Humping Like A Motherfucker

When I told Anna that I was attempting to get knocked up she told me to go to Fertility Friend and use their handy dandy software to chart my temperature and other fertility signs. Like a good friend, I did. My chart looked like a fucked up motherfucker, and according to the fabulous software behind the scenes, I did not ovulate this cycle. Also, I was probably dead. This past week my uterine area has been fairly pissed off, with weird pressure and crampiness that was not appreciated. I decided that either I was pregnant or my uterus was going to up and die on me any minute.

Instead of peeing on a stick early this weekend, I decided to head to Santa Barbara and enjoy my paid mini vacation with Teddy Bear. Of course, it is fairly hard to enjoy yourself when you are surrounded by douche bags. We stayed at the Fess Parker Doubletree (about 1 mile south of State Street and across the street from the beach, Anne). Remember the cost of the room? That was the corporate "we're spending about 100k this weekend at your establishment rate." The best rate I could find online for a normal person was $465 per night on a weekend-just to give you an idea of the type of place we were at this weekend. See the pretty room? It looks just like the room we stayed in, except for the pubic hair and clogged drain.

I'm not saying all this to be an annoying braggart, more to set the stage for the fucking imbeciles that fed me wheat on Saturday night. I expect morons when you're at a burger joint, they don't get paid enough to give a fuck about me and I understand that fact. But when you (or your husband's company) are paying out the motherfucking ASS to stay somewhere I expect to be able to EAT ME SOME FUCKING FOOD. *ahem* I don't have the energy to blog about all of it right now, I will this week I promise. The highlights contain fun times like the moment I realized that my fancy dress for the fancy dinner was at home and I was in Santa Barbara. Or the moment I realized that I had just dined on sub-par creme brulee that an asshat had added Bailey's Irish Cream to in a fit of insanity. Yes, Bailey's is a Sam no-no due to the wheaty goodness they use while making it.

The weekend was pretty much a bust, I didn't drink because I wasn't sure whether or not I was pregnant, I didn't want to pee on a stick and get all excited and have my step-mother-in-law smell it on me. (The excitement not the pee you asshole!) But now I'm home and in bed loving teh innernets in my undies, listening to my Chicken procrastinate like a fucking professional. I have one more day of student teaching left and then I am fucking enjoying my summer, people. Enjoying the fuck outta it.