Welcome To Rudeville

One of the two of my readers may remember how I used to write often about my neighborhood, Brooklyn when we first moved here and all of it's little idiosyncrasies that made G and I fall madly and passionately in love with it. Recently, we have relocated to the Bronx. While waiting for it's little idiosyncrasies to make themselves known, I have noticed great, big characteristics that make me want to pour freezing cold water down Bronx's t-shirt.

A.) Did I tell you about the move-in from hell wherein our landlord was ripping out our windows when the movers showed up with all of our crap in a torrential downpour? Let's just skip that one then.

B.) On our first weekend morning in the Ronx, G, Hunter, and me walked down the block to the little neighborhood bakery to introduce ourselves to the restaurant scene. We rope The Mag up outside and proceed in to admire the bakery delicacies and select ourselves two bagels, one coffee, and a chocolate milk (for the baby). While awaiting delivery of our toasted bagels with cream cheese, we (read: G) grabs a pastry to share. We promptly inhale our pastry, collect our bagels and are leaving the establishment. G was still inside while I unroped the beast and began covering him with affection, per usual. WHEN! This 65+ year old extremely aggressive man begins pelting me with "bad pet owner" insults. I was so confused and surprised I had no idea what to say to him. I stood there mouth agape with Hunter at attention about to kick this guy's ass when G exited the store to see what was happening. Old guy fired off a few more about how "great" it must be to have to wait outside while his owners sat inside eating breakfast, etc. Then the old bugger jumped in his car - that was incidentally parked in the handicap space when he clearly needed no assistance with walking, and took off.

Now listen up because I'm only going to say this one thousand times. Accuse me of many things, perpetual lateness, consistent unkempt housekeeping, binge drinking, detail extrapolating, or even self-medicating through over-eating. But DO NOT accuse me of abusing my dog because, People, he's the only one making out on both mine and my husbands advanced education degrees and healthy paychecks. THE ONLY ONE. There are few things that dog lives without and even fewer things he has to experience that he does not absolutely love. So if I decide to tie his leash to a pole outside the bakery I am patronizing in my full view and only a few steps away from me at all times so that he can accompany to and from said bakery, than SO BE IT. Kiss my pregnant white butt if you don't approve. And! I was sitting down because I'm SUPPORTING A GROWING LIFE INSIDE MY UTERUS and recently sitting down for breaks has come in handy while I grow TO THE SIZE OF A HOUSE.

I'm sorry.

Was the outrage a smidge thick there? She's a tad bit testy these days (read: most of her life).

I Spy

I have added another link to my daily blog browsing obsession. I got this one off of Maggie of Mightygirl.net and it's refreakingdiculous and I love it. I feel as though Mimi has an appreciation of my decorum problems and probably would approve of most of them.

Enjoyathon: http://smartypants.diaryland.com/

Cannot Locate Camera Computer Interface Wire

Since I cannot seem to locate a clean pair of underpants, let alone the camera, or wire with which I must connect my computer to to add pictures to the interworld, I decided to dredge up a few pics from the past and photoarchive the day we found out we were pregnant, rather I'm pregnant and G is forced to obey my every command... Witness!

The first pregnancy test I took was what I thought was two or three days after my period was supposed to start. This is a mystical assessment however, because my cycles are to regular what Obama is to old people. Was that an okay analogy? I didn't really try that hard there. Anyway - the initial prego test was negativo so we discarded it and proceeded to drink a few bottles of wine for close calls sakes. Two or three more days went by and still no visit from the hematopoesis gods, so I returned to CVS to purchase another, more expensive test, in the event that the negative sign is indirectly correlated to the dollar amount you spend on the plastic pee test stick. With G at the ready with the stopwatch, I peed away again. One line appeared right away, three minutes passed and there was a hairline perpendicular line that G considered not serious enough to warrant bringing a new life into the world. Two more minutes and there she was! Plus sign = Kniggity Knocked Up. FYI: the instructions say disregard results after 5 minutes or something ridiculous like that, but the giant roller derby bouncing ball in my abdomen begs to differ with said instructiones (Spanish for instructions).
We only had a few hours to kill (I wonder how often I'll type a sentence like that after this baby pops into the world) before our friends were coming over to party down so we took the opportunity to put our feelings over the new discovery into photograph form. Here I am saying, "Heeeey, I'm Fertile. What's your name?"
After explaining the sticky situation to Hunter, his thoughts were somewhat bleak on the matter: as in "Oh you have got to be f#$%ing kidding me". And then, "This better not disturb my sleep, my treat consumption, or my ability to make you two idiots do whatever I want you to".
And here we have the new parents-to-be saying, "We have no idea what we're getting ourselves into but we think a call to my dad and $100 in bail isn't going to get us far this time."
Preempted with the photographers direction to "pretend the baby was just born":


I know what you're thinking, and you're right. Us = Huge Dorks. But now we have a little baby dork on the way and then we'll outnumber you and your Cool Friend, so there.

Karma Call 2008

Okay, so hypothetically, there might be this meeting that I'm supposed/asked to go to once a month and for oh-about the last 29 consecutive months I've rsvp'd that I will attend and every month I've missed it. Hypothetically, of course. But I would be much more apt to attend if the meeting wasn't at 8 am on MONDAYS, every month. This has to be the least coveted slot for a group meeting. I almost feel bad because the organizers have no authority to govern who does and does not attend the meetings, and because they got the crappiest meeting time, outside of 4pm on a Friday. But I'm the schmuck who keeps saying, "Yes! I'll be there! Promise, cross my heart." and then no-shows time and time again. Bleeeeeh. And so it was. It's the Circle of Life, Simba. You cannot change it.

Aside from missing meetings, I pride myself on keeping in touch with the friends I've accumulated like mismatched socks over my lifetime. I may go months, and recently a few years, without speaking to some of my friends and then finally after catching up with each other we have a good long therapeutic chat and realize how fun it is to have friends. And also how fun it is to have access to booze. This is the best feeling ever. I'm not the type to get upset when it's been a while since I hear from someone, in fact it's a pet peeve of mine when people do get upset at that sort of thing. Besides, it's kind of more fun that way, because when you do get a hold, you have so much more to talk about than Meredith and Derek or your dog's latest annoying habit.

But seriously, Meredith? Get a life and get on with it already. He's dipping the wick elsewhere.

There are certain friends I think about from the days of yore and have no idea where they are or what they are doing. Like Amanda with the red hair in 2nd grade, or Donald who I gave rides home to in high school, and possibly even Francis of the rugby team in college. So here is my karma call to the God's of the Interworldnet: come find me old friends! And fill me in on all of your dirty gossip...

Business Socks

I can't stop watching Business Time. I just cannot stop. The two songwriters spied on my sex life and wrote this song about it. I'm kind of pissed at the violation of privacy, but also proud that I am forever immortalized on YouTube. See kids? Business can be fun!

Ahhhhh! I'm watching it right now and cannot concentrate on what I'm writing!%!

Enjoy.

The Vessel Speaketh

The pants, they are too tight:
My pants, my maternity pants, are too tight. PS. I'm only 26 weeks. What are these last 14 weeks filled with? Surely, I am not going to acquire any more room in my belly for growth to occur. So where is it going to come from? And how do I get more of it in a hurry? Freaking pants.

We're successfully packing our crap up in boxes and you can sort of see how progress is being made. That is if you call progress the pile of packing supplies laying in the dining room while G and I walk up and down the Court Street Fair shoving our faces with Italian sausage and deep fried oreos*. Yes, that is progress.

*And I have no idea why my pants are too tight, thank you very much.

I'm getting more psyched about our move now that I realize there will be places to eat and go out up in Riverdale, thanks to some girls I work with who are living up there currently and love it. I just hope I can trust their judgement, they are all kind of skinny...

I admit I need to post more pics. I'll do so tonight. Maybe another one of the pants fitting problem, and some of my friends, and possibly the current state of upheaval that our apartment is in. I will also try to show you important people that I mention on the site so you can put a face with a name.

Next week is G's birthday. The big 28. Wow. Old. I can't wait to start using his motorized wheelchair and Golden Buckeye card. I have to think of something fun to do for this event and considering my extra curricular activities as of late have consisted of A. A bowl of ice cream and B. Reading my book, I am open to suggestions. We're going to the Bohemian Beer Garden on Saturday for a joint Bday celebration for my good friend Caitlin(should be inserting picture here) and G. The last time we were there for the same event two years ago was fanfreakingtastic, so this one shouldn't disappoint. Must post pics after weekend.