I decided to write up a quick post before folks run out of ideas and they make a “Shit Sonia Says” video. I would write a “Shit” post about another group (perhaps “Shit People Say About Those Shit People Say Videos”), but I’m really only qualified to write about myself, because I’m self involved and vain as hell.

So anyway, here you go – Shit Sonia Says:

• “What a dum-dum.”
• “Rad!”
• “Somehow I will find the courage to go on living.”
• “I’m such a shithead.”
• “Why do you hate me?”
• “It’s not a big deal, but …”
• “Spawn.”
• “I saw that on the news … Yes, I mean ‘The Daily Show.”
• “It could be worse.”
• “Duh.”
• “D’oh.”
• “HA!”
• “Wah-wah.”
• “Fact.”
• “I’m not drunk enough for this.”
• “Seriously.”
• “Eek!”
• “Sorry, this is not for Homers.”
• “I need to do more yoga.”
• “There’s a typo on the menu.”
• “I don’t breastfeed my baby because I don’t love him enough.”
• “I read on the gossip sites that …”
• “Weirdo.”
• “That’s from an episode of ‘The Simpsons’.”
• “I was talking to my sister the other day about that.”
• “Stop steaming up my tail!”
• “I would rather sew up my vagina than have sex with Newt Gingrich.” (Shit I’ve actually said to good buddy Kate)
• “I read in my Entertainment Weekly that …”
• “I second that emotion.”
• “Mmmhmmm.” (In a tone similar to the perverted old man on “Family Guy,” even though I don’t watch “Family Guy.” I don’t. I swear! It’s David’s fault!)
• “I saw this thing on Twitter …”
• “If I was going to write a craft blog, I would call it Bitch Craft.” (More shit I have said to Kate)
• “I’m going to do one of those walks to raise money for knocker sickness.”
• “Yeah, so …”

My parents are morning people. They get up freakishly early for no good reason on the weekends. Weird, right? I, however, am not a morning person. I will sleep until 10 a.m. if I can, no matter what time I went to bed the night before. Well, I used to anyway. Apparently, our baby roommate is a morning person, waking up between 5:30 a.m. and 7:30 a.m. every day. Yes, even on the weekends!

Bad baby!

Oh, who am I kidding? I can’t stay mad at face.

Change of subject: Check out the new blog series my coworker Jennifer and I are doing for our company blog. It’s called “Hot Off the Press,” and it features the cool stuff we print. Do me a favor and read it, because our company blog could use the hits. Plus, like I said, there’s cool stuff in there.

I have this fear that they are going to tell me I have cancer, because one time I went to the doctor, and she told me I had cancer. True story. Now, even if I’m going to the doctor for a routine checkup, I get this nervous anxiety before the appointment.

Of course, now when I go to a doctor’s appointment, it’s not necessarily for me. The Spawn has checkups, too, and I am so paranoid that I’m going to pass my doctor anxiety on to him. I worry that the doctor is going to tell me there is something wrong with the boy or worse – that I’m a terrible mother and I’m doing everything wrong. Our last visit didn’t go so well. I practically ran out of Kaiser in tears. This time I came prepared with my secret weapon: Mighty, mighty good man David. He is most excellent at distracting me from my doctor anxiety.

I needed him, too, because the night before the Spawn scratched his head up in his sleep. I trim his nails all the time. We  make him sleep in those little mittens, which he manages to take off. He always finds a way to scratch head and face. So, of course, the day of the doctor’s appointment, he looks like we let a cat sleep on his head.

Calvin is a healthy and happy baby. He weighed in a 16 pounds, 3 ounces, and measured 25.5 inches, which puts him in the 75th percentile. Last time he was in the 90th percentile, so he’s getting to be less of a ginormous baby who may grow up to destroy Tokyo. He got three more shots, and he handled them like a champ.

He has crazy dry skin, though. We need to slather him in Aquaphor. Poor little guy. Still, if dry skin is his only problem then he’s doing pretty good.

"I'm wearing a hat so no one will see all the scratches on my head. Also, I have a terrible mother."

Going to the doctor is crazy stressful, though. That’s why on the way home we stopped at the store and bought a six-pack of Black Butte Porter. Oh beer, you understand me.

I took BART to the Mission and walked to the restaurant because I knew I was going to drink too many mimosas. It is called Brunch DRUNK Love, after all.

Of course, unsurprisingly, I was the first one to arrive. I usually am. I pulled up a chair to the bar.

Bartender: “What can I get you?”

Me: “May I have a mimosa, please?”

Bartender: “Sure thing.”

He brings me my drink.

Me: “Thank you, my good man.”

Apparently, I thought I was talking to my husband and not a bartender in the Mission. Then I glanced up at the muted TV screen, which was playing “Airplane!”

“There’s a sale at Penney’s!”

I think I sat there for about 15 or 20 minutes, sipping a mimosa and laughing out loud at a TV with no sound. I’ve seen “Airplane” a million times, and I don’t need the volume turned up to enjoy it. I must have looked like a complete nut job.

Speaking of me looking like a nut job, while we were waiting for our table, I saw a couple with a baby that is probably about the boy’s age, about four months old. They were trading him back and forth while they had brunch with their friends. I said to Tiff, “I bet if I went over there and asked them if I could hold their baby while they ate, they would say yes. They would let a complete stranger hold their baby if it meant they could have a hot meal together uninterrupted.”

I almost walked over to their table and offered. I had to stop myself.

We’ve all come to realize that she’s the food police, but now she is poking her nose into everyone’s business and must be stopped.

I’m fine with a little office small talk. I can live with that. Unfortunately, she’s not very good at it.

When I was pregnant, she basically called me a huge fat ass every day.

Her: [as she walks by my cube] “You have big baby.”
Me: “Umm, yeah. Thanks?”

That happened every day of my pregnancy. Seriously. I kinda hoped it would stop now that I’m not pregnant anymore, but instead she just stops at my cube every day and looks at my baby photos hanging on the wall.

Her: “You have big baby.”
Me: “Yes. I know.”
Her: “He is like 8 months old now?”
Me: “He’s almost 4 months old.” [For someone who works in the finance department, she is surprisingly bad with numbers.]
Her: “You have big baby.”
Me: [sigh]

Apparently, she’s timing how long we are in the restroom, too. A coworker used the restroom, and when he came out she said, “You were in there for a long time. What were you doing in there?”

The coworker was mortified. I haven’t seen him in a while. I suspect he left the company out of embarrassment. I think he should have responded, “I was taking a huge dump. Happy now?” It might have shut her up.

On Tuesday I kept getting a bloody nose in my cube. Unrelated, I had to leave the office early because our hot water heater was broken, and I needed to meet with a repairman to get it fixed.

Her: “You had a bloody nose yesterday.”
Me: “Yes.”
Her: “Then you left early, right? I noticed you weren’t here. Was it because of your bloody nose?”

I wanted to scream, “Shut up! It’s not your business what I do!”

Me: “Umm, no. I had to go home and meet a repairman to fix my broken hot water heater.”
Her: “Oh.”
Me: “Fascinating, right? Aren’t you glad you asked?”

I don’t want to be rude to her. I’m sure she is a perfectly nice person. I think she’s just terrible at small talk. I’m thinking about trying to bore her into not concerning herself with me or what I do.

Her: “What are you eating, Sonia?”
Me: “It’s a salad. I went to Trader Joe’s yesterday. You know the parking is really terrible at the one closest to me in San Francisco, so I go to the one in Daly City. There is plenty of parking at that one. So, I found a spot right away and parked my car. It’s a Saturn. You know, they don’t make Saturns anymore. True story. So anyway, the spot was kinda far, though, so I had to walk a few minutes to the store. It was kinda cold out. I was thinking, ‘Gosh, I should have worn a warmer jacket.’ I should be wearing a warmer coat, I mean, it’s January, right? So anyway, when I got into the store, I got a cart, and wouldn’t you know it, the cart has a broken wheel, so I had to get another cart.  So, I got another cart, and then I noticed someone else was about to grab the cart I put back so I said, ‘Oh, don’t take that one. It’s got a broken wheel.’ I thought it was a friendly heads up, but the person didn’t thank me. I know, right?! So anyway, I went to the produce section first. I always like to start in the produce section, don’t you? So I got some lettuce and some broccoli and some carrots and some blueberries. I had the blueberries for breakfast. You ever eat a blueberry and it tastes like dirt? I hate when that happens. So anyway, after the produce section I went to the cheese section. I love cheese, don’t you? Cheese is so awesome. I didn’t know what kind of cheese I wanted so I just bought a bunch of different kinds and … Hey, where are you going? I haven’t got to the part where I picked out the salad dressing. Gawd! If you don’t want to know all about my lunch then don’t ask!”

I keep getting nose bleeds today. I’m sure it’s because the heat is on in the office, and it’s really dry. But now everyone at work thinks I’m just sitting in my cube, channeling my inner Ralph Wiggum.

Since the little guy is congested, mighty, mighty good man David bought a humidifier for his bedroom. Specifically, he bought an “adorable” frog humidifier. Seriously, it says “adorable” on the box, see?

I think this is false advertising. There is nothing adorable about this humidifier. See for yourself. This is the view Calvin gets from his crib.

I imagine that every night Calvin is in his crib saying, “Can’t sleep, frog will eat me. Can’t sleep, frog will eat me.”

I’m worried that this frog is going to scar the boy for life. When he gets older he will have an uncontrollable fear of frogs the way most of us are afraid of clowns.

When I drive, I usually listen to the radio, because I’m old timey. I’m not in the car long enough to plug in an iPod or my phone or whatever. I just put the radio on KISS-FM Classic R&B and Soul, and I’m done. That station is usually playing The Time, Prince, Michael Jackson or Rick James, and that’s what I would be listening to on my iPod anyway.

When David’s drives, he listens to CDs, which makes him slightly less old-timey than me.

For some reason, I do most of the driving, so we listen to the radio. But when I was super pregnant David was doing the driving. One day, he put in Herbie Hancock’s’ “Thrust.” It’s pre-”Rockit,” and it’s super funky. Every time we played it, the Spawn started moving around like crazy.

Now, when we are driving somewhere and the Spawn starts fussing we put in this CD and he calms down. It works every time. Spawn’s got the funk!

Congratulations, Mitt. You are the king of the dip shits.

I thought the whole idea of BBC America was that TV viewers in America got to see what’s on the BBC, but every time I check to see what’s on, it’s showing “Battlestar Galactica,” “Star Trek: The Next Generation” or “The X-Files.” Basically, BBC America is Syfy Channel-2 now.

The other day BBC America was showing “Batman” movies … and not the good ones.

And why are all the awesome BBC shows such as “Sherlock” and “Downton Abbey” on PBS? It’s fine that they are. I’m going to watch them. I like PBS. I’m smart, and I wear glasses. But why aren’t these shows on BBC America? “Sherlock” is airing new episodes right now overseas. Why do I have to wait until May for PBS to air them? Shouldn’t/couldn’t BBC America air them now?

And yes, these are the things I worry about now. I could worry myself about the current political climate of this country, but fuck that. This is important.