Do you know what it feels like for a girl?
Whats it like being in the home stretch before bambino? Hm, lets see…have you ever swallowed an entire Thanksgiving turkey bones and all? Imagine you did, and then you decide you need to bend over, but you have a wing sticking into your ribs. Or perhaps you need to drive somewhere and look behind you, but you have to rely on mirrors because your stomach is too big to turn around? (note: this may have resulted in me running over the neighbor’s bush in their front yard). Next, imagine the turkey in your stomach comes to life and starts rolling around like its looking for an escape. Its about as comfortable as sitting in a traffic jam on a hot day with busted air conditioning.
Alas, I have had to submit to the awesome power of the boppy. I didn’t want to do it! Stupid hype! Hype makes me crazy, especially when it revolves around a $45.00 pillow! However, one was given to me as a gift, and I was told that its for feeding the baby. Guess what, baby isn’t here, so its for supporting big momma! I’ve been wearing it around my back because I’m going around looking like an elderly woman with sans the walker (another note: my grandmother’s walker is pretty pimped out and I hope that I’m that bad ass when I’m her age). I boppy to the car, I take it to bed, and when I wake up to go to work and say goodbye to Mr. Blogarella, he is wearing it around his neck. Baby doesn’t get boppy, baby gets bupkis, its mine mine mine!
Walking sucks ass and when I see a person who has to use a mobility scooter, I get jealous. At work I asked if they would just wheel me around on a dollie and they laughed – I wasn’t joking! The worst is when you finally get yourself situated comfortably, well, about as comfortable as you could possibly be as if you were on a 5 hour car ride sandwiched between two family members, one has their head on your shoulder, and the other is sleeping so comfortably their legs are spread wider than an actress on the set of a dirty movie. So, you’ve finally reached that point where you move around and sort of feel ok enough to relax, but then something dumb happens, like your neighbor knocks on your door because he had another fight with his wife and he wants to use your phone to call 911 on her – again, not joking!
But I’m sure this is all worth it, false labors, mood swings, and all. Mr. Blogarella is told how much I hate him at least twice a day, and I’ve banned him from ever touching me again unless I get spayed or neutered. Or, I could just torture him and subject him to hours of annoying children’s programming. My goodness, having this much power is dangerous!
Happy Memorial Day
I love the vets and I love active military men, I will include women in that, though I tend to find men in uniforms way sexier – sorry ladies. Its always sad to hear when somebody is struck down in the line of duty, and this is the time when we remember the sacrifies they made. Granted most people tend to remember by smoking ribs over an open fire or watching the Indy 500. Regardless, its important to take a moment and think about these folks and just say a quick thanks.
I’m off from blogging for the rest of the weekend, unless of course Mr. Blogarella does something stupid, and he’s a man, so I’m not completely ruling it out.
xoxo
A Tale of Hunger
One night in a land far far away, there was a prince and his two knights. On this particular eve, the men would be dining with the prince’s beloved. Unbeknonst to her, on this fateful night was a tournament, The College Basketball Final Four Championship Game. Their journey began in a silver chariot, and they soon arrived at a dining establishment. Sadly the men discovered that the game was not being shown there. Pity! They went back to the chariot and onto the next ye olde dining establishment. The second establishment was also not broadcasting the show of strength. Curses! This particular scenerio repeated itself one more time when our fair maiden finally spoke with great furor, for she had an unquenchable hunger due to the fact that she was carrying the future heir to the throne. “Somebody better get me some food right now, or I’m going to flip out!” said the maiden. “I’m going to scream and yell, and I’m going to cry, and I don’t care who sees me!” At that moment the Prince and his knights rushed her into the establishment as if she were a person who was on the verge of dying from thirst. “Get this women something to eat now, she’s pregnant!” Spoke one. Soon the fair maiden was well fed, the prince and his knights were watching basketball, and all was well within the kingdom.
The End.
When Hormones, Heartburn, and Hunger Unite!
Going out is going to be more of a challenge in a few months, so Mr. Blogarella and I have been making sure we get out of the house and see something that doesn’t involve the almighty Playstation 3. Obviously, its easier for me to part from this mechanical wonder. Since we have begun these excursions, I’ve made a startling discovery – hissy fits. Its a new found phenomenon, and they appear to happen when something doesn’t go my way. Take Saturday night for example. I can’t eat large meals without entering the exillerating new world of acid indegestion, so dinner was pretty much a fistful of vegetables. Around 10:00PM I was HUNGRY! We were at a dining establishment when low and behold, the kitchen was closed. Damn! So we do the logical thing, go to an establishment down the street. This one also cheats me out of food. Double damn! So on our way back to the original establishment, I proceed to loudly and publicly accuse Mr. Blogarella of not caring about the baby or not caring about me because of the lack of effort in acuiring me food. In typical man fashion, the reply was “you should’ve finished your dinner.” Whoa! Them is fightin’ words! I decide its in my best interest if we just go home, but wait, there is a McDonald’s along the way and the night might be saved…after 15 mins. of waiting in the McDonald’s drive thru, I decide to cut my losses and go into an establishment that is completely foreign to me. Mr. Blogarella tried to explain that it was probably not what I was looking for, but that is where he was mistaken. I discovered something grander than a free all-you-can-eat buffet at happy hour. A sign was hanging up on the wall annoucing the The Weekly Thursday Night Booty Shaking Contest with a cash prize of $200! Sadly, it wasn’t Thursday, even sadder, Mr. Blogarella was did not share my enthusiasm. But then again, a pregnant woman probably shouldn’t be shaking her booty for cash prizes, especially in an establishment where women were sipping their beer through straws by the dozen. But, its nice to dream.
I assure you that nobody in the establishment remotely looked like this 
My So-Called Mother’s Day
I’m not yet a mother…well, some might say I’m a “mutha” but I don’t think we need to complete the phrase. We visited Mr. Blogarella’s mom for Mother’s Day, and without any warning, she went right for the belly. Not since I was a little kid getting pinned down and exposed to excessive amounts of tickling has my belly been exposed to so much groping. I don’t mind, except that being the skinny bitch that I am, instead of buying maternity pants like I should, I’ve been different. See, I know that my abdominal muscles are taking a sabatical, but to me, it feels as weird as if Mr. Blogarella turned to me and said something like “Well, I’m off to Florida for the winter. Try not to burn down the house while I’m gone.” Yes, he’d come back, but will things between us ever be the same? So instead of saying “see you in the spring” to my abdominal muscles, I’ve been fighting and fighting and to me maternity pants basically means the abdominal muscles and I are going through a trial seperation. Whats a skinny bitch to do? Proclaim to the world that she’s still wearing her regular pants, but not share that she’s doing things like holding them up with hair elastics or not buttoning or zipping them opting instead for longer shirts. So for that reason, attacking my belly means you might also be attacking my panties, because if I’m unzipped, they are pretty much on display and I’m not sure how many people I want to know that I favor cartoon undies. Well, its still better than being the dude that is known for wearing the nut huggers.
Here is an updated pic of me and my Buddha – notice the hand placement, I totally don’t want the man hands photographed, but its a lot better than having pictures of me in my panties all over the internet. If that ever happens, it better be for a good reason, like a modeling contract with Victoria’s Secret.
Hey Big Daddy!!!
Lets look at why Mr. Blogarella doesn’t like being called “Big Daddy: in public. Is it because we have nearly a 10 year age gap and I look younger than my age? That would make him look like a dirty old man, but he’s my dirty old man, and I think he’s the most desirable thing since luxury box seats in the all you can eat section during game 7 of the World Series. Mr. Blogarella is a sexy sexy sexy man, and he’s all mine. Even on those days when I am so mad at him that I want to call his mother and say “He’s all yours!” I still look at him like a male underware model. If he reads this, he’s going to kick my ass…and look sexy doing it. Roar!
