Cold Stone Hates Pregnant Women Like George Bush Hates Bl… oh, nevermind

First of all, Hi! What an asshole I’ve been by abandoning my blessed place of self expression and reading all of your blogs instead. I’ve stumbled across a few new (to me) blogs that are basically rad-tastic. (Like this one called: Scary Mommy)I also found an incredibly stupid blog and wondered why this person ever even bothered. (I’m not mean enough to post the link… sorry!) It’s sort of like when you find a book that has a great looking cover and then about one chapter in you’ve taken to editing it with your reddest pen. I understand the occasional whoopsie daisy typo. I even understand using the wrong word because you get so excited about a sentence that your brain just goes all words schwords on you and shit gets crazy. (Been here, done this…) But (like most other writers) I’m a little bit of a snob when it comes to the your/you’re debacle which, in recent times, seems to be getting WORSE. Isn’t there a Facebook page explaining all of this? (And by the way, yes! There is!) I’m completely sidetracked right now. I’m coming back, I swear. What I’m trying to say is… pretty page, CRAP writing and not just because the grammar is atrocious but because the posts are just… Okay, I’m rolling my eyes now and moving on to what I really wanted to talk about.

I want to talk about food. More specifically, pregnancy food. Otherwise known as cravings. My aversions are a short list including meat (especially BBQ), nuts and get that fucking pickle out of my face. (Ryan kissed me the other night after eating a pickle and I almost lost my awesome dinner, it was then that I discovered this anti-craving.) Anyvomit, I don’t have any daily cravings so there’s nothing I just have to have every single day in order to function properly. I do, however, have cravings everyday, but it’s always situational and that sucks. I was doing my thing on the internet one day and *everyone* was talking about food. Hot dogs, coleslaw, potato chips… that’s what I wanted. At ten o’clock in the morning. I succeeded with the hot dog and potato chips… but no coleslaw. So now, every time I see a KFC commercial, my brain blocks out the chicken (gag) and hones in on the delicious fluffy coleslaw bouncing off the fork like a kid on a trampoline. It’s torture and what’s more is that this is how my cravings have gone throughout the pregnancy. It’s never something as simple as drive to store, buy craved food, return home happy mommy. (Unless it’s candy which I never ate much of pre-pregnancy and now I apparently want to have a C-section AND a filling.) At any rate, it’s always a Google Map for the right street, wrong zip code if I want to satisfy a craving.

This is my least favorite blunder so far.

Ryan and I were getting gas a couple of weeks ago and I spied with my hungry little eye the most glorious real estate sign ever born to a building…

Back in the day (okay, seven years ago), one of my besties, Kerry, and I would frequent our local dip and smash ice cream parlor for an hour of adult talk and thigh expansion. It was a treat reserved for girl time. Cheesecake is great but Cheesecake Ice Cream? Is better. Cold Stone Creamery has ridiculously great girl food and even though it costs approximately one arm and seven teeth, it’s totally worth it. I moved back to Michigan in 2005 and was thrilled beyond words when I discovered that we too had a Cold Stone Creamery. I still had my frequent fatty card and I was off to the races. I moved away and found a new CSC and everything was good and right with my world. It’s been a while since my last Cold Stone Creation and while I do love ice cream, lately I’ve been on a strict Vanilla kick… Until I saw the Cold Stone sign. So I smacked Ryan in the chest and screamed for him to “LOOK! It’s Cold Stone!” and since my husband is every bit as excited as I am about ice cream and food in general, he was totally game. (and rubbing his chest)

As I made my way across the parking lot, I planned out my Cold Stone Creation. I love the “Our Strawberry Blonde” but then again “Peanut Butter Cup Perfection” has peanut butter on. the. spoon. Also, the Cheesecake Ice Cream is hands down my favorite flavor. Just as I’m putting the finishing touches on my very own creation (waffle bowl, plain please!) we pull up to the front parking space. “Hm. This is Funny.” I thought to myself, “It’s wretchedly hot. I would think at this time of day there would be more people sitting outside enjoying their Cold Stone Creations.” And they would have been, had this particular Cold Stone Creamery not been a complete cock tease and had been OPEN. But no. No and no. They were closed. And not just closed for remodel, or closed for cleaning, or even just closed because the hours were only ten a.m. to four p.m. No, they were closed indefinitely and some evil spirited person who hates pregnant women left the sign on the building. Fuck. Er.

We preggers dash over with our bellies grumbling and mouths watering, our eyes bloodshot with pure delight. We are Cruella discovering one hundred and one silly little puppies. We roll out of the car (No, seriously… we do that. Next time you have to pee, do a sit up and tell me how that works out for you.) and work our way toward what is sure to be an amazing pile of sweet dairy on a spoon. When we arrive we are shaken awake and the dream is dashed. The insurance agency next door is suddenly in serious danger of having a vehicle parked in their main lobby. When they say that pregnancy makes you crazy, they’re not kidding. I have never been so close to a temper tantrum over ice cream in my adult years. I was literally choked up because the ice cream was not going to happen. I drove around the parking lot thinking that perhaps they had moved to a larger location because surely they can’t have been closed down due to bad business! It’s Cold Stone Creamery for crying out loud! But as we drove past the Jimmy John’s and the Lenscrafters and the Michael’s, I finally succumbed to the reality that (the convenient) Cold Stone Creamery was no more.

I found one that’s forty five minutes away and as much as I would like to say that that’s too far for one little craving… it’s not. I would drive until my gas tank was empty and the car sputtered to a halt. But (!!!), if we go to church on Sunday (an hour away) we can just hit up the Cold Stone there. So at least I have options. If I didn’t, I’m pretty sure I’d be the only woman sitting in a jail cell right now considered high risk for more than just my crimes.