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.

His Argument Is That People Can Throw It Away BUT DAMN STOP SENDING IT ARGH ** NOW EDITED

The first day back at work after a time away is always the worst. So many emails and pissy phone calls that are trying to kill the post-vacation buzz. I still want to write about my vacation and ART from Everclear (that concert was ages ago--I shouldn't even write about except to say he is delicious and the concert rocked and I want to lick him--there no entry needed) but dude.


***Y'all I bitched J out for telling (an admittedly much more detailed version with my name and all) of this story to people at his work (very paranoid about being fired) so even though I never had the details posted here it is hard to have the moral high ground when you have told the internet the (highly edited) version of the story.

For those late to the party. I hate people.

Vacation Over

We got back Saturday. That fucking trip takes ages. Especially since we had to detour through Honolulu. At his core, J is a loner. He is a very extroverted personality, but dude prefers to be either in a big group or alone (in our sixth year of marriage I have finally figured out that when he invites other people on our romantic dinners alone it is not because he hates me) and I did wonder how that was going to work on a trip with us alone. I prefer small groups, just the two of us works great for me but I think he was tired of me pretty fast.

I surprised myself by being pretty social on this trip. I was downright friendly. I met people on the plane, I was friendly in the pool, at meals, on our evening cruise. I was practically a social butterfly. That being said J was just OVER being with people all the time.

On our flight home there were half a dozen infants. Two of which were screaming behind us for most of the first hour. This is when I figured out that I am just more patient than J with babies and such. He just thought it was unreasonable that these people had the babies on the flight in the first place. I just think that by bitching about that you are just guaranteeing that we will have a screaming brat of a child who will embarrass us on a flight somewhere. I don't think I would ever take my kid on such a long flight but damn I don't know that. There are circumstances where I might. And besides I know that whatever kid I end up with will have their fucking moments.

We got home early Sunday morning (like 1 am) and I spent most of Sunday sick as a dog. Today we just laid around like vegetables and slacked off. I had crazy dreams about missing school exams and having bronchitis. I think my body is missing vacation. But who wouldn't miss that view.

Peeling

My parents didn't really believe in sunscreen. I am sure that they put it on us at some point in my childhood but I don't remember. And I know they never reapplied. I am fairly certain my dad has never worn it and my mom only became a believer after a particular trip to Florida where we all looked like we'd been dipped in cherry flavoring. My sister had a red front that flaked painfully and a white back after a nap by the pool.



When I was a kid we just gradually tanned and occasionally burned. Noxema smells like summer to me because I would absolutely be coated in the shit (plus aloe gel) from May to September. I wore t-shirts in pools. I took piping hot showers after long days in the sun to take the heat out of my skin.

Of course none of this explains how I still got scalded this week enough that I am now fucking peeling.

Drunken Blogging and I AM AN ASSHOLE

Before we left our friend said to skip the luau and go on a dinner cruise. Good call. Even better was luck to get paired with a fun assed couple. Once they announced that they were 49er fans well the whole boat was ready to kick our asses. They were a delightful couple and we all ate and drank like pigs. AWESOME.

Josh Hancock's father lost my sympathy today. WTF asshole? I know you are grieving. But your son was drunk, high, speeding and on the fucking phone. He plowed into a tow truck and killed himself. You can be sad, you should be sad. That is a fucking waste. What it is not, is anyone's fault but his. Take your lawsuits and shut the fuck up you tool. Seriously.

Since I have also insulted a deaf person this week I am pretty sure I am the worst person in the world. Might as well tell off a grieving father too.

God I love vacation.

Hubris SWEET HUBRIS

Meh. I shouldn't have bragged about my lack of sunburn. Because I got a little toasted yesterday golfing. Like how I slipped that in? How I golfed and finished just over par on a gorgeous course? I didn't actually golf. I just drove the cart (fancy cart with GPS and electronic scoring and maps and shit) and burned the fuck out of my left shoulder.

This sunburn doesn't even make my top ten worst or anything but still. Hubris isn't that sweet when it is me y'all.

Today we have no plans. I am not convinced that J will ever wake up since I have been up for HOURS and he is still snoozing. But he did golf for eighty-seven years yesterday in the heat and I suppose he deserves a little lie-in. Our lack of plans would normally lead to a morning at the beach but given my current skin issues that might be a dumbass thing to do. Which probably means we'll do it anyway. BRILLIANT.

My biggest goal for the day is to not shower three times. That is the minumum I have showered each day since we got here and frankly it is ridiculous. But I do not know how else you are supposed to deal with salt and sand and chlorine and GOD KNOWS WHAT ELSE.

So two showers tops today. Big goals.

No Place to Be

So far the Neutrogena sunscreen spray has rocked my world. I cannot tell you how many people lectured me about sun protection before we left--which shocked me because y'all I have been ghostly fucking white my entire life. I do know about sunscreen. With skin like mine you either use it or burst into flames. So thanks for the lecture folks. I had planned to get a little more tan before arriving--as it is much easier to protect slightly tan skin. But things conspired to keep me out of the tanning coffin and so I am relying on the spray.

I have just the lightest dusting of pink on my shoulder and that is damn good. Especially since I have not seen any pale people since we got here. Locals are clearly not afraid of skin cancer. And tourists are all shades of fuchsia.

I took three showers yesterday as I am a big princess about my hair and have to wash salt and chlorine out immediately. I am fairly certain it will be bleached white when we leave but I am doing my best.

I am also leading the AB Family cribbage tournament of Hawaii. That is all you need to know. Also, J called me a dirty whore. That is what I call winning.

We are terrible tourists. People all around us our signed up for tours and luaus and various activities. We have spent our time on the beach and in the pool and napping. Apparently our priorities are on the lazy scale. Oh and J has a putting range setup in our living room.

We have been friendly. EVEN ME. Talking to strangers. It started on the plane and continued through various meals and even at the pool late last night when we met every stereo type of a New Yorker you have ever heard in the form of a couple from Long Island. Why do people from New York feel compelled to say that "there is no city like it"? That may be true. There is also no city like Seattle. And also, NO ONE CARES NEW YORKERS. It is an exciting city and an amazing city but you are not talking it up at this point. You are just making the rest of us dig in and INSIST that No, New York is exactly like Debuque I don't not care what you say.

J got burned yesterday and is now brown. In other news, I HATE HIM. Are these things related? You decide.

Our lazy ways would deeply upset the Type A me I am at home. We have no plans, no schedule. I would be worried that we were missing opportunities. And maybe we are. But the vacation me is just loving taking things as they come. We needed a break and we're getting it.

I guess I just do not give a fuck if we see the sugar plantations or not.

Don't Hate Me

Oh y'all. This is why people take vacations.

We flew out yesterday and even though there were some minor annoyances (rude flight attendants, a huge delay, rental car lines and then getting lost trying to find our resort) it is just gorgeous here. Worth everything. Every penny. And the annoyance.

Friday night we got to hang out with cousin Billy at a baseball game. We don't see him often and I forget that not only is he a source of a lot of great stories but he is just so nice. Most of J's relatives make me fear for my future's children's DNA but there are a couple (his mother, Billy, an aunt and his non-scary grandmother) that I would like to put in my pocket and carry around forever.

And then we flew to Hawaii. It's been a great weekend.

Our resort has the tackiest decor ever and who the fuck cares. We have a great balcony to stage cribbage battle royales. There is an incredible beach here and pools and . . .

Don't hate me ya'll.

Quick Update

Oh ya'll. So much has happened. I am fucking lost without my computer. There has been a concert (with the sex god ART, and J told ART an embarrassing story about me and then I died. THE END). Cousin Billy is showing up sometime tomorrow (women all over Seattle just flung their panties in celebration).

Most alarmingly, I got my first bikini wax.

I am not a hairy girl (well except on my head we have discussed my hair being enough for forty-seven people and also their seeing eye dogs). But we are going to Hawaii (SATURDAY!) and I didn't want to be broken in the bikini line because I was having to shave every day. I get ingrown hairs like you would not believe because even though the hair is light and there isn't SO much of it, it is thick like a sequoia tree trunk and dayam.

So I cheaped out. Which is a big mistake with waxing. I went to a place that had done my eyebrows before and did a fine job. And it was cheaper than the spa so I thought I would try them.

There is something very disconcerting about being naked with a woman you do not know, trying to explain how much pubic hair you want ripped off and realizing she does not speak English at ALL. I have nothing against non-English speakers but this is an act that needs to be accompanied by CONSTANT communication.

She missed spots. So I mainly look like I am balding. And my cooter broke out in a horrific rash. Which, HI, was why I was waxing to begin with. Thankfully, Bikini Zone tells no lies and cleared that up admirably. Important information: Bikini Zone contains lidocaine. Wash your hands carefully after use. Do not accidentally eat chips afterwards and numb your entire fucking face.

Not that I did that.

Pathetic Pickup

My computer crashed this week. Well, not crashed. The power source is just going and it's not under warranty anymore. So I will be blogging intermittently for a while until we can get that sorted out.

I was the recipient of kind of a sad pickup today. Driving down the road, since it's warm out everyone has their windows rolled down. And this older guy in a minivan pulls up next to me, he's blasting Blondie's Call Me and he leans towards me and shouts, "Hey BLONDIE, call me!"

J thinks this is awesome.

It must be summer.

But VERY RARELY So Shut Up

Secret to getting a buttload of compliments on your hair:

Step one: wake up with greasy fucking hair with nasty roots and stare in mirror.
Step two: glare at reflection
Step three: give the fuck up because damn girl your hair be ugly
Step four: throw in some baking powder to soak up some of the oil slick
Step five: back brush the fuck out of the top--showing total disregard to good haircare (hasn't that ship sailed) and damage
Step six: pin top into a sort of bastard mohawk-beehive-pompadour thingy
Step seven: wonder loudly if you look awesome or insane
Step eight: wear into world
Step nine: get many many compliments while silently wondering if people are making fun of you

Who knew?

Also, I do not know why I cheated on Kiehl's lip balm. But when I lost my last tub two months ago I tried Burt's Bees (which is crap. Minty. Irritating. Fucking useless crap at that) and then some Body Shop lip butters (which taste and smell so delicious but don't actually uh MOISTURIZE the lips). I finally caved and bought another tub of Kiehl's and lo the angels sang and I shall never cheat again because oh my lips aren't flaky and dry anymore. They just look soft and smooth and slightly glossy. HMMMM. Lip they have been properly moisturized.

Sometimes I am a dumbass.

Summer Thoughts

It warm and sunny and clear here today--the kind of weather that sells houses by the acre-full in Seattle. It also makes people break out the shorts and flip flops even though it isn't but seventy degrees.

I bought half a dozen tank tops and a pair of shorts today (that scream you just heard was my friend L squealing in ecstasy because I have been whining about what I was going to do about shorts for approximately eighty-seven years) so I am all set for Hawaii. Those who have been reading my blog for a while know that I have two major body issues: my big giant head and my fat weird knees. These shorts just cover up the knees without bringing out the stump in my short legs. I wouldn't go so far as to say they look good but they didn't make me cry so VICTORY it is. I found them at Old Navy, which bless their hearts but WTF is up with the sizing in that place. I tried these shorts on in seven different sizes and none of them made a damn bit of sense. The 10's were mysteriously larger than the 12's but the 14's were a size that would accommodate two of me. I kept on trying sizes on to see if I could figure out a pattern. There wasn't one, honestly just take the whole rack with you and good luck. I wouldn't have been surprised to have a size six fit me (and I haven't been a six since the seventh grade) and I wouldn't have been surprised to have an eighteen fit me (which is a size that would normally give me the vapors). What the hell Old Navy? Sizing is irrelevant much?

I just ate some of that leftover fried chicken and some pineapple for dinner. God that chicken is good. My goal for the summer was to perfect my fried chicken and if I have done it by May what will I do all summer except lounge around?

Overheard over the wall at work: "Well we don't really like to go at it quite so hard so far from home but we were just caught up in the moment. . . "

Turns out he was talking about hiking which would be a damn shame except I would prefer to think that this gentleman doesn't know a thing about any other "going at it" pursuits.

My hair has reached the crisis explosive stage where it is huge and crazy and threatening looking. I wore a barrette today. BE ALARMED. Tomorrow may bring a beehive because what else can be done with this er volume?

Reason #912 to Hate Being a Woman--Baby Showers

Yesterday I went to yet another fucking baby shower. Though J and possibly everyone else feels that I should be more over my miscarriage than I am but I still struggle with it a bit. And my friend and I found out we were pregnant at roughly the same time. Now she is just a few weeks from delivering and having showers and I . . .am not.

I wanted to go and celebrate this time with her and I am glad I did. But I don't think it is wrong that it was bittersweet for me. Her daughter is going to be gorgeous and I am so excited for her and her husband. But you know. I cried ok? I am not proud of it. But I made it through, and no one really noticed. It was the best I could do.

Other than that, I made some really fucking delicious fried chicken. And had a migraine for both days so I just took to my bed and ate fried chicken and ice cream sandwiches. Which isn't a bad weekend at all.