Just so you know, I never wanted it to come to this

but I can't help myself any more because I'm annoyed and huge and unable to sleep more than 2 hours a night without having to pee. That, and I still have a good 4 weeks until this baby is properly "due" which means it could be over 5 weeks until she actually comes out.

UGH.

I feel guilty about being so negative and ready to be finished with this pregnancy, especially when I have good friends who wish they were in this situation, but I can't help my feelings.

I woke up suddenly last night thinking my intestines were about to explode all over my cozy bed only to run to the bathroom and realize I was just having a contraction with some cramping.

Even though I'm within the normal limit of weight gain and still have some abdominal muscles that I flex on a regular basis, I feel like Violet from "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory" after she eats that gum and turns into a giant human blueberry.

The good news is that my hormones have pretty well regulated and I am feeling more normal than I have in months, allowing me to look back on all the arguments I tried to start with Nick and marvel at his ability to talk me down, remaining calm when I was spewing crazy talk like vomit in "The Excorcist".

Why are my friends trying to make me fat?

This weekend, Jennifer came to visit - which was good.

I sort of kind of helped her make toffee, which was also very good.

Then, she left. This was sad.

She also refused to take any toffee home, which was very bad as I am unable to restrain myself from eating it until I feel sick.

I have a new name!

It's wild, but very exciting. Court tentatively approved our name change today. Now I get to start handling all the logistical stuff which means a new driver's license photo! Yay.

Too bad I have to take it while I am gynormous and preggo.

Why is there clumpy weird stuff in my hair?

A while back, a friend of mine came over for a weekend visit. Because she is good and clean and hygienic, she packed her toothbrush, deodorant and other neccessities. Somehow, she ended up brushing her teeth with a smidge of melted deodorant mixed with toothpaste. Her reaction was so strong that we still joke around about the situation and she never packs her deodorant and toothbrush in the same bag.

On Frday, while getting pretty for date night, I noticed something weird and clumpy in my hair. Initially I thought it was a lint ball from some new towels, but it only smeared when I attempted to remove it. It smelled faintly sweet and I knew I should recognize it, but I couldn't figure out what the strange sticky clump was.

Then it dawned on me. Deodorant. Specifically Jason's Natural Apricot Deodorant which is excellent for those who have armpit issues and find that your skin blisters and itches when you use more conventional stuff.

I tried rinsing it out, but my hair still looked all funny and oily. Realizing there was nothing to do but wash it again, I pulled it back, feigning that this was my intention all along.

I still have no idea how I got deodorant (especially a clump that large) in my hair, except to say that I am so very special.

I miss Six Feet Under

Such an excellent show.

And I know that Bravo is showing the re-runs on Monday nights, but it's just not the same. Plus, we have it on DVD if I need it that bad.

Oh! It's your first baby?!

If you ever, during the course of your female life, get pregnant, you will find yourself the sudden victim of stupid advice, stupid sayings, and most of all, stupid generalizations.

It has nothing to do with you. Take a lot of deep breaths. Vent to your partner so he, or she, can make fun of the idiot who just gave you permission to "have a glass of wine once in a while".

The people who need to bestow their precious jewels of advice unto you are veteran mothers, inexperienced mothers, friends who have never even had kids, and random strangers who feel you need all the help you can get. Understand that all these people - rude, stupid, and otherwise - are just very excited about your baby and *need to help*.

That's my annoying and rude advice to you because had somebody told me about the constant stream of useless drivel, I would have been better prepared to hide in a cave and never leave the house, talk on the phone, or use the computer.

Now that I'm officially a Weeble Wobble with a medicine ball strapped to my belly

We are getting near the end of things here, one way or another, like it or not. I remember how just a few short weeks ago I would still wake up every morning having forgotten I was pregnant, thinking my tummy was soft, splendid, and relatively flat. Then, as I began the waddle to the bathroom I couldn't help but notice the growing buldge in the front.

Now that I am roughly the size of a small barge, I NEVER forget about the medicine ball inside me. When I roll from left to right and back again in the middle of the night, I get stuck. On my back. Like a turtle in the heat of summer, panting and gasping for breath since my lungs are being crushed under the weight of this child-thing inside of me.

When I try to get out of bed for my midnight pee, 3am pee, 5am pee, and 7am pee, I find that I can barely gain enough momentum to roll out of bed on my own. I know I look ridiculous and the only silver lining is that so far Nick pretends to sleep through the whole ordeal instead of pointing and laughing at me.

While awake I am physically assaulted by the thing inside of me, constantly bouncing on my bladder or punching my colon. I'm glad she is strong but my organs are starting to get annoyed.

The other day I was so frustrated with being pregnant that I tendered my resignation. I told Nick and Baby that it had been a nice time, but in six weeks I was done. Period.

Baby took me a lot more seriously than Nick did, and brought on some contractions that apparently are not *supposed* to hurt but actually feel like a very bad backache and uncomfortable PMS cramps.

I ended up in the Labor and Delivery ward just to make sure that I wasn't going into pre-term labor, but everything checked out fine and I told Baby to chill out since she's really not ready to come out here for at least a couple more weeks, preferrably longer.

Still having the contractions whenever I do anything, can barely shave my legs, wipe my butt, or regulate what used to be fairly normal bodily functions.

A French film and a run-on sentence have a lot in common

Yesterday I walked to Blockbuster to get a movie for date night. I was supposed to pick up a romantic-comedy, but there's nothing I hate worse than suffering through a bad romantic-comedy.

Or at least nothing I thought I hated worse ...

Browsing the titles, I was glad to be alone and take my time reviewing movies, carefully reading each summary in order to find a fantastic film. As a child my father used to do the same thing, spending half an hour picking out a video. That which I found intolerable at ten is mandatory some twenty years later.

I stumbled across a film I had been excited about a year ago but could never find in the theater. Elated, I restrained myself from texting Nick to let him know about my bounty.

After a delicious dinner and an excellent $4 bottle of wine we started the flick. The first three minutes is literally one shot. Of a driveway. With a man who walks to his car, a woman who walks to her car, and a bunch of effing tweety birds chirping away. I could have gotten past this except that scene is pretty much how I now feel about the entire film.

Nervous, it occurred to me that this might be a French film - pretty much the only foreign film I don't like on account of the unresolved endings and the political subtext that reduces the plotline to beyond boring.

Despite the flawless performance of Juliette Binoche, Cache (Hidden) was the kind of movie that incites anger. Not because of the world's injustice, not because the ending wasn't the one you wanted, but because you have just wasted your time watching pointless drivel when you could have been scratching yourself and surfing the Internet for bad renditions of Britney Spears' videos.

It was awful.

Slow, confusing, open-ended, and strangely disturbing, there was no major conflict within the film, and no resolution to any suggested conflict. I have no idea what I was supposed to get out of it. There was no catalyst for any of the drama that did occur, and no internal struggle within any of the characters.

I will summarize:

Juliette Binoche is married to a successful talk-show host (Daniel Autueil) who starts getting stalked for actions he refuses to share with his wife. When he finds the supposed culprit, an Alergian man he knows from childhood, the culprit kills himself.

End film.

Seriously. I wasted two hours watching that.

I was geniunely interested in the use of surveilance and video within the film -- otherwise it was impossible to become interested.

**Note - I just read a review that says this film touched on tense cultural conditions after the French-Alergian war, and that this subtext would be difficult for Americans to understand.

Especially difficult since they devoted a mere two sentences to dicuss the war.

What part of California do I belong in?

You Belong in San Francisco

You crave an eclectic, urban environment. You're half California, half NYC. You're open minded, tolerant, and secretly think you're the best. People may dismiss you as a hippie, but you're also progressive, interesting, and rich!

Where Does Your Inner Californian Belong?

A new game for my geeking friends!

Bloodsport Colosseum is a browser-based fantasy-sports rpg gladiator simulation like you've never seen! Hire, equip, train, and manage a team of gladiators as you gain fame and fortune from their blood.

Basically, if you like playing games like fantasy football, you will LOVE Bloodsport Colosseum.

This game was created by my diabolical genius of a brother, which means it's guaranteed to please. It's in beta form now, and he really needs some feedback. So get on out there and geek it up, try it out, play it!

Thanks.

Me and the Shelby

Aren't we pretty?

My favorite signs in the Pocket area

I didn't expect so much diversity in the suburbs, but they really go all out with the street signs:

1) Undulations
2) Speed Humps
3) Speed Lumps

I'm gonna make it a point to explore different neighborhoods and see if I can find any more creative ways to say "speed bumps". So far I don't think I've seen even one.

Hmmm.

The shoes, the car, the wedding!

Once we get the photos up I will show you everything. The Shelby was fantastic; a car so powerful and sweet sounding that it reduced grown men to boys in a matter of seconds. Awesome.

My shoes were adorable and well worth the numb, slightly painful feeling I had on Sunday, something I dubbed "eraser-feet" because it felt like I was walking on those brown gum erasers that smell really good, like fresh rubber, and leave enormous shavings on your artwork.

Zach's face when he first saw Jenny was priceless and a moment I will not forget anytime soon.

This does nothing to capture the mansions that surrounded the country club, or our afternoon spent at Zuma Beach. The entire weekend was relaxing and beautiful and when the photos are up, I'll post more.

P.S. My man in a suit was more delicious than Jenny and Zach's cake with fresh strawberries!

Accomodating 4lbs and 9oz

Since I had open heart surgery, my new doctor wanted us to get a second ultrasound to double check the baby's heart. In seeing her again I confirmed that she indeed has Nick's giant eyes. I think watching my baby lock eyes with her papa for the first time will truly be one of the most amazing events in my entire life.

We're still deciding on exactly how we want to have the baby, but because of my anxiety, need for mobility, and thoughts on episiotomy we are looking at doing it with a squatting bar, which of course means no pain medication and is only slighty less scary than being in the hospital itself.

I'm really not sure how this will play out; even with a fairly high tolerance for pain, I know my body will tense up every time it hurts, making everything more difficult. I'll be relying on Nick to calm me down and encourage me and I think he'll be amazing. Jennifer and my sister will also be around to remind me why it is I want to squat instead of lay down, and to feed me popsicles and water.

This weekened we decided to put all the baby stuff in my subaru and see how it fit; to our dismay (mostly mine, I'll admit) the car was quickly out of space and getting the car seat in required some special tetris wrist moves that will be far more difficult with 15lbs of baby in it.

Long and the short of it is that much like my hoo-hah, our car is too small to accomodate Nick's baby, so we bought a 2006 Toyota Rav4 to gain some extra space.

I am not sure how my vagina can go from a Subaru Outback Sport to a Toyota Rav4, but women all over are telling me it's not only possible, it's natural.

What's the weirdest thing you used to "sneak"?

My brother came into town this weekend, which always means that despite the noisy chatter and squealing of children, we sit around and shoot the shit. We know each other in a such a way that we bounce between random subjects like why it was perfectly okay to sneak to Disneyland in the middle of the night and how to remove a hickey - all in one sentence, if not breath.

I found out this weekend that my sister in law, Karen, used to eat Crisco out of the jar because she could pretend it was cake frosting and somehow trick her brain into thinking it tasted good.

My brother had an affinity for butter and dry cat food. He used to bring Friskies to junior high in a little sandwich bag, where normal people would carry chips or grapes or carrots.

Because I was around family, I could admit that sometimes, while feeding the dogs on a Sunday morning, I would sneak bites of their canned Alpo straight out of the can.

It seems I win for the grossest eating habits here, but before you judge, consider something: canned dog food is not nearly as bad as you think, which my brother confirmed to the dismay of his wife. Think of it like a hotdog with a lot of artificial flavoring.

I never ate the gross ground up stuff either, just the chunky "steak and gravy" kinds.

Finally, and not that this makes it any better, my mom _did_ lock us out of the house for hours at a time when we were small children. What was I supposed to do for food?! Everyone knows I eat like a hobbit.