What's That Smell?

Dear Popo:

I'm fairly certain my feet stink, but I want to take off my shoe and smell my foot, just to make sure.  However, I'm afraid my cube-mate will turn around just as I bring my nose close to my foot for the "big whiff." I guess I could always take my shoe off, rub my foot against the carpet a few times, then pretend I'm doing a push-up, but really I'm trying to see if the carpet soaked up any of my foot smell.  I'm afraid that won't be very accurate though.  I dropped a lot of egg on the floor this morning while eating my breakfast bagle, so there's a chance I'll just smell scambled eggs.  Oh, maybe I'll go lock myself in a bathroom stall and smell my feet in private. I'm not 100% sure what I'm going to do if I confirm my feet stink....maybe wash them in the sink?

Love,
Kiki

P.S. Someone just came over and told me not to drink from the drinking fountain because the water is brown.  This week we've also run out of company envelopes and lined yellow note pads, and have had significant internet slowing.  I'm becoming a little concerned, are there any job openings at your employer I might qualify for?

Hey There Glitter Butt

Dear Popo:

Off the top of my head I can think of nine women who are pregnant.  Of the nine, I personally know six; the other four are comprised of a facebook friend and three celebrities.  That's a lot of pregnant women for me to know and/or know of.

I've accepted the fact we won't have our own biological children, and honestly I'm not certain babies and I get along (ask Sydney about our morning together).  But there's something about having the option to reproduce, stolen from you.  One minute you're thinking "we should make a baby!" then you put all of your parts together with all of his parts and suddenly it turns into "why aren't we making a baby?".  Our doctors were no help, particularly when they said "it's not impossible, but it's highly improbable" that you will get pregnant. What the hell does that mean?  I imagine it's not impossible for my butt to turn in to an automatic confetti machine, but it's highly improbable, especially since I don't regularly eat glitter.

I'm excited about adopting and actually more excited about adopting then having to be pregnant for the next nine months.  But there are those moments when I look at Dustin and think "how is it possible that the etheral being who supposedly created us, would not want him to reproduce?"  Can you imagine what America would be able to accomplish with more Dustin's?  We'd be a country full of super curteous, physically fit, financially minded people with organic gardens (but we'd also be slow drivers who are afraid of heights). 

In order to make myself feel better, and the nine women feel worse, I have come up with a list of ten things I can do over the next nine months, that they can't.

1.  Sit through an entire movie without having to use the bathroom three times.
2.  Post a status on facebook that is not about being pregnant, having a baby, having a mood-swing due to hormones, or food cravings.
3.  Sleep next to my husband without worrying my big belly is going to push him out of bed.
4.  Eat cold cuts straight from the fridge.
5.  Drink coffee, lots and lots of coffee, even consider getting a coffee enima.
6.  Get so drunk I fall down the stairs.
7.  Bend over and touch my toes.
8.  Spend money on frivilous items without having to worry whether we'll have enough money for formula.
9.  Continue to support Proctor and Gamble by purchasing Costco sized packages of Always with wings.
10. SEX!!!

Love,
Kiki

Kitchens

Dear Kiki,
Speaking of kitchen duty, B and Keija are the same way as Dustin.  They think that by loading the dishwasher they have cleaned the kitchen.  The counters can still be covered in food and the floor sticky and dirty yet they want a gold star for cleaning.  It is so strange living with other people. 
B thinks nothing of putting his dirty stinky feet on the coffee table or leaving a drink half spilt on a surface but has to wear gloves when changing his daughters diaper and can't bare to eat food with his hands (knives and forks with pizza).

Love, Popo

Micros and Cubes

Dear Kiki,

Holy Shit! 

Work is crazy.  I wish I could clone myself.  It would be so nice to have minons I could rely on to help me get things done.  Instead of control freak micro managers and freakishly retarded people afraid of stepping outside their tiny life cubicle. 

A "cubicle thinking" co-worker decided that she would change our office mailing address to a PO Box downtown.  She just let Linda and I know about this....we were both like, um why?   - WTF!?!.   She explained that once a week she will swing by the post office and pick up the mail sort out the bills and bring us the rest.  What you have to understand is that out of the box of mail that we recieve every day only about 5 pieces of it is actually for her.  Seriously short sited.  This of course was okay by our office manager and financial manager - this sound planning is part of why we are now being accquired by The Portland Clinic. 

Love,
Popo


DAMN IT! I just realized that my quarterly shipment of wine will now be headed downtown. 

33 going on 15 *in my pants*

Dear Kiki,
Today I am annoyed. 
I realize this is not really a new thing.  Annoyance and I have a back and forth relationship on any normal day, however today is special.  I am annoyed because I am having a hard time interacting with some of my new co-workers.  This difficult interaction is due to the 'Hotness Factor'.  I know you and I have a varying defintions of hot.  Lets just say that one of these guys is Katie hot and the other is Heather hot but they both are still good looking.  Normally I do not have any trouble interacting with guys...in fact I LOVE working with guys; relaxed attmosphere, goofy syfi comments, sexual discussions about random people.  But I have realized an important fact of my exsistance - I am still immature around guys I find attractive.  Sigh. 
I am at war with myself constantly.  One moment I am a calm, married, 33rd old mother of 1 asking a perfectly resonable question and having a normal conversation and then the next I am a fast talking, loud laughing 15year old with raging horomones trying to draw attention to how cool I am.  Ugh. 


Love,  Popo

P.S. Eye contact is really difficult to manage as well (I completely understand your sideways bus seat issue). 

What's That In Your Hair?

Dear Popo,

I had what I would classify as a traumatic experience on the bus this morning.  They recently moved our bus stop farther from the house so they can start working on the new MAX line.  The new bus stop is probably only two blocks from the old one, but for some reason it feels like it’s an additional mile.  I can’t bring myself to walk the additional mile every morning, so I’ve started driving to the park-and-ride a few minutes from the house.  This has been a good compromise with Dustin, because my other option would be driving in to work, and parking costs $10.  The good thing about driving to the park-and-ride is that I’m almost guaranteed a seat, and don’t have to stand in the aisle.

I get car (bus) sick these days, much more than I used to.  I find that if I get a seat facing towards the front of the bus I do just fine.  But if I get stuck with one of those sideways seats (the ones where you try to avoid staring at the person across from you, but ultimately make eye contact multiple times which makes you feel obligated to smile and or start-up a conversation) I start getting sick after just a few stops.  Today was one of those mornings when I got stuck in a sideways seat.  The guy across from me was fairly attractive, though about 10 years older and I felt awkward looking at him.  Attractive men always make me feel awkward – I remember the time at Safeway where I was chatting with the check-out guy (he started it) and after a few minutes of conversation he abruptly said “I’m married!”  I realized I’d forgotten to wear my wedding ring and apparently he felt that casual conversation with a woman equated to “she wants to bone me, right here in the dairy section of the supermarket.”  Ever since then, I have trouble with attractive guys and I want to blurt out “I’m married this is ONLY a conversation “anytime I see one.  Or maybe I should have a t-shirt made...

Anyway, partially because I was beginning to get nauseated and partially because I was feeling awkward occasionally catching the eye of the guy seated across from me, once a forward-facing seat opened up in the back, I darted for it.  I didn’t realize, until after I sat down, that the guy who had vacated the seat had moved to a different one towards the front of the bus.  At first, this wasn’t a red flag because sometimes people need to talk to the driver if they aren’t sure what stop to get off at.  But then, I started hearing it…this weird sound, like when you rub your hands together quickly.  But maybe you aren’t rubbing two hands together, maybe you’re rubbing one hand against another something that sounds like it’s also covered in a skin-type material.  The rubbing seemed to quicken after a few moments, the tempo slowly increasing every few seconds.  I knew there was a man sitting behind me – and I couldn’t fathom what he could be doing that would make that kind of sound, except for one thing. 

There was no way I was going to turn around, but suddenly I was thinking that maybe the other guy had moved to the front of the bus because he was aware something fishy was going on behind him.  You know when you see a spider and even though you know it’s not walking on you, you start feeling like you’re covered in spiders?  I knew, if the guy behind me was doing what I thought he was doing, he was far enough away from me that it wouldn’t impact me in any way  when he got to his stopping point.  However, I started picturing that scene from Something About Mary and became concerned that maybe, just maybe, I might have a big glob of something on my coat or in my hair by the time I got off the bus.  And what if I did, how do you handle that situation? “Excuse me sir, I spent the time to wash, dry and style my hair this morning and I don’t appreciate what you have now deposited on me.  Do you happen to have a handkerchief?”  The rubbing sound stopped just before we crossed the bridge into downtown and then I heard the sound of a paper bag crinkling.  I’ve been too scared to reach up and touch the back of my head since the incident, but since it’s nearly noon and no one has pulled me aside to point-out a glob of ejaculate in my hair, I think whatever was deposited probably went into the paper bag.

This is why I hate riding public transportation.  It is possible the fellow was doing something totally innocent, maybe trying to iron his pants with his hands because he didn’t have time to use his dryer this morning, like the rest of us lazy people.  The problem is, I’ve had so many crazy public transportation interactions (the guy that pulled the knife on me on the Broadway bus and the homeless guy who told me I had pretty teeth, then smiled to show that he had absolutely no teeth) that my mind immediately goes to something horrific.

The good news is that I was super tired this morning because I didn’t sleep well last night.  But I found the incident on the bus was better than two shots of espresso (graphic pun not intended) and I am wide now wide awake.

Love,

Kiki

Underwear and Perry Mason

Dear Popo:

It’s been a boring Monday, the status-quo for my day off.  I worked out (agility and endurance today at boot camp, sounds a little like a doggy training course).  I then cleaned the house, which had not been done for weeks.  Dustin and I had been playing the passive-aggressive game of “I cleaned the kitchen last time” and I lost.  Honestly though, I’m fairly certain he did clean the kitchen last time.  I was just hoping my laziness would win out over his stubbornness.  I do want to note, though he does the dishes more often than me, he rarely actually “cleans” the kitchen.

Remember how Dad used to make us do our chores (mine was always cleaning the kitchen) every Saturday morning before noon?  According to Dad cleaning the kitchen wasn’t just putting the dishes in the dishwasher.  Remember we had the whole list of things that had to be done, including moving and cleaning under the fridge and stove at least once a month?  That is what I consider cleaning (thanks Dad) and so when I clean the kitchen I actually use bleach and counter cleaners.  A few months ago I moved all of the cleaning supplies out from under the kitchen sink (one of the requirements for our home study) and I don’t think Dustin has noticed yet.  Dustin is a fantastic husband and great at 98% of the things he does, but deep cleaning isn’t one of those.

I’m also doing laundry today.  I bought some new underwear at Aerie last week and I have this fear that if I wear them without cleaning them first I’ll get crabs or a flesh eating bacteria.  I figured since I have to clean my new undies, I might as well do the other laundry piling up in the bathroom too.  I need to stop going to Aerie though.  I have so many pairs of underwear now I am running out of space in my small underwear drawer.  I actually spent some time on Craigslist this afternoon searching for a small dresser to put in our closet.  But, I got bored and decided to create this blog instead.

I’ve been watching old television shows today (between the cleaning sprees).  Hawaii Five-0 and Perry Mason were on earlier.  It made me think of Ma and her nightgown, sitting in front of the television drinking her tea and eating fresh ginger bread.  I kind of yearn for those afternoons.  I think if I’d realized how stressful and monotonous adulthood was going to be, I wouldn’t have raced so fast to get here.

Love,

Kiki