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More crap for the kid's room! Pregnancy = SHOPPING!
| Tuesday, May 31, 2005
JB and I wandered around Folklife on Saturday, which is always fun from a people-watching, and strawberry-shortcake-consumption perspective. (I vowed never, ever to bring a stroller to a similar event, after barking my shin on at least four different Graco models, but I bet that goes right out the window along with my "I will never take a photo of my child with spaghetti sauce all over their face and deem it 'cute'" promise.) We found a booth where an acquaintance of JB's was selling her phenomenal underwater photos, and picked up a few prints for the nursery, because what says "cuddly" like a jellyfish? Hey, at least I'm not plastering clowns all over the place in there. It was sunny and hot, hot, hot during the afternoon, and moving through crowds of people got to be exhausting and sort of icky, so we ate our drippy gyros (holy shit, those things are good - can you make them easily at home? anyone have a recipe?) and headed home, where it was equally hot and uncomfortable. The only thing to do was to spend the evening at an air conditioned movie theater, and so we saw Madagascar, which I recommend for the penguins, American Beauty spoof, and refreshing lack of musical numbers. ::: Randomly cool: I just typed "Madagascar" into google to make sure I wasn't slaughtering the spelling, and the first return was this: Madagascar showtimes for Bellevue, WA Well, color me pink, as in tickled. Google, you are so awesome. No more looking up movie times on craptacular, ad-ridden websites like citysearch for ME. ::: On Sunday JB had to "drive boat", as he manfully describes the job of tooling around Lake Washington while his dive buddies try and get themselves killed in a variety of ways. Apparently one of his friends casually warned him, just before they got in the water, that the boat "sort of leaked a lot", which just confirms my theory that all tech divers are batfuck crazy and should really be forced into more sedentary activities such as cross-stitching. I, on the other hand, had myself a fabulous outing that did not involve suicidal boats or plunging hundreds of feet below water in order to prove the size of my testicles (did I say that...out loud?). Imagine a day that includes a goat-cheese-infused brunch, two of your best girls, and also the wonderful company of someone whose journal you've been reading for years, and you'll have some idea of the awesome Sunday I had. Despite the fact that I am hurtling towards The Birth at a frightening clip (my GOD, it's 24 weeks this week!), I've had very little experience being around small children. I do own a dog, though, so I'm sure I'm good, parenting-wise - it's the same, right? Right? Anyway, I really enjoyed spending time with Jessamyn's adorable daughter Katie, which, whew, what if I hadn't?, and if my son ever decides to grace me with the same type of enormous sharklike grin Katie displayed, my heart will simply explode sentimental love-shrapnel in all directions. The smiling was sort of dangerously cute on its own, but then Katie busted out the Pimp Hands, and...oh dear. Such a thing must only be seen with eclipse goggles, I think. I still have a weird spot in my vision - BLINDED, I was. For our Sunday evening's entertainment, JB and I made Boboli pizzas and watched bad TV, and then we slept for about five minutes before he had to get up and leave for the airport, because his business trip to Taipei left at FOUR IN THE DAMN MORNING. I think I'd rather take a container ship across the Pacific than leave at that hour, but apparently he slept like the dead for the whole trip, which was convenient since he arrived at 7 AM local time. We had a bad hour or so on Sunday when JB thought he might cancel his trip, because I was experiencing Some Spotting. It was mild, very light, and I eventually decided things were probably okay, but it was a real damper on a fun weekend. I got in touch with an on-call doctor, who asked some very embarrassing questions about whether there had been intercourse, and did it include orgasm, and say, what about the orgasm, etc. When I finally had a checkup at my own doctor's office today (why do these things have to happen on a holiday?), the prognosis was that everything was probably fine, but I should "rest" today if I could. I bet they didn't think I'd take that quite so seriously - I spent the entire day in bed, surrounded by mounds of books and magazines, after fibbing to my office about having a headache (I initially typed up a way-too-descriptive absent notify, then looked at my email and said "self, TMfuckingI"). The residual spotting seems to be completely gone now, and the baby continues to systematically kick me in all directions, so that's all good news - unfortunately, given my slothfest today I'm betting on being awake at 3:30 and watching QVC. Anyone need any tanzanite? ::: I let Cat in this morning, filled her bowl while she yowled angrily (filthy human, why was this not prepared ahead of time?), then stood back while she began bolting it in giant gulps. Minutes later, I heard the telltale GU-GLURT, GU-GLURT sounds coming from the bedroom, and ran in as she was delivering her first hurlage on the white down comforter. I grabbed her and raced to the front door, where I tossed her outside and she puked up another mound of wet Purina lumps, right there on the walkway in front of our door. As I was suppressing my gag reflex while Spot Magic-ing our bedspread, I heard footsteps coming from our foyer. Peeking out the window, I saw a man walking away, a flyer hanging from my front door, a waffle-print SHOE MARK directly in the pile of cat barf, and a barf-residue trail leading off down the driveway. I'd feel bad for the guy, but we do have a "No Solicitors" sign.
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