Life is just too exciting to talk about. I just don't want you to get jealous and think that you're missing out somehow.
This morning Gutsy's school went to the firestation. There was one cute firefighter. I made friends with some of the moms by making sure to zoom the new camera in on his attractive self while he was doing the tour. Maybe I can sell the pictures? I could make a black market calendar: Firemen Gone Wild, The Preschool Edition. Talk about a fundraiser!
Then, because Gutsy and I couldn't stand the hunger anymore, I got us take-out for lunch, which we ate at home. I watched three episodes of CSI:Miami with my feet up. I looked around at the mess and figured I should clean up.
In The Maven's world, should does not always equal will. That rule rang true today. In fact, "should clean up" translated into "should post a blog entry", which turned into "should stop writing because I'm too miserable/tired/bitchy to write anything coherent or in any way enjoyable" and ended up with "should take a one hour nap". My mind is like drunk people trying to play 'telephone'.
After my one hour nap (the gremlins watched cartoons and ate junk food, taking full advantage of the snoozing beached whale in the other room) I read a book to Gutsy and then called Geekster at work to inform him that taking a one hour nap in the late afternoon did not coincide well with the preparation of dinner. Thus, it was decided we would go out.
We've spent a small fortune on going out for meals lately. This is because I'm in no way interested in standing long enough to prepare food. There's no excuse other than laziness at this point. I'm a gigantic, snarly, walking contraction. Food preparation is not at the top of the priority list right now.
Since my mood has been so incredibly positive the last few weeks, I felt I should hit my Friday 12 step meeting to spread the joy and love around. I'm really nice like that. The whole meeting was better because I was there and allowed people to bask in my happiness. I'm thinking they'll be surprising me with a 'thank you' cake any time now.
More like 'Thank you for your presence, Captain Bringdown. Don't come back until you pop that kid out.'
After sharing my latest theory that InUtero Boy is actually a giant tumor of evil that has been building up inside of me for years and is destined to crawl out of my stomach and destroy the world, I left everyone in a pleasant mood and headed off to the local book store to grab a latte (pumpkin spice, soy, half-sweet, decaf, no whip) and buy a new Christopher Moore book.
Christopher Moore is the best. author. ever. The guy is so twisted that he makes me look saintly and pure - no easy feat. He's hilarious, witty and I'm putting him on my 'people whom I would do for reasons other than their looks' list. I'm just about done his newest book 'A Dirty Job' and will be jumping in to 'Lamb' after Geekster reads it. He reads faster than I do, so I buy 'him' the books and get them to myself a week later. It's a wonderful way of being generous and selfish all at the same time. Two birds with one stone and all that.
I call those gifts 'Homer Balls'. Have you ever seen that Simpsons where Marge almost has the affair? Homer buys her a birthday gift - a giant bowling ball engraved with his name. Such gifts have been given by me on occasion, such as the Best of Nirvana CD I gave Geekster for Christmas a couple of years ago and has been sitting in my vehicle ever since. Thankfully, he's wise to my ways and makes copies of the CDs before I steal them. He gets points for being a smarty pants.
Even though I'm normally perfect in every way, I occassionally have to pretend to be self-centered or a whiny crybaby or a big bitch so that others may feel comfortable around me. I don't want to alienate people by sitting next to them and making their flaws all that more apparent. It's not a very nice thing to do. Perfect people have a certain responsibility to the world that I take quite seriously.
Speaking of serious things, I was very angry this morning when a new friend of mine told me a story. She immigrated here from Lebanon with her husband four years ago. They now have a three-year-old son who goes to school with Gutsy and an 18-month-old. She's a wonderful woman who, even though she barely knows me, took me out for coffee Wednesday morning and gave me a gift for the baby. No reason other than she wanted to because she was happy for me. I was smitten with her right away. We spoke at length about their move here, how difficult it's been for her, how much she loves her family, her new country, etc.
This smart, educated and kind woman told me about a woman she met not too long ago who welcomed her to Canada by asking her what she's really doing here. 'Are you a terrorist? You are from Lebanon, which is why I'm asking'. She went on to ask why my new friend wasn't wearing a 'scarf' on her head, what it was like being Muslim and all sorts of other lovely questions. My friend told me all this with tears in her eyes. It had been a very hurtful experience for her. I told her 'Welcome to Canada, where we're so priviledged to live in a safe society that we have the option to be ignorant twits and spread our miseducation and hatred around.' Then I gave her a hug. Some people really deserve a punch in the face.
My friend, by the way, is Catholic, not Muslim. It took me two seconds to figure that out (not that I care, but the big cross around her neck gave it away). Unlike a lot of people I know, she's spent time in four different countries, knows a great deal about various religions and world politics. I made sure to tell her that she's way too good for that woman and that I'm glad she found out what an idiot she was early on'. I, in all my whiteness, may not have found out about her stupidity until much later. And then, in all my pregnantness, I may have punched her in the face. I have no time for ignorance. It impedes my perfection.
End rant.
Last thing: prenatal update time.
There's not a whole lot to update. Baby has dropped a bit more. I'm still measuring 42cm this week, but probably because his position is lower. Cervix is quite soft, but I'm still only dilated 2cm. Braxton-Hicks contractions are all day, every day. I'd like to say I'm 'close', but I don't actually think he's coming out, ever. The evil spawnling is just going to continue to get larger and larger until he envelops me in a ball of negativity and uses me as his dark force minion to rule the planet.
Until then I'll enjoy my pumpkin spice latte and play some mundane computer game. Ciao.
This morning Gutsy's school went to the firestation. There was one cute firefighter. I made friends with some of the moms by making sure to zoom the new camera in on his attractive self while he was doing the tour. Maybe I can sell the pictures? I could make a black market calendar: Firemen Gone Wild, The Preschool Edition. Talk about a fundraiser!
Then, because Gutsy and I couldn't stand the hunger anymore, I got us take-out for lunch, which we ate at home. I watched three episodes of CSI:Miami with my feet up. I looked around at the mess and figured I should clean up.
In The Maven's world, should does not always equal will. That rule rang true today. In fact, "should clean up" translated into "should post a blog entry", which turned into "should stop writing because I'm too miserable/tired/bitchy to write anything coherent or in any way enjoyable" and ended up with "should take a one hour nap". My mind is like drunk people trying to play 'telephone'.
After my one hour nap (the gremlins watched cartoons and ate junk food, taking full advantage of the snoozing beached whale in the other room) I read a book to Gutsy and then called Geekster at work to inform him that taking a one hour nap in the late afternoon did not coincide well with the preparation of dinner. Thus, it was decided we would go out.
We've spent a small fortune on going out for meals lately. This is because I'm in no way interested in standing long enough to prepare food. There's no excuse other than laziness at this point. I'm a gigantic, snarly, walking contraction. Food preparation is not at the top of the priority list right now.
Since my mood has been so incredibly positive the last few weeks, I felt I should hit my Friday 12 step meeting to spread the joy and love around. I'm really nice like that. The whole meeting was better because I was there and allowed people to bask in my happiness. I'm thinking they'll be surprising me with a 'thank you' cake any time now.
More like 'Thank you for your presence, Captain Bringdown. Don't come back until you pop that kid out.'
After sharing my latest theory that InUtero Boy is actually a giant tumor of evil that has been building up inside of me for years and is destined to crawl out of my stomach and destroy the world, I left everyone in a pleasant mood and headed off to the local book store to grab a latte (pumpkin spice, soy, half-sweet, decaf, no whip) and buy a new Christopher Moore book.
Christopher Moore is the best. author. ever. The guy is so twisted that he makes me look saintly and pure - no easy feat. He's hilarious, witty and I'm putting him on my 'people whom I would do for reasons other than their looks' list. I'm just about done his newest book 'A Dirty Job' and will be jumping in to 'Lamb' after Geekster reads it. He reads faster than I do, so I buy 'him' the books and get them to myself a week later. It's a wonderful way of being generous and selfish all at the same time. Two birds with one stone and all that.
I call those gifts 'Homer Balls'. Have you ever seen that Simpsons where Marge almost has the affair? Homer buys her a birthday gift - a giant bowling ball engraved with his name. Such gifts have been given by me on occasion, such as the Best of Nirvana CD I gave Geekster for Christmas a couple of years ago and has been sitting in my vehicle ever since. Thankfully, he's wise to my ways and makes copies of the CDs before I steal them. He gets points for being a smarty pants.
Even though I'm normally perfect in every way, I occassionally have to pretend to be self-centered or a whiny crybaby or a big bitch so that others may feel comfortable around me. I don't want to alienate people by sitting next to them and making their flaws all that more apparent. It's not a very nice thing to do. Perfect people have a certain responsibility to the world that I take quite seriously.
Speaking of serious things, I was very angry this morning when a new friend of mine told me a story. She immigrated here from Lebanon with her husband four years ago. They now have a three-year-old son who goes to school with Gutsy and an 18-month-old. She's a wonderful woman who, even though she barely knows me, took me out for coffee Wednesday morning and gave me a gift for the baby. No reason other than she wanted to because she was happy for me. I was smitten with her right away. We spoke at length about their move here, how difficult it's been for her, how much she loves her family, her new country, etc.
This smart, educated and kind woman told me about a woman she met not too long ago who welcomed her to Canada by asking her what she's really doing here. 'Are you a terrorist? You are from Lebanon, which is why I'm asking'. She went on to ask why my new friend wasn't wearing a 'scarf' on her head, what it was like being Muslim and all sorts of other lovely questions. My friend told me all this with tears in her eyes. It had been a very hurtful experience for her. I told her 'Welcome to Canada, where we're so priviledged to live in a safe society that we have the option to be ignorant twits and spread our miseducation and hatred around.' Then I gave her a hug. Some people really deserve a punch in the face.
My friend, by the way, is Catholic, not Muslim. It took me two seconds to figure that out (not that I care, but the big cross around her neck gave it away). Unlike a lot of people I know, she's spent time in four different countries, knows a great deal about various religions and world politics. I made sure to tell her that she's way too good for that woman and that I'm glad she found out what an idiot she was early on'. I, in all my whiteness, may not have found out about her stupidity until much later. And then, in all my pregnantness, I may have punched her in the face. I have no time for ignorance. It impedes my perfection.
End rant.
Last thing: prenatal update time.
There's not a whole lot to update. Baby has dropped a bit more. I'm still measuring 42cm this week, but probably because his position is lower. Cervix is quite soft, but I'm still only dilated 2cm. Braxton-Hicks contractions are all day, every day. I'd like to say I'm 'close', but I don't actually think he's coming out, ever. The evil spawnling is just going to continue to get larger and larger until he envelops me in a ball of negativity and uses me as his dark force minion to rule the planet.
Until then I'll enjoy my pumpkin spice latte and play some mundane computer game. Ciao.