Funston Family Planning

(Disclaimer: While this blog may seem to have a negative connotation, please be aware that the parents-to-be are very happy with the ending results!)

Well, it’s official….Bryant & I are going to be parents. AHHHHH!!! What a scary thought. If you know either of us, I’m sure you'll thought the same! But yes, we’re both really excited, but it still doesn’t seem real yet. No really…I think I’m faking it. And it’s all Stew Messer’s fault.

Let me start by describing my pregnancy from the beginning - jinxed. A friend of mine, Stew, started a nasty rumor back in early February that I was pregnant, and has been telling people ever since. Well, it took him 8 or 9 months, but it worked. He jinxed me. Punk. My stellar baby planning plan was to wait at least until I was 28 or so to pop one out. I won’t go into details of the stellar plan, because they’re all shot to hell now, since Stew had to go and ruin it.

Let me back up and describe D-Day….as in “discovered I’m jinxed” day. Stew just happened to be telling people at lunch that I was pregnant one day (which happened to be a Wednesday, by the way. No really, it was a Wednesday….no intended alluding to the legendary Mr. DC!), and something hit me….. “Oh f*ck. I’m pregnant.” Driving home from work that day, I kept having this internal argument with myself. The following is a script is what sort of went through my head on the 20 minute or so commute:

“No way. There’s no way….Bryant & I have always been careful…..well, I might as well check….yeah, that’s it, just prove Stew wrong……holy cow, I feel sooooo pregnant right now…..but I haven’t been sick…..nah, Stew’s playing mind games with me…..wtf??......I think I feel a kick…..yep, that’s definitely a kick…oh god, I'm pregnant.”

This argument in my boggled mind somehow directed my car to the local Walgreens where a plethora of “family planning” devices are sold. Time out. “Family planning?” Who the crap PLANS this kind of thing? (oaky, lots of people, but NOT me!) Every person I’ve ever seen in that aisle at Walgreens or Wal-Mart, or some other “Wal” store, has been a terrified, knocked up teenager who is thinking of ways to keep from being grounded while breaking the news to a pair of irate, “We’re too young to be grandparents” grandparents. Actually, now that I think about it….that’s probably EXACTLY what I looked like trying to decide on which “family planning” test I would take home. Anyway, I digress. I picked out a random 3 pack and took them home.

Once home, I chugged, and I mean CHUGGED about 6 glasses of water so I could relieve myself onto one of these weird little sticks (which apparently you’re not supposed to do, since it dilutes the variable – oops. I was never good at science anyway.) Sure enough….all three tests said, “yes, dumbass…you’re pregnant.” Then came the dilemma of how to break the test results to the husband. Two words to describe this conversation. Awkward turtle. Poor Bryant. I don’t remember exactly what I said, but I remember just throwing out a jumbled string of random words related to babies and pregnancy, and him giving me the “WTF" look. You know that look. So I had to show him. Despite the three positive tests, neither he or I believed it since I wasn't sick and had no real symptoms, so back to the family planning aisle at Walgreens we went to grab a two packer of a different kind of test. Yep. They were positive too. I just remember the words “oh” and “f*ck” running through my head.

Skip ahead a few days. I scheduled a doctor’s appointment, so that I could get a professional opinion and they could tell me I was faking it and Stew truly hadn’t jinxed me. I called my all-knowing sister about the appt. wondering what would happen at the doctor’s. Here’s what she said….and yes, this is a quote. “Oh, this will be the easiest prenatal appointment you’ll have. They’ll ask some questions and you’ll have to pee on another stick.” Can you say LIAR?? I almost died that day. Really. I had everything from cameras to needles shoved in me. (I apologize if that is too much information, but it’s the only way to describe what a horrible near-death experience I had). Yuck, I think I might yak in my mouth thinking about those needles and the THREE EXTRA LARGE VILES of blood they not-so-nicely extracted from my body….or maybe just faint. Either way, not good. And my hands have gone weak thinking about it…..ugh…but yes. The doc confirmed the jinxation. (Is that a word?)

I do have a sentimental moment to confess. Despite all my nay-saying about finding out I was knocked up, when I saw the embryo (fetus? baby? whatever.) and the heart beating away during the ultrasound…wow, don’t know how to describe it, but it was by far the coolest thing I think I’ve ever seen. The doctor gave me a picture of it to take home, and suddenly all my optimism and hopes were dashed. The fetus looked like a gremlin. Wonderful. Of course I would have a fetus in me that looked like a devilish character from a scary movie. Why would I think I would have a normal looking kid? And no, I’m not talking about the cute fuzzy little gremlin called Gizmo that we all know and love. No, I’m talking the scary, big-eared killing machines from that horrible Christmas horror movie.

Since that appointment, I’ve been fortunate to not be sick or have any major symptoms (except getting fat...but that could also be due to my new I love McDonald's diet!), which is why I still think I’m faking it. I think I’ve figured it out though. Stew’s playing a huge joke on me and the doctor’s in on it giving me a gremlin picture. Bastards. Anyway, I figured I’d share the story with all of you, so you can be forewarned when peeps start spreading rumors about you. And by all means…do NOT involve Stew Messer in your “family planning” plans. :-)

Another life altering decision...

So I'm going through a phase. Some might call it a lifestyle, but I'm clearly not that consistent in life, so I won't even place that kind of pressure on myself. I've tried this phase before, and it last approximately a day and a half. Not exactly what I'd call a life altering decision. But I've done it again. And believe it or not, and most won't, I've been steadfast in my endeavor so far. For two weeks now…..or is it three? Anyway, I've made a decision. Decision made. I am….dun dun dun (that would be the stellar cinematic sound effect most hear on television or movies but you're lucky enough to hear/read/imagine it through the art of text)…… a vegetarian!

WHAT??? Who does that?? Ya know, I contemplated for a while about this (roughly 37 seconds or so). Like I said, I have attempted to go down this path before, but was quickly re-routed back to my old meat devouring days. So what do you ask, showing my proven record of failure in this department, would make me want to go down this chicken and cowless road again? The answer = I don't know. Honestly. But I weighed the pros & cons. And here's the marathonal list I came up with:

Pros:

1. I have great healthness that enters my body with each lettuce & carrot filled bite.

2. Veggie meals aren't as filling as meaty ones. That means MORE food for me!! Can I get a WHOOP WHOOP??

3. Ferdinand doesn't have to stress about me at Christmas & Thanksgiving so much that the unfortunate fellow starves himself and flees Hoggett's sheep farm.

4. Nobody said Snickers and potato chips were off limits. Can I get another WHOOP WHOOP??

Cons:

1. My ag-student/meat-eatin'/animal ranchin'/meatatarian sister hates me and yells loud noises in my general direction every veggie moment of mine she gets.

2. In Treehouse of Horror XI, Homer Simpson is killed by eating broccoli. Keep me in your prayers.

3. I'll be THAT girl who only eats side dishes. Ugh. You know…..THAT girl.

4. They say you are what you eat. And really? Who wants to be a nut or a fruit?

Okay, so my cataloged why and wherefores might not be the most outstanding. But I've done it. I may not know why, but I'm committing myself. Go big or go home. I have to at least give this phase a decent showing. It wouldn't be fair to Ferdinand otherwise. (This would be my second reference to the movie 'Babe', for those of you keeping up. I love that crazy ass duck.)

Though I must say, I've come across some rather delicious alternatives to meaty meat meat foods. (And yes, I said "meaty meat meat" on purpose. I like how it sounds). One hamburger I had tasted like a scrumptious burrito!! If that isn't irony at it's finest, I don't know what is. And it was exciting to eat, because prior to entering your mouth, the tastebuds are screaming for hamburger, but wait!! Instead they receive the dreamy flavor of late night Taco Bell! It just keeps those taste buds a-guessin'!

Feel free to join the veg-head bandwagon with me. Maybe then I won't fall off it so easily if I have some compadres with me. VEG 4 LIFE!!

To add to the list of stellar peeps I hang with...

Damn! I'm just rackin' 'em up this season! I was invited to a private party here in my hotel last night (along with a couple other of my fine looking female co-workers...who'da thunk it?) where I hung out with a PLETHORA of (and when I say "plethora" I mean "PLE....THOR....UH! *this is the point where you repeat "plethora" with more emphasis!* As in over 20 or so...) major Nashville country songwriters....so naturally, I had to share my latest brush with famous-ish people!
















- Jerry Phillips....as in Sam Phillips....as in Sun Studio....as in Elvis Presley. Yep....that'd be him....(our host for the evening also) (*see very right of picture above)

- Gary Nichols

- Dave Gibson

- Curt Jones....founder and chairman of Dippin' Dots....oh yeah....the ice cream of the future! (not really a songwriter, but who doesn't love Dippin' Dots? And don't worry - we exchanged business cards...always looking for business opportunities! ;-) (*see very left of picture above)

- Some badass singer chick who somehow got a hold of my vocal cords....weird. Name is yet to be determined. I'll let you know once she's famous. And she will be. Promise.




Among others...and these peeps are the real deal....the master minds behind some of country's greatest. And they proved it too....with a mini concert series in the hotel suite. They were also name droppin' like fools mentioning how they work with but are not limited to the following - Jessica Simpson, Carrie Underwood, Reba McEntire, Toby Keith, Trace Atkins, Faith Hill.....(the list went on and on....) Don't worry - I let them know how "Jess" Simpson & I are buds these days....and Kid Rock, the dirty greaseface. Yeeeeaaaahhhhh....they weren't impressed. Imagine that.




Quite a night to say the least! :-) We were invited to another party of theirs tonight....I'll report back on how it goes. IF I decide to grace them with my presence. :-) Should they only be so lucky. Cause I'm kind of a big deal. People know me.

Officially a Name-Dropper...

Last night I had a run in with about 456 celebrities in Nashville (okay, that number may be an embellishment)....I went to a bar after a long day of meetings and work where I met/saw/stood next to/gawked at/touched/stalker stared at the following celebrities:


JESSICA SIMPSON!! (WHAT??? LOVE her!)

Kid Rock (officially a greasy, slimy lookin' sleaze...hopefully he's cooler than he looks...for his sake)

Rascal Flatts (minus lead singer, but who really knows them without the lead singer anyway??)

Kelli Pickler (super cute hair...)

Eddie George (Amy grazed his "Heismanish" thigh...and loved it....Jess's trade-in for Romo, maybe?)

Hinder (do they really think they fit in at a NASHVILLE country bar? Stood out like a sore thumb...)


Myself and my friends were - to say the least - star struck....literally. We couldn't move. And refused to until Jess (that's what her BFFs call her...so it's ony appropriate now, right?) took a picture with us. AND we decided she made a mistake in not hanging out with us more that night. No really. We're pretty cool and she would have liked us. Her loss.


I'm beginning to think I'm a star magnet....they just flock to me. I tend to run into them in the most RANDOM places - where no celebrity would normally be. And with my ever-extending list of celebrity run-ins (i.e. Old Man Shatner - though this wasn't really a run-in, more of a proximixic "meeting", Snoop, Brett Favre, etc.) I think I've elevated myself to the next level of celebrity fanatic. Celebrity stalker. I'm past the reading of celebrity news in US Weekly and In Touch magazines...I'm a frequenter (is that a word?) of the favorite celebrity bars. And it's only V.I.P for me. Word.

Words are weird....

(Disclaimer: If you are uncomfortable with offensive language use….do not read this blog. And if you love the F-bomb as much as I do. Read on.)

Words are weird. The way they look, sound, and the manner in which they're used. And who decides what word is used for what? And when exactly does Mr. Webster decide a word is worthy enough to be inducted into the dictionary?

These questions ensued during a long drive from Nashville to Cookeville then to Knoxville (what's with all the "villes" in the south?) It even continued on the even longer trip home. Let me back up for a second. The legendary Ms. Amy & I were trippin' (as in road trippin') out to east Tennessee last week and somehow during our highly intellectual conversation, this topic developed. A plethora of words were discussed and analyzed in our "weird word" discussion. The first of which was "f*ck." Yep….we deeply analyzed it. We did discuss other words, but this particular word will be the topic of this particular blog due to it's unique characteristics. I'm not sure how many people make it a habit to analyze words in normal conversation (unless you're in the Communication Studies graduate department at NMSU, where Morgan's seminars often lead into after-dinner conversations of Saussure's idea of the signifier & signified), but we did. The verdict of our scrutinization? Basically, that this word is borderline amazing.

First of all, it is just fun to say.

Go ahead, say it. "F*ck."

Feels good, doesn't it?

Regardless of how well it rolls off the tongue, there is more concrete reasoning behind the amazingness (does "amazingness" even count as a word?) of "f*ck." It has numerous functions and meanings. It can be used as a noun, adjective, or even as an interjection. Plus, it is considered both a formal word AND a slang word! No really, Webster that sh*t. Definitions of this word include, but are not limited to the following:

-to have sexual intercourse (verb)
-the actual act of sexual intercourse (noun)
-to treat unfairly (verb)
-used to express anger, disgust, etc. and is normally followed by a pronoun, such as YOU! (interjection)

Okay, now that we've got the basic definitions and usages out of the way, another topic needs to be discussed. Why and how did the word become widely known as a curse word? I'll be honest, I don't know the history of the word, but I'd be interested to research it. Another question – WHO the hell decided that it was going to be a forbidden utterance? I want to be the one who decides this type of thing! Because, quite frankly, that's a lot of power. Sooooooo…..Amy & I decided we're switching it up. We're no longer going to use the F word, at all. We're going to adopt its literal definition (i.e. "sex") and going to substitute it for "f*ck." Think about it. Learn it, live it, love it. And if you want to do your part in revolutionizing the English language, spread it.

So that's it from here. Quit sexin' around on the internet and sexin' get back to work!

In the words of the legendary Ricky Bobby, "If you ain’t first, your last!"

So an update on my hobby….(the running hobby, not to be confused with the blogging hobby.) I ran in my second race ever today. And yep….sound the Olympic bells, light the Olympic torch, and let the Olympic Committee know…..I'm on my way to being the World Champion in a VERY tough division. It was a tough one (And P.S., the ninety-f*ing-seven-damn-the-Memphis-humidity- degree weather had nothing to do with the so-called "toughness"), but I prevailed and came out in 2nd place! And what division am I going to represent my country in, you ask?? Well…you might want to sit down for this, but it's.…….the 5K!!

I know, right? Who would have thunk it? That I, KFun, a self-proclaimed "I do NOT run" runner (what does that even mean??), would be racing in what some might consider the most taxing Olympic sport known to man? The FIVE K??? (Disclaimer: please note that if you are not a regular reader of the KFun blogs, she tends to use a small amount of sarcasm in them. This would be a prime example.) Well, my friends, I have shattered all mediocre expectations that you most likely had for me.

AND, because I like you, I'll let you in on my stellar training secrets. You might want to take some notes for this, and it's gonna be quick, but here goes….take a long weekend off from running for the 4th of July, party hard and drinks lots…of alcohol, engage in multiple hardcore battles of late night Laser Tag with some ghetto 14 year olds the eve of the race, and eat LOTS of chili-cheese dip & chips. There you have it. My training secrets. Here's a run down of race….
00:00:00 – Race starts. Feelin' good, despite the late night of multiple laser quests!
00:08:30 – 1 mile down…thank GOD!!
00:16:26 – get passed by what looks to be an 82 year old grandmother. Awesome.
00:17:10 – I think I just vomited chili cheese in my mouth. Even more awesome.
00:22:00 – Holy shit (this was a church race after all, so "Holy" is only appropriate), they expect me to RUN up THAT hill??
00:00:00 – (we've come to the point where I no longer share my times ;) Attempt to keep my legs moving under me after finishing THAT hill!
00:00:00 – Cross finish line. Is that the Rocky soundtrack I hear fainting playing in the background??



Anyway, that's about how it all went down. Unfortunately, I only placed second. And in the words of the great and legendary Ricky Bobby, if you ain't first, you're last. I must have let that slip my mind at the point when the chili cheese dip started to make a cameo. Next time Ricky, next time. 8-8-08. That'll be when I live up to 'ole Ricky's expectations. Bejing, here I come. 8-8-08, baby!!

The Nuggety Cluster F* that was my Day of Independence!

1) Car blows up in the middle of B-F-E nowhere Kentucky roughly about midnight traveling to visit the familia. (Oh, and did I mention the husband was drunk and REALLY grumpy at this point??)

2) Lose the husband's phone. (Oh, and just a reminder...he's already drunk & grumpy at this point...)

3) Triple A sucks. End of story.

4) Load up the boat for what was supposed to be a 20 minute drive to Rough River that turned into a 3 hour trip, get boat stuck in the middle of a corn field, tear up some random farmer's corn field with boat, and finally get to Rough River approximately 2 hours & 40 minutes late. Then it rains.

5) Brother & sister-in-law show up....8 months pregnant. WHAT???

6) Husband gets my hopes up about buying a new car.

7) Husband shoots down the hopes of buying a new car.

Yep - that was my weekend. A big chocolatey cluster f***. And I loved it.

My wifely duties....

So welcome to my second official blog. Just wanted to share my two cents about a certain role I play in my life these days…athlete's wife.

Athlete's wives. When such a topic comes up (and I'll be honest – it really doesn't. Ever.), I normally tend to think of somebody glamorous and exciting like Eva Longoria-Parker (Tony Parker/San Antonio Spurs sidekick & little known actress from a not-so-popular TV show….I think it's called "Desperate Old Hot Chicks Who Have More Drama Than The Local Cineplex "….or something like that). The athlete's wife is someone who sits courtside after spending hours primping with a team of personal assistants so that photographers catch nothing but her good side. Beautiful, glamorous, perfectly put together, and quiet cheerleader from her $500 a night seats. I only picture a small select few who would fall into this category.

But no, I too am an athlete's wife. BUT there's a catch. I'm not any normal type of athlete's wife. No personal assistants to help with makeup, no $500 a night seats. I'm a spandex-wearing, shaven legged, glutton for punishment cyclist's wife. I don't pay for seating because there's no fee to watch (thank god!) and I DO NOT go above and beyond in the makeup department at these events. But like any great athlete's wife, I have certain duties I must comply with on game day (or race day in this case). Mine just don't happen to be quite as glamorous as Mrs. Tony Parker's do. Let me describe a typical glorious day of racing for the Cyclist Wife:

6:00 am – Alarm goes off. "Am I really up at 6am on a SATURDAY??" Hit the snooze.

6:10 am – Drag my "damn, I shouldn't have drank last night" ass out of bed & into the shower.

6:20 am – dress & half-heartedly throw on some clothes, a hat, and some mascara (hey, I want to look SOMEWHAT presentable, right?)

6:30 am – pile into the truck with the unbelievably perky for 6:30 in the morning husband, one VERY expensive bike whose carbon frame weighs less than one of my thighs (I really need to try that new diet – anorexia I think it's called…), extra wheels, a bag of oh-so-sexy spandex with a matching helmet, a bag of cycling "treats." And we can never forget about the "Shammy Butter." I'll let that thought marinade for a while…

7:15 am – Arrive at race site. Sit in truck pretending to be alert, interested, & not hung-over while the husband changes, preps the equipment, and warms-up. 8:00 am – drag my anti-social self out of the truck and attempt to make friends with a fellow "athlete's wife." We make small talk about the race with her while pretending to understand what the hell she's talking about when she describes how her husband "bridged up" and "grabbed a wheel" in his last "crit." WTF?

8:05 am – Race starts.

8:15 am – walk to the "feed zone" where my duties include: A) collect filled water bottles for husband and team B) hand off bottles to ONLY husband or team members (because we don't want to help out the enemy teams) while they blaze by at 35 miles an hour and try to keep from losing an arm or getting run over by the peloton (SEE?? I'm a good cycling wifey…I used a big cycling word like peloton). And don't be fooled. This "feed zone" area is intense and it's the most nerve racking/dangerous job I think that exists in sports today.

8:20 am – wave and cheer on the husby for approximately 1.3 seconds as he races by. Then sit down on the side of the road and wait.

8:40 am – Sit on the side of the road and wait.

8:50 am –start perspiring in the blazing Memphis humidity. Spot the peloton round the corner.

8:51 am – flip the husband the bird as he zips by without taking any water from me in the Feed Zone because he just risked my life for no reason. (I don't stand in front of 40 cyclists riding straight towards me at a speed faster than I drive (and that's fast…) for nothing.)

9:00 am – sit and wait.

9:30 am – sit and wait.

9:40 am – wave and yell for the second and a half the husband rides by for the 2nd and final time.

10:30 am – cheer as the husband passes the finish line. Follow the husband up the road to the car.

10:45 am – sit and listen to the husband talk with his teammates about "bridging up" and "catching a wheel." Again, wtf?

11:00 am – pile into the truck to head home with the unbelievably sweaty, spandex-clad husband, one VERY expensive bike whose carbon frame weighs less than one of my thighs (again – anorexia anyone?), extra wheels, a bag of pre-race clothing with a helmet, a bag of cycling "treats" empty wrappers. And we can never forget about what's left of the Shammy Butter. Have you figured out what this crap is for yet?? I'll let your imagination run wild….

So….needless to say, my day was pretty exciting, but not how I would imagine Mrs. Parker would spend her Saturday mornings. Don't get me wrong. I enjoy watching my husband ride, because it's something he thoroughly enjoys doing and is really good at. Not to mention those tight spandex! ;-) But the hours are long and hard in the position of a cyclist's wife. So if you have any suggestions on any strategies that might help, please enlighten me! Well, I'm off to the time trail race this evening. More glamorous action to be had. :-) Hey go team go go team.

Extracurricular activities and my new way of life...

As of late, I've become tired of being tired of not having any fun extracurricular actives to entertain myself with in between all the hours spent sitting at my desk pretending to be productive and business-savvy with my bottomless pile cheerleading-related projects at work. Co-workers of mine are always bombastically raving about their extracurricular interests and I'm tired of not sharing my two cents pertaining to my life outside of work. I'm surrounded by sewers (as in people who stitch, not to be confused with a component of the underground sewage system), rock climbers, beer drinkers, cornholers (unless you're from the south – you probably won't know what this exciting activity entails. Google that shit.), cyclists (i.e. my husband), hunters, and potters (those who make pottery, and not the other definition of people who smoke pot - though I know of those who partake in this activity). Habits of mine right now include, but are not limited to the following:

1) eating 2) sleeping 3) working 4) and wasting my life on the internet

Not a very well rounded chain of events that happen throughout the day for me. Sooooo.....I've come to the conclusion that I need to add some other sort of activity in the mix. I briefly considered penguin hunting, but I'm limited on the number of penguins roaming around the Tennessean wilderness and the zoo has strict rules about this. And I even thought about collecting toothbrush handles and doing some sort of vehicular interior design with them. That one won't work though, because a) I know nothing about interior design and b) I only own 3 cars and I doubt anyone else would let me in their car with a glue gun and crap ton of toothbrush handles. Even my 3 cars are cut down in numbers because my husband would NEVER let me get near the Corvette (or his truck, I guess) with a glue gun and a creative gleam in my eye. Anyway, I digress.

The moral of the story is that I need a new pastime. It used to be stunting/cheerleading, but there comes a day (sadly) that one must give up on the dream of doing the "perfect" cheer. Contrary to common beliefs, cheerleading doesn't last forever. So I'm starting two new things that I hope will become quickly joyous habits in my life:

Numero Uno) Blogging. I don't really know what the hell it's all about, but people do it all the time and enjoy it, so...here I am. Welcome to my first official-I'm-a-blogger-blog. (Wish me luck in keeping up with this habit! Not sure if I'm a born blogger or not...but quite frankly, it seems lame. We'll see how long it lasts.)

Dua) (*that's "two" in Indonesian - thank you to my little Indonesian-blooded husby) Running. I've always sporadically ran around my house, through dark buildings late at night, and on a stationary contraption that pretends it knows how many calories I've burned after a short stint of moving on it. No, I mean REAL running. I figured if I needed a habit, why not make it a good one, right? It's better than being a drinker, potter (as in the latter description used above), or theiver (okay, theif. But "theiver" rhymed better with "drinker" & "potter"). And my creative/artistic skills aren't quite up to par, so I figured I'll skip out on the painting, sewing, etc. and spare people who view my creations the internal dilemma of "Do I tell her 'It's awesome!' or be honest and say 'This painting looks like a 6 month old blind kid threw up on it!'"
No. Running is going to be it. And I've officially started today. (Alright, alright...technically I've ran before, but this is my first "running is my hobby" running day.) And I've even started mapping out my runs (or run – singular, in this case) on Nike+.com. As with any hobby (at least I would think it would be "any hobby" unless you're a potter), I'm starting off small. Today was only about 2.5 miles or so, but tomorrow I'm planning on running to Nashville and back. Should be a good time.

Don't worry – this will be good because now you can keep up with my running hobby through my blogging hobby. Word.