Still Pregnant!

We found out about a month ago that we are having another girl. We were shocked that we hadn’t finally landed a boy this time and it took us a day or two to accept it. It’s not that we were upset that we were having another girl, it’s that there was no reaction when the tech said, “It’s a baby girl.” It was like, “Okay, carry on with your measurements.” It sounds horrible, I know. Only because when I think about the reaction we would have had if she had said, “It’s a boy,” it supersedes the non-reaction that was actually had. We’re over it and moving on to picking out names and some more (pink) baby bedding.

I am currently 22 weeks along. Bending over has slowly become a challenge and is now accompanied with an assortment of grunts, oohs and ahs, followed by heavy breathing and the need for a short rest. Kyle will need to start assisting in putting socks and shoes on me sooner than later. Other than that I can’t complain. Aside from some minor heartburn (hairy baby??), I haven’t had any other real discomforts yet. My back is holding out for the most part, the heavy and frequent urinating hasn’t begun yet and I’m still able to sleep fairly well. I guess this is the “babymoon” phase. My reaction skills are enhanced and verging on ninja level. When something starts to fall I’m uncharacteristically able to catch it before it hits the ground and in a fashion that seems nonchalant, not just clumsily lucky.

The baby is also ninja-like in that it never stops kicking, moving, rolling, doing roundhouses… A majority of her kicks are landing low, like in my vagina and it’s…unpleasant. If you watch me long enough, you can see me flinching in reaction to a well-placed kick of hers to my nether regions. I’m waiting for her foot to just come flying out one day – and then what I do?? It’s evident that she is also hoarding all of the folic acid from my vitamins has my hair and nails have done nothing but become more brittle than they were before, if that’s even possible. The kid will come out with the most luscious mane and freakishly long nails ever. She’ll look like that weird guy with the curly cue nails in the Guinness Book of World Records. This will be my reminder to bring infant nail clippers with me to the hospital.

I am also quickly realizing that I have few winter-appropriate maternity clothes. My previous pregnancies were timed such that my “large months” fell during warmer weather whereas this pregnancy is the opposite. This means, pause while I gag, maternity jeans. I have one pair that I hate and refuse to wear and I can’t bear the thought of purchasing another pair. The thought makes me want to set myself on fire. So right now I’m still either wearing in-between jeans which are just a larger than normal size that I usually set aside for post C-section wear or I’m stuffing myself into my normal jeans and leaving them undone and just securing with an elastic band around the button. This works only if you have a shirt long enough to cover the undone zipper. Otherwise, the public gets a flash of undy, C-section scar and potential pube. So you have to be careful with this method.

I still have a lot going on in my life that remains in the forefront for now. My hope is over the next couple of months, things will even out, I’ll be larger and as a result, the pregnancy will merge into a priority. Then excitement, preparation and nesting will begin. Until then, I have a weekly reminder on my phone that lets me know how far along I am. 

Backseat Baby

Sadly this pregnancy has taken a backseat to everything else going on in my life right now and I feel horrible for it. An avalanche of family health problems and life in general has resulted in me taking on extra responsibilities (and worry) and tasks that make this pregnancy seem like an afterthought. Before I know it, this baby will be here and I will have had zero excitement and anticipation leading up to its birth. One day, life – next day, new baby. “Oh, hello, where’d you come from? I’ve been carrying you around for 9 months? Hm, had no idea.” I hate it. I want to be excited. I want to plan for its arrival and dream about what s/he will look like, but I can’t. As soon as I try to more pressing matters appear and baby thoughts are lost amongst the other things I used to like to think about but no longer do, like imaginary vacations and how to decorate for fall this year. If I could make everything else go away I would just so this baby could feel special instead of like a minor detail.

I knocked the picture of our first ultrasound over today and couldn’t bother to pick it up until hours later. We usually have names and room décor picked out by now but all the spare minutes used for that have been swallowed up by stress and worry and phone calls to useless people.

My hope is that everything goes away so I can concentrate on happier things but that is unlikely. Considering the circumstances, the bad will probably be sticking around for a while. I pray for the day this pregnancy takes a big, fat front row seat and baby says, “Hey, pay attention to me! I’m a priority!” Then maybe everything else will pale in comparison and I won’t feel obligated to worry about the rest of the world, as selfish as it seems. 

Music Filled the Air That Night

In the wake of finding out my uncle is dying of terminal brain and lung cancer, I realize this will be the first time in my mature, adult life that someone close to me will be leaving this realm and entering the beyond. I have feared this for a while now, knowing it would happen, just not when. Over the years I’ve been feeling sorry for other families while they deal with the deaths of loved ones and in the back of my mind, there’s this nagging, when will it be my turn to feel this way? The last time an immediate family member passed away I was a freshman in college (my other uncle). I remember being sad but distracted with my coming of age, college, independence and drinking. Death was kind of this surreal thing and its impact just didn’t sink in. It was like I was on the peripheral. In fact, my first uncle’s death affects and hurts me more now upon reflecting on it than it did when it happened. I guess that comes with age.

So now, this is all much more valid and poignant. Shit got real basically and…uh…it really fucking hurts. I’m scared and confused and I don’t understand the why. Furthermore I don’t understand why Death makes us feel this way when it is inevitable to all of us and happens every day. I guess because it is the ultimate End. In death, words like Never, Last, and Forever are used. I’ll never see him again. This is the last time I’ll see him. He is gone forever. It is finality to the greatest extent. And not knowing what comes after death just perpetuates the fear. As long as there is time and life, then there is hope. When it ends, when it ends, the hope is replaced with grief and mourning. Hope is swallowed up by the Never and Last.  Hope is gone, Forever.

Today I call my aunt to tell her that her brother is dying. I don’t know how you tell a person that. I’m going to need to clarify that it is Brother John and not some arbitrary John. Remember the timeline, ER on Sunday, diagnosis Monday, going home today. No treatment, 6-8 weeks, his kids don’t know yet. It’s outlined in my head but I feel like when I say it out loud, it will become a jumbled, incoherent mess, like in the movies. “John’s kids went to the ER 6-8 weeks ago and they’ll come home Monday.” Do I tell her about the tumors? I should tell her about the tumors. I’m nervous, scared and praying for strength. Dear God just let me get it out in one sentence. Don’t let me ramble and rumble, for both our sakes. I just need one, articulate sentence.

So here it is, my turn. My family and I are now the subjects of others’ “thoughts and prayers.”  Uncle John will soon be gone. We’ll have pictures to remember him by, the memory of him carving the Thanksgiving turkey and always being chosen as the Grace-sayer during family dinners. I imagine him and my Uncle Geege pulling each other’s fingers at the Pearly Gates. Pickled deer heart will never taste the same. There’s that damn word, never. 

Professionally Pregnant

Round III of our 3^rd pregnancy’s doctor appointments commenced today. I am a pro at the whole routine now and like to bask in the little things that make these appointments so exciting (and later annoying).

Little Thing #1

I fist-pumped at the fact that the elevator was already on the 1^st floor and awaiting our entry when we got there. First-timers wouldn’t know this but the elevator in that building is S-L-O-W and God forbid it be on any floor other than 1 when you arrive. You’ll be standing there a long damn time – enough to make you late for your appointment.

Little Thing #2

The scent of latex and hand sanitizer. It is distinct and oh-so familiar as soon as you step off the painstakingly slow elevator.  When that clean, sterile waft hits me, I imagine I’m 36 weeks pregnant and ready to pop. Soooo, I’ve got a ways to go.

Little Thing #3

While checking in, I know to automatically grab the code for the exit gate in the parking lot. The newbies before me didn’t do this and I watched as they drove around the gate because they didn’t know there was an exit code. That’ll learn ‘em. I will have this memorized by the appointment 3 and be proud of it.

Little Thing #4

Pee tests. I know to bring my own permanent marker with me strictly for use on the pee cups. Why? Because the frayed, overused and dried up marker they have in the bathroom will no longer write on the pee cups because they are frayed, overused and dried up. You basically end up etching your name in the cup with your car key.

Little Thing #5

Staring in awe at the strep B test instructions while giving your urine sample, both excited for it because doing it means you’re close to the end, but also horrified by it because well…look it up. I always look forward to telling Kyle about the experience afterward so he can be almost as disgusted as I am by the whole thing. Good times.

Little Thing #6

I no longer have to ask for help in trying to read ultrasounds. I can correctly identify each body part within the grainy mess of a sonogram. Penis? Phalange? Nope, it’s the umbilical cord. I might as well be certified.

Little Thing #7

The wrench. There’s always something involving pregnancy protocol that has changed since your last pregnancy. Just to keep things interesting, I think they throw a wrench into things, an extra no-no, an additional SOP, a quirky extra step. I go back in a month. I wasn’t expecting to go back for at least 8 weeks, like with my first two. Cool, an extra pee test…and another co-pay.

Little Thing #8

Kyle and I have a routine post-appointment lunch at Chef’s In. Every time I eat there, pregnant or not, it makes me happy. This is where I eat when I’m pregnant (smile).

Now that everything is confirmed I’m ready to rock this out. I’m looking forward to big appointments, pointless annoying ones, new belly kicks, getting fat, the countdown, my hospital stay, a new little face to love and three months off of work. Let’s get rowdy baby!

The Splendid Stare

The other day I visited my mom for lunch. She works at a hospital so we will have lunch together on occasion in the cafeteria. The Maternity Ward (is it still a “Maternity Ward” or is it just “Maternity” now? “Ward” sounds dark to me…) is en route to the cafeteria and every time I walk past it, I’m instantly drawn to it and can’t wait until my next visit. Part of me just wants to walk in and randomly visit new mothers and their babies. I distinctly remember both of my visits, walking down the long hall to the check-in desk. “Aubrey Kitzmiller, I’m in labor.” I’m instantly giddy. I remember how hysterically happy I was when my water broke with Eden. Happy because I knew birth was imminent and also because contractions hadn’t started. I couldn’t stop smiling – I’m not going to be pregnant anymore!! Hip hip hooray! Anyway, enough of the flashbacks.

So I am walking toward the cafeteria and spot this new dad (tired and staggering, lugging copious amounts of bags, flowers, pillows, and the like) and the new mom being wheeled by a volunteer behind him. She was holding her newborn and just staring. I was sure it was their first. You look at your firstborn differently. You hate to admit it but you do. The whole experience is completely new and no matter what you tried to prepare for in your head, the reality is different. She looked at him/her in complete awe, as if it was the most magnificent thing she’s ever seen. She was completely dumbfounded and in her own world. I instantly teared up. I was witnessing her falling in complete, perfect love with her child. Congratulations to whoever the new mother was. Thank you for unknowingly sharing your moment with me. I wish you luck, sleep and easy breastfeeding.

On my way back from lunch, I stopped at the Maternity (Ward?) doors and peered down the hall. I wondered who was in the waiting room, awaiting the arrival of their new family member. I wondered if any unlucky woman was going through labor right that second. I wondered what my third walk down that hall would hold. What room will I be in (the corner one rocked the first time around)? Which nurses will I draw in the volatile nurse lottery? How large will this baby be? I can’t wait. I’m eager to meet him/her even now, ready to stare…and fall in love again. 

Pregnancy Cornucopia

To your left each week you'll notice a new fruit or vegetable representing the size of hellraiser baby #3. By the end, I hope to have accrued quite the salad.

You might be one of those people who says, "Why would you dare compare your baby to fruit?! It's a work of art...blah blah blah." If I took my pregnancies that seriously, I'd be a friggin' lunatic and have completely lost my mind by 20 weeks. Shut up. It's a size reference, it's not that I think my fetus is an inanimate, edible, object or that they should grow on trees   -    what if babies grew on trees!?

You may want to note that since I have unusually large babies, I'll probably be 2-4 weeks ahead in fruit/veggie speak. For example, right now I should be housing a grape but it's more likely a fig or lime. By this rationale, in 32 more weeks, I may be carrying one of those prize-winning pumpkins. I can't wait and neither can my unaccommodating body.

It's a...

Blogpost!! The Bandwagon has been on hiatus for a while, partially due to some posting issues with the website and also due to some posting issues with myself. With my inconvenience of a full-time job, posting (frankly, even being inspired enough to post) has been somewhat of a challenge. So, I apologize for my blogging drought. I can’t promise it will get any better but with a new inspiration growing in my belly, maybe the Bandwagon will once again flood the world wide web with my ramblings.

That’s right, my husband and I are spawning for the third time. I’m sad that the novelty of being pregnant has worn off. Don’t get me wrong. I am excited for another little pickle to be running around the house, and maybe a tad terrified. But the “I can’t wait to see what this pregnancy brings” feeling is not there. It was very much there for our first one, obviously. It was a little bit there for the second one. But this one? I’m looking for a fast forward button.

I can happily say that I’ve not yet been sick which I guess is either really good or really bad. Good in that I’m not puking out my entire digestive system. Bad in that, I hope it doesn’t mean something is wrong. I had a touch of morning sickness with my first two and it oddly comforted me. I guess whenever I had my head dangling over the toilet bowl it was confirmation of my pregnancy. “Yes, I’m puking-- barf barf barf-- this is normal-- barf --this means I’m pregnant-- barfy mcbarf barf.” Now I’ve got nothing to bank on other than a pee stick with two lines on it and lack of menstruation. That’s not enough for me. I could create my own show, I Didn’t Know I Wasn’t Pregnant. I still have 2 ½ weeks to go before our first doctor appointment so I am only becoming more and more anxious. When I wake up in the morning, a tiny part of me wishes I would vomit to just really send the message home.

Any other changes I can attribute to something else:

Fatigue – I’m always ready for a nap.

Insatiable appetite – What’s new?

Frequent urination – Thanks to my increase in water intake.

Bloating – Most likely from overeating (see “Insatiable appetite”)

Mood swings – (see husband)

Headaches – I’ve had headaches since I was 14. No news there.

Alas, we’ll see what this gestation period brings. Here’s to gaining 60 lbs., swelling to the point of non-recognition, urinating every 45 minutes, emotional breakdowns, gigantic boobs and unwelcome comments and touching from strangers. Good luck to me!

A Parent's Guide to Bullshitting

As a parent, you are taking on the responsibility of raising a child. It is your job to mold another human being into becoming a productive member of society. It your priority to care for them, watch after them and protect them. You need to clothe them, bathe them, feed them, discipline them and…try to understand them. If your child ends up a failure at life, it seems you only have yourself to blame. It’s hard work.  And sometimes you need a nap.

With a lot of things in life, certain situations require some sugar-coating. Kids especially need a little bullshitting in their lives because they’re young, fragile and impressionable. Childhood should consist of nice, shiny things, wonderment and imagination. That’s why we have Santa Claus. In most cases, it’s more fun for a child to envision a jolly old man climbing down the chimney and delivering presents once a year. We don’t say, “Okay Johnny, Mom and Dad are going to give you a bunch of presents tomorrow. Be excited.” There’s no magic in that. As children grow older and mature, they become better-equipped to handle the brutal honesty life has to offer. And we, as parents, become more forthcoming with a series of this-is-how-it-is talks.  A) There’s not really a Santa Claus…or a Tooth Fairy…or an Easter Bunny B) Not everyone is going to like you C) Don’t get pregnant D) Keep your grades up E) Don’t get pregnant F) You’re grounded because ________ G) Don’t get pregnant. So on and so forth.

However, in the early stages of child development – we can’t have those talks yet. If I told my 3 year old not everyone is going to like her when she grows up, she’d probably be in hysterics for days and be forever traumatized. Hell, she thinks I’m mad when I tell her to eat her dinner. Children are sensitive, innocent and in-tune. You can’t always reveal your intentions or say to them what you are really thinking. If you did, it’d go something like this:

You say I don't care. You mean Yes.

You say Why don’t you go play outside for a while? You mean Mommy needs to be alone for a few minutes.

You say Let’s lie down and take a nap. You mean Mommy is going to close her eyes for a few minutes. Don’t get into anything.

You say Do you want to watch cartoons?  You mean Mommy needs to get some shit done.

You say Do you want to play your video game/color/do a puzzle, etc.? You mean Mommy is trying to listen to this dialogue-driven show so I need you to be quiet for like, 40 minutes.

You say Let’s try this shirt on instead.  You mean What you’ve decided to wear looks ridiculous and will reflect on me as being a tasteless mother.

You say There are spiders in your hair! You mean Hold still so I can rinse the shampoo out of your hair. (Okay maybe I’m the only one that does this)

You say Are you tired? You mean Why are you such a pain right now?

You say What’s wrong?! You mean I’ve fed you, rocked you, changed you and you’re still crying. God help me!

You say Stop! You mean This is actually very literal. Please. Stop!

You say Are you kidding me? You mean What the fuck!

You say It’s time for bed. You mean It’s time to drink.

You say You’re so funny. You mean Oh no. You’re going to be a freak just like your father and I are.

You say Do you want a popsicle? You mean Behave and I’ll reward you.

You say Hold my hand. You mean I feel insecure. I’m not going to let something happen to you.

You say I love you. You mean I love you…more than anyone has loved anything in the history of the world. I would do anything for you. I would give all that I have to make sure you are safe. You are the most important thing in my life and I hope of all your dreams come true. You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me. I will never love anything the way I love you.

Kids are so cool. I know a lot of people who have made the conscious decision not to have them, think that their life is awesome thereby making them so much better off than you are. And I’m not out to judge people on whether or not they want kids. Believe me, if you don’t think you should have kids then by God, please do not have them. But you’re missing out. You really are. They will humble you and fulfill you and make your life worth 1000 times more. Living your life completely for another human being makes you feel so small and so big at the same time. It’s amazing when you realize the world revolves around them and not you.

Fifty Shades of Grey - The Casting Call

If you have not already heard of the Fifty Shades of Grey trilogy, give it time, you will. Dubbed "mommy porn", it has taken the libidos of middle-aged women by storm. For those of us who have outgrown Twilight, Fifty has upped it a notch and given us an NC-17 indulgence, sans supernatural. But this isn't a book critique. It's easy to point out the flaws in Fifty Shades - the writing at least. It's horrendous and redundant but the storyline is so good, it keeps the pages turning. Since the entire trilogy is possible to read in a weekend if you have the time, the rights to the movie have already been purchased by Universal Studios and the fan debate about who-will-play-who has flooded the internet. So, let's discuss:

In perusing what has been plastered all over the web about casting, I find there are two groups of people: 1) those who want a bunch of attractive people in the movie and 2) those who want a bunch of A-listers in the movie. I propose a balance of attractive A-listers, newcomers and obscure cameos.

I feel as though this movie could go very right or very wrong. If you throw in a bunch of hotties with bodies, you're going to get poor acting and thousands of let-down fans. If you amass a bunch of A-listers, it could come off as gimmicky and nominated for a Razzy. So let's balance the scales.

Christian Grey
Mr. (or Master) Grey is a complex character albeit extremely attractive. You can't just have someone play Christian because he's smokin' hot and has smoldering grey eyes. Whoever plays him needs to have the looks and the acting chops to bring this character to fruition and meet the expectations of his adoring fans. There is a lot of talk of Ian Somerhalder taking on the role and I am in disagreement. Yup, he's a hottie but unless you watch The Vampire Diaries you probably don't know who he is. I think, to make this movie legitimate, the main character needs to be A-list - looks, acting chops and the A-list paycheck to boot.

I propose Ryan Gosling. At the age of 31, he's young enough to pull off Christian's late twenties. He is attractive enough, has the eyes, and the acting ability to accommodate both the troubled and conflicted sides of Mr. Grey along with the confident, I-am-a-bad-ass-billionaire side. And then there's all those other sides which, I think we can all agree, we would be more than happy to see Ryan play. I mean, I bet he has a playroom in real life. Oh my.

If that doesn't work out, I can see Christian Bale - kind of. While they share monikers, Christian Bale is 38 years old and I envision Mr. Grey as being younger. But Bale is smoldering and could definitely take the reins of Billionaire with a Dark Side (a la American Psycho). 

Henry Cavill - I can understand why some would recommend him but, he's missing the A-list factor and while attractive, not attractive enough, for me. I need someone striking and Henry is just another good-looking guy in my opinion.

Anastasia Steele
I ask right now that someone shoot me if Kristen Stewart is cast as Miss Steele. Literally shoot me in my face if this happens. I didn't go Robert Pattinson for Christian Grey and will most certainly NOT go K-Stew for Ana. They had their trilogy and if their pairing gets carried over into this one, I will be extremely disappointed. Maybe even angered. Yes, probably very angry.

While I feel very strongly that Christian should be A-list, I don't feel it is as necessary for Ana's role. I don't know why. I am seeing Emmy Rossum here. She's not super-popular and was born Emmanuelle Grey Rossum which might be fate. I think she's gorgeous but not in the obvious way which fits the persona of Ana. I also think she has enough acting strength to both challenge Christian Grey and be the naive, virginal Anastasia Steele.

If not Emmy, I see...Sophia Bush? I'm not confident that she has the acting ability to knock it out of the park but physically, she fits the part.

I would like to throw Emma Stone's name in the hat too if not for the fact that my #1 choice for Christian is Ryan Gosling and they did the whole Crazy Stupid Love thing. Again, gorgeous but it's not obvious and I think she's talented enough to give the role a run for its money.

Elena Lincoln
I was so excited to cast this (as if it has any bearing). Michelle frickin' Pfeiffer. All day. She's beautiful, seductive and I can see her rocking a Dom role with ease (you do remember her as Selina Kyle a.k.a. Catwoman, right?).

Some might suggest Sharon Stone but I think it is a too obvious choice and frankly, I'm not that huge of a fan. Seeing Sharon in another seductress role is yawn-inducing.

I could cope with Cate Blanchett. She's a brilliant actress and beautiful but she is a distant, distant second to Michelle.

I can kind of see Nicole Kidman as Mrs. Robinson as well but ... just please pick Michelle Universal...please!!

Jose Rodriguez
This was difficult for me. Initially I settled on Tyler Posey, the kid from MTV's horrible Teen Wolf (maybe I watch it every week, maybe I don't). He's young and cute and could probably pull off an artsy photographer smitten with Ana. But the role may be too big for him.

How's about...Penn Badgley? He's my first pick. Cute, young and had to deal with all of Blake Lively's shit so why not deal with Ana's? The more I think about this, the more I like it.

Taylor
I picture Taylor as a good-looking but silent, nice guy. Nothing striking or exceptional about him. Matthew Fox comes to mind followed by ... Sam Worthington? I feel like they could kick someone's ass maybe.

Kate Kavanagh
This might be a way for Emma Watson to stake claim in something other than what seems like decades of Harry Potterville. I can see her as an inquisitive, aspiring journalist who does nothing but unknowingly make her best friend feel bad about herself.

I still like Emma Stone so while maybe not in the role of Ana, she could counter as Kate. I'm confident she'd nail it.

2nd Runner Up: Evan Rachel Wood.

Ethan Kavanaugh
 Described as a "blond god" a knee-jerk reaction would be Alex Pettyfer but I can't stand the guy and I don't think "blond god" when I see him.

I'm going to go with Chris Hemsworth. Chris is indeed blond and actually played a god once (Thor). Done.

Zac Efron is my second choice and while he's not a blond god to me, I know he is to a lot of other females. But, I don't think he'd go for such a minor role; I think he's more interested in romantic leads in which he can deliver lines like, "You should be kissed every day, every hour, every minute."

Grace Trevelyan-Grey
Blythe Danner always looks like a nice mom to me but at the ripe age of 69, I think she's too old. I picture Grace between 50 and 60 years of age. As a result I propose Diane Lane. She's so stunning and has a very kind look about her. And I'd like to see her and Michelle Pfeiffer go at it.

Annette Bening could be great. Also beautiful with kind eyes so she's a semi-close second.

I can see Joan Allen but her skin and bones frame annoys me and she doesn't exude kindness like the other two options.

Carrick Grey
I think Diane Lane is the integral role here so whoever fits best with her is going to be the best option. I like George Clooney even though he's a big name. He and Diane would look great together but realistically speaking I don't think it will happen.

Pierce Brosnan maybe if they can make him look a little rough around the edges because naturally, the man is too prestigious-looking and I feel Carrick is a little more down-to-earth. Put some stubble on him maybe.

Elliott Grey
Elliott is supposed to be good-looking but funny with a touch of quirk. I know some people hate seeing him act but I think Justin Timberlake might make a good Elliott. He's attractive enough and has a natural sense of humor.

If Matthew McConaughey were younger, he'd be my number one pick because if anyone can make "Laters baby" not sound like a complete fucking joke, it would be him.

Mia Grey
Attractive and curvy brunette who's extroverted and annoyingly cheerful. I identify with Rachel Bilson so I'll go with her. I think she could make a great yet annoying little sister. I can picture her perpetually ruining Christina and Ana's sexcapades.

Alternatively, Minka Kelly might do. She's pretty but her chin distracts me; despite that she's cute, curvy, and capable.

Leila
I see one person here - Mila Kunis. She could play cray cray with the best of them I think. I love her, I think she's magnetic and amazing. I want to see her lose her mind and wouldn't mind some flashbacks maybe of her time as Christian's sub. She'd be a total rockstar in that role. No contingencies here, just her.

Dr. Flynn
I see Dr. Flynn as an attractive older man who's charming and charismatic but smart. Colin Firth comes to mind. He's got the accent, the age and looks to do Flynn justice. Pretty perfect actually.

A second option might be Russell Crowe if we can get him cleaned up and slimmed down to something close to his Gladiator days.

If neither of them pan out there is always the reliable and lovable Michael Caine. He emanates intelligence and I've always liked everything he does.

Andrea (Christian's personal assistant)
Andrea is blonde and attractive but not special. I see Elisha Cuthbert here. Elisha is a pretty blonde to me but that is all. There is nothing distinctive or striking about her look, she's just another pretty blonde.

Ray Steele
Ray is ex-military and unrefined. A nice, quiet, understanding dad who likes to fish. Harrison Ford is my first pick as long as he doesn't wear that damn earring he's always trying to rock.

Dennis Quaid is a very close second. I love him. I have loved him since I was a young girl and he's always played a great father figure.

Third place goes to Kevin Costner if he can take time off from playing in his band.

Carla (Ana's mother)
Carla is a hopeless romantic and might be a touch flighty. I initially was thinking Andie McDowell then reneged thinking she would be too young. Turns out, she's a smokin' hot 52 year old so she's reclaimed the number one spot.

I for some reason like Jeanne Tripplehorn as well. Like Ana, she's not overtly gorgeous but retains her attractiveness.

Mrs. Jones
I never pictured Mrs. Jones as being your run-of-the-mill old maid. I always saw someone younger, more middle-aged. I think this would be a great role for someone whose 15 minutes of fame is long gone, an old 80's or 90's star, someone you see and say, "Hey, isn't that so and so from such and such? Didn't she play that one girl? etc."

Right now I'm thinking Kelly McGillis. It would be cool to see the Top Gun vixen back on the big screen.

Patricia Kalember is also an option. You'd recognize her if you see her but you won't know from where. You'll have to IMDb her and you'll still be unsure as to why you recognize her.

Elizabeth Perkins could be ideal as well. Again, unknowingly discernible.

Jack Hyde
The creepy boss Jack Hyde. In trying to think of a creepy actor, my first thought is Tilda Swinton. I mean it doesn't get any creepier but it wouldn't work since she's female, unless we took some extreme poetic license. So I went with the creepiest male actor and Crispin Glover immediately popped into my mind. Then I shuddered. And then the floodgates opened.

Paul Bettany can be skeezy, Liev Schreiber is creepy for certain and then I thought of the ginger dude from Dreamcatchers and Homeland, Damian Lewis. Now that man gives me goosebumps and not for good reason. Ick. Any one of these actors could fit the bill.

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So there you have it folks. As time passes, I'm sure I'll think of some better alternatives for certain characters all while keeping in mind that none of them are likely to make the cut in Hollywood. My fear is that they are going to half-ass this movie with poor casting choices and ruin it for most of the book's fans. My sincere hope is that they they don't. Contrary to popular belief, the book is more than just attractive people fucking multiple times a day. There is a psychological element to it that could be expounded on. And it is for this reason they should take care in casting this thing. This has the potential to be a great movie that not only stimulates the loins of mommies everywhere but their psyches as well. Get a good writer, director and basic cast and this may be a rare case of the movie being better than the book. Sadly however, my inner goddess won't be holding her breath.

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Update: The Mrs. Jones Recast


I have to confess, I had only just started the third installment of the Grey Trilogy when casting the above. Upon learning a little more detail about Mrs. Jones I have firmly decided on Maria Bello. She's mid-40's, looks like she'd be a good cook, is pretty, but can be made to be not too pretty and will go well with Matthew Fox.  

Kasen Girl

After I put my kids to bed last night, I sauntered downstairs to see if there was anything on TV worth watching for 30 minutes before I headed to bed myself (I was really looking for a True Blood rerun). After a few minutes I heard crying, not unusual coming from my 1 year old, Eden but this was coming from Kasen who is either out before her head hits the pillow or is singing herself to sleep via Old McDonald and his farm. I immediately thought, Oh no, she threw up. I slugged upstairs awaiting a vomit-covered Kasen but was surprised (and relieved) to see her just sitting there in the dark, crying. “What’s wrong?” I asked. “You left my room and I didn’t say I love you first.” Holy shit. My heart sank.

Kasen is calculating, type A and probably borderline OCD. She likes her shit in order and fully commits to a routine. We may have to work on her adaptability skills down the road. Anyway, every night when I put her to bed, we say I love you and good night before I leave her room; those five words, in that order, every night. I didn't know it was mandated or even thought it was a requirement that needed to be met before she could slip off to slumber. But so it is…and an awesome requirement to have.

So, I consoled, said I love you and made sure she said it in return before I closed her door.

And it hit me that at the age of 3, she has already become this emotionally-charged girl who realizes her feelings and knows that certain immaterial things make her sad, mad, happy, etc. Her tears weren’t caused by a bumped head or bruised knee but by a sentiment. Eden just walks through life, smiling and kissing things as she bounces off of one wall only to hit the other. What I wouldn’t give.

I can only imagine the things that Kasen will encounter in her life, that first heartbreak she suffers from some bastard teenage boy that my husband will threaten to off, the death of her first pet, her first failed (or hopefully just mediocrely graded) exam, her first fender bender….all resulting in tears and fear and thoughts of the world ending but knowing it probably won’t – to think it all started with me not waiting a few seconds for her to say I love you in return. I will never leave her bedroom early again.

Dead Dreams

When I was younger, I never worried about what I was going to be when I grew up. No matter the job title, I always envisioned myself being challenged, happy and financially secure. Yet, here I sit, a couple of decades later, bored, depressed, unchallenged and still yearning for financial comfort. I feel unproductive at the end of the day and unimportant. I strive to over-achieve and later wonder why when being efficient has become counter-productive. I’m trying to figure out where I went wrong; at what point did my dream bust into a million pieces and settle as this reality...and the moment comes to me:

 I was a sophomore in college and had just barely passed Calculus. I asked my “advisor” how much more of these types of classes I needed to get into med-school. He said, “Four more semesters.” I heard, “You’re doomed.” That was the point I gave up. I know it is. I gave up my dream and realized I wasn’t smart enough to be what I wanted to be. It was the first time in my life I thought and believed I wasn’t good enough. Since then, I have been settling when it comes to work and struggling to find what it is I am passionate about.

I continued to work at the canoe livery that had employed me since the age of 15 for another two summers after college. I wandered around, moved here and there. I was an outside sales rep for about a hot minute, then an Accounting Clerk, then … get this … the receptionist at a dating agency called Great Expectations. There’s a good chance that was my rock bottom. I think being a dating agency receptionist would be anyone’s rock bottom. It was horrific and thankfully short-lived. I never even bothered to tell them I quit. I just stopped showing up. That’s how bad it was. I had to video-tape (yes, like VHS video-tape) some poor, middle-aged divorced man’s bio and watching him struggle to sell himself was embarrassing and sad, for both of us.

I ended up temping for a third-party logistics company and it took me six months to land a permanent position there as a Customer Service Representative. It was a good job, nice people for the most part and stable in the beginning. I was hired at its peak as the building busted at the seams with happy and smiling employees. I then slowly watched it disintegrate into nothing as they closed the office doors five years later. I was one of the last ones standing at 333 W. Grandview Parkway. It wasn’t as if it was my dream job or I thought I’d retire there. But I made myself valuable, knowledgeable and an expert.

I took 10 months off to raise my kids. During that time, I realized I am not a stay-at-home mom either. About 70% of the time was amazing. Sleeping in, no schedule, no boss, no deadlines, no bureaucratic bullshit to speak of. But the other 30% weighed heavy. I needed to be challenged, I needed to have an adult conversation, I needed time away from my kids I’m ashamed to say, I needed to feel productive and smart and valuable. I needed to say, “Thank God it’s Friday!”, and then have a weekend to look forward to after that. And that 30% led me here.

Here I sit, 11 years after the dissolving of my dream, no further than I was before. I feel silly, lazy and too old to start over.

Don’t get me wrong, I have accomplished a lot in a short amount of time. I found a husband, a good one at that. We have two amazingly gorgeous and awesome daughters. We have a house that we’ve made our own and a pretty amazing life together. They fill my cup. And they deserve more from me. How can I tell my kids to exhaust their potential when I didn’t do it myself?

It’s difficult to sit here every day, knowing I’m capable of so much more, knowing I could give more to my family, knowing I could produce more, engage more, be more. Yet in these times it seems getting a job, any job, is a great accomplishment. Hearing “You’re hired!” is worth a lot, no matter who says it. There’s no more shooting for the stars, just settle for anything.

I could blame that damn advisor. He could’ve offered me something, some encouragement, some alternatives, some sort of safety net for my dream that was otherwise shattered. But he just let it hit the ground, I guess to see what I would do with the pieces. I’m ashamed to say they’re still lying on his office floor and that is 100% my fault.

Now I’m waiting for something to ignite me and it’s yet to come. Maybe because I am consistently dependent upon some outside factor when I know, deep down, I have to light my own fire.

I'll Never Do It With A 20-something Year Old Again

I have this husband. We met in a bar just about 7 years ago. He was standing next to a jukebox wearing a Michigan Baseball t-shirt with a Coors Light in his hand. I was wearing a blue Abercrombie hoodie and a khaki skirt. I had no idea in those moments that I would spend the rest of my life this person.

My dating history was a trainwreck prior to meeting Kyle and at every turn I looked for the flaw that would lead to our break-up. But it never came as everything he was, flaws and all, was perfect for me. As different as Kyle and I are, together, we are of one accord. We share likes, dislikes and political/religious views. His strengths are my weaknesses and vice versa. We have a sick joke of claiming we are brother and sister when we say the same random thing at the same time. We’re not related by the way.

He proposed to me in the middle of a high school gymnasium before he coached his Girls’ Varsity Basketball team that night. It was a surprise above all others since I thought at the age of 24, he wouldn’t be ready to propose for another 3 years, despite us already talking about marrying each other. And while the wedding and honeymoon were pretty fantastic, nothing could compare to the perfection that came less than a year later, our daughter Kasen. Becoming a mother opened a part of me that I didn’t even know was there. I love so much more deeply and honestly than I did before. Raising her with Kyle has been wonderful, special and fun. I’d share her with no other. And then all of that doubled 2 years later when we had Eden, a Kyle replica, inside and out, despite my brown eyes.

Kyle and I find the funny, sexy and beauty in each other. He appreciates my quirky, nerdy self and I admire his smooth-talking and athleticism. I adore his inability to effectively lie and his willingness to do the dishes. This isn’t to say that we don’t go without our arguments. And sometimes spats with him hurt me more than with others because he and I are usually perfectly in tune. When we aren’t, it’s like the universe is off.

Today, this husband of mine turns 30. And while I’ve only known him for 23.3333333% of his life, we’ve done a lot in that 23.3333333%. Thank you, Kyle for making me your girlfriend, your fiancée, your wife. Thank you for renting a condo with me, buying a house with me, making a home with me. Thank you for making me the mother of the two most beautiful and amazing children in this world, more to come! Thank you for making me a part of your first 30 years and I look forward to all of our future years together. Happy Birthday and I love you - to the moon and back. 

Just Cream, No Sugar

I made coffee this morning and put in my usual amount of milk. I suddenly realized that, for me, the milk had nothing to do with how it made the coffee taste, more with how it looked.

I remember when I was younger, watching my dad, an avid coffee-drinker, prepare his coffee. It would start out black as black. He would pour creamer in and I’d watch it swirl in union with the coffee’s inky blackness as the spoon tinked with the sides of the mug. I was mesmerized by the beverage’s metamorphosis into a soft, caramel brown.

I watched my dad a lot, his mannerisms, the way he fixed things, the way he conversed with others, the way he swore. If he hit his thumb with a hammer he’d say, “Ssssssson-of-a-bitch!” Lengthening the sss sound and rushing through the rest of the expletive. I remember being very, very young - 4 maybe - we were at some dressy event like a wedding and I can recall studying the way my dad was standing. I then proceeded to walk over in front of him and ape his stance. I’m glad someone snapped a photo of me doing this; it’s one of my favorite pictures of my childhood because I was so young but remember copying him so vividly.

I am not sure what about my dad captivated me so. Maybe his eccentricity, his intelligence, his knack for bullshitting, his artistic ability, his musicality. He’s…a lot of things. I understand why he and my mom didn’t work out but I know he still loves her fiercely.

My dad turns 72 today and in the 31 years I’ve known him, I’m sad I don’t know him more deeply than I do, probably both our faults.  I don’t know about his family, how he grew up, how he did academically or if he played sports. I don’t know how he learned to play the guitar or even what his political standing is.

But I know that he talks with his hands, his favorite tool is black electrical tape, he can talk circles for hours, he liked to smoke Lucky Strikes and profanity does not phase him.

 And I know exactly how much cream to put in my coffee to achieve that same soft, caramel brown color. That’s something no one else knows.


Happy Birthday Dad. I love you and all of your unknown.

Don't Be All You Can Be

One of my co-workers today said that her son wants to join the Navy Seals. Initially I envisioned an 8 year old boy with an imagination running rampant, running around with a soldier’s helmet on making explosion noises and crashing toy helicopters into things.  Then I realized, my co-worker’s son is not 8 years old. He’s 21. And serious.

Immediately I ask, “Are you freaking out? What did you say? Is he doing this because of the glorification of Seal Team Six? I would totally be freaking out - are you freaking out?” As if I was one who had any right to ask such inappropriate questions. Then I stole the shoes off her feet and put them on mine and wanted to cry. What if someday my daughter (or son whom I haven’t had yet) comes to me at a tender age and tells me they want to serve our country. I could lie and say I would be proud and honored that I had produced such an unselfish human being. But I wouldn’t. If I’m being honest, I totally wouldn’t. Because being that child’s mother trumps all things. It trumps pride, honor, common sense, all things material, all things immaterial; loving that child and keeping them safe so I can cherish every moment I can with them while I am on this earth is priority one, far beyond anything else in this world. Selfish, yes. Can I help it? Nope.

So, if my child tells me they want to go through horrendous training that pushes them to their limits both mentally and physically, then go throw themselves into harm’s way to protect our country, my initial thought is to cry hysterically and then lock up my child and throw away the key. Then open a bottle of whiskey.

I am not anti or pro military, war or defense. I don’t like it but understand that it is a necessity although I’m unsure as to what measure. I understand these things are part of our past, present and future and that there will be no end to them, at least within the next few generations. Perhaps my indifference comes from the fact that I’ve not been directly affected by all that stuff. My Dad served but he doesn’t talk about it so I’m not sure to what extent. I have had no close relatives die in war and the wars of my generation have paled in comparison to past wars – if you can even compare wars – they’re all awful.

I am however extremely thankful for those who serve. I cannot even begin to wrap my mind around the strength, courage and selflessness it takes to offer yourself to the cause. It really is baffling.

You’d think that if my child bore those qualities and offered their service, I’d be proud and ecstatic that I could raise such a being. But no. I’d be sad and heart-broken and in a state of constant worry, even more than I already am. I’d trade places if I could but the government would probably refuse my service on account of my age, my lack of physical fitness, my bad knee and the ease with which I can cry and be a big, fat sissy. I can’t think of something I wouldn’t do to save my child from potentially sacrificing themselves for the common good. Weird right? How could such a selfish person produce something so selfless?

After continuing to probe my co-worker about her son’s decision I learned that enlisting is the first time in his life he’s ever been so driven. He had no knack for school, struggled through two years of college and found himself passionless and without motivation. Now he wants to be a Navy Seal. That’s his calling, his thing. His mother asked, “Why the Seals?” And he replied, “If I’m going to do something, I want to be the best of the best,” and she said he’s never talked about anything with as much passion as making this commitment. He’s talked to countless recruiters and current Seals. He’s educated himself about the process, what it means, what to expect. He’s done his research and this is where his fire burns. I guess that’s the kind of guy (or gal) I want serving our country and protecting us and our freedoms; one who knows what s/he’s getting into and is 100% sure it is what s/he wants to do. This makes me sad to think of the drafting days when unwilling men were forced to serve.

Ultimately, if I am as good a parent as I think I am, I suppose I will have to support my child’s decision in whatever path they choose, even if it doesn’t fall into my hopes and dreams for them. I didn’t have children so they could do what I want them to do. This doesn’t guarantee that I won’t lock them up for a few days so they can think about it; I just won’t throw away the key.

Teach His Own

It’s about to get dark up in here. A serious issue has hit close to home and it’s infuriating. Recently, a now-former coach and teacher from the high school that my kids will presumably attend one day has been accused and charged with 1^st degree Criminal Sexual Conduct, specifically, performing oral sex on a 15 year old student. She has not been found guilty yet so I can’t judge for or against her. Although, there has been an ongoing investigation for about a month and apparently the sheriff’s department felt they had enough to warrant an arrest and charge her with the crime. We will see in this case. I’ll leave it at that.

But there have been several instances of this happening elsewhere in our country, around the world I’m sure, in which the teachers have indeed been found guilty of these heinous acts, making them no better than the weird guy down the road looking at kiddie porn, or worse. But I’m not here to talk about that, nor do I want to. I’m here to talk about teachers and what we expect of them.

I’ll start when I was a student. When I was a student, I liked boys my age. I liked to pass them letters, flirt with them and watch them play varsity sports. Anyone older than, let’s say 21-ish, was “old and gross.” There was no attraction to teachers, never a passing thought of “being with” one of them, in fact, I held them in a similar light as my parents. They don’t have sex, significant others or lives outside of school (even though I knew they did). Teachers taught, coaches coached and there were no thoughts of them outside of those realms. I focused on studies, boys (not men) and being cool.

Now that I have children of my own (3 and 1 years old and too young for school and boys and being cool), certainly my expectations of their future teachers are going to be higher than when I was a student and probably unrealistic because they’re my kids and they deserve the cream of the crop in everything. I fully expect National Scholarships and several AP credits to their names upon high school graduation, credit to outstanding teachers and parents. J Maybe not. What I don’t expect is my daughter having relations with a teacher, coach or staff member at the school. Even if she does become Hot For Teacher, never ever ever would I expect teacher to become Hot For Student. If so, said teacher would have a very. large. problem. Think my husband’s size 13 up your ass and out the other end followed by a very grand, merciless lawsuit. Then probably your death. The point is, no matter how many times a student sexts you or makes advances or asks you to hook up, you are their TEACHER. You are the ADULT. This child’s parents trust that you won’t fuck their kid!! In fact, if a student sexts you, tell the parent! I can guarantee it will be handled. I’ll spank a 15 year old, I don’t care. There should never be an “I got caught up in the moment” situation because that moment should never come close to existing. The moment leading up to that moment shouldn’t even happen. A situation that could potentially lead to a moment that leads to that moment should never take place. Instead of screwing an adolescent to fight your mid-life crisis, try buying a new car or…moving, far far away.

I have several friends who are teachers. I have watched them undergo countless classes, extra schooling and endless hours of student teaching and class preparations to do what they love for not a lot of money. They do this because they want to educate our kids, they want to educate my kids. They want to contribute to the health and livelihood of what is our future. They want to nourish children, watch them grow and hope that they are able to succeed in life and be what they want to be. They want to instill dreams and hopes in our young impressionable offspring and make sure they never say, “Can’t.” They mentor, they guide and care about children, sometimes more than the child’s parents.

Yet all I hear about is how shitty and selfish teachers unions are by asking for higher pay, or just an extra few bucks to pay for school supplies which they buy out of their own pocket in most cases. All I hear about is how poorly our kids are performing compared to the rest of the world despite funding for education being cut year after year after year. All I hear about is the constant slashing of music, arts, after-school and other programs. All I hear about is how overcrowded the classrooms have become and the growing teacher-to-child ratio. All I hear about are the closing down of schools altogether.

All I hear about are teachers having sex with our kids.

There are thousands of amazing teachers out there, doing all they can to enrich the minds that stream through their classrooms every day. And then we have these excuses for teachers, excuses for human beings. What happened between all that schooling and all that work you put into becoming a Teacher? Were you ever really in it for the chance to make a positive impression on our youth and to show them what’s out there? Or were you just in it for the summer vacations?

For real though prospective teachers, you touch my kid, you’ll die.

Give A Penny

It seems today that there are at least two versions of products: Brand name and generic. Brand names are for the snobby white-collar and generic is for the “99%.” This is far-reaching, there is a poor-person’s everything, from drugs to paper towel; if it can be marketed as being the same or more for less, it shall be done. I will often buy a cheaper version of something - if I’m not losing too much quality. But there are those few certain things in which no cost compromise should be made, those products in which the saved penny does not outweigh the comfort, convenience or quality of the merchandise. And so here is your “DO NOT BUY THE CHEAP VERSION OF…” list.

Toilet paper: Personally, I prefer the rolls with the little ridges. It’s thick, reliable, and clean-wiping. Your cheaper brands aren’t as sturdy and often flake away. Do you want little toilet paper shreds stuck to your bottom-side for the rest of the day? Your industrial ½-ply types are just an embarrassing excuse for toilet paper, especially for a #2 event and the likelihood of your fingers tearing through resulting in a very unfortunate experience is about 1 in 5. That’ll ruin your day. Pay a couple extra bucks and you’ll have a clean booty and clean hands, so clean you could skip the hand-washing. But don’t, because that’s gross.

Q-tips: Always buy Q-tips, the brand. Never settle. It is frustrating and you have to be reminded of it every morning, or however often you shower. Alternatives to Q-tip are smaller and less rigid. As a result you can’t achieve that tingly feeling you get with a good, deep ear-cleaning. You’re better off trying to de-wax with an overcooked pasta noodle…or your set of keys.

Hairbrushes: Spend money on a good hairbrush. I like a single-pieced wooden one. If you settle on Goody’s plastic brush which is constructed of a separate handle glued to the bristled end, two things will happen: The little protective plastic balls are going to fall off the bristles resulting in scalp lacerations. And who wants their balls falling off? Secondly, after a while, the handle is going to break off, probably in the morning while you’re rushing to get ready for work and you’ll be left in utter disappointment for the rest of the day, possibly the week.

Razors: Keeping with the hygiene theme, do not buy the 99 cent disposable razor. There isn’t a time when this is necessary. No matter how bad you think you need to rid yourself of a 5 o’clock shadow or think you need a silky-smooth leg, forego the purchase or invest the extra million dollars in the Venus or Mach 3 blades. A bit o’stubble pales in comparison to what can happen with plastic, disposable razor use. Those cheap little bitches will filet you like a fish. You don’t want your obit to read, “Bled to death by shaving.” Now, slaying an intruder? Effective. That’s why I keep some in my bottom medicine drawer.

Fingernail polish & remover: If you go much below Sally Hansen quality, you’re pushing your luck if you are expecting the polish to last more than 12 hours. A stiff wind will blow cheap nail polish right off your nail (and probably into someone’s food). 12 hours isn’t worth the time it takes to apply the paint, especially to your dominant hand. Spend the extra 1-2 dollars and enjoy your embellished phalanges for a good 3 days. Unless you’re a nail chewer, stick with the cheap. While cheap polish will slough off with the slightest nick, cheap polish remover won’t touch it. You might as well use a high-powered sander to get polish off if budget remover is all you have in stock. And you can forget trying to remove the paint stuck in and around the cuticle. The red polish will remain, making you look like you have some type of nail infection/fungus until you hand-wash your dishes or simply invest in a better quality remover.

Baby diapers and wipes: I once thought that I could get away with using cheap diapers. There I was, not enough in my bank account to purchase the 192 count box of Huggies and was left with option of buying the 12 count of Huggies or the 50 pack of no-name. A diaper is a diaper is a diaper right? Wrong! There is no greater wrong. In hindsight, I should have bought the 12 Huggies because they would’ve lasted longer than the 50-pack which I never finished using because they were THAT bad. If I wanted my child to shit all over herself, myself and any surface within 20 feet, I would’ve forgone a diaper altogether. A cheap diaper is just another surface covered in poo that I have to wrangle with and dispose of. So now that I have a mess to clean up, I should do it with a wipe that smells like a chemical plant, is dried out because the cheap bin it came in doesn’t keep them moist (yeah, I said “moist” – my least favorite word), and breaks apart because it’s so thin, which puts me in an aforementioned predicament (see Toilet paper). I’m left with a huge investment in paper towel and a bad day.  

Bath towels: Cheap bath linens will last about a hot minute before the loops catch, unravel and leave you strewn with nothing but soaking wet thread. Fortunately before this happens, they are good for a one-time full-body exfoliation since they are about as soft as steel wool. Be gone epidermis!

Sheets/bedding: If you like the feeling of being wrapped in pilled, ever-itchy-no-matter-how-many-times-you-wash-it fabric, then cheap bedding is for you. I know 500+ count sheets cost several pretty pennies but the comfort you get is worth the price. Lay off the McD’s for a couple weeks and the Egyptian cotton is yours! There is literally a dream-world of difference. At least while you’re lying awake with buyer’s remorse, you’ll be doing so in luxury.

Digital music: If the song you’re downloading is a fraction of the normal price for songs, chances are you are downloading a cover of your desired song by some unknown band, a poorly done DJ remix, or you have just purchased the karaoke version. Listen to the sample and if it doesn’t sound quite right, assume it isn’t what you are looking for and pay full price. It is a matter of cents and in the end, we all know the song sounds better in its original form and not being self-sung even though in your head, you sound just as good as Adele.

Plastic wrap: Plastic wrap is kind of genius. Since lids to food storage containers go missing about as often as “the other sock,” plastic wrap provides an alternative to having to place a pricey Tupperware order. However, plastic wrap’s main function is to protect food and does so by sticking to a multitude of surfaces, usually glass or metal, and also sticking to itself (think sandwich-wrapping). The generic version does none of these things. It doesn’t rip cleanly although I’m unsure of whether this is the plastic wrap fault or the inadequacy of the teething on the box it comes in.  It also doesn’t stick to anything. I’m better off using a paper bag which is about as useless but at least I can recycle it.

Canned tomatoes: You can buy store-brand canned tomatoes and make a decent pot of chili out of them. But if you can’t can your own, which is the ultimate, then buy something with a name you recognize, like Hunt’s. You will get a sweeter, more flavorful tomato while the generic will give you a blander, metallic-tasting tomato. Do a taste-test, you’ll see, no bullshit.

Bacon: Onto breakfast. You don’t have to splurge on top-shelf bacon but do not buy the cheapest package of bacon you see. You will end up with a very disappointing breakfast or BLT. Low-quality bacon consists of just thin strips of gristle and fat. The only appetizing thing about it is the grease it allows you to cook your eggs in. Cheap bacon = pork rinds.

Honeycomb cereal: When you expect a honey-kissed corn cereal with its little honeycomb crevices bathed in milk and instead get a mouthful of styrofoam, there is no greater disappointment. I might expect such a letdown with a high-fiber cereal or farm animal food but not from a box of cereal marketed toward sugar-hungry children around the world. I should’ve known when the cereal looked less like the geometrically perfect honeycombs and more like a bunch of sad faces. My husband, he will eat any cereal. Sure he has his favorites but any cereal will ultimately satisfy his midnight cravings. I’ve never had to throw any cereal away. Even if it doesn’t make his list of Top 10 Cereals Ever, he will typically finish it off in one grandioso bowl just to be done with it. Not this. Not generic Honeycomb – which was called something ridiculous like Wheels of Sugar. This had to be pitched. Trust me starving children of China, you’d thank us.

Vodka: This comes with a clause. You are exempt from purchasing higher-quality vodka if you are suffering from one or more of the following misfortunes: a) homelessness b) alcoholism or c) being a college student. Outside of those three circumstances Absolut or higher should be purchased. Now that you’re all grown up and drinking responsibly like the ads say, there is no longer a need for Mohawk or 5 O’clock Vodka in your life, unless you’re sterilizing a wound and there are no other cleansing agents, or you find swallowing shards of glass enjoyable. Your taste buds will thank me now and your liver, head, digestive and excretory systems…basically your entire existence will thank me later for pushing the consumption of Grey Goose. A Belvedere hangover, if it even happens, is cured with a good breakfast, aspirin and a nap. A Popov hangover is cured with 72 hours of bedrest and a bucket.

In the end, we all have our preferences and choose where and how to spend our hard-earned dollar. I choose to spend mine on poo-free hands, a satisfied palate and a good inconsequential buzz.