Sandwich Ecstasy

J left on a business trip Sunday night and my dogs have been hopeless mopes ever since. I'm told that they did the same thing when I was gone but I didn't have to deal with that so I don't care (actually that isn't true, I was happy they missed me and they can miss him but can we stop wailing by the window like I am beating you with a crowbar please?). J takes care of a few things in the house that I just am unwilling to do. Or hate. OR AM TOO LAZY FOR FINE OK?

So I've been walking the dogs and getting up in the middle of the night to regulate the pug/kitty races on the stairs and tomorrow I will drag the damn trash cans to the curb. BAH. Dude needs to get his ass home. I hate walking the dogs.

My dad took me out to lunch today. Since I've been pregnant I've had a hard time eating. I am not eating enough, I know that is part of what is making me sick, but I am struggling. Nothing sounds or tastes good. Things cause me to retch. Food is complicated and frustrating and I just want to skip it. But the rule is, that if I really want something I must have it right away. RIGHT AWAY. This weekend, while J and I were cleaning the house, I wanted one of those Costco hot dogs with onions and ketchup SO BADLY. I could barely stand it. And J is a sport, so we finished up and went to Costco on a SATURDAY. That is love people. I snorked that thing down and it was so good I CRIED. Just a little. But man, that was the best five minutes I had had in weeks. So today my dad takes me out to lunch and about midnight last night it hits me. I need a fish sandwich from this place at the Market. They make great fish and the bread is fresh and toasted and I am pretty sure coated in lard and their tartar is full of mayo and it is SO GOOD. And I needed that sandwich. So my dad agrees that we can go there (perhaps he was afraid to disagree?) and I am SHAKING with excitement when we order. And when the waiter comes I clap. I could not help myself.

Goddamn that was a good sandwich.

The Only One

J and I are going to have just one child.

I am amazed how many people are appalled by this. Actually I am shocked that people feel the right to have an opinion on it at all. Which is why I tell people shit because meh, no one is ever happy. But if it comes up people just freak out if you say you are just having one. It is only vaguely acceptable if you are like forty, but if you are young like us, having one child is a crime against nature or something.

I am actually not against having two--I think most people imagine the family they grew up in as being normal. But I am not sure. J is positive he doesn't want two. And I do think that every child has the right to be wanted. There is no point in having one that the father doesn't want if it can be avoided.

I know many people who are close to their siblings, where their sister or brother is their best friend. And I do think that it is a relationship that cannot be recreated in any other way. But there are no guarantees. My mother barely speaks to her brother. My father can only handle his sister in small doses. My sister and I have had stages when we were close and stages when we were not. I think we are currently working towards closeness. What I mean is, that blood relationship means shit if the two people can't get on. I don't think having a sibling means you won't grow up to be lonely or a psychopath.

If it were that easy to insulate your child I would totally do it.

J has a welfare child's fear of poverty. And he is desperate to never have more kids than he can afford. Which is admirable and practical. And while I think he is silly to think we cannot afford two children (I mean we can't afford them today but I think someday we would be alright) I can't really discount that we could do a lot more for one than we could two. College and sports and medical care--those things cost money. And you can only stretch money so far. And I think a lot of people who grow up poor have a real urge to give their kids the best of everything. I will try to pull him back from that but I can't pretend that he is wrong.

There is also that if you only have one you outnumber the kid. That is a powerful position. And given the whole vomity Epstein-Barr episode of the last six weeks, I am not really eager beavering to give pregnancy another whirl.

But honestly, people act as if we have announced that we are planning to raise our child to be an axe murderer. I do know some lovely only children you know.

We could change our minds, stranger things have happened. But really, the way people push the multi-child agenda it makes me think one is the way to go. It feels like a bait and switch really. Like they will lure us in with angel baby and then number two will be a whirling dervish of destruction and mayhem.

Home Sweet Home

I am here to say that a business trip in the middle of summer to New York while you are barfy pregnant is just as delightful as you might imagine.

It went ok, all things considered. I just barely managed all the social obligations of the trip but did fine with the professional ones. I walked all over NY to find the Yankees Clubhouse Store so that I could buy J presents (including an outfit for the freeloader, who we have decided will be a 49er fan, a Penguins fan, a Cubs fan and a Yankees fan at least until he/she can talk). I schmoozed and I raked people over the coals. I managed not to smack people who got too personal. And in the middle of this my belly got er LARGER. To the point that when I got back Thursday, J was determined not to mention it but I let him off the hook and he was like yeah you look PREGNANT now.

NY is a weird place to me. Not nearly as exciting as people want you to believe. New Yorkers will always talk about the energy of the place but really, there are just a lot of people there. People who think where they live is the center of the fucking universe so I think the energy they are speaking of is just arrogance and narcissism.

I did have room service for the first time in my life (room service being one of many things my father tainted for me because they are a rip off). I was sick enough Wednesday (Zofran, not really wonder drugging it for me right now ALAS) that I bailed on my final dinner (which was not a business dinner or I would have toughed it out) and ordered in and watched the Cubs game. And passed out at like 9:30 (what I had an early flight). I am a WILD WOMAN.

I did sort of enjoy the room service bit. Even if a sandwich and fruit was FORTY FUCKING DOLLARS. I wasn't paying. And they brought the whole linen table cloth, multiple forks, silver domed trays extravaganza to my room like I was fancy or something.

During my trip I had people ask me about my sex life, offer to take me to a strip club, not understand why pregnant women cannot do shots and was paid to look at a guy in very small underwear. I also saw the Versace store, found out it is very true you can't get a cab when it rains and met a Little Person nun.

I am still exhausted and grateful to be home.

NY, NY

This week is the busiest week of the year for me professionally. We have a giant work event, which had me out of the office for the end of Thursday and all of Friday. Then I flew to New York yesterday to be in meetings all damn week. This is exhausting under the best of circumstances but pregnant. I got in last night, not even that late and it was all I could do to lay in my bed eating snacks and watching crappy hotel cable.

J was a peach (AGAIN--how does he keep this up) and went and got Harry Potter for me at midnight Friday. So that I could read it on my flight. I have to say I devoured that book. I was sort of dreading it, because it was the end and I was so worried she wouldn't finish it properly. But it was such an action packed book (NO SPOILERS DO NOT WORRY) and, at least for me, was a satisfying end. I finished it in record time (crying, so much crying) and re-read the end to make sure.

That book was the only thing that got me through the flight as I was hot and cold at the same time, sitting in front of this very annoying woman who was nattering about freezing bass in water to prevent freezer burn for TWO HOURS and I was starving, despite my snacks.

And then my suitcase was the last one off, which made the chimes of DOOM DOOM DOOM ring in my head because I had packed all the paper for my meetings in my suitcase (so much paper and it is so very heavy). Also, I can imagine trying to find business clothes to fit my weird body would be really difficult. Even in NY. I finally get my bag, get to my hotel and there is drama about my corporate card at the desk and BLECH. I've had computer problems and a really creepy guy follow me for blocks and had crappy french toast for breakfast this morning.

On the plus side, when I booked my room I was supposed to share it with some one else. And she ended up not making the trip. But we booked the upgrade room in hopes it would be larger thinking we would need extra space. And it is fancy. I have a couch and a cordless phone (plus a desk phone and a phone in the bathroom) which is hilarious because this is New York it's not like it's a big room. And it's separated from the hallway with an extra door. And the left me treats so I think the staff thinks I am much fancier than I am. Which is fine, bring up more of those pralines please! But don't charge me because they are already being weird about my card!

Also, I forgot the card that lets me log into our system when I am not on the network. It's on my key chain at the fucking valet is SEATTLE. We are telling NO ONE this as I have figured something out. And it makes me look rather unprofessional and stupid. I blame the pregnancy brain though. . .eh it's probably just me being stupid.

We're telling NO ONE.

Tonight the business starts with dinners and BLAH. But maybe some one will get me something delicious.

He Is Just a Champ

As much as I adore J I often forget or overlook or whatever don't appreciate him properly. He really has been a champ about this whole pregnancy nonsense. I have been a wee bit needy, weepy and vomity and just sort of a mess.

So here is a list of lovely things that J has done in the last couple of months that have earned him thousands of pounds of goodwill and I probably owe him eighty-four thousand blow jobs (which lets face it I probably will not allow him to cash in well EVER). It's a pretty long list and I need to have it recorded so the next time he ruins one of the LAST TOPS THAT I HAVE THAT FITS ME WELL I will not overreact and shove his face into the garbage disposal.

1. Made sympathetic noises while I barf (discounting that time that he callously watched me puke into the garbage disposal).

2. Let me sleep in every possible day, never making me get up to take the dogs out.

3. Listened to every rant I have had about the maternity wear industrial complex, the scary princess conspiracy and WHY ARE PEOPLE SO JUDGEY ABOUT ME NOT BUYING ORGANIC.

4. Kept buying different kinds of cereal in case one became magical and stopped the pukey.

5. Badgered the doctor into giving me meds for the puking and then bullied me into filling said prescription.

6. Bought me a new laptop (well not NEW NEW but new to me) for very little money and then set it up so it's all lovely and shiny.

7. Bought me ice cream on demand.

8. Slept in the guest room on hot nights as to not make me all sweaty. Also easier access for night peeing.

9. He has done all the laundry and dishes for more than a month.

10. No complaining about #9.

I'll hate him soon, but at the moment I think he is just dreamy.

Well except that he is losing all this weight and getting buff and making many many jokes about porking old girlfriends at his high school reunion that I am not going to and am frankly am too insecure and immature for at the moment.

BLISSFUL

I won't torture y'all with my poem about Zofran--the wonder drug that has changed my fucking world. I threw up every day at least once for two weeks. I feel nauseated every second of every day for longer than that. Imagine being carsick for 14 days straight and tell me how chipper you would be. My doctor prescribed a drug, which worked somewhat, but all it meant is that every time I felt sick I was definitely puking.

Zofran just takes that away. It's a million dollars and god bless my OB's office who stalked my insurance company (unbeknownst to me, I had no idea that they were even trying) and made this happen. But Zofran makes you feel normal. Oh y'all, that squeal of rapture you just heard is every pregnant woman in America imagining that shit. This is totally worth the fleeting, but still there, fear that my kid is going to have to go through school with the nickname Flipper. Kids can be so cruel to those with fins instead of left hands.

Don't get me wrong, the other symptoms are still around. I am not my normal self. But for the first time I am not reduced to tears at thinking about the fact that if everything goes well I will be pregnant at least 26 more weeks. That is a long fucking time y'all.

In other news I can no longer suck it in. As an American woman I learned to suck in my stomach at like twelve years old. My stomach is flat(tish) normally but I can make it perfect if necessary. Well, correction, I could do that, because those days are over. It stubbornly pooches out and is hard as a goddamn rock. It's not baby at this stage (though my book helpfully mentions that by next week the baby will be the size of a mouse, thank you people who do not realize how fucking terrified I am of mice and now one is MY BABY?) but gas and fluid and god knows what else. I caved an bought maternity clothes. Because when I lost weight a couple of summers ago I made the decision never to run around in gaping waists again and had everything tailored down. So I am down to one pair of pants that button and I doubt they will button by the end of my business trip in a couple of weeks.

Maternity clothes are a fucking racket. Because the ones I bought were cuter and nicer than most I have seen around (and not much more expensive because DAMN everything costs a million dollars) and they will work. But I would never pay that much for that quality for regular clothes. In my next life I am becoming a maternity designer.

I am slogging through it all, during the busiest time of the year work wise, getting ready for my trip and watching my stomach in HORROR.

But I am not puking daily anymore (this could stop tomorrow in which case we will be back to all woe all the time) and it is BLISS.

Fucking Failure

I am filled with all kinds of angst today, angst that is probably brought on by equal parts hormones and fatigue and phlegm dripping down my throat. I am so tired that I feel every single bone in my body, each one, down to the last distal philange. I felt dizzy this morning and went to lay in the office cot room--thinking I would be ten minutes and feel fine. I stumbled upstairs after a forty minute nap. After lunch I had a brief black out and my desk. Like some sort of drunken sorority girl.

Being pregnant is hard. And since I don't look pregnant (except to me because I am huge y'all but everyone else just thinks I am fat) I don't think people understand. I think until a woman looks like a characterature, until she is a fucking cartoon, people assume she is normal. But there is a dreadful cocktail in my body that demands that I eat while making me projectile vomit--get carsick for a couple of months straight and see how chipper you are.

I already feel the working mom stress. And there is no kid. Because I can tell my boss thinks less of me. Maybe I am imagining it. But she was like "You better not throw up while we are in NY," oh well since you SAY SO. I just enjoy it so I haven't been able to help myself. I don't want to lose my job or have people think that I am unprofessional because I am pregnant. But I can't pretend that I am at my peak of work performance. I am getting things done but it is hard. I maintain it's no different than when people are sick or have personal issues that need dealing with outside of work but I know it feels different. I don't want to be the girl that sets back feminism thirty years because she gets a little woozy in the afternoons and has to go home.

I desperately do not want next week to happen. It is an intense, on your feet work event, followed by a cross-country flight and then meeting after meeting with dinners late into the evening. It is an opportunity to network and really get a lot of things accomplished and to shine professionally. I made great impressions last trip. This trip I am pretty sure I am going to come off stupid. And I hate that. I hate feeling less than capable. But what can I do? I am truly doing everything that I can.

And it's just not good enough.

Morality From Uncle Chris?

Since I just cannot stop puking my doctor prescribed another damn medication. Which my insurance refuses to cover. And it is 1300 hundred dollars.

So I guess I will keep vomiting.

One thing cheered me up. Uncle Chris spent most of last month in Chicago and bought out the Wrigleyville store for me. He sent some awesome t-shirts for me, a pink hat (which was a lovely and thoughtful idea even if I RAIL against the pink sporting goods industrial complex), and a onsie for what he termed the player to be named later.

He doesn't like people to know he is a nice guy but he is awesome.

I offered to lie to whatever hootch he is trying to bend over a bar this week but he said no need.

I am confused by this display of morals.

Dreaming

Last week I had a forty-eight hour period when I threw up every single thing I ate or drank. So J nagged me into getting some anti-nausea medication.

Which doesn't actually work. Ok, it does a little, I don't currently want to die, but I still throw up and I still feel nauseated so I am not sure that was worth my ten dollar copay plus my kid possibly having a fin.

I have officially tried everything and the nurse recommended no longer drinking water, stop taking my vitamin and sacrificing a virgin at midnight. But who knows any virgins in this day and age?

So mainly I am just lying around, eating tiny snacks in small slow bites and waiting for these fucking weeks to past. While trying to manage during one of my busiest times at work.

I haven't actually thrown up on my boss or anything though.

In other news J is getting in shape. Part of me applauds this decision as men in his family have a nasty habit of dropping dead awfully young. The other part of me resents him trying to look all foxy while I am just trying to find pants that button. He has big plans to get cut arms and email them to my friend L in hopes that I don't know, that she will pass out in ecstasy?

A guy can dream.

Holiday Week

Because I am a fool, and (in my defense) because summer doesn't start in Seattle until July 5, I neglected to wear sunscreen to J's Fourth of July softball game. I roasted myself like a red pepper and well, it's just sad seeing as I got more burned than I did in Hawaii. Then we came home and ate summer sausage with cheese and crackers and a lot of steak. Apparently, one does not celebrate our great nation with vegetables.

Only meat.

J had invited some people over and though they said they were coming many fewer actually showed. This is why I do not have a ton of friends. If people did that to me I would be crushed and angry and take it personally (I mean there are legit reasons that this could happen of course). J shrugs this off and thinks nothing of it.

I am not really sure who is the higher evolved person. I am certain that his friends have worse manners than baboons.

There were about seven people total at my office all week which led me to have record breaking productivity. I had many things to get done, which my main reason for not "wasting" my vacation days, I did none of them. Which since I am leaving on a big business trip in two weeks means that I am a moron.

But a moron with MANNERS.

Take What You Can Get And Run Like Hell

Y'all I learned a very important lesson today.

It is possible to barf up an entire hot fudge sundae into a ziplock baggie while driving a car sixty miles an hour on the freeway.

And no one died.

While I am naturally sad that I wasted perfectly good ice cream (which my friend L got for me because she RULES, she also told me today that I don't look that bad--those two things were the best things that happened to me today), I did get something out of it. Ziplocks work really well for on the go barfing--you can shove most of your face in there (I did get a drop or two on my pants but I think if I hadn't been driving the car and trying not to crash this wouldn't have been an issue) and then zip it up when you are done so you don't have to smell that curdled milk smell all the way home.

I am totally putting some empties in my purse. Since the one I used this time was full of wheat thins (I was totally debating in my head where I could put said wheat thins and then DECISION MADE), hot fudge puke plus wheat thins smells and looks pretty horrible. If y'all couldn't figure that out on your own.

Then I came home and took a nap.

I am eternally grateful that I was not on the bus when this happened. And also that I had the baggie. Also, that I didn't crash. I am pretty sure some people in the car pool lane were staring at me but it's not like I have dignity at this point so stare away.

Grossest thing? Was immediately starving, the gut wrenchingly starving but the only I had were those wheat thins and fuck I wasn't eating those.

Best thing? For ten minutes I felt normal. I didn't feel sick, I had energy, I was singing with the radio. I had this flash of this is how I used to feel, this is what happy feels like. I mean it was gone right after but still ten minutes of happy. I'll take what I can get.

Because Nine Hours Of Sleep Is Not Enough

In the past couple of days I have watched J lose two softball games (and obsess about the first one enough that I HATE the guys that played in that outfield that game because LORD catch the BALL! My husband has been mumbling about that shit in his sleep ever since and I hate you!). I kept score both games so perhaps I am bad luck? Twice today I had to rush the bathroom to barf and that sucked. And now I do not even feel better after I throw up. J's plan to have just one baby is looking better and better.

In happier news I have a new niece! My sister got a puppy this weekend and I am so excited. I just love puppies and that puppy smell. I do not love puppy shit in crates and trying to get puppies to walk on leashes. When I think about that I look at my greying dogs and am so glad that they just want to lay in this bed all the time.

I have never been so tired in my life y'all. According the the internets the Spawn lost it's tail this week and maybe now! it will stop wearing my ass out so much? I am sorry to be so worthless y'all. It's all I can do to stay awake.

How Many Days Until The Next Trimester?

Thanks y'all, for all the kind words and happy thoughts. I should have known the internets would come through for us.

One of the sad truths is that even if you are married and happy and of appropriate age not everyone will respond the way you want to when you announce that you are pregnant.

I think in our case, it is mostly worry that colors people's reactions. But in others, it is a sanctimonious thing that irritates the fuck out of me. See a lot of people ask, "Did you take the drugs?" And there is this snide tone, once I say no, actually we were supposed to start this month. Because they are saying See? You just needed to relax. You didn't need interventions, babies happen when they happen.

I don't know why people want to argue this point. It took us almost three years to get pregnant the first time. Medical experts say that women my age should see a doctor after a year. Give me a fucking break alright? If you don't like the drugs, well I actually don't understand that. I think the media and their coverage of sixty year old mothers and high multiples distort what people think about reproductive assistance. A lot of couples get this help and the methods are safe. It can put you through the ringer but so can supposedly well meaning friends and family who suggest you just pray more and that if it is meant to be it will happen.

I suppose I could pray if I get strep throat too, or I could take anti-biotics. I think God created people smart enough to invent such things so that we could all benefit but you know I could be wrong.

Sorry, I am just crabby as hell. I am so afraid that I am going to lose this baby. To an irrational degree. Then I am afraid that I won't but will be a terrible mother or won't be able to cope or something else. There is a lot to worry about. And mildly assuring is the unstopping gagging and nausea that is kicking my ass. It's re-assuring because well, the baby is probably growing with all the torturing me and all. But it is hard to feel grateful when you spent the day at work trying to gag quietly so your co-workers won't hear.

I don't think I was entirely successful.

There are full body gags, the kind that sound like some one is stepping on my throat and my head gets thrown back and lord. It is just not ok. I have to keep full but I don't want to eat. At all. I hate eating. Nothing tastes good and many things make me gag and I don't feel hungry but I know that I am. The one time in your life as an American woman you are allowed to eat (though not guilt free because GOD people want to give babies their food issues in the womb now) and I am totally not enjoying on moment.

News

Oh Internets, I have been holding out on you like a uptight virgin on prom night. I've wanted to give it up but WHAT WILL PEOPLE SAY?

I haven't been able to write here, because every single thing that is interesting or funny that has happened to me in weeks has to do with this thing that I weirdly couldn't talk about or wouldn't talk about and GAH. I am sorry. I do weird things sometimes.

I'm eight weeks pregnant.

I learned last time that you have to tell the people in your life that would have to know about a loss about the pregnancy. Because the day I had to tell my boss about my miscarriage, well it was awful in a way that I cannot even describe. So I have known for a month about this and have managed not to blurt it out to you.

I don't know why I chose this way.

Actually I do. Because I thought it would be better this way. I wanted to be eight weeks along and have seen a heartbeat on an ultrasound before saying a word to the Internets (also make sure that I had told everyone that needed to know first because you know, if you can't tell your mother about your pregnancy then it's probably bad to tell total strangers).

I knew right away and it would have been so much easier if I hadn't. First, I had a rapturous, almost sexual dream about a sausage McMuffin with extra cheese. I don't ever dream about food, in fact the only food dream I ever had when I wasn't pregnant was when I was seven and dreamt about drowning in the cream filling from a Twinkie. It was a nightmare brought on by my dad trying to force me to eat one (for some reason I didn't like them and my dad thought this was a sign that I was a defective child and tried to cram it in my mouth--which sounds violent but wasn't more teasing but still kind of a weird thing to do I admit). The McMuffin dream was followed by a day where I had a crashing hormone headache that was identical to one I had with my first pregnancy. So even though it seemed impossible and J made so much fun of me I just knew I was.

And I tested. And it was positive. And I was happy for about ten minutes and then started freaking out. Which was not helped at all by the fact that J was pretending that it wasn't happening. I don't know if he was just in denial or trying to prepare me for the worst but I hated him for about a week because I couldn't not think about it and couldn't tell anyone (except you know I told L) and he wouldn't talk about it with me.

The best thing I did was tell my mother who was unreservedly happy. She just doesn't think in terms of the negative. And I needed that permission to be happy. By this time we had had a couple of betas with good growing numbers and I was marginally reassured. My mom being happy has made this experience bearable.

Last week we had an ultrasound and I could barely talk to the tech before we saw the heartbeat. Even though I was living in a mess of fatigue and nausea I was still convinced that nothing would be there. Once there was a heartbeat I felt like I could breathe.

I actually felt fantastic. Sick as a dog but I felt safe. Nothing is ever certain but this felt good.

Then Zoot miscarried. And my friend that was a couple of weeks ahead of me miscarried last night. And I am terrified. It just feels like the chimes of doom are closing in. Failure is an option, I have definitely learned that before.

I do not know how to be this person. Who goes to bed at a second grade bed time, who has to eat protein every few hours or DIE, who cannot help but be afraid of the worst every day. My pants barely button (thanks to having tailored all the waists in my pants last summer) but I worry about jinxing myself with maternity clothes. Even though I have a business trip next month and it's clear my clothes won't fit. I don't know how to be this person, but I guess I am learning every day.

Two Kids From Minnesota

I do not feel the amount of shame about DVRing the finale of Beverly Hills, 90210 when it played on Soap Net this weekend.

I didn't watch the last couple of seasons of the show but really enjoyed the finale when it first aired. Looking back, I enjoyed it for all the wrong reasons because it didn't really hold up so well but is awesome in some very fucked up ways.

One, I just love how it seems like the writers realized like two episodes away from the finale that they needed to wrap shit up and SOMEHOW Kelly and Dylan needed to get together. So they go through some fairly elaborate and really stupid mechanics to make that happen. Including her now ex-boyfriend realizing that she and Dylan belong together because they did the same readings at Donna's wedding that every damn bride in the world uses. If that is the requirement than I am pretty sure I have to divorce J and marry the best man from my best friend's wedding a few years ago--even though she is no longer with the groom.

Two, the wedding is just so damn tacky. Donna's breasts are freakishly round and damn Tori Spelling has a lot of money why do her implants look like shit? And why did she pay for veneers that make her look like a fucking beaver? The bridesmaids dresses are the same ones that we wore for the above mentioned wedding. And while they were oppressively expensive for me at the time (almost three hundred dollars before alterations) they weren't like SO high end like you would expect from a Beverly Hills designer DONNA. Also, while they are very nice for bridesmaids dresses I was pleased to note that they made those girls look oddly pudgy in the belly and have pointy boob syndrome. If Kelly Taylor looks knocked up in a dress than I can feel better about her wedding pictures.

Three, who the fuck did Brian Austen Green's makeup in this episode? The two of them are crying way more than is appropriate for normal people (and also, their claim that they have been in love since they were ten? didn't they hate each other in the beginning? or at least she thought he was a putz and he wanted to bone his future stepsister?). And the makeup artist has rimmed his eyes in red, I think to make those tears look real. But he looks like he has pink eye and does coke. And why the hell didn't he shave? He doesn't look rugged and manly he just looks like he forgot he was getting married. Like Donna Martin would put up with that shit.

It's still awesome because they brought back some terrible characters and AHN-drea but didn't bother with that twat Gina. Sadly, no Brenda. I know that everyone hated her on set but seriously, wouldn't that have made the finale?

I fucking love that we get Soap Net now. I DVRed the pilot (since they just start the show over now).

Dream Girl

Oh y'all, I am sorry about the crabby. Though I found out later that Paris Hilton is 26 years old. When I was 26 I had been married four years, bought a house with money I earned my ownself, was in the process of selling that house and buying another and generally got myself dressed in the morning on my own. So the comments about her just being a child make me want to tear my hair out.

But I am over. Truly.

I feel as though I did not sleep at all last night, because I had a bizarre dream. I know other people's dreams are boring as hell but this is my blog and I will bore y'all if I want to. I was at this strange zoo with my track team (of all the unbelievable things in this dream this struck me as the most unbelievable--that I would ever be on a TRACK TEAM), we were involved in some sort of race through the zoo. But this zoo was dark and stormy and was full of angry animals who were not very well contained. As in a grizzly bear scratched the hell out of me and these (oddly tiny) elephants chased after us with weird hoods containing their tusks and trunks but were free to trample us with no impediment whatsoever. Through the whole dream I was like, "I am the slowest person on the team and am going to die."

This is not exactly a brilliant observation because the only two slower people on the planet are my mother and grandmother. And my grandmother is in her eighties.

I woke up totally exhausted (I had been fleeing angry elephants all damn night) and have not since recovered.

It's not even eight yet but since my Cubs just beat the Mariners I think it's time to toddle off to bed.

Such an old lady.

Pissed Off For No Reason

I am too lazy to look it up but J sent me this oh so sanctimonious article by Jamie Lee Curtis about how Paris Hilton should make us all realize what terrible mothers everyone is! Because that is what our culture needs! More blame for moms!

Can I just say that Paris Hilton is 23 years old (or something) and is not a "child" the way some media coverage makes it out to be? That she is spoiled and irresponsible or whatever and that is a shame but she will probably grow up and who the fuck cares? And if you want to blame her mother why not blame her father too or can even JAMIE LEE CURTIS not pretend that we are not a society of sexist assholes?

DAMN I am crabby today.

Had the saddest excuse for a weekend ever as J was out golfing until 11 on Friday night (I KNOW! Yes, they went for drinks after but still! 11!) and then we celebrated my mom's birthday Saturday (actually lovely, though J celebrated by having to buy new tires for my car because I have been getting a weekly flat for months now). Sunday he played softball all day long and I laid on the bed and napped. Pathetic.

J is actually late again tonight. Given my current mood he may be hobbled.

Law Abiding Citizen

My car license tabs are expired. Since we bought my car used they don't expire during the month of either of our birthdays like it is supposed to and we always forget. Literally, ever year we have forgotten.

This came into my head AGAIN when I got to the park and ride tonight and a county sheriff was sitting in his car along side mine.

Once I saw him I became convinced that he was waiting for me, waiting for me to get into the car and pull out so he could pull me over for driving with expired tabs. I even looked through the glove box to make sure I had the current insurance card (though what I thought I would do if I didn't I don't know--fly home?). I was worked up into HYSTERICS over this. All flushed and worried about how we would pay what would surely be an exhorbant fine. And when I pulled out I had this rush of shit to the heart, like the WORLD WAS ENDING. But of course the dude didn't budge, he was probably waiting to pick up his wife from her commute or something. Police do not wait in parking lots to pull you over for tab tickets.

This is the assurance all of you have that I will never rob a bank. Because I am exactly this kind of person. Certain I will get caught instantly for any little thing. That's why I always did my homework on time, obey speed limits and in general act like a fucking freak.

I'm still a little nervous about driving again tomorrow.

Do Not Touch My Hair Fucker

There was some sort of Ultimate Fighting thing happening at the Event Center tonight and the street outside was like a Frat Boy Factory exploded. The line of assholes outside of bars was thousands deep it looked like. Since J wanted me to walk up and meet him and some friends at a bar I had to walk the gauntlet. I plugged into the IPod in an attempt to insulate myself from the crazy.

It didn't really work.

I think most women have had the experience of men screeching at them on the street. This had nothing to do with me, I was literally the only woman on the street. The shouted and hooted and lord men are ridiculous. Some attempted to be nice but I was tired, my feet were swollen and strange men in backwards ballcaps are trying to bone me in the bathroom of a bar advertising Bladder Buster Night.

At the bar we had the world's worst waitress. Maybe it was her first night or maybe the girl just kept making a living because she was hot and the guys tip her well anyway. She was nice but I ordered a diet coke when I got there and an hour later I still didn't have it. I left J there, it was hot and I was just wiped. I told him I would pick him up because fuck. I have a twelve pack of diet coke at home.

Sometimes I just don't have the energy to deal with shit. Walking back to the car (feet BURSTING OUT OF MY SHOES) a guy reached out and touched my hair. Fucking touched the hair of a total stranger. I just snapped my head over and stared at him, he sort of backed away slowly from me. At least I can make a guy's balls shrivel.

The Couple That Acts Like Assholes Together Stays Together

We had some moments during our vacation that made me realize, once again, that J is the only man could I have ever married.

The best of those happened the night we went on a dinner cruise. Several of my friends mentioned that while luaus are fun, the dinner cruises are much more mellow and intimate. The dinner cruise serves prime rib and luaus don't so the choice was actually very simple. You would think that I am about to write about holding hands while watching the sunset, or dancing on the boat or looking deeply into each other's eyes. But that would be a different blog, from a different woman who is married to a very different man.

No, the moment I thanked my lucky stars that I met this man and married him despite all logic to the contrary happened before we got on the boat. We were waiting in the sun with all the other couples and J starting laughing to himself. He was almost embarassed to tell me but he should have remembered that this is AB LastName he is talking to and I am a retched retched soul. So he admits that he is picking out all the newlyweds in the crowd. And trying to figure out which ones will be divorced in the first three years.

You can easily pick out the newlyweds in a crowd like that. The men look all mellow but deeply cowed from early marital nagging but lots of sex, the women look smug and have french manicures (I am deeply distrutful of women with french manicures--especially the ones with the damn rhinestones in the center but I understand them for weddings). We spent forty five minutes picking out couples and laying bets. I wish there was a way to figure out if we chose correctly. We totally did though--that girl was orange and looked like she was going to cheat on him on their honeymoon.

Marry a man who shares your interests--even if your interests are being a catty catty bitch.

Especially if your interests are being a catty catty bitch.