The past few days have been about vomiting, diarrhea, pedialyte, a trip to the ER and laundry.  Dustin, Lillienne and I have been sick with the flu, and the laundry hamper smells like throw up. We’ve gone through 37972 diapers, 10 cartons of wipes, two flats of toilet paper and a keg of gingerale.  One sick baby with two exhausted sick parents, toss in seventeen minutes of sleep in 4 days and an always occupied toilet and WELCOME TO THE FUN HOUSE!!!

Dustin comes home tonight. And apparently Lillienne hasn’t even noticed he has been gone. This bodes well for when I run off to Bermuda with Mr Gyllenhaal with Lillienne in tow in the near future. Sigh.
Today, we took in the gorgeous sunshine and went for a walk down by the river with my friend Jen and her little girl, Sophia. Today is also day two of my PGX experiment. You know, the stuff that costs fifty bucks a bottle but promises to change your life, even if you don’t.  That’s a pretty big promise, PGX. Does this mean I can continue to eat Cheetos, and by summer I can walk around in heels and a bikini (hell, i will settle for a flattering one piece) looking like Audrina Patridge (with real boobies, of course)?  We will see. Oh yes, we shall see. And of course I am joking, I really don’t eat as bad as I write about. I actually eat tons of healthy things but I’m just so damn lazy. Ugh. I might actually have to start going to the gym because I don’t necessarily want to drop tons of weight, I just want to firm up. And have a space between my thighs. And stop the upper arm thing that’s going on.

Dear The People Upstairs;

Hello, how are you? I don’t believe we have every formally met, besides the one time I FINALLY stuck my head out the balcony door and screamed in an upwards direction “What the FACK Are You Doing?”, after you had decided to bang your broom on the balcony for the 70th time that day, after seven days of doing this in a row. Seriously. WTF. “Oh I’m sorry, I didn’t think banging this broom on a metal bar 70 times a day would bother anyone who still possessed the ability to HEAR anything.”
Your broom banging has stopped, thank goodness. You no longer feel the compulsion the sweep your balcony every time it snows and repeatedly bang your broom on the metal railing of the balcony. I thank you, and all the tenants 21 floors below us thank you.
HOWEVER! What is this new habit of yours of dropping metal balls sporadically around your house? WTF is that noise and what are you dropping and wtf is with your butter fingers?
You have also decided that you need to JUMP AROUND ON TWO FEET whenever you are mobile in your apartment. You now make my pictures on the walls shake, and I am I correct in assuming you rent children on the weekends to feed coffee beans and watch them bounce around on your floors and walls? WTF??? Because this is exactly what it sounds like.
You have also decided to cook intoxicating food every night that comes down through my kitchen vent, thus forcing me to try to match the deliciousness of the smells that is overpowering my tomato soup and bagel dinner; like I’m the ginger ale to your champagne. For this, I dislike you even more.
Please be more considerate.
I am listening to you herd elephants in your livingroom as I type. wtf are you always doing up there?