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Oh, terrible. Not even stupid-yet-funny. Maybe if you're stoned, I don't know.


Seriously a whole hour too long. Too slow and drawn out for me - even the boxing scenes were kind of lame.

Check out :

I stole this link from Gael: how cute are these penguins?


JB has some cock-and-bull story about how my container of berries "accidentally" fell on the floor when he opened the fridge and how Dog totally ate them, but you and I know what REALLY happened.


Monday, April 25, 2005

I know I've complained about shopping for bathing suits before, but let's be honest - this website isn't really about fresh, unique content, so can I just say (again) how much I loathe and detest the entire process? I hate wandering through all those racks of Lycra, passing by all the really cute two-pieces in favor of matronly designs with underwire and "tummy panels". I hate the fluorescent-lit seventh circle of HELL disguised as a dressing room, where every pucker and bulge is illuminated in microscopic detail. I even hate paying for whatever I've managed to fit into, because even though it means I can finally, finally leave the swimsuit department and run home to cry lustily into my pillow, the beshitted things are always ridiculously overpriced and leave you wondering just how in hell five square inches of fabric can cost over $75.

Aaaaand context: I had to buy a new suit on Sunday because we're leaving for Hawaii on May 4, and my tried-and-true one piece broke a while back. Yes, it broke - it had a zipper down the front, which finally succumbed to the strain of my HEAVING BOSOMS. I have a couple tankinis, but when I tried them on the other day I seemed to hear a peal of cruel laughter, possibly from the cat. The tankinis, they are not flattering right now, which I'm sure is because of the pregnancy, not because of my, um, total disregard for daily caloric boundaries over the last few months.

I ended up buying something called a "Miracle Suit" (and for its price tag, it damn well better perform miracles along the lines of parting seas and turning water into Shiraz) which JB declared "cute" and also "slimming", which as compliments go are marginally less fulfilling than hearing "MY GOD, MY GOD, YOUR HOTNESS ECLIPSES THE SUN" but I guess it will have to do.

A draining shopping activity that includes struggling in and out of tiny circulation-stopping pieces of elastic really deserves a nice personal indulgence afterwards, like maybe a deep-tissue massage complete with intravenous cheesecake hookup, but because there are no limits to my capacity for self-flagellation I motored onward and bought shorts, too. Shorts and a swimsuit in one weekend, what fun. And nothing from a maternity department, which means I'll probably have to buy it all again in 2 weeks! I AM A GIFTED CHILD.


I did a fair bit of walking this weekend; JB and I did our neighborhood 4-mile loop on Friday, and we also moseyed around Green Lake (3 miles?) on Saturday. None of this was what you'd call strenuous exercise, but I noticed my hips ached in new, possibly weighted-by-fetus ways both during and afterwards. Note to self: get off ass more often.

I'm sure I burned off the equivalent of at least ONE bite of Fage yogurt (dude, the internet did not lie: Best Yogurt EVER. It's so fattening, it's really bordering on cream cheese. Extra tasty if you add honey and vanilla sugar!) when I briskly vacuumed the forty tons of spring-shed dog hair from our living room carpet, which was totally pointless, because five minutes after it was clean and had those sexy vacuum lines and all, both husband and Dog trampled through and brought piles and piles of fur and millions and millions of these things that are dropping off all our evergreens right now - I don't know what they are, they sort of look like the hulls of seeds, yellowy and about 3/4" long? They're unbelievably sticky and now they're every-damn-where in our house: on the carpet, on the bottom of all our shoes, in the bed, floating around the bottom of the tub after my nightly bubble bath, and in between every single one of Dog's toes.

In other icky house-related news, JB recently patched up a hole near the roofline that's over our bathroom, in order to keep the starlings from making a nest in there. While I thought the idea of cheeping baby birds accompanying our morning ablutions was sort of charming, JB felt otherwise, so spackled the hole shut last week after making sure there were no birds inside. Later, he told me he'd seen a bunch of bees flying around the newly sealed hole, which led him to knock experimentally on the bathroom ceiling - sure enough, there's a shitload of presumably pissed-off bees buzzing around in there, trapped and plotting ways to sting our eyelids while we sleep. It's the creepiest sound in the world, and I don't even want to know how they're surviving (devouring each other, like a little bee Donner party?).

Hey, want to come visit? Don't mind the tree/pet detritus, or the, ha ha, killer bees in the ceiling! Here, have some Fage.


I went to one of my eighty hundred monthly doctor's appointments this morning. I am seeing two doctors; an OB whose office is near my house whom I see for ongoing prenatal care, and a specialist who treats both pregnancy and Other Stuff, who practices out of Seattle's Harborview medical center. Harborview is a pain in the ass to go to, and compared to the cheery maternity clinic in Bellevue it's just a touch on the depressing side, but the doctor I see there is a breed I truly thought had gone extinct: compassionate, friendly, and even willing to fight with my stupid insurance on my behalf.

Today's visit was fairly uneventful, I go back in a few weeks for Various Blood Tests, but my mind was put to ease on a couple small things: yes, she said, it's normal to not feel the baby's movements for hours or even days on end at this stage, and hm, those headaches sound like they might be caused by low blood sugar, try eating more often (this means a daily, medicinal strawberry cream Frappucino, don't you think?).

The best part of the appointment, though, was the urine sample. Oh, there is no dignity in pregnancy, people, especially when you are teeth-floatingly excited about peeing in a fucking CUP.

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