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Post Office Blues

by whoorl

D forced me to accompany him to the neighborhood post office this weekend. I almost died a thousand deaths. I despise our neighborhood post office. It smells of mothballs and Polident, and you have to take a fucking PAPER TICKET with a number printed on it and wait your turn like in the 1950’s or something. No line, no organization, just a trillion absent-minded peeps waiting around for their number to be called. Total bullshit.

Why am I so passionate about being forced to visit our crappy post office? Well, mainly because if you drive an extra 5 minutes from our home, you can experience the NEW FABULOUS Post Office, which doesn’t smell like Polident! And has an AUTOMATED POSTAL MACHINE! As Ferris would say, it is sooo choice. I can walk in, walk up to a machine, place my package on the scale and do all of my business with an automated teller. Need insurance or delivery confirmation? No problem. Oversized package? Bring it on. This machine does everything a postal worker could do minus the stinky postal worker breath in my face. Just me and the machine. And the best part? Everyone is scared to use it! Like it’s going to sprout teeth and eat them in one big munch. Over the holidays, I would shimmy past thirty to forty people standing in line, straight up to my shiny automated friend and get down to business. The people in line would look at me, and then at each other, thinking, “What is she doing over there?”, “Can I do that?”, “Oh, I’m afraid. It might sprout monster teeth and eat me”. I would finish in about 3 minutes, turn around, look at the line that hadn’t moved one inch, and smirk. Yes, I am the smirky girl at the post office, but C’MON! How could you not smirk at forty oblivious suckahs standing in line with their packages for days on end!

One day, an older gentleman summoned the courage to saunter over and check out what I was doing. He said something to the effect of “Oh, you youngins and your computers…I wish I could do that.”

Um, it’s a fucking touch screen, not a complex code of software engineering. Good God.

Hey, not that I’m complaining. I hope the majority of Americans never learn how to use the automated teller, thus ensuring many more pleasant days at the United States Post Office. Peace.

Leaving Las Vegas

by whoorl

Hey, how was your weekend? Mine was interesting to say the least…

Whoorl’s Shitty Weekend in List Form:

1. I woke up Friday morning in Las Vegas sooooo ready to fly home at 3:53pm. It’s going to be a great extended weekend!
2. Got ready for my morning meetings when I noticed something strange going on. Remembered that this strange event can be common in early pregnancy, and tried not to stress about it.
3. Attended meetings from 7:45 – 11:30. Had absolutely no idea what in the hell was going on because all I could think about was my baby.
4. Confided in two of my colleagues who both suggested I call my doctor immediately.
5. Called my doctor, explained the situation, and told her about my flight home in less than 4 hours. I was hoping she would tell me to get my ass home pronto. Unfortunately, that was not the case as she told me to go to the nearest ER immediately.
6. Hung up the phone. Slight whoorl meltdown while hiding behind a partition in the Venetian hotel. There were about 400 reps from my company in the area with me and all I wanted to do was find my manager, tell him the situation and get the hell out of dodge without them all seeing me cry. I just REALLY didn’t want to make a scene- which was difficult considering I was a extremely hormonal, scared pregnant lady who had just been told to go to the ER in Las Vegas.
7. Somehow managed to get my manager’s attention, told him the situation, and we took off together in search for a cab.
8. Found the cab line at the front of the Venetian, cut in front of 250 reps while my boss yelled “NEAREST HOSPITAL PLEASE!” So much for not making a scene.
9. We were dropped off at the Sunrise Hospital Emergency Room, aka Shit-My-Pants-Kind-Of-Scary Hospital. The ER was packed, which I expected considering Las Vegas is notorious for extremely long ER waits.
10. The triage nurse checked me in with comments like “Well, you know if you miscarry, there’s nothing you can do about it”. “The baby can’t survive on it’s own.” “I’ve had 5 miscarriages myself and it’s really common and NO BIG DEAL.” I swear I nearly punched her few remaining teeth out. NO SHIT, BITCH! I’M FULLY AWARE OF MY SITUATION, THANKS. I’M SORRY I’M KEEPING YOU FROM YOUR NASCAR EVENT.
11. Called D to inform him that I had made it to the ER. At this point , we decided it would be best for him to make the 4 1/2 hour drive to come get me since it was about 1:00pm and we weren’t sure about making my flight home.
12. For the next three hours, my boss (who, frankly, missed his own flight for me and was AMAZING the entire day) tried to pass the time by making fun of the complete fashion disasters that were surrounding us and closing in fast. People, there were some denim items that I have never seen the likes of in my 31 years on this planet.
13. Yes, we were making fun of people while waiting to make sure my baby was OK. We are horrible people, but how else do you pass the time?
14. 4:30pm. Not ONE person has been called back in over three hours. My boss checks in with the no-teeth beaatch. She informs him that there are 38 people waiting for beds in the back already. She says it will be at least 5 more hours. When I catch wind of the situation, I make the executive decision to Fuck This, despite my doctor’s advice of being evaluated in Las Vegas.
15. Took a cab back to the Venetian, got my bags, and waited for D to pick me up.
16. Made the 4 1/2 hour drive back home. Drove straight to my hospital’s ER. Arrived around 10:30pm. Only had to wait about an hour, and then spent about three hours being evaluated.
17. Happy news! After blood tests, pelvic exams and an ultrasound, the baby seems just fine. I had a small hemorrhage in my uterus, and was ordered on bed rest until this week when hopefully, the hemorrhage will heal itself. And yes, I totally blame my company’s meeting for all if this considering I had to walk an equivalent of 2-3 miles a day while lugging my books to and from the Convention Center.
18. We drove home from the hospital at 2:30am and crashed (after showers, of course. Germs, people. Germs.)
19. Woke up Saturday morning with some sort of hybrid flu/cold thing and have been in bed ever since while coughing my brains out. And coughing hurts. My head is going to explode and I can’t take anything! Wahhhhhhh.

Good times.

But, hey! Guess what? My baby’s fine! AND I got some really cute ultrasound pics on Friday night/Saturday morning! AND I am getting a follow-up ultrasound in about an hour! So, you know what that means? Whoorlito pics in a couple of hours!

Well, at least that’s exciting to me…

Her Royal Highness of Pastry Land

by whoorl

Last night I dug into my decades-old Ziploc bag looking for more baby photos to use on my sidebar. I spent upwards of two hours browsing and scanning what seemed to be millions of old memories from around 25-30 years ago (yikes), and became surprisingly sentimental over the whole deal. Being a young kid in the 1970’s was the best!

Case in Point #1:

Simplicity. Look how happy, albeit hot and sweaty, I am in this picture. Just chillin’ with my Aunt Jemima bandana on a hot summer day while my dad waters the lawn. I wonder how long I spun around on that dorky sit-and-spin. Probably all freaking day long. Would kids these days be content on a plastic spinny-thing all day? I think not. Now, it’s all about the over-stimulating video games or driving a battery-operated mini-Hummer. Crazy, I tell ya. Bring back the sit-and-spin!

Case in Point #2:

McDonalds birthday parties. Oh, how joyous! Eating our cheeseburgers and fries while shooting the shit. Hell yes. Not concerned that some crystal meth freak might snatch us off the playground. And not once did our parents worry about us catching the Avian Flu while jumping around in the colored balls. Good times.

Case in Point #3:

In the 1970’s, you were forced to use your imagination. First of all, check out my thrilling tea party. I don’t remember who that little boy is, but he appears to be having a mighty fine time. Actually, he looks a little constipated and/or scared. Whatever. What a hostess- I particularly enjoy the way my arm is resting on the chair, like I am posing for Town and Country magazine.

Whoorl enjoys a lovely afternoon of tea and crumpets in her fine Oklahoma home.

Ok, that isn’t the reason I posted this photo. I truly believed with all of my heart that a miniature pastry queen lived in the top of my yellow ruffled curtains. Her specialty was blueberry pie, but she also made all sorts of fruit tarts and pastries. When I would have friends over, I would sit them down on the bed and tell them about my pastry queen. Then I would hand them an invisible pastry and promise that if they squeezed their eyes shut really tight, they could taste her amazing pies. Their faces would light up and they would yell out “I taste it! I taste it!” I would just nod, knowing that I was the luckiest girl to have a miniature pastry queen living in my curtains.

Call me bonkers, but I really could taste those pies. They were damn good.

Halloween Weekend

by whoorl

more photos…

This was the greatest Halloween weekend to date- no costumes involved. Just five of my very favorite things:

1) My husband
2) My best friend Caroline (aka Coco, Princess Maxima Cocodrie, Miss Carolina-is-so-fina)
3) Sushi
4) Football
5) Presents- and man, were they good!

Saturday evening, Coco came down from LA for a night of martinis, sushi and chatfests. Plus, she brought me an early birthday present which I wasn’t expecting at all. Don’t you love that? It was a gorgeous green vintage necklace and bracelet that I adore with all of my jaded heart. I can’t wait to wear it. So, while catching up over cocktails, my husband announced he had a present for me, too. Except this was an early anniversary present. Excuse me? Who’s karmic ass must I have licked to deserve this?!

By the way, this upcoming weekend is a big one. It’s my birthday AND our first wedding anniversary, or what I like to call the first annual “It’s all about Whoorl” extravaganza. Bring it on.

Anyway, D brought in a big paper package wrapped in pink cord, which I opened to reveal 3 Chiefs/Chargers tickets for Sunday. HOLY SHIT! This was so glorious on so many levels. First of all, the first wedding anniversary is paper- how clever of my man, paper tickets and all. I thought that was so sweet. Secondly, I love the Kansas City Chiefs with all of my heart, considering I went to college in Kansas and lived in KC after I graduated. Thirdly, the Chargers coach is Marty Schottenheimer who used to coach the Chiefs when I lived there. I love him. Fourthly (are you asleep yet?), the Chiefs/Chargers rivalry is a big one and you pretty much have to shell out the cash to get seats. Mind you, our seats were on the 12th row, 30-yard line! I could practically reach out and pinch Priest Holmes’ tight ass. My husband rocks the casbah.

So, in a nutshell, I spent yesterday sandwiched between two of my dearest peeps in perfect 85 degree weather, eating stadium nachos, drinking beers and rooting on my two favorite NFL teams. LIFE IS GOOD.