I just left my desk for 35 minutes and I didn’t get a single email or phone call. Usually, that’ll do the trick; people tend to call when I am not just hanging around mindlessly playing clicky games. Oh well. I always feel better about Wednesdays than I do Tuesdays. Tuesdays are from hell, regardless of what the majority thinks about Mondays. That’s one area where Garfield and I disagree.
My parents are coming into town this weekend and I have not yet started to panic. Ok, it isn’t so much panic as it is an overwhelming desire to make sure my house is presentable, even though my mom claims not to care. And she probably doesn’t but there’s a standard I keep for cleanliness when guests are present. Shouldn’t everyone? I have to sweep and vacuum, clean the guest bathroom, make the guest bed and god, I seriously need to get Ash into that room so my parents aren’t tripping over his huge-ass quad-xeon server that sounds like a jet engine making landing preparations. Also, if you see a fairly expensive Eddie Bauer down comforter oozing from my garbage can, know that the dogs have repeatedly peed on it – the only thing of this nature – and it’s just too damn hot in the winter even, to salvage. Sometimes you just have to bite the bullet and part with material objects.
Baby update: this little boy seems to be moving around a whole lot more now. Maybe not field goal kicker, maybe Olympic gymnast? I “complain” that he’s kicking my ass all the time but I secretly love to feel it. Just as I secretly love Abba and Color Me Badd. Man, I can’t even keep my own secrets!
Pregnancy brings so many unwanted things with it, including porn star boobs. Sure, some women pay damn good money to get them this big but if they knew how it felt if they were real – the night sweating, the aches and pains, their husband constantly groping – they’d think twice. Or maybe not. Maybe the porn industry simply pays them too much for them to care. I really wouldn’t know.
Do you think I’ll get more hits on this entry now that I’ve used the word “porn”?