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Karin Mitchell's books on Goodreads
Between Families Between Families
reviews: 5
ratings: 8 (avg rating 4.75)

Monday, June 21, 2010

A follow up to the Grinch

Ok, I just realized that made my mom sound like someone she's really not. She didn't say the you're-so-huge comment because she's a mean and nasty lady or because she's overly concerned about weight or looks or anything. She made plenty of comments about me looking healthy and happy and other nice-junk. She was clearly thrilled to see me and had hyped herself up about it for a month. She also constantly rubbed my belly and told the baby how many people love shim.

And she's right. I'm freakin huge.

Sunday, June 20, 2010

The Grinch who stole my figure

Know that scene where the Grinch's heart grows 3 times its size? That's what my belly did this month. Its obscene. My mom took one look at me and said she wasn't this big when she had my brother. Which is frightening since I'm not due until 9/9. Come to think of it, the grinch has a decidedly round belly. Wonder if that's what made his heart grow? Having to pump a shit-ton of blood to something taking over his abdomen. Oh well, at least I'm enjoying mine.

grinchs heart

Mine moves. My dad felt it today. Happy Father's Day!

Friday, June 18, 2010

Tikal

So during our trip we made a stop over to Guatemala to visit Tikal. We stayed in the national park at my request because I wanted to wake up in the jungle and hear the howler monkeys and see spider monkeys and do a sunrise tour of the ancient city of Tikal.

We arrived to Tikal in the afternoon on a Wednesday and ate at the hotel. The dining area was open and airy and you could see out to the well manicured gardens in the surrounding area. As we were eating, I freaked out when I saw this wandering around.

coatimundi

I freaked and went and got my camera and stalked him until my food was cold, trying desperately to get a picture with his face in it. Apparently, coatimundis usually go about in family groups but this old guy was a strange loner and he was really only interested in termites. So most of the time he was either trying to get away from the giant pregnant lady (who was trying to squat and take a picture) or burying his nozzle in a mound of insects.

We made our arrangements for a tour the next morning and went to swim in the pool. Did I mention it was fucking hot?

When we first arrived in Belize, there was a restaurant advertising "Gibnut Stew." Now, I'd never heard of gibnut before. And when you talk about 'jibbing" in skier slang, you're talking about jumping on rails or other things in the terrain park. So I immediately thought "gibnut" was really funny because to me, it sounded like when someone falls with their legs on either side of a rail and gets "gibnutted."

It turns out to be this
gibnut
Its like a 40 lbs mouse with no tail. Weird.

Then as the sun starts setting the Howler monkeys get going. There was a tree you could watch from the pool where they were frolicking and yelling at each other. Which was cool.

Later that night, Rob and I were eating dinner at the same restaurant and there was a bit of a ruckus with some locals. They were plowed. I mean, wasted.

This one guy starts stumbling out of his seat and as he staggers through the restaurant I say to Rob, "You know, I think there's an age where if you're that drunk on a Wednesday and no one died, you probably have a problem."

4am Thursday, who should be our guide for a sunrise tour, but Drunky McStumbleton.

There was an Italian couple we think was maybe going to come on the tour too, but we're pretty sure they thought our guide was a hoax. He wasn't though. Still drunk, he could have come from sleeping on a sidewalk. He carried no materials but a jenky flash light.

Then he starts explaining to us, (as he's leading us on a path through the jungle that is clearly not the regular entrance,) that the park has recently discontinued official sunrise tours. Now the only sunrise tours are ones where you take paths through the jungle and sneak in. Because at 6 months pregnant, I'm so sneaky.

In between phlegmy spitting and coughing, he occasionally stumbles and tells us to watch out for roots and to watch our step. He stops and explains that the money we've paid for our entrance and "tour" is really to bribe potential guards.

Because I want to bribe people in Guatemala. Especially people with semi automatic weapons slung across their shoulders.

But we continued on with the tour. And ended up seeing all this

Tikal sunrise

In case you're a starwars person (and I'm not,) yes this is that where they shot that one ewok scene.

tikal sunrise 3

Tikal sunrise 2

And yes, I did climb up to the top of this 212 foot temple at dawn led by a drunk Guatemalan. I could almost go faster than him.

We sat at the top watching the sun come up and listening to the Howler monkeys and birds. It was delightful.

Tikal after sunrise

Then we hiked around and saw other temple sites, watched spider monkeys and at one point I spotted an anteater. Which is quite rare to see I hear. I kept seeing signs about turkeys and thought, who the fuck cares about seeing a turkey. Until we saw this guy:

Turkey in Tikal

We saw toucans and parrots and didn't get hassled by any guards. We got back to the hotel around 9, hot and tired and happy.

Friday Quotes!

"Dear fat lady on train, Fat doesnt equal handicapped. So I refuse to give my seat up no matter how much sweat it took you to shoot me that dirty look."
"maybe she was sweating because of the sexual tension between you & she"

"If you’re wearing clean socks and you don’t have hooks for hands then I’ve succeeded as a mother."

"How much did you pay for your sticky boobs?"

"If Mr. Peanut can pull off a monacle, so can I."

"Homeless guy on train asked me for a dime. I was feeling generous and gave him a dollar. He then grabbed my crotch. So...who wins?"


Special Flag Day Quotes

"It's the actor who played Tootsie."
"Dustin Hoffman."
"You mean the retard from Rain Man?"
"You mean Tom Cruise."

"If Rowdy Roddy Piper doesn't body slam somebody in this movie I'm gonna be really upset."

"I thought you were dead."
"I thought you were a man."

"It's like Leatherface and Scarface at the same time."
"And Butterface."

"What the hell!?! Don't you know it's fuckin' Flag Day!!! We're waiting for Rowdy Roddy Piper to pull out his sword, and I don't mean penis!"

"Boob grenades!"
"I'd say them tits da bomb!"

"Seriously, every cat I do this to..."
"You do a lot of cats?"

"Is that Robert Englund?"
"No, it's Jenna Jameson."

"You know when I was in London it was just like this."
"All the strippers were zombies?"

"Someone give her a pity dollar."

"Ewwww. You can't light pornstars from below."

"Wait a minute, I didn't sign on for a donkey show."

"Sluts on parade."
"That's my favorite Rage Against the Machine song."

"We drink to flags on Flag Day. Especially if they're on panties."

"Funky McFatterbarts?"
"Hey, they're not all gems."

"I can't believe he drank a whole bottle of peach vodka."
"Well, he drank half and his vagina drank the other half."

"to be continued... in space."

Friday, June 11, 2010

Gypsy Whores are everywhere

Last night my husband decided it would be funny to call me a snuggle whore.
I was all, "Did you just call me a whore?"
And he was like "A snuggle whore."
"So, you're seriously calling your 6 month pregnant wife a whore?"
Then he looked even more pleased with himself and has now decided to call me a "pregnant, snuggle whore."

Speaking of whores, when I was a kid they were everywhere. Gypsy whores specifically. I don't know where my mother and grandmother's obsession with gypsy whores came from, but it was the reason to tone down your fashion a lot.

As in, you can't wear dangly earrings (my favorite to this day) because those are for Gypsy whores. As in, little girls shouldn't have red nailish polish because they'll look like Gypsy whores. As in, red and pink or red and purple don't match and if you wear that outfit you'll look like a gypsy whore. As in, Gypsy whore bath, which is where you take a bird bath in the sink. This was later called a PTA bath by my grandmother whose shocking statements became great fun in her later years. PTA stood for pitts, tits, and ass. Cuz those are the important parts you wash when you use a washcloth to clean up instead of taking a proper shower.

Thought you should know.

In other news, I have not forgotten about posting about Belize. I'm just crappy at getting pictures from the camera to the computer. I might have just brought it in to load from work, but I put some pregnant, gypsy, cuddle whore pictures on the camera that are for Rob and not so work appropriate, so it'll have to wait.

Happy Flag Day! If you've missed the joy of Flag Day for all or most of your life, the deal is this: You watch bad movies, drink beer, and eat burritos. The bad movies are key. This year, I'll be foregoing the beer and the group festivities. Which is a bummer, but I will be watching Thankskilling streaming on Netflix. Feel free to join me, gypsy whores.

Tuesday, June 8, 2010

As it turns out, I don't say everything I think

Ever make soup and then get a cold and think, "dang, what a good thing I made soup!" That happened to me this week.

Did you know hemorrhoids are actual vericose veins in your ass? That's your gross and generally unimportant information for the day. Thank you pregnancy websites for teaching me all I simply must know to have a baby.

Ever poop green? Of course you do. I always want to tell someone when it happens. Why is that? I never do though. Which is weird because I tend to say everything I think. Or as it turns out, almost everything.


I don't want to talk about the baby thing lately. Someone very close to me had a miscarriage. Almost exact same story as mine. Same no symptoms/concerns. Almost the same date. 12 weeks instead of 11. I can't stop thinking about her. I'm terrified for her to go through everything I did. I hate thinking that she might be sobbing uncontrollably and unexpectedly at a time when she should get to be happy. I hate thinking how I spent every ounce of energy focusing on the good things in spring last year and worrying how hard she must be trying. She sounds better than I did. But I probably sounded better than I was. So where does that leave it? I want to call her all the time and talk to her about it or just jabber on so she can be distracted. Sometimes someone else talking and just giving me minutia to think about really helped. But I'm pregnant. I feel stained and like I should keep it to myself now. I don't want it to hurt. I know how pregnancy can hurt when you're looking at what you would have had.

My next door neighbor had a baby something like four days before my due date. The one we share a duplex with. I've never been so aloof toward a neighbor as them. And that was all pretty much why. It may have turned out to be a good thing though. They have raucous fights and their daughter screams every night around 7:30 for about an hour in a way that makes me think there are some lacking parenting skills there. Their fights involve banging against the walls that make the pictures shake. Did I mention they called animal control on us while we were out of town? While they knew we were out of town. Apparently ChompSki sneaks over and poops on their lawn from time to time. But they never said anything. How would we know? Why would they think we wouldn't try to remedy a thing like that? So yeah, maybe we dodged a bullet avoiding that friendship. And now, I have to say, I won't feel bad in the least calling the police during an uproarious fight. Nice move, prick.


But I do want to talk about the baby thing. Because it kind of dominates my every minute so I'm not sure what else to say. Except, I pooped green. Oh and I threw a plastic bag away yesterday, drove home, and then realized that I had a sports bra and tanktop in there. I also ran over the recycling on my way out of the driveway. I do lots of smart stuff lately.

I'm seeing further into my innie than I ever wanted to. It could become an outie. So strange. Also strange is how preggos get the oppositve of plumbers crack- buddha belly. Its where your pants creep down (without a waist to creep toward) and your shirt starts sneaking up and next thing you know= Buddha Belly. Makes me feel like gross smelly trash.

But I dressed up and that made me feel all romantical. I never realized how if you have a really dope wedding, then later when you go to other people's weddings, it makes you feel all smooshy mooshy and nostalgic and romantical with your husband. I refuse to say hubby. I'm married to a man, not a muppet.

Maybe I'll go ahead and hit publish now and puke the rest of my thoughts into another post in the future. Happy Thursday. Sorry I missed hump day.

Saturday, June 5, 2010

Nailish Polish and Unfulfilled Sex Dreams

I think its really funny when people fart in their sleep. I woke myself up the other night snoring. I didn't used to snore. Its like my body held onto that flaw until I got married. I'd lived with someone before too. But it never started until I was married. Like somewhere in my psyche I thought I wouldn't be marriage material with snoring. But now, fuck it, I guess. There's no point caring if you snore. But when I was 18, I bet I would've been embarrassed about snoring. You get embarrassed about weird shit when you're 18. Or 21. One of my friends had her first baby when she was 21. She was really concerned about getting waxed before the birth because she didn't want anyone to see her yoni all gnarly and hairy. I thought that was funny. It just wouldn't have occurred to me that anyone would pay any attention to that during birth. I mean, I don't want things getting all george-of-the-jungle down there, but if they do, again, fuck it.

When I was a little girl, I loved my nails getting painted. My aunt Carole used to paint them from time to time when I was teeny tiny. I called it nailish polish and I loved it. I thought it meant I didn't have to cut my nails or clean under then because if you chose a dark enough color, you couldn't see the dirt. I was right too, for the record. I generally keep them neat and short and clean these days but that's mainly because I can't paint my nails. If I'm painting, the whole finger's coming with it. The best I can generally hope for is painting my fingers and toes, getting the nails completely covered, and then waiting a few days for the polish to wash off my skin, sticking to the nails. And that's assuming I don't pick all the polish off before that happens.

I painted my nails this weekend though. Pretty passably too. Its because I can't figure out what to wear to this wedding Rob's making me go to. He's really excited about it. And excited is not usually a word that hangs out close to Rob's name. So I couldn't bail on coming. It turns out to be a good thing though because my closest friend from home will be there and some other folks I like. Plus Rob promised me I can swim in the lake today. I love swimming. I mean LOVE.

Rob and I watched an episode of The Dog Whisperer the other night. In it was this really traumatized lab and Cesar kept taking him in the water in pools and stuff as part of his treatment to get him calm. Rob started calling me the dog's name on our vacation because you put me in water and I immediately relax and just lay back and can swim and swim all day long.

He's still sleeping though. We both got sick coming back from Belize this week and he gets to take Nyquil (the jerk.) So he's out. In the mean time, I'm still recovering from my dreams. I keep having really obnoxious dreams about people in my life lately. I've dreamed that pretty much every member of my family has been awful to me. Last night I dreamed that my mom was walking into the houses of my neighbors and stealing the middle sections of their bread. My mom makes bread. She wouldn't stop either. No matter how I told her that I had to live with these people, they were my neighbors, she just wouldn't listen. I woke up and went back to sleep and dreamed that I was in a bathtub with a friend of mine (male.) We were clearly going to get intimate (thank god, I was NOT pregnant in this dream,) But then I looked up and saw that he had my hot pink bikini top on under a t-shirt. You could see the little ties sticking out of the top. I pecked him on the lips and headed to take the recycling in. What the hell kind of sex dream only involves kissing? Not that I want to dream about sex with friends, but ???

So I'm thinking I might post some about Belize. Pictures and stories and whatnot. But I don't want to become a boring 1960s wife with my slideshow of photos no one wants to see. So I'll try and edit and be brief. But the trip pretty much kicked ass so I feel I should share.