The mighty Amurken gods have cursed me with heartburn for my distasteful rants about Funyuns and pepperoni balls. I think they should be called Pepperoni Pope Domes, personally. There's a special spot in heaven waiting just for you if you can manage to keep one down for more than thirty seconds.
Heartburn only seems to find me late at night. I have a couple of Tums upstairs, but I shall not give in yet. I'm going to wait and see if it sticks around after my bath. I must conserve them for dire emergencies. I could buy more, of course, but that would require me having a memory. I can't remember to put cold stuff in the fridge instead of the cupboard, let alone buy a small package of antacids.
I was supposed to take it easy today. I even cancelled my plans with Astarte to do so. My pubic syphilis was giving me a hard time, you see. I couldn't sit, stand or lie down for more than five minutes without some serious discomfort. I ended up taking the kids out for a little while because it was driving me crazy being in pain without distraction.
We came home mid-afternoon and I once again waddled around like the biggest, scariest penguin you've ever laid eyes on. I feel bad even comparing myself to a penguin - at least they do something during the day. They do waddle, but they manage to catch fish and hold eggs between their feet in sub-zero temperatures. I, on the other hand, sit in an air-conditioned house, watch Oprah and ask my children to get me things. I'm an embarrassment to penguins everywhere.
I haven't heard anything back from Mothering yet. I don't know if it's because they didn't get my email (possible, considering I was getting 'can't deliver your stupid message, dumbass' warnings for the first 14 hours after sending it) or because they like to take their time replying. It could be that they tracked down my blog and are going to have a meeting about whether or not they should let people with this level of - what's the delicate way to put it? - "mental fragility" write articles for their worldwide publication. I mean, would you publish me? I think there might be laws protecting subscribers from paying to read things written by people like yours truly. If not, there damn well should be.
We're t-minus one week until Geekster and the gremlins go camping. I'm not going because they might try to borrow my maternity top to use as a tent. You can easily see how that confusion could occur. This is the first time in 9.5 years that I will be child-free for an entire weekend. I once stayed at a friend's house overnight in Toronto pre-Gutsy. That was about five years ago. Not even Geekster and I have taken a vacay sans gremlins since our honeymoon nine years ago. This is truly an occasion to celebrate.
But um.. What the heck am I going to do for three days? I mean, having some solo time is nice in theory, but it's not like I have a life. Ideas are always appreciated.
Some stuff I've come up with:
I could sit in a mall and pretend to go into labour. We could see how many people A) notice and B) care. Those who do both would be rewarded with ice cream.
I could have my "I put out for lattes" shirt made and stand around around a coffee house wearing a mic and a camcorder in my cleavage. We could see how many people hand me lattes as well as how many attempt to save my soul. I'd let them know that there's no need for coffee or concern, as I've obviously already received my latte. I'd of course rub my belly and smile.
I could invite myself over for dinner somewhere and bring the meat: a giant shark head acquired at the end of the day from a fish market. I'd bring straws and ask everyone to draw for the eyeballs and the brain - the two best parts! The loser has to make necklaces out of the teeth for the rest of the guests.
I could go see a movie by myself, quietly grabbing handfuls of someone else's popcorn during the suspenceful moments. If they shoot me a look, I'd apologize by grabbing a handful of my own popcorn and placing it in their bag and offering them some of my drink.
To finish off the weekend, I could flip a bunch of the furniture upside down, wear my clothing inside out, paint eyes on my chin and a smile on my forehead. I doubt Geekster would want to leave me alone for another three days if I did that, though. However, he'd be just as concerned if the house was impeccable and I was dolled up with supper on the table. He knows me too well.
Off to have a bath. The Maven needs to soak and poke at the baby for a while. His little nakey bum sticks up when I bathe and it's irresistable. Way to annoy the child before he's even born. No wonder they give me such a hard time! The resentment builds from conception.
Heartburn only seems to find me late at night. I have a couple of Tums upstairs, but I shall not give in yet. I'm going to wait and see if it sticks around after my bath. I must conserve them for dire emergencies. I could buy more, of course, but that would require me having a memory. I can't remember to put cold stuff in the fridge instead of the cupboard, let alone buy a small package of antacids.
I was supposed to take it easy today. I even cancelled my plans with Astarte to do so. My pubic syphilis was giving me a hard time, you see. I couldn't sit, stand or lie down for more than five minutes without some serious discomfort. I ended up taking the kids out for a little while because it was driving me crazy being in pain without distraction.
We came home mid-afternoon and I once again waddled around like the biggest, scariest penguin you've ever laid eyes on. I feel bad even comparing myself to a penguin - at least they do something during the day. They do waddle, but they manage to catch fish and hold eggs between their feet in sub-zero temperatures. I, on the other hand, sit in an air-conditioned house, watch Oprah and ask my children to get me things. I'm an embarrassment to penguins everywhere.
I haven't heard anything back from Mothering yet. I don't know if it's because they didn't get my email (possible, considering I was getting 'can't deliver your stupid message, dumbass' warnings for the first 14 hours after sending it) or because they like to take their time replying. It could be that they tracked down my blog and are going to have a meeting about whether or not they should let people with this level of - what's the delicate way to put it? - "mental fragility" write articles for their worldwide publication. I mean, would you publish me? I think there might be laws protecting subscribers from paying to read things written by people like yours truly. If not, there damn well should be.
We're t-minus one week until Geekster and the gremlins go camping. I'm not going because they might try to borrow my maternity top to use as a tent. You can easily see how that confusion could occur. This is the first time in 9.5 years that I will be child-free for an entire weekend. I once stayed at a friend's house overnight in Toronto pre-Gutsy. That was about five years ago. Not even Geekster and I have taken a vacay sans gremlins since our honeymoon nine years ago. This is truly an occasion to celebrate.
But um.. What the heck am I going to do for three days? I mean, having some solo time is nice in theory, but it's not like I have a life. Ideas are always appreciated.
Some stuff I've come up with:
I could sit in a mall and pretend to go into labour. We could see how many people A) notice and B) care. Those who do both would be rewarded with ice cream.
I could have my "I put out for lattes" shirt made and stand around around a coffee house wearing a mic and a camcorder in my cleavage. We could see how many people hand me lattes as well as how many attempt to save my soul. I'd let them know that there's no need for coffee or concern, as I've obviously already received my latte. I'd of course rub my belly and smile.
I could invite myself over for dinner somewhere and bring the meat: a giant shark head acquired at the end of the day from a fish market. I'd bring straws and ask everyone to draw for the eyeballs and the brain - the two best parts! The loser has to make necklaces out of the teeth for the rest of the guests.
I could go see a movie by myself, quietly grabbing handfuls of someone else's popcorn during the suspenceful moments. If they shoot me a look, I'd apologize by grabbing a handful of my own popcorn and placing it in their bag and offering them some of my drink.
To finish off the weekend, I could flip a bunch of the furniture upside down, wear my clothing inside out, paint eyes on my chin and a smile on my forehead. I doubt Geekster would want to leave me alone for another three days if I did that, though. However, he'd be just as concerned if the house was impeccable and I was dolled up with supper on the table. He knows me too well.
Off to have a bath. The Maven needs to soak and poke at the baby for a while. His little nakey bum sticks up when I bathe and it's irresistable. Way to annoy the child before he's even born. No wonder they give me such a hard time! The resentment builds from conception.