neighbors even call me honey. The name just kind of stuck.

Now, I am about to tell you a sad story. Lately I've been suffering. Every morning I look in the mirror, start to cry, and turn away in disgust.

I've been cursed with...

ADULT ACNE! and FLAKY DISGUSTING SKIN

WAAAHHHH!

I know, I know. I live the. hardest. life. ever.

Since facial death has fallen upon my face I've been frequenting makeupalley.com to find a cure. It turns out honey will be my saving grace.

And the choir sings!!!

I've been slathering this on my face for 15-20 minutes a couple times a week. Then Derrick licks it off while I shout praises to the queen bee and her hive. Hello pre-pubescent skin!

I also use it as a spot treatment for any zits that do happen to pop up. Even yucky chest zits. The next morning they are gone! It's a miracle for sheezy.

If you decide to give this a try you have to use raw honey. None of that crap in the bear bottle. If you have any questions, your Chinese friends at your local health food store should be able to help you out. Have a rice day!

(Yeah that's right. This is all I have to blog about. And I'm not going private. I'm an overreactor and I'm just not that big of a deal yet.)

Private Yay or Private Nay...

I'm going to give you the story...

Derrick has an ex girlfriend that he broke up
with about 6 or 7 years ago.
She's married with a child now, but apparently

her mom just can't seem to let it go.

She's Derrick's wanna be mother in law.

She has given him a card on his bday every year
since I've known him.

She doesn't send it in the mail because she knows
Derrick's mom will throw it in the

garbage when she sees it is from.

So... how does she remedy this problem?

She goes to his parents house and actually puts it in the mailbox!
How creeptastic is that?!

She also decided to do a little drive by
to deilver our wedding gift.

She probably saw our announcement in the paper and
hid out at our reception the whole night and
then followed us home. It honestly wouldn't even
phase me at this point.

So, the other day I open my Facebook account
and lo and behold the creeper strikes again!

She actually stalked me out on Facebook and sent
me a message asking me to tell Derrick

that she was thinking about
him on his birthday (WOW! That's a shocker!)
and that she hopes he has a great year!

Ummm.. can you say innapropriate and uneccessary?

And then she said that she's so happy he found his perfect match, 'you'.

What the freak is up with the quotations?

Please reference this friends episode:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mUlLX46gss8

Who does she think she is air quoting me like that?

So anyway am I overreacting?
Was I too hasty with the going private thing?
I'd like to go private, but at the same time
it just seems like it will be such a pain!

Oooh maybe I could not go private and just

have cute code names for us...
Like, Derrick could be Pooky Lover Bunz,

I would be Sugar Nipples

(sweet and sassy at the same time!),

and maybe if I birth a boy his code name

could be Mr. Dumps Like a Champ!

I would still put up pictures of us,

blog about recent birthdays,
have friends and family on my sidebar etc.. because
it's not like any of those things could give
away the B family's anonymity! LOLZ

Chances are she doesn't even know I have a blog,
and if she does maybe now she'll get the hint...
or my husband will get kidnapped

and I'll be murdered!

So, what do YOU think?

Any words of wisdom/opinions that anyone can
offer would be great!

Stocked and Skurred for My Babies!

Um, someone is stockeen me and I'm not
all that comfy with it. :(

I think my stocker has serious baby napping potential.

So, I'm going private fur real.
Leave me your email if you read my blog!
Don't be embarrassed because chances are
that I read your blog too!

Thanks peeps!