Saturday, May 24, 2008

Procrastination needs a song...

but we've all put off writing it.

I'm not sure why I've been in such a posting funk lately. I have started and deleted at least four posts over the last two weeks, just because I got bored with them.

So I have decided to turn this post into a jumbled, garbled mess of thoughts, musings, and ramblings...but aren't they all the same thing? Anywho...I am off…good luck keeping up!


I have been really friggin tired lately. Between Spanish, work, and my newfound inability to sleep longer than an hour at a time I am worn out. Apparently, 71 degrees is far too hot for a pregnant lady to sleep. Not to mention sharing a full sized bed with Captain Furnace doesn't help either. I swear, if I could somehow trap the heat his body produces, then convert it to electricity, I'd be able to power NYC for the duration of his life and then some. It's not Spanish itself that is wearing me out, it's the waking up at 6:30am after not sleeping, making breakfast, doing laundry, getting ready, then walking to campus that is wearing me out. "Taking it easy" is not in my repertoire. Work also isn't that difficult, but it's getting to be painful standing on my feet for longer than 5 hours. And sure I get a break, but some nights it's just not enough. They all help me out at work too. I really do love working there…if it just weren't for the damn customers messing everything up, (and if upper management would stop being such buttholes and give the raises that were promised to people, and stop making life so hard on their GM's and Am's, but I guess that's what happens when you get a bunch of corporate monkey's in a room making decisions via committee…but I digress from my ramblings…) it really would be the best place to work.


I've discovered that I can post directly to my blog from Word 2007…I have to say it's a pretty cool function. Now if only I could figure out how to code html I'd really be in the good. Is "in the good" even a valid "saying"? Probably not, but I don't care.


I really love the PITA, formerly known as "The Terrorist", but he has no sense of humor (which is a lie, but I say it to make it sound true). This past week he has been dying of an upper respiratory infection. Which hasn't made him a happy person, but he is FINALLY feeling better. Anywho… He tries so hard to keep me happy, which isn't an easy job, and to just put up with me…an even harder job. All the little things he does for me just makes me fall for him over and over again (and I realize we've only been married for four months and we're still in the honeymoon phase and all of that jazz, but seriously…these things make me happy), things like…when I'm cooking he'll come up behind me and wrap his arms around my oh-so expansive waist, put his head on my should and say "It smells so good," or "I can't wait to eat it," or "I love you"; or when he sends me text messages when I'm at work just to say "Have I told you today that I love you?"; or how he changes the music station to one I like the second I get in the car; or how he talks about how much he loves my family, and how happy he is that their his now too. He's such a good man, with such a good heart. And I know he's going to be the best role model my son could ever have. Sigh…right now he just stuck his head in the door and asked me if I would like some decaffeinated tea, because he watches my caffeine intake like a hawk. Which brings me to my next subject…


I LOVE tea…or Chai. I could drink it all day every day, and The PITA makes the best tea in the world and he makes it for me every morning, even though he isn't the biggest fan of it.


And I'm bored..but I'm actually going to post this one this time ;-)

Thursday, May 8, 2008

The Crackheads

While waiting for the 200+ pictures to upload from the camera, I thought I'd share with you some stories about the Crackheads.

Now in case you don't remember, or you just plain don't know the Crackheads are my siblings...all five of them. I'll give you a quick rundown of who they are and their ages:

Sa-nearly 20
Twerp- nearly 17
K.K.- 13
Nose- 9
Bubba- 9, and the only boy

Now to regale you with a trip down memory lane...

Twerp is the baby of our family. Now I know it looks like she is the third born, but remember the whole "I come from a big and wacky family" thing? well, here is another example of it. Twerp is the last child that came from the P&J union (P&J being my biological parents) you know what...I'm just going to make a family tree then you can figure all this nonsense out on your own...because, hell, it still confuses me sometimes (Oh and because The Terrorist doesn't have any sense of humor he is now known as The PITA):

Got it now? Me either. Oh and notice the spelling error lines? To make this thing I downloaded free software, and, well, it wouldn't let me copy and paste, so to stick it to the man (which I love to do) I hit print screen and pasted it into Paint. Haha! Take that the man!

Anywho...back to Twerp. Since she was the baby Sa and I got hours of enjoyment out of torturing her, and her best friend Dani. Now we lived on a cul-d-sac in the corner house. There were quite a few other children in our circle and endless ways to make trouble on those boring, hot summer afternoons. We also had a neighborhood Ice Cream Truck. Now on one particularly hot afternoon Sa and I were inside playing around on our electronic keyboard and we discovered that we had the same song on it that the Ice Cream Truck played ( The Entertainer click the link and press play).) Well, we looked at each other and shared a mental moment of pure elementary school evil. We looked out the window and saw that many of our comrades were playing some form of kickball in the circle. Well, after pushing the keyboard over to wall,under the window, we pushed up the glass, pressed "play" on the piano and ever so slowly began to raise the volume on the keyboard. Immediately, everyone stopped playing and ran inside to grab handfuls of nickels, dimes, quarters, and the lucky ones found whole dollars in purses. They all rushed to the stop sign on the corner and waited with sweet anticipation for the sugar high mobile to come around the corner. Sa and I slowly lowered the volume, and one by one people began walking away. When the last person was halfway home, we slowly raised the volume again. Shoulder slumps disappeared, smiles returned, and everyone bounded again to the stop sign. And slowly but surely, we lowered the volume and, once more, everyone walked away, I think some might have had tears in their eyes. We continued this vicious cycle for about 20 minutes, until nobody came running anymore. About half an hour later, when everyone had gone inside lamenting their lack of fake creamy goodness, the Ice Cream Truck really did drive by, and Sa and I got our normal fare of rock hard Sno-Cones and Push pops, which enjoyed by ourselves, on our front porch swing, laughing about our afternoon "mischief".

Good times....good times.

Tuesday, May 6, 2008

The Terrorist

I suppose I should dedicate my next post to the person I will most likely be posting the most about.

Important Things to know about The Terrorist:
1. He's Iraqi and Muslim...but I guess those two thing kind of go hand in hand, don't they?
2. He's not really a terrorist. I'll explain the reasoning behind his name momentarily...well whenever I'm done with this list.
3.We've been married for about four months, we've known each other for about eight.
4. He has no fingers on his right hand. It's not really important, just pretty cool. He was born like that; they weren't blown up, or gnawed off by wild rabid monkeys.
5. He makes the best Chai (Arabic for tea) in the world.

The Reason I call The Terrorist, well, The Terrorist:
There are a few reasons actually. The first is that when we started dating he had a lot of friends moving over, or trying to move over to the States, many of them wanting to come to our city, because he is here...he's popular like that...I kind of hate him for it. Well, when I found out I was knocked up I looked at him and said, "Ah, I see what's happening here. You're in charge of the Iraqi invasion of the US...starting with my uterus!"
Another reason is that he actually one of the nicest guys you'll ever meet. Seriously, this guy has the biggest heart and is so freaking giving he makes me look like Scrooge. Case in point: One day we were in the McDonald's parking lot, because I wanted a parfait and like Donkey says, "You know what else everybody likes? Parfaits. Have you ever met a person, you say, 'Let's get some parfait,' they say, 'Heck no, I don't like no parfait'? Parfaits are delicious . . . Parfaits may probably be the most delicious thing on the whole damned planet!" Well, after coming out of the Mic carrying my fruity, yogurty, layeredy cup of goodness, I see him walking back to the car from the Subway parking lot next door. This causes me to think "Bastard went and got himself a $5 foot long, it really is ca,ca,ca,catching on", so I ask him "Whatchoo doin' Willis?", and after explaining to him the intricacies of Diff'rent Strokes, he tells me that there was a homeless man over there who looked so cold and hungry, so he gave him some money. Now, seriously what type of terrorist would do that.
I used to ("used to" being the key phrase in this paragraph) have a friend who worked in banking. Well, one day she took it upon herself to run his name, or what she thought was his name, against the US Terrorist Watch List, and low and behold it was on there. So, she proceeded to tell our mutual friends and god knows who else that I was married to a terrorist. Well, his name, or variations of it, is very common in the Middle East, and they form their names diff'rently than we do (oh c'mon you know I had to). They are known by their first name, then the son of your father, followed by the son of your grandfather, followed by your tribal name. Well, the US takes these names and converts them to the "Christian" system, so you maintain your first name, but your father's name becomes your middle name, and your grandfather's name becomes your last, and your tribal name is disregarded. So, long story short, it could very well have been his name, or similar to it, but it wasn't him, yet she told people it was anyway. Well, it became a joke between him and I, so he is my terrorist.
Finally, what terrorist marries an American atheist infidel? Not many, eh?

I'm going to leave you now with a picture of The Terrorist playing with our friend's dog, Dude. Ain't he cute? Well...both of them.

Monday, May 5, 2008

And it begins...

Hello, my name is Steffi, and this is my blog. I'm not quite sure what I'm going to do with this thing. Other than have a convenient way to share pictures and stories, without having to go on the myspaces (yes plural, much like the internets) to do so.

I guess I'll start with the basics. I am young, 22 at the moment, married to The Terrorist, and knocked up.

I am trying my damndest to finish up my BA in English before the kid is born, and am taking 10 weeks of intensive Spanish...after five years of french...and a few years in between that....this is going to be interesting.

I work a little more than part-time, a little less than full-time at Panera Bread Co. I've been there almost a year and feel as if I am now a store fixture. Lightbulbs...check. Bread...check. Steffi...check.

I come from a huge and wacky family. I have five siblings, affectionately known as The Crackheads, a couple parents, a couple stepparents, more aunts and uncles and cousins than should be allowed, and In-Laws.

My personality borders on the line between quirky and bizarre...but all around I'm Simply Steffi.