Monday, June 29, 2009

Singled Out

My dear friend Lady X is a beautiful, caring, intelligent woman with a flourishing career as a communications professional. She has a great sense of humor and loves to watch quirky indie films. Her shoe, clothing and accessories games are all on point. But, there is something tragically wrong with her...she is over 25 and SINGLE. Gasp! Heavens, no! Burn her at the stake now!

You may wonder — as so many in her life seem to do — how is a woman like that single? They are boggled and bewildered. I'm not, because I've been single and loved it. Don't get me wrong, I love my dear husby and would never wish to be without him — we have a wonderful life together. But, when I was single, life was good as well. Coming and going as I pleased. Leaving the apartment a mess or cleaning it as I deemed fit. My apartment's super would fix anything that went wrong upon being paged (as opposed to the joys of home ownership where anything that could go wrong does).

Being single for a few years made me the woman, wife and mother I am today. I am confident, happy and love a challenge. During my single years, I realized how valuable I am and was determined to stay single unless the right guy came along. I could care less if I was dateless to parties and thrived on being able to make plans based on my schedule alone. I strongly believe my happiness and purpose during this time lead me to fall in love with now husby. More importantly, I was open to the idea of not finding anyone at all.

The old saying "you can't be loved until you love yourself" is so true. And in order to love yourself, you have to know yourself. Now, I'm not saying that if you haven't been single since you began dating that you are missing something from your life. I'm simply saying, let's lay off the single folks and let them lead their lives. I definitely am no authority on relationships just because I happen to be in one. I know how hard it is, especially as a single woman, to date (or not date). The constant search for one's "better half" can be exhausting. That's probably why I barely put in the effort during my single days!

Back to Lady X...sorry but if you are familiar with any of my other posts, you'll know that I digress a bit. A few weeks ago, Lady X and I were at a barbecue (the same one the Breastfeeding Nazi was at, by the way. If you haven't read this post yet, check it's quite a doozy). Lady X and I have a mutual friend — Lady Y we'll call her — that is married with two children. Lady Y is one of the most loving and gracious people you will ever meet. She also happens to be very, er, forward, when it comes to her friends and their quests to find significant others and start families.

I always laugh when I think of all the cute e-mails she would send me containing jpegs of mixed-raced babies. These e-mails were supposed convince me to get crackin' on making babies with my then boyfriend now husby. I never minded her "gentle" hints because I knew she was half kidding and the half that was serious meant well. Lady Y is highly family-oriented and one of my role models. She only wants the best for her close friends (and everyone else for that matter).

Towards the end of the event, Lady X and I were conversing (probably about movies and books, our two fave topics) and Lady Y brought up the subject of having children. More specifically, when Lady X was going to start already. Lady X and I giggled and pretended to roll our eyes. We knew the drill. Then Lady Y chimed in something about having to bring Lady X to the sperm bank.

I, for once, was speechless. I couldn't even look at either of them. I didn't know whether to be upset or not. After all, Lady X is a grown woman and didn't need me to conduct any opening arguments for her. So, I chuckled uncomfortably and said, "[Lady Y], sperm bank? Whoa..."

A few days later Lady X and I were chatting and the sperm bank conversation came up. She revealed that she was, like me, flabbergasted and unsure of what to say and/or think. We both agreed that many people thought being single was like a pox on your life. Or to quote Carrie from Sex in the City, "when did being alone become the modern-day equivalent of being a leper?"

A leper Lady X is NOT. Yet, Lady X and I both knew that Lady Y didn't mean to be hurtful. She was trying to be cute and jokey (is that a word?), but failed in our eyes because the line was crossed. Lady X revealed to me that at a recent family dinner, her grandfather proclaimed, "guess you're giving up on finding a man, huh?" Nice. Well, if these types of comments don't motivate one to hurry up and find a man/woman/breathing creature, then I don't know what will!

Tuesday, June 16, 2009

This is Your Brain on Crack(Berrys)

Warning: This blog post may start or rekindle uncomfortable conversations regarding the (over)use BlackBerrys, iPhones and other PDAs.
This week, my girl KB chimes in with a guest post about the special relationship her husband shares with...a BlackBerry. As many women (and some men) may know, BlackBerrys et al have strong armed their way through piles of other distractions and hobbies (take your pick...home theatre systems, sports, Megan Fox, etc.) in order to claim top billing of all things of the relationship-wreaking variety.
Now, don't get me wrong. I myself have a BlackBerry and love using it. Did you read that carefully? I love USING it. I don't love IT. That's the huge difference between those who enjoy useful technology and those that abuse it.
I also set my BB to turn off and on every day at certain times so I am not tempted to check it every time it chimes or its red light flashes. Sometimes it's just too much...I have alerts for texts, my two personal e-mail accounts and the Facebook mobile app...lordhavemercy, that type of addiction requires its own post (or two).
My dear husband has his moments of iPhone — whom I fondly refer to as "that bitch" — fiending, but over the past few years, he's really gotten better at not using it during family/wifey time. The iBitch is very useful at times, especially when we're on the road. She is also much faster than my BlackBerry.
But I do digress, this post is not about my husband and I and our smartphones. Read on for KB's tale of electronic woe.
First of all, I would like to thank Ms. Hatewatcher herself for this guest spot – I feel so honored!
I have so many ideas that I would love to get into detail about — but here’s one that I think many of us can relate to and if you can relate to it — welcome to my world and can you show me the directions on how to get the hell outta here?!

It all began when my dear hubby decided to get a BlackBerry for work. You know, it all starts off with “babe, I have soooo much work to do and with all the traveling I do, it only makes sense…” and then it's “we can also stay in touch, babe — think of how it will bring us closer!”
Even though I knew what was in store for me, I reluctantly agreed and off we went to what I call hell on earth — the Verizon Wireless store in North Brunswick, New Jersey at Cozzens Lane and Route 1. Seriously, you can go in with a minute issue and be there for hours! Don’t even get me started on the bottomfeeders that supposedly "work" there.
Anyways, the BB finally gets purchased and then all its apps are installed, which by the way, the husband provides me with constant updates on latest ones, yippee. Two exchanges, several more downloaded apps and he is finally happy.
Let me say that this damn phone not only has made us drift further apart as he is always on that stupid thing – I’ve never wanted so badly to rip something out of his hands and stomp on it and do a happy dance – this thing has made me INSANE!
There should be a block on the data part of the phone to turn off at a decent time (Editor's Note: Holla at me girl, I know how to do this!) so some idiot from his work doesn’t send an e-mail to my hubby asking him some dumb-ass question (of course his boss is copied to show that he’s working late) so my idiotic husband can play the same game back and look like an buttlicker responding to a work e-mail at 11 pm….seriously?!?
I've lost my best friend and now husband to CrackBerrys. Soon you will hear of me going postal and stealing everyone’s BB to put an end to this madness… and you know who is behind the BB programming? A Canadian company — my home country has turned on me!
So to those who have BB and are addicts or well on their way, I offer you some simple rules:
  • If I’m talking to you, look at me not the BB.

  • If we’re in bed – BB should be OFF – not acting as a night light.
  • I thought a BB was primarily to be used for work – don’t keep downloading stupid-ass apps so you look cool (or think you do).
  • Stop sending me messages which end in “sent from my Verizon Wireless BB” just cause you think its cool (Editor's Note: I believe that pre-2008 versions of the BB do not allow one to erase or edit this annoying note. Sorry. Mine has that message, too.)

  • Under NO circumstances should the BB be taken into the bathroom — that’s just gross!
Use your BB for good – if we’re lost – log onto Mapquest, find a store or a phone number — I’m tired of hearing the excuse “uhhh, my phone is about to die”...dumbass, it's gonna die if you’re reading useless stuff and playing with your apps five hours a day!

I don’t give a damn about the new BB! Why not keep the one you have for a while — you don’t need the Curve or the Bold or the Storm so you can show it off to your nerdy friends and be “the man.”
I began writing this blog post when my husband was on the BB and I’m done and guess what, he's STILL on it….is there nothing else left to do? What happened to reading a real book or magazine?!
Oh, and I just heard that the iPhone may be launched on Verizon Wireless’ network later this year — if that’s true, I’m filing for divorce, just kidding (I think!)
Well, that’s my rant for now, thanks to the Editor for letting me have a place to vent my frustrations. On a related note, don’t EVEN get me started on Twitter and the damn tweats...the whole concept is not twit-tastic! (Editor's Note: We must be mindmelding. I am working on a post regarding on how Twitter, Facebook and other apps are turning our society into celebretard wannabees.)
Editor Suggests
10 BlackBerry Commandments" courtesy of PINK magazine

Wednesday, June 10, 2009

Whassup Doc?!

Over the course of my 32 years, I've had a range of experiences with doctors. There was the primary care doc that had two-hour plus average wait times (oy!)...the ob that promoted her jewelry-making side business...the dentist with the really old magazines in the waiting room (Reader's Digest from 1989, anyone?) I've never had a heated discussion...okay, BLOWOUT...with a doctor until this past Tuesday.

Over the past several years, I noticed that my knees were getting weak. They would make weird sounds when I went up and down stairs and occasionally give out. I figured it was just normal wear and tear due to my getting older. Years of high heel wearing didn't help either, I guess!

Anyways, my knees began to feel even more rickety throughout my pregnancy. I figured the extra weight I was carrying caused this increased sensation and that postprego, I'd be just fine (knee-wise, that is...let's not even talk about how I still feel pain from my C-section). About three weeks ago, I decided that stroller walks and doing my "Walk Away the Pounds" DVD just weren't enough. I needed to lose those remaining baby pounds and fit back into my old gear.

So, I climbed onto my elliptical and did a brisk 20-minute, high-incline session. I felt refreshed and healthy until a couple days later. My left knee was in severe pain and I could barely go up/down stairs in my three-level home. This is a huge problem because I am taking care of an infant and needed full mobility.

At the beginning of the year, I switched from a PPO to an HMO, so I needed to see my PCP (I thought I wouldn't have to hear so many acronyms while on leave from work!) in order to obtain a referral to visit an orthopedic doctor. I wasn't new to this referral business. My baby's pediatrician had written one for us a couple months ago in order to take the little one to an oral surgeon for his frenulum issue.

I chose a board-certified PCP and made an appointment to get the referral and also to find out more about the whooping cough vaccine
I've been seeing a lot of ads in the various parenting magazines I receive. Apparently new parents and caretakers should get this vaccine and I wanted to discuss with my doctor. Who knew how complicated these two to dos would be for my doc?!

On almost EVERY PAGE of the new patient paperwork, I indicated that I needed an orthopedic referral and more info regarding the whooping cough vaccine. I also restated what I needed to one of the two office assistants when she walked me to the examination room. She
let's call her Nurse Betty proceeded to tell me that she used to suffer from knee pain as well and highly recommended the Trenton Orthopedic Group (TOG), conveniently located in the same plaza as my PCP, now known as Dr. Evil.

During my examination, I told the doctor at least three times that I needed a referral. He gave me a piece of paper that listed several doctors from different specialties. The checkbox next to the TOG was filled
I was to go there for x-rays and a consultation. I mentioned the whooping cough vaccine and before I could finish, Dr. Evil interrupts me and says, "well, I'm going to ask my RN about that. I don't know much about that female stuff." WOW. "Female stuff"?!?! Umm, it's a whooping cough, not vaginal cough, vaccine. Even if my inquiry was related to "female stuff" he should have been a professional and told me he didn't know, but would find out for me.

And did I tell you that Dr. Evil also took a personal call on his cell phone during our conversation? Yes, he did. He didn't even try to pretend it was an emergency. Something about dinner plans. Sorry I'm boring you, sheesh. I've never had that happen to me before. I mean, my dumb, yet polite, ass even puts MY mobile phone on silent during doctor appointments. I only expect the same treatment in return. At the end of our consultation, Dr. Evil sent me off to see the "girls" at the front (grown-ass women, mind you). I felt a little put off, but decided that my knee was more important than fighting a battle.

Before leaving, I double-checked with the "girls" at the front desk. Nurse Betty's counterpart, Nurse Bertha we'll call her, assured me that I had everything I needed in terms of referral. Nurse Betty even chimed in with who she thought were the better doctors at TOG. I thought it was strange that I did not receive a formal referral slip (looks like a test answer sheet; the doctor has to fill in blank boxes and assign a referral number), but they told me I was all set.

I made an appointment for the following week. Had dear husby come home early to watch the little one so I could go to TOG. After arriving at TOG, I was told I did not have the appropriate paperwork. The paper I had was only referring me to TOG and did not serve as an true referral. Therefore, my appointment was no longer valid. I was heated! I called Dr. Evil's office and began to tell them the situation. Nurse Betty immediately jumped down my throat and said I didn't tell them I needed one! Wtf! I hung up and decided I would walk over there and settle this matter in person.

When I arrived at Dr. Evil's office, Nurse Betty was already giving me a stank look. She told me that I never indicated that I needed a referral. WHAT???????????????????????????? How is this possible when I wrote it and said it several times! She also told me that I don't understand how referrals work and need to learn how my HMO works. Ummmm yea, okay. I'm not retarded...far from it. How hard is it to understand HMO and referrals? Need to see a doc that's not your PCP? Get a referral. Then see speciality doc. Simple, right? Wrong! Apparently at Dr. Evil's, the policy (which was NEVER communicated to me verbally or in print) is that I have to make the appointment with the specialist first, then call back Dr. Evil's office. Then Dr. Evil's office writes up the referral, then I pick up the referral and bring to specialist. Now, that sounds like a big clusterfuck.

When my baby's pediatrician wrote the referral, he did it during our visit and we left with the referral in hand. No need to call him to follow up. Guess he doesn't do it the right way, huh?

Nurse Betty was telling me that I misunderstood and was not clear in telling them. I told them that I had told EVERYONE I needed a referral. Even wrote it in my new patient paperwork (which she refused to pull up). She interrupted me and said "telling the doctor is not telling me; I'm the one that does the referrals" lemme get this straight, when I told her, Nurse Bertha, Dr. Evil and wrote it in my new patient paperwork, that doesn't count?? How could I never had mentioned it when Nurse Betty herself was providing feedback on the TOG?

I told her that I had a newborn and husband at home. I wasn't leaving without an appointment at TOG. I also asked for an apology. She refused and replied rudely, "well consider my apology trying to get you an appointment at TOG." HONEY, I HAD AN APPOINTMENT AT TOG. YA'LL FUCKED IT UP AND WON'T ADMIT IT. I told her I was the patient and did not deserve to be treated like this. She rolled her eyes and picked up the phone to call TOG. While on the phone with TOG, she mentioned, there was a "misunderstanding"...I heard this and was livid. There was no mix up, I was not given the proper information! I chimed in from the waiting area, "no, there's no misunderstanding, your office didn't give me the correct information!" She huffed and corrected her, "sorry, we made a mistake. Please find an appointment for this patient."

The entire time she was on the phone she was talking trash about the TOG staff (who were utmost professionals not like Dr. Evil and his ass clowns) to Nurse Bertha, the mute assistant who had assured me the week before I was good to go.

I finally got my appointment back and hobbled back to TOG. Now, I ask you, is that how it has to be? Why do some people insist on making simple situations difficult? In her recent post, my friend Dori bemoaned the lack of doctors that care. I agree and go as far as to say, fuck doctors who care. Let's just try to have doctors who are competent and can at least handle the administrative portion of their duties correctly! Is that so much to ask? And I'm also asking for accountability when things do go wrong. I'm human, I make mistake. The difference is, I ADMIT to them instead of blaming an innocent person, which is what Dr. Evil and his staff did.

Follow up: My orthopedic doc give me a script to see a physical therapist. I have a feeling I still need a referral from the dreaded Dr. Evil's office. Let's hope it can be done without insults and lies this time! By the way, Dr. Evil is Dr. Bernard Kelberg of Hamilton, New Jersey. The names of the guilty shall NOT be protected.

Sunday, June 7, 2009

Attack of the Breastfeeding Nazis

So the title of this blog is a *little* dramatic. I'll give you that. But, breastfeeding is a VERY DRAMATIC topic in case ya didn't know! It all started back in the summer of 2008 when I found out I was pregnant...there were so many things to decide and plan for in terms of raising my child. One of the major issues I had to think about was breastfeeding and whether or not I was going to do it. Little did I know that it wasn't always a choice one could simply make.

Everything I read and heard touted the benefits of breastfeeding. Breastfed babies are supposed to have higher I.Q.s than babies that are raised on "swill," i.e., formula. "Breast is best!" the associated propaganda clearly states. So being a Type-A woman and determined to provide the BEST for my child, I decided I would breastfeed and ONLY breastfeed. No formula, no pumping, etc. That was my plan and I was sticking to it come hell or high water!

To prepare for this joyous, selfless and MANDATORY experience, husby and I signed up for breastfeeding classes. The instructor showed a couple of videos that featured happy moms and their babies breastfeeding blissfully (try to say that 20 times fast!). My preparation made me so excited to be a breastfeeding mother. I just knew in my heart this was the ONLY way we could go!

REALITY CHECK: I ended up having a C-section. This experience was devastating. Don't get me wrong, the doctors and nurses at my hospital were all great. I was treated quite well. What was devastating was that I was in utter pain and could barely sit up out of bed for a few days. The day I had to get up and walk on my own was THE MOST PAINFUL EXPERIENCE I have ever felt.

But of course, I WAS GOING TO BREASTFEED...I MUST NOT DEVIATE FROM THE PLAN! My crazy ass was trying to breastfeed within 24 hours of my MAJOR SURGERY. Needless to say, I was in mind-crushing pain and still put breastfeeding ahead of my own well-being. To top it off, my poor baby was crying before, during and after feedings and we didn't know why. I was still determined to breastfeed because BREAST IS BEST, dontcha know?! Two of the four nights I was in the hospital I slept only ONE hour because I was trying my hardest to breastfeed like a "good" mom should. Don't get me wrong...I know parenting is not about getting sleep. But, after major surgery (did I tell you I had a C-section??) you need some rest to recuperate properly.

Finally, one night husby convinced me to feed the baby formula. We had a huge fight, but he won, because his point was that the baby needed to eat and eat comfortably, not while crying and screaming while I was bawling and in pain. I finally gave in and the baby ate peacefully and was content.

One of the saner lactation nurses at the hospital discovered why poor baby wasn't able to breastfeed properly...his frenulum was too short. So, the whole time I was trying and trying, baby simply wasn't getting enough. I mean I even had one two-hour breastfeeding session before I found this out! This nurse told me that the baby could get this frenulum problem fixed. Some doctors even snipped it right in their offices! Convenient and so in line with the breastfeeding Nazi agenda, right?

My OB told me to pump breastmilk to supplement the formula and call it a day. Sounds like great advice, right? WRONG! One especially insane lactation Nazi got a crazy look in her eye when I told her I was going to pump. She sounded devasted that I was going to pump. Like I killed her fucking puppy dog or something.

Apparently pumping isn't "real" breastfeeding. Okay, so lemme get this straight. The purpose of breastfeeding is to feed babies breastmilk. When one pumps, one produces breastmilk. WHAT IS THE FUCKING PROBLEM?!?! I ignored her (see, by this time, the confident me was starting to creep back in to my brain and mind) and proceeded to feed my baby formula and expressed breastmilk.

After we arrived home from the hospital, husby went out and rented a pump for me. We decided on a month-to-month rental, but in my mind I told myself I would pump until the baby's frenulum was snipped. About a month after the baby was born, we took him to a oral surgeon for a consultation. He told us he could do the procedure. Great! But, the baby would have to be completely put under. NOT GOOD. The doctor never outright said NOT to do it, but he did tell us that our baby was thriving extremely well on expressed milk and formula and that he rarely ever puts patients under six months old completely under. Well, that was all husby and I had to hear. Our boy was growing and happy. Without "real" breastfeeding...imagine that! Fuck putting him under! If you would do that just to breastfeed, you are motherfucking crazy. There, I said it. You are a crazy, breastfeeding Nazi.

Now, don't get me wrong. I know plenty of breastfeeding moms that are awesome people. They breastfeed and don't judge anyone for not doing it (my dear friends in Langhorne, PA and Yardville, NJ are great examples). They did and do what is best for them and their babies. Those moms are NOT what this entry is about. I'm talking about the rude-ass breastfeeding Nazi bitches that insist on knowing whether or not you breastfeed and then judge you negatively. Like we women don't have enough to worry about!

I do digress. Anyways, so I'm pumping along, feeding the baby. All seems to be going well. And it should be, because when I first got home from the hospital, my wonderful mother stayed and helped out for almost a month post-partum (she came out from Vegas a week before my delivery). Dear husby took time off work, too. So all I had to do was pump and change some diapers and do some bottlefeedings, in between trying to relax so I could heal. Not too hard, right?

WRONG. After my mom left and husby had to go back to work, I was home alone trying to pump, watch the baby, feed the baby, diaper the baby, clean the house, recuperate (C-section, remember?), make meals for myself, etc. I began to HATE pumping. I spent every spare minute I had pumping. It was humiliating to do it. Any woman that says they don't mind pumping are motherfucking lying! YOU ARE LIKE A COW BEING MILKED...IT IS GROSS AND BEYOND TIMECONSUMING. I was supposed to be taking care of a baby AND resting (you know, to recuperate after my C-section) but I never, ever got to rest. Even when my husby would take over some night feedings I had to get up to pump. Then each time I pumped I had to clean all of the pump parts.

Wow, what a "horrible" mother I am. How dare I not love pumping. I mean, BREAST IS BEST...for the love of God, GIVE IT A FUCKING REST. Husby brought the pump back to the rental company after one month. In total, my baby drank breastmilk for about a month and a half, counting the time I pumped in the hospital. I was proud that I was able to give my baby breastmilk for the time I did, so I laid the topic to rest and got over my guilt. The baby and I both put our best foot (or breast in my case) forward and we don't owe anyone any explanations.

Cut to the present time. My baby is now almost three months old. He is thriving...boy, is he thriving! A big, happy baby that sleeps well (day and night), giggles a lot and simply enjoys life. His pediatrician calls him "solid" and I see the baby growing physically and mentally every day. You could put him next to a breastfeeding baby and no one would be able to tell he was drinking that filthy formula stuff. In fact, most people say, wow, healthy baby, he looks very happy! Why, thank you, he is! Biggups to husby and I for that. And I guess the formula must be working quite well, too. Hey, it's not breastmilk and it's not the BEST, but just from looking at him anyone can see how well he is flourishing.

In spite of the baby's apparently healthiness and positive disposition, the first question most women ask me is "ARE YOU BREASTFEEDING?????????????????????????????????????"
No, I say, I did pump for almost two months. Then they get that look on their face like they feel sorry for me and the baby. They also look at me like I am selfish and lazy. Oh yea, you got me girl. I'm just lazy. I don't wanna pump because I wanna go clubbing and dancing. I also wanna attend "How to be a Horrible Mother by Formula Feeding Your Baby" classes in my spare time instead of pumping.

Yesterday, I had a get together where I invited a bunch of my friends and their babies to bbq and chill. I couldn't wait to see one of my friend's babies. She delivered five days before me, so I never got to chance to see her baby girl yet. Now, she had I had talked about breastfeeding before and we both ended up doing the same thing. Breastfeeding, then pumping and formula, then 100% formula. I felt comfortable talking with her about breastfeeding and feeding in general because she genuinely cares for me and my family. Also, she did not judge me and nor I her. She's definitely not a breastfeeding Nazi. I know what kind of moms she and I are...I know we both tried our asses off to breastfeed and/or pump. We are FAR from lazy, I can tell you that!

So at this event, I was feeling great. I was hanging out with friends, enjoying the beautiful weather and even drinking some of those fruity alcoholic drinks. Life is good...until BREASTFEEDING NAZI came and rained on my parade. This is what happened. One of my other close girlfriends asked if I was breastfeeding and I did not mind answering her because she was my girl. Seconds after I answered "no, but I pumped for about a month and a half" the Bf Nazi rolls her eyes and scoffs "ONLY a month and a half? I breastfed for six months." Okaaaayyyy....and so what??? I was LIVID, PISSED OFF, on the verge of MURDA, because I KNEW how hard the baby and I tried. We tried to make it work, but what is best for our situation (I say our, because it wasn't just me involved) is formula.

Where was this bitch when I was moaning in post-op pain, trying desperately to breastfeed my newborn? Was SHE helping me clean my house and fold my laundry when I was home? Was SHE cleaning my pump accessories? HELL TO THE NO.

I remained classy and didn't snap back. I wanted to crack her neck and kick her right in the bandonkadonk. What a classless and ignorant comment.

I came home and vented to my husby. I was so angry, that I restarted this Hatewatchers blog that you are reading right now. I just had to get this incident off my chest! I want to speak up for myself and all other mothers out there that are formula feeding and/or "only" pumping. We have rights, too!

Moral: The next time you wanna ask a women if she's breastfeeding, think twice. Unless she is a close friend (even then, who cares) or has similar experiences, just leave it be. Why not just ask the mom how she and her partner (if there is one) are doing? Why not just hold the baby and enjoy that time?

Ladies, let's act like ladies and leave our intrusive, possibly-offensive questions and comments at the door.

Note: Please excuse the use of "Nazi" in this blog entry. I did not intend to offend anyone. If I have offended you, I hope you accept my deepest apologies. I am just very, very, very angry at these non-supportive, spiteful women that are so proud of the fact that they breastfeed AND can't wait to rub our poor formula-buying noses in it.

Welcome to Hatewatchers

Hello devoted (well, I hope you become devoted) readers! Welcome back to my blog, Hatewatchers. The URL has changed due to migration from WordPress to Blogger, but yours truly is still gonna bring you the realness. You can still view my previous blog entries at, but please start following this new iteration going forward.

For those of you that have never heard of the term hatewatchers and hatewatching, let me break it down. As a female, A LOT of hate is directed towards me from other females. This is sad because as you already know, females do not wield any real power in the world. Oh yea, sure, I can apply to the very same cubicle-based jobs as men and even get hired for those jobs. And yes, I can vote. And in some states, marry another female. And in other states even, gasp...have the right to choose to have an abortion. Okay, did I scare you away yet? Just keep reading. Anyways, I will admit women have come a long way (just like Virginia Slims tells me!) since back in the day, but we still lag behind in many areas when compared to the lives that men lead.

For example, women are still not paid dollar-for-dollar what men are paid for doing the same jobs. We still get treated like second-class citizens in many subliminal ways as well...and MOSTLY BY OTHER WOMEN. This is where hatewatching comes in. Instead of spending our valuable time relaxing, studying, hanging out with fam and friends, etc., some of us engage in the act of hating. Now, by hating, I don't mean people hate me and wish I would die. I mean women"hate" on me...i.e., treat me badly and say ignorant things to me because they hate their own lives, are jealous of my confidence, had a bad day, etc.

Women, we hold ourselves back when we hate on one another. That's why I've created the idea of hatewatching so we could (okay, I, could) keep us in check and report on all types of hate-based incidents my friends and I have experienced, i.e., I am hatewatching. I also wanted to begin writing again, because since I've become a parent, I've experienced new and even stranger forms of hate and need a constructive outlet to vent.

So, be careful who and how you hate, because I may be there to spill the beans!