WTF is up with Leona Helmsley leaving 12 MILLION dollars to her dog? I can’t think of one reason to do that, no matter how much money I had…or how angry I was at my relatives. Wouldn’t you just leave the money to an animal charity or maybe leave it to an actual PERSON with the stipulation that they take care of the precious dog/cat/whatever?
And how does it even work when you leave it directly to the animal? Does Trouble (yes, that’s her name) have her own AmEx? And what the heck is that dog going to do with that much money? There are only so many treats, bones, squeaky toys, etc. that a dog can buy. (Maybe she’ll fund a cat-fighting ring. Ha.)
And who is this dog going to leave the money to when SHE dies? The cat?
Less than 3 weeks to go, and….
- We still don’t have a name.
- I’ve never felt more lethargic in my entire life. (all I have been doing is reading and watching TV…and everything makes me cry!)
- I am so OVER being pregnant that I am now looking forward to actually having this baby….sleep be damned.
- I realized this week that I kind of miss booze.
- I have plenty of other things to blog about…I just haven’t. I promise to get off my a** and write about something besides me, me, me (and this baby) tomorrow.
It’s the end of an era. We sold the Hummer over the weekend, and I hate to admit it, but we are both going through a bit of a mourning period. It was a fairly impractical vehicle, especially with another baby due on the scene soon, but we both really loved that thing. It was the last remnant from our carefree days (meaning before kids), it was fun to drive (scaring people and feeling powerful is FUN), and it was a vehicle we both dreamed of owning in our teenage years…so it was like a little gas-guzzling dream come true.
So farewell, Hummer. You will be greatly missed!
I guess the good news is that now we only own 2 of the very bad, earth-killing things in this photo (according to Al Gore and No Cool Story).
On the baby naming front, what do yal think of the name Marielle?
Just some photos I took around Houston this week…
1. WTF, WTF, WTF Mr. Borden Delivery Man? Why was it necessary to park across THREE handicap spots to carry in one box of stuff? Unfortunately for you, I have been quite hormonal lately and took this shot to send to your company. (The real kicker is that there were only a few cars in the parking lot…plenty of other places to park.)
2. Let me start this by saying that I am sure you are a very nice woman, and I appreciate that you love Souper Salads as much as I do. And yes, I know it is rude to take a photo on the DL while someone is eating, but I just have to know….WTF is up with the toilet paper headband, lady? (Yes, that’s right…she has toilet paper wrapped around her head.)
3. Please say it ain’t so! Kohl’s is bringin’ Jelly Shoes back? WTF? Weren’t they ugly/uncomfortable enough the first time around? And who decides what “retro” things make a second round? What’s next…parachute pants?
4. And finally, the man who was honored with one of my fabulous Target parking tickets
. WTF, dude? Your redneck Truck O’Death is all decked out with gun racks, camo crap, and brush guards so you can haul dead animals around, but you need to park in two spaces because you are scared of a door ding? Please don’t do this again at high noon at the Chick-fil-a…it’s hard enough to get a space in the lot at all…and next time I might leave you more than a silly parking citation.
That has been my general attitude this week.
Only 4 weeks to go, and as you other moms know, I am in hell. Between acid reflux and getting seriously punched in the bladder all night long, I am getting very little sleep. Nothing fits except t-shirts and sweats. Oh, and I really haven’t done anything to prepare for this baby. It’s such a weird extreme from my first child that I think I might be in total denial that I am even having a child in the immediate future.
I’ve also been informed that this baby will be larger than my last. Apparently she will be over 8 pounds, which doesn’t bother or upset me, except when the news is delivered something like this…
Doctor: Hi there! I see from the ultrasound photos that this is going to be ONE BIG BABY.
It’s almost as bad as someone asking if you are having twins when you aren’t.
Anyway, the naming game continues on, but now my husband just points out words that rhyme with whatever name I suggest…
Him: Like “terrace?”
Me: Yes, so?
Me: I might kill you soon.
The only thing I don’t have to complain about this week are my recent pregnancy dreams. I’ve had very bizarre dreams for several months (being pregnant with Elvis’ baby…having a friend see me naked and then pee on my bathroom floor…just generally unnerving stuff), but this week I had a great dream.
I was married to the guy I had a crush on in high school (the handsome, popular, sweet guy that everyone liked, who is probably managing a Dairy Queen now). I drove a red, convertible Jag, and I was as pregnant as I am now, but I was so thin that no one could tell. Oh, and all the high school people were there fawning all over me. Excellent.
Because our naming conversations go something like this:
Me: I found a pretty Irish name that I like.
Him: What is it?
Him: I hate it.
Me: Ok. What do you think of Danica?
Him: I don’t.
Me: I see. Well, Halle suggested the name Claire.
Him: If you put an “e” in front of that, she will be a tasty treat.