Saturday, April 2, 2011

Glitter and Be Gay

I gotta say... I certainly do love Kristin Chenoweth. Tal-lent-ted!

Friday, April 1, 2011

Up yours, April Fools

This will probably be a short, quick little post, but I have something bothering me about today. Today is April 1, aka April Fool's Day. Today is also a day that most women of child bearing age choose to use one of the oldest April Fool's jokes: "I'm pregnant".

It was different when jokes were just spread in person. "Ha ha. That's funny, now let's continue our conversation." Now with facebook and twitter, people post status updates that you can't tell is a joke until the author of said update types that it is. "What? Really? ....Wait, is this a joke? *hour+ later* Ok. That is a joke." Now, I'm not a spoil sport or anything. The jokes can be funny, but I don't think the "I'm pregnant" joke is funny. It hurts to read updates from people that they are pregnant, right after they just had a baby months ago or when they have had several children already. It hurts when it isn't a joke, but even more so when people choose to use that as an April's Fools joke. To see that kind of update, when I so desperately want to be pregnant myself, hurts (joke or not). It hurts when it comes from people that aren't trying or didn't want another child, joke or not. I'm sorry, but it does.

Oh, snap. This sounds like a bit of jealousy. Perhaps it is. :( I'll post later with my penance.

Now I do like April Fool's jokes. See here for last year's blog joke from me.

Apparently, one of the suspected April Fool's jokes may not be a joke. If it is a joke, then that person is not the person I thought she was. But if it isn't, then that friend has hurt me more than she will ever understand by not telling me personally like she did her last child.

Wednesday, March 30, 2011


In October 2001, I was walking in the mall with my mom and step-father on a mission to get a bottle of aftershave for my step-father. On the way to the department store, we passed a pet store that had puppies in little plastic houses meant for little kids. In the very front of the store, there was a little Bichon Frise puppy on it's back legs, begging. It was such a cute puppy and I wanted it. Anyone who knows me knows I fall in love with puppies, kitties and babies easily and I want to take them all home with me. This puppy was no exception. Luckily, my parents felt the same. Before I knew it, I was holding this little ball of fluff, with shredded paper stuck to it's fur, while my parents paid for it.

"Oh, it's definitely a boy," they told us.

I decided to name it Freddy to go with Sammy the male Bichon we already had at home. I took a quick glance between Freddy's legs and didn't see what I thought should be there for a boy. The store looked again as well and agreed that Freddy was in fact a girl. I renamed it Molly.

Molly was a cute cute cute puppy! She slept in a laundry basket next to my bed when she was little. She would cry in the middle of the night and I would take her outside. She would cower in fear when we would shake bags. Paper or plastic, it didn't matter. She would run in fear when we would make this "Eh, eh" noise. She grew out of the fear of that noise, but not the bags or most of her other fears. Molly seemed to be afraid that she would never get food again, causing her to beg for food often and she would always gulp down the food she would get.

I wanted to take Molly with me when I moved out on my own, but my parents didn't like that idea. Instead, they helped me find Izzie, my own puppy. When I would bring Izzie to my parent's house, Molly acted like that was her puppy too. She would have made a good momma dog, but we had her fixed when she was a puppy. Molly and Izzie were best friends from the beginning. Molly and Izzie would curl up together and fall asleep. Molly would be afraid of the food dropping from the automatic dog food feeder bowl, so she would bark at it. When Izzie would hear Molly's bark, she would run over and move the food so the bowl would fill up for Molly.

Recently, Molly had been acting different. The vet said that Molly was sick and would just get worse. My parents took her home with them and kept an eye on her. She needed to go out more often. She was less interested in food. She was losing weight.When they noticed this past Thursday how Molly was no longer acting like happy Molly, they took her one last time to the vet's office.

Molly wasn't scared to be going to the vet's office. In the dim room in the office, she wasn't scared of being placed on the pink blanket covering the stainless steel table. She wasn't scared of the needle that was going to help her pain.

Molly isn't scared any more. 

Molleisha Mae      "Molly"     2001-2011  

Monday, March 28, 2011


I got my brother's address today! This makes me feel a bit better. I can't wait to send him something, whether it's something fun or just a card.

I may not approve of the war, but I will always ALWAYS support the troops. And I know the majority of my readers feel the same way.