Two Worlds Apart

Picture this:

A cozy couple, snugged up on what is lovingly referred to as the ComfyCouch, a plush, gooshy two-seater made for lovin'.

I am trolling iTunes for some baby music, a lullaby or twelve if you will, so that our child can drift off into unfitful slumber as soon as possible (fingers, toes, and anything else that will, crossed).



And My Guy, volume at near max, killing aliens and assorted villains on Resistance Fall of Man, smacking his thigh and swearing like a sailor every time he gets demolished.

What? It's close to romantic.

Huzzah!

Looks like everything is tickety-boo with the babens and the host. Just got back from the perinatologist and the marginal placenta previa has gone away, the baby is weighing in a one pound, and bones and organs are measuring perfectly - best of all, we don't have to go back.

Again, StubbornBaby wouldn't get in the "traditional" position for an ultrasound profile picture, so the nurse took a quick 3D picture. Umm, creepy. He/she looks like a clay baby, or something not quite cooked from Star Trek. Have a look for yourself. My guy asked that we not do that again. I agree.

Sticky Situation

So I have Book Club on Wednesday night. Kinda not looking forward to it. Here's my dilemma:

The book was chosen by one of the girls - an old coworker of hers wrote this month's book titled Why Jews Don't Camp. And he is going to join the discussion.

And I hate the book.

It is a self-published piece of unfunny, racist, seemingly unedited (are you listening Ms. Bad EditorPants?) drivel that prides itself on zero timing and annoyingly repetitive phrases. What. The hell. Am I going. To say?

"I, uh, liked the reason you wrote the book - let's talk about that and only that for two hours, mkay?" (His friend got breast cancer and he wrote a chapter a week to cheer her up during her chemo treatments. Frankly, the chemo must have been a cakewalk next to the torture of weekly chapters. Hmm, maybe this guy could've been on to some sort of alternative treatment- perhaps a sort of reverse psychology...)

Anyway, it's just sooo bad, you guys. And I found out today that one of our ladies really loved the book. Thought it was the funniest thing. I'm going to seriously reassess my feelings for her now.

Will tell you all about it on Thursday. In the meantime, wish me luck for tomorrow. Hopefully it's my last appointment with the Old Pregnant Lady Specialist.

A Perfect Opportunity...Missed

So I went and met my girlfriend yesterday for drinks (lemonade - we're both preggers) at City Place in West Palm Beach. The attendant in the lot didn't have anything other than ones and I didn't have anything smaller than a twenty. It was a two dollar charge, so she shelled out eighteen singles and I was on my way.

I wanted to surprise My Guy for lunch today so I stopped at Mickey D's for burgers to go. I pulled up to the payment window after placing the order and it was around eleven bucks and change so I whipped out my fat bankroll and counted off twelve singles.

What she said: "Oh, ha ha, are you a waitress?"

What I didn't say: "No, a stripper."

Dammit.

I Probably Wouldn't Put This Profession On The Short List

So, if you're a germophobe, living in the Big Apple, what would you say would be one of the least favourable jobs you'd want to undertake? I think right there on the list with:

Collections - Recycling, Sanitation Department

Inspections - Food Services, Vermin Department

Registered Nurse - Bellevue Mental Institution, Fecal Obsession Ward

Teacher - Tots and Toddlers Daycare, Bring Them Even If They're Snotty

Pipe Maintenance - Waste Management, Sewage Department

would be

Driver - New York City Yellow Cab, Manhattan Proper.

I couldn't believe my eyes when I looked at our driver through the sneeze-guard like, Lucite half-barrier. He was holding the steering wheel, one-handed, always one-handed, with a what looked like 4-hour-old fast food napkin. I say approximately 4 hours because it was damp, wrinkled and slightly torn in the most contacted part of the paper. How could I see that if he had it firmly clamped between his skin and the worn leather skin of the wheel? Every time he signaled or put it in neutral with the shifter, he'd lift the napkin delicately, but speedily, and place it on the needed apparatus. And the guy signaled every single time he engaged in a dangerous move, sneaking in front of other angry impatient cabbies and clueless losers who shouldn't be allowed to drive in the city.

It was as if I was watching a San Francisco street performer juggling handkerchiefs at mach speed.

Upon further inspection, I realized the dude was sitting on the requisite wooden beaded car seat with a sheet of plastic between his pants and the offending (oak? ash? whatever) cover. First thought: slippery. Second thought: sweaty!

And to top it all off, I peeked around the corner and saw that his back was being supported with a tatty pillow...covered in a plastic Whole Foods bag.

Now, honestly. If you have an obviously major problem with germs, would you have said yes to this job? A job where hacking, coughing people from all walks of life, drug addicts, whores, teens with over active hormones, degenerates, babies, people who like to lick things, etc. hang out in your extremely confined space all day long and hand you dollar bills which may or may not be diseased all on their very own? I say no. No!

In addition, if you look very carefully, he has one of those knotted string bracelets on. It is old and frayed and I'm willing to bet, if it was tested, probably had more germs on it than a toilet seat in Grand Central Station.

Almost at 20 Weeks - More Tummy

Mind - this is a few weeks old...I'm a bit bigger now.

Still waiting for the first movement. I can't bring myself to use the word "quickening" - it freaks me out. Kinda sounds like the title to a horror flick. But all my pregger buddies have felt kicks and squirms - even their husbands have!

Jealous!

Mmmmkay - I was feeling like a fraud, so I took another picture a minute ago and here is the new me (or should I say us?).

It's Obvious I'm Obsessed

...or maybe it's just because I am spending so much time in the can lately (pregnancy peeing is like the never-ending story).

I just had to share these with you - and no I was not perverted enough to do this while someone was in there with me.

Click on this image to get a bigger, better idea.

Okay, so you can see your own under parts...big deal right? Not if there is someone next to you!

Or if there happens to be someone waiting for the next available stall.



Am I right or am I right?!!

ps (I wonder if Larry Craig could have benefited from this particular bathroom design...?)

pps (which leads me another question: If a gay man is looking at his mirror image in this flooring, would his doppelganger be straight?)

Can I Ask A Question?

Should shiny, shiny, mirror-reflective black tile be allowed on the floor of a public bathroom? I'm working out of My Guy's office in Manhattan, and the Ladies here (and assume the Gents too) has this very inappropriate flooring material that basically says "Hi! I'm sitting next to you, also looking at the floor looking at you, looking at me and wondering, can you really see me as well as I can see you? And wow, don't you use a lot of toilet paper? Kind of resembles a bee-hive doesn't it. Three wipes? Wow, now four - kind of OCD there, eh? No, I don't really want to look, but I need to make sure that you're not really looking at me, and trust me sister, I am not making a move in here until you are gone and can no longer look up my skirt, nostrils or vagina."

Thanks, that is all.