The Manhattan Project Gave Us Pop-Tarts

The other day I was researching the effects Pop-Tarts might have on my unborn child. I was hoping to find things like:

• For blue eyes, eat blueberry Pop-Tarts.
• For brown eyes, eat smore Pop-Tarts.
• For a baby girl, eat cherry Pop-Tarts.
• For freckles, eat sprinkled Pop-Tarts.
• To cure morning sickness, eat Pop-Tarts at every meal.

Apparently, no research has been done on any of that. Obviously, our economy is still going downhill if important Pop-Tart experiments aren’t being performed.

What I did stumble across was this. A Pop-Tart-hater site.

If this is wrong, I don’t wanna be right.

 This site claims the following:

• The frosting is made from either the blood of a virgin or the saliva of the three-headed canine guardian of Hell’s gate, Cerberus.
• The main ingredient is evil.
• They are usually sold in pairs inside packages made of human flesh.
•  If left out after heating, Pop-Tarts take on a very dense and hardened form, making them very convenient for use as crude bladed weapons, or as throwing stars.

Most importantly, frosted Pop-Tarts are not suitable for vegetarians, as they contain gelatin.

Lies! Lies, I tell you! All of this is mere propaganda probably spread by the folks at Toaster Strudel.

I’m onto you, you Strudel-de-doos. I’m onto you….

Haters gonna hate.

Favorite Comment From Last Post: “Wait a minute. No sober person has ever eaten a pickled egg…except now, you, pregnant, eat pickled eggs. Soooooo…pickled eggs where drunk people and pregnant people intersect, but they aren’t allowed to be the same people. I made a really cool Venn Diagram to illustrate this, but I can’t save it.”—Omawarisan

Once the Door Is Open

Before I was pregnant, I started reading a blog written by a newly pregnant woman. She’d just found out she was pregnant, and it was cool to follow her on her new journey.

But I noticed something about her posts. She wrote about poop. A lot. Apparently, when you’re pregnant, weird shit happens. Literally.

And I swore when I was pregnant, I would never blog about poo. Because that’s yucky. And because girls don’t poo.

But you know what? I’m allowing myself one pregnancy poo post. Why? Because it’s funny.

While Kiefer and I were in Greece….

Kiefer: Are you ready to check out?

Thoughtsy: Yep. Go ahead down, and I’ll meet you there.

Kiefer: I can wait for you.

Thoughtsy: Awwww…that’s sweet. But I have to go to the bathroom.

Kiefer: You pee a lot.

Thoughtsy: No. I have to go to the bathroom.

Kiefer: ::blank stare::

Thoughtsy: In the 5 years we’ve been together, I’ve yet to go #2 while you’re around, and I’m not about to start now.

That was me opening the door. Figuratively. Not literally.

I can only pray that I never literally open the bathroom door. After a 9-week ultrasound, this happened:

Thoughtsy: All my clothes are tight. Stupid baby bloat.

Kiefer: You mean all the pooping?

Thoughtsy: What? ::pause:: I have no idea how to recover from that question.

Not often is Kiefer able to catch me unawares. But he did, and I have only myself to blame. But I refused to let him win; I could take him. Not able to come up with something clever, I had only one option: give him too much information.

Thoughtsy: Actually pregnancy makes you constipated.

Kiefer: ::silence::

I thought he might make the obvious “you’re-full-of-it” response, but he didn’t. Ha! I won!

Or so I thought. Once we got home, I started eating a cheese stick.

Kiefer: You know that’s not going to help your problem, right?

Well played, Kiefer. Well played.

Ladies, guys are just always going to be better with the poo comebacks. Don’t fight it. And for goodness sake, don’t open the door.

Are You Trying to Kill Me?

Right before I left for Greece, my coworker Ddot relayed a crazy pregnancy story about his wife.

When she was pregnant, she spent a lot of time on bedrest. One time while she was upstairs, she called downstairs to Ddot because she was hungry.

Ddot: I just finished up the dishes. Want me to bring up some of the ham we had yesterday?

Ddot’s Wife: Are you trying to kill me? ::begins crying::

Hormones are crazy things. While he comforted his wife, he asked her what she wanted instead. Her answer: a Whopper…with cheese.

I found the story hilarious and relayed it to Kiefer…and it became the tagline for our entire Greece trip.

• We ordered shrimp…which came with the heads on them. ::shudder:: I said, “Are you trying to kill me?”
• We ate frozen yogurt. Greek frozen yogurt does not taste like American frozen yogurt. Kiefer said, “Are you trying to kill me?”
• An hour later, I wanted a popsicle. Kiefer said,  “Are you trying to kill me?” Amateur….
• The day after I arrived I slept from 8 AM to 1 PM when Kiefer finally made me get up to go to the Acroplis. I said, “Are you trying to kill me?”
• The stones at the Acropolis are very slippery. Kiefer was definitely trying to kill me.

• Kiefer made plans to stay on the island of Milos…which meant a 4-hour ferry ride. I get motion sickness, so I said, “Are you trying to kill me?” Death by puking.
• When a little girl hounded us to buy a fan from her and my polite declines didn’t deter her, Kiefer scolded her in Russian. The look in her eyes said, “Are you trying to kill me?”

We spent our time in Athens and on the island of Milos. And I learned a lot, such as…

• The correct pronunciation of Greek for “please” and “thank you.”
• You can’t take pictures in the Acropolis Museum. Oops.

A photo Misty-style.

• Baklava has nuts in it; therefore, it counts as a protein. I ate a lot of protein.

#25 on my 35 Before 35 List completed!

Favorite Comment From Last Post: “I saw Home Alone as an in-flight movie once. When it was over, a kid got up and very carefully arranged a bunch of little toy cars in the plane aisle.”—Laura

Guess Who’s Back…Back From Greece

I just returned from Greece last night, so while I’m reacquainting myself with East Coast time, here’s the conversation Kiefer and I had the day I left for Greece. I’d never flown out of the country before, so I was really nervous.

Thoughtsy: Do I need to convert some money? What am I going to do while you’re working? What are we going to do while you’re not working? I am totally unprepared.

Kiefer: They take Euros here.

Thoughtsy: Soooooo…I do need to convert money?

Kiefer: I’ll give you money. And I’ve already set up a tour of the city for you because I don’t want you wandering around alone. And if you’re too tired, you can hang out by the pool or get a massage. I work one day, and then I have everything else planned out.

Thoughtsy:  You planned? ::whispers:: Pod person….

Kiefer: ::after giving me detailed instructions and confirming that he’ll pick me up from the Athens airport:: So I’ll see you in less than 24 hours. I love you. Have a good flight!

Thoughtsy: I love you, too.

Kiefer: ::pause:: You didn’t hang up, did you?

Thoughtsy: No.

Kiefer: You’re really nervous, aren’t you?

Thoughtsy: Are you sure you can’t just fly back here to the States really quickly, and then we can take my first international flight together?

Kiefer: You’re going to be fine. And you’re flying through London…where you speak the language.

Thoughtsy: But sometimes the Cockney throws me off.

Kiefer: You’re a dork. Call me if you have any problems.

Thoughtsy: What if I have a problem on the plane?

Kiefer: That’s what flight attendants are for.

Thoughtsy: Jerk….

Kiefer: You’ll be fine. You’re stronger than you think. I love you. Bye!

Thoughtsy: I love you, too.

::pause and then texting::

I can’t believe you hung up.

How Zeus and I Will Become Besties

The first thing on my 35 Before 35 List is “Learn a new language.” In addition to American Sign Language, I’ve been learning Greek.

 Why Greek? Because…

1. I want to communicate with Zeus, Aphrodite, Hera—all the major gods and goddesses. I will be the next Bulfinch.
2. I saw My Big Fat Greek Wedding. Those people are fun.
3. It looks like this:

And last but not least, because I’m going there to meet Kiefer…right now.

See you in a week!