Summertime

Now that the statute of limitations on spoilers has passed, may I have a word about Top Chef? Yes, that’s right, I said STATUTE OF LIMITATIONS, meaning that the people who were live-Tweeting the results Wednesday night broke some major etiquette rules, because it’s one thing to ruin it for those of us who were on TiVo delay, but WAY DIFFERENT to totally Hose(a) the people on the West coast who didn’t even have the CHANCE TO SEE IT. And when your Tweet is nothing more than, “Hosea wins!” I then think you are an even LARGER douche, because you’re not even adding value with your Tweet! You are just ruining it for others! YES, YOU!

Ahem. I seem to have worked myself into a pregnant FROTH over this, so pissed off was I. Because it’s never happened before during a regular episode, much less a FINALE.

Anyway, Hosea. Whatever. Man, do I dislike the guy, and I see nothing attractive about him, and will consider it a service to others if the reunion reveals that he has, indeed, hooked up with Leah on a more permanent basis. Because at least then we can assume that by two totally annoying, destructive people being together that they are at least reducing the damage to other, more innocent victims.

So! I have two things I’ve been wondering about, both non-pregnancy-bitching related, although I will FIRST tell you that I had an internal exam today which is very painful, HOO BOY OH YES IT IS. I had no idea, man. I mean, getting a hand up in there isn’t exactly a piece of cake, but I didn’t realize having someone noodle around in my cervix would feel not unlike that awful scene in Seven, if you know what I’m saying and BLECH I HOPE YOU DON’T. But! Word is that I’m 50% effaced and a fingertip dilated, which, plus a bag of salt and vinegar chips, will get me lunch, if that, and I’m told to “hang tight.” Whee.

So onward to the two things!

1) I really, really thought acrylic French-manicured nails went out in 1987. Am I woefully behind the times on this? I mean, I realize that the Real Housewives of Orange County aren’t exactly the most CLASSY of ladies, given their behavior, but don’t their nails seem so INCONGRUOUS? They’re PLASTIC. And very gross. Ew. Just ew.

2) It is pretty much determined that my daughter will be a Piscean unless she goes beyond March 20 and is born Giant Freaky Overcooked Baby, which: no. This is a little bit scary for me, a Capricorn/Scorpio mix, because while I love Pisces, my mind immediately goes to the most extreme manifestation, which is usually awesome, and generally the kind of person I admire because it’s so different from me.

But because I’ll be her MOTHER, and will turn into the completely crazy controlling Capricorn that I am, unleashing every negative aspect of my personality and sign on her like the WIND, I’m terrified she’s going to be all WIFTY and want to run off to swim with the dolphins or something, which will give me HIVES, because WHAT ABOUT HER FUTURE OH MY GOD, DOLPHINS DO NOT PAY THE BILLS. And it will morph into an epic battle of wills, when really, dolphin-wranglers are probably the happiest of sorts and can do just FINE.

But still, then I’ll be that irritating helicopter mom telling her to go do something practical, and just give up on her freakin’ marine dreams already, because it’s MUCH BETTER TO DO SOMETHING PRACTICAL. AND HAS SHE CONSIDERED BEING A CPA? And while she’s at it, pick up a suit from Brooks Brothers, perhaps the kind with the gold buttons on the cuffs! HURRY. STOP THINKING ABOUT THE DOLPHINS.

I used to be a bit of an astrology buff, and in fact, have a chart to do for a friend (AIEEE, JENNIE WILL DO), but can no longer really claim much beyond the most rudimentary of knowledge. However! I know my own signs rather well, and fit them to a T. And so I ask, do you? Is my fear of Wifty Piscean Dolphin Child completely unfounded?

(Note: this is mostly in jest. Please do not panic that I’m going to send my child back or, I don’t know TO MILITARY SCHOOL, because she decides to paint teapots for a living. Or that I have some sort of THING against Pisces, because OBVIOUSLY NOT.)

Happy weekend! Holla!

*The Sundays. And the only reason I use it is because I believe she uses the term “romantic Piscean” in her whole personal ad parallel, and now it’s in my head.

45 comments February 26th, 2009

I Am A Rock

The can of deluxe mixed nuts I bought today has a label on it screeching, “WARNING: MAY CONTAIN NUTS AND OTHER ALLERGENS.”

Ha ha haaaa? Oh God.

**WARNING: EXTREME GESTATIONAL-RELATED KVETCHING FOLLOWS**

(Mercifully, it is a LIMITED-TIME ENGAGEMENT)

(We hope.)

(Otherwise, some of us will have to be committed.)

(But really, that’s kind of all I’ve got going on, because I AM A LUMP. AN ISLAND. A CONTINENT.)

Hey, have I told you guys that I don’t sleep? Like, at all? I know, I know! I have! People think I’m exaggerating and all, but no no, really, I’m not. I start trying around 10:30, and without fail, I break out into an inexplicable full-body sweat by 11:30, at which point Adam falls asleep and snores ever so gently in tune with the dog, which is too much for my delicate little constitution to bear in this state, and I’m up! I’m up!

Enter hours and hours of television and infomercials mixed with tossing and turning and the occasional driftoff for no more than THIRTY MINUTES at a time, because I’ve been roused by the need to turn over — which believe me, is a process involving lots of heaving and more sweating, plus a body pillow — or I have to pee, or my arm (MY STUPID ARM) is throbbing from carpal tunnel.

Or — and this is the best part — I WAKE MYSELF UP SNORING. And by “snoring” I mean … oh God, you guys, I can’t believe the noises that come out of my face. Imagine a very large, very loud train full of snorting pigs screeching into megaphones. Now imagine that train in your bed. Or you know, ON YOUR FACE.

You see, perhaps, why I have come, however naively, to believe that the one- to three-hour stretches new parents complain about with newborns is beginning to sound downright LUXURIOUS. After all, I get exactly one (1) of those every day, usually between the hours of 7-10 a.m., during which the phone almost always rings, enraging me to the point of … well, blind rage. And even then, I wake up at least twice to pee and/or roll over and/or ALL OF THE DAMN ABOVE.

Here’s something also interesting! Do you know that sometimes stretch marks HURT while they are being created? You can actually feel your skin pulling apart! This of course, makes me think of OTHER nether-like regions pulling apart, only much faster and … oy, folks, OY. I am very excited for her to arrive, but I am not excited about the MODE of her arrival, and am wondering if there is some sort of alien osmosis way of getting her out so that none of us quite realizes it, until suddenly, OH LOOK, A BABY. HOW MAGICAL.

As for the marks themselves, I don’t actually care, because they aren’t that bad yet, AND I’m not inclined to get yanked out about such things, especially when there’s nothing I can do about it, short of duct-taping my skin together (a novel idea!). However, I am not all THIS IS THE SHAPE OF A MOTHER. I WEAR THEM AS BADGES OF HONOR. Um, no. They are what they are, and dude, I’m gonna assume those babies will fade. Or at least hope. If not, please don’t look for my midsection anywhere but underneath my shirts from now until forever and ever, amen.

Anyway, this will all be moot within the month, at least, as she’s due a week from Saturday, and I could go as long as 42 weeks. (Ha ha?) (HA HA HA?)

So. Other than an inordinate amount of very boring preparation and nesting (we have very clean toilets and bathtubs right now, because, you know, she’ll be born potty trained and showering solo, so those MUST BE CLEAN), there is little happening here. I am busy as hell doing things that are probably of little consequence (bills! repairmen scheduling in Florida! PANIC!) and watching my skin rip like an overinflated balloon.

And finally, Top Chef this season was really stinky. Thank God for Real Housewives. Or you know, I could watch something other than Bravo, but why start now?

Happy Thursday!

*Simon & Garfunkel

44 comments February 26th, 2009