That's it, I'm spent

Is life without regular wandings and injections worth blogging? The lack of regular WHYBAMLing makes BarrenAlbion bloody hard work to maintain. There isn't much to say about pregnancy, and lord knows I won't talk about sex again. That didn't work as well as I thought it would last time. Prudes.

Try not to fall asleep on me here. I want to know what you crazy kids are up to these days - what are you reading? What are you watching? What are you listening to? No seriously. This isn't small talk, I really do want to know. I find some of the most interesting posts and comments to be from bloggers talking about media-related things. Hell, I get downright giddy when Pamplemousse talks about her programming backlog. You know me, finger on the pulse and all that.

What I'm reading: I've been working on Ian McEwan's Atonement for months now it seems. When I was in the hospital last month having a back pit created for aesthetic purposes I read a whole 50 pages without stopping, but then I put the book down and...it has yet to be picked up again. I can't help it. Someone let me borrow The Time Traveler's Wife and that took over my reading schedule for awhile. I can't very well hate a book in which the main characters go to a Violent Femmes concert, can I? C'mon people, this is a band with immortal lyrics like, "Why can't I get just one fuck? I guess it's got something to do with luck" and "Nothing I can say when I'm in your thighs", phrases that made my 14 year old self blush and giggle with glee at the notion of listening to such vulgarity without my parents' knowledge.

What I'm watching: Everything. I'm an educated woman who loves to watch TV. I just can't help myself. Ok, I don't really watch everything that's on, but I do have a fondness for tripe such as American Idol and America's Next Top Model. The Dude and I are so addicted to AI that we have ::ahem:: AI "parties" on Friday nights (when it's aired here in the UK). These parties involve much debauchery and bacchanalian pursuits such as the drinking of soda and the consumption of large quantities of Ben and Jerry's. Yeah, we like to live on the edge. I tell you, it's good living.

On the topic of AI (abbreviated as such to display my hipness), I've developed an unhealthy fixation with Chris. I could do without the alt rock lite songs, but when he did Johnny Cash last week I found myself rubbing my boobs against the television screen and writhing. Hot. I like an intense man that looks as if he would throw me against a wall and have his wicked way, and he was staring into at the cameras like he was already picturing me naked. But way hotter. Yeah, he wants me.

Other than that, my main television staples are Prison Break, 24, and Rescue Me. The Dude and I have a fondness for DVD box sets, so at any given time we are trying to work ourselves through Oz, 21 Jump Street, Teachers, Arrested Development, and Freaks and Geeks episodes. We have seen every episode of Arrested Development (not including season 3) and Freaks & Geeks numerous times, but TV just doesn't get any better than that so we must watch them repeatedly. If you've never watched either of those shows, get thee to Netflix sharpish.

What I'm listening to: Cash, of course. My days are incomplete if no Cash comes up at all on my MP3 player. The Dude has a student that listens to Johnny and if it wasn't indecent I'd find out where he lives so I could smother him in my ample bosom and pat his head for being so clever at such a young age. For the record, he's like 17, not 10. Also, the smothering and patting is completely maternal. Completely opposite to Johnny is my infatuation with NERD, a group who makes me forget that I'm the whitest, nerdiest little suburbanite to dance like a rhythmless idiot to their music. Seriously, Rock Star makes me want to headbang and breakdance simultaneously and I cannot see how anyone can go through life without listening to this song at least once.

So there you go. More shit about me that you never asked to know. Now it's your turn. Talk to me people!


Why live in the world when you can live in your head

Since I spend most of my blogging life apologising anyway, I'm sorry. I'm totally going to make this post into my own little IFer version of the painfully skinny girl who moans that she's fat all the time when you want to slap the bitch and tell her how lucky she really is. Just don't do what I did in that situation in high school and tell her that yes, she really is a fat cow. Then she'll go and need to be hospitalised for anorexia and blame you for it. She will swear to cut off your eyelashes when she's all better too, just to spite you. True story, but I digress.

So being pregnant...yeah. I'm not digging it. Obviously given the option of being pregnant after all this time versus not being pregnant after all this time, I would choose pregnancy. However, no one warned me how freaky the whole process is. I can't remember a blog post written by anyone saying anything along the lines of, "My soul has been removed by beings unknown and placed in the warped body that I have no control over". This is how I feel at the moment. In the past few weeks my body has magically turned into something meant to house and nuture this Enid, and it's starting to look like that is its purpose as well.

I know this seems like such a stupid, obvious claim to make. Wait, you mean when you're pregnant your body...changes? You don't say? It goes beyond that though. I had a panic attack in bed the other night whilst I was laying there running my hands over my newly rounded, firm stomach (Note: This was a purely scientific touching up. There was no gleeful belly rubbing, I swear). The stomach I was touching was surely not my own. All of this is happening so quickly, and it's difficult to come to terms with the fact that it is beyond my control. In just a few weeks I have gone from "possibly just fat" to "pregnant belly forward ho!" and it's all rather overwhelming. Don't even get me started on the bellybutton-nearly-popping thing either, because I may just cry.

This isn't about not fitting into my clothes. It's not a vanity thing, it's a "what the fuck is happening to me?" thing. I can cope with thinking about there possibly being an Enid based in the spare bedroom come August, because a baby I can handle, she says naively. However, a thing that makes your belly and boobs grow at alarming rates and pokes you throughout your work day is just...disconcerting. I do feel as if I have ceased to be me, as this whole experience is foreign. This body isn't mine, and this reality isn't either.

I had my are-you-pregnant cherry popped the other day and I felt sick after it happened. I should have known that the ex-coworker casting the odd glance at my stomach was arriving at her own conclusions, but to have to say it definitively to an acquaintance was bizarre. I had a total pod person moment when I felt as if I had just astrally hopped into this pregnant person's body and assumed her identity. Pregnant? Me? Really?

I've had some time to think about the whole pregnancy thing. About 3 1/2 years in fact. I should have known that if it did happen, that I would be thrown into some existential crisis whereby I would start to question who I really am and what I want. The same thing happened when The Dude and I got engaged, and later when we got married. After the engagement, I hesitated to tell people the news. I didn't feel old enough to be engaged, and couldn't bear the thought of using the word "fiance". That was for grown-ups, and surely I was just out of high school? Marriage was even more traumatic in that sense, as it took me months to cough up the word "husband" in conversation. Again, I pictured myself as a child bride, not ready for the level of maturity and commitment that marriage brings.

So here we are again. The ::ahem:: damage is done, and here I am questioning it all after the fact. I'm now old enough to be married and I can cope with that, but shit...being pregnant? I have to carry it in my body? It's all getting a bit serious now and I hope I can sort out my head before Enid reaches puberty. It's crazy in there.


Grievances, pt 2: Because you know there is always more where that came from

I just cannot stop thinking of things that have been annoying me lately. I'm not in a total 666 mood like I was about a month and a half ago, but rather the world is just out to piss me off. Naturally.

1) Life is unfair: Whenever I would throw a little teenage hissy fit over issues such as my parents' insistence that I would not be getting a car at 16, going out on non-group dates with a guy I liked, or some other now inconsequential non-issue, my Mom would always say, "Yeah well...life isn't fair." That statement would always make me fume, because I had a grounded enough childhood to realise that we don't always get what we want. It always seemed like such an oversimplification, as if, prior to the uttering of this statement, I perhaps thought that "Golly gee, life is always perfect and we all get what we want, when we want it."

Sometimes life is unfair, and it pains me to think of that phrase when things are less than perfect. However, a lot of bad stuff has been happening to people I know and some that I love, and I cannot help but ruminate on how life is drastically unfair. The unfairness of it all seems to rain down upon you at one time as well. As if it's not enough to get bad news once, it needs to happen at least every other day. Down with life being unfair!

2) People who let their pets get really fat: I saw an advert for "Britain's Fattest Pets" or some such dross, and I spent the rest of the evening trying not to cry at the thought of the poor dog featured that was so fat he could barely even walk. I like a pudgy, waddling dog as much as the next person, but to overfeed your pet to the extent that you are severely jeopardising their health is unforgivable. When reprimanded for being so abusive to her dog, the owner was appalled and offended. Of course I wished death on her instantly, and tried to banish the image of the dog trying in vain to stand up fully after laying on the floor. Biiiiiiiiiitch.

3) Television's lack of understanding when it comes to the stomachs of pregnant women: Witness - Gabrielle on Desperate Housewives and Sheila on Rescue Me. Gabrielle was supposed to be about 3 months pregnant at the very least, yet girl was not getting at least a little gutty despite being the size of a very short gnat. Somehow she managed to squeeze into her size 0 Dolce and Gabbana dress, though they made great effort to show how much of a tight fit it really was. Ohhhhh...that's ok then. See, she can fit into the dress, but barely. She really is getting fat!

Sheila on Rescue Me - opposite issue here. Sheila was maybe pushing four months, yet had the stomach of a woman at least 3 months ahead of her on a bad day. Sheila could have rested teacups and plates on her massive bump when seated, and waddled in the way the mid-2nd trimesterers wouldn't dream of doing in public. I looked down at my sad stomach which could not hold a thimble let alone a plate, and poked the little being inside and told him/her to hurry up and grow already.

As it turns out, both women had miscarriages at that alleged "almost impervious to miscarriage" stage. Yeah, thanks for that.

4) Clothes for pregnant folk, part 632 1/2: Clothing manufacturers, take note - when a woman is pregnant and wants to go up a couple of pants sizes in normal person clothes rather than resort to the fabric flaps of maternity pants, she just has a big stomach. She does not miraculously grow 4 inches taller, much as she wishes this to be true. For all the size "fat bitch" trousers I've purchased recently, my mother-in-law had to take all of them up. It seems not only am I rounder, I also oompa-loompa my way through this world on my tiny little stump legs. Also, no comments please on how my MIL has to do my alterations for me. I'm clueless at the whole sewing, cooking and general housekeeping areas. Bite me.

5) Men and boobs: Yes, they are big. Yes, they are magnificent. This does not mean I want to sop up your drool as you make no effort to disguise your staring. We are at work. Try and be professional. Perhaps they would like it if I gazed at their crotch when speaking to them, barely able to contain my excitement at what lies beneath. Wait, no. They would like that.

Right, that's the grievances over with for this time. As I ended the last post on a positive (TWoP recaps), I will do the same today.

The Dude and I were driving along the seafront yesterday on the way back to the house from Sunday dinner at the MIL's. My eyes fell upon a most fantastic creature walking alone on the promenade, wearing a lovely full-length wool coat. This creature, we call him WHYBAML. It was everything I could do to restrain myself from taking off my trousers, angling my cooch out the window and shouting, "It's all for you WHYBAML!!" while rubbing my stomach, freezing temperatures be damned. I know he would have reacted with his standard, "Let's cover you up a little" (subtext: YOU FUCKING WHORE OF BABYLON!), but it would have been worth it.



Before I launch into today's tirade, I'd like to thank you all for the lovely comments left in response to my last post. I know it seemed like really lame pandering for your affections, but I have genuinely felt out of place lately. So, if we're going for letting it all hang out - no cheesiness here, only pure snark - I will try and be a bit more vocal about this pregnancy.

Here are my issues du jour:

1) Lies told by pregnancy publications: It seems that the first trimester is when you're exhausted all the time. Me, not so much. I can't say I was bounding with energy, but then again, I'm not the type to be manic in the best of circumstances. I could be forced to drink 10 espressos, the same in Red Bull, and snort raw cane sugar, and I'd still probably just want to lay on the couch, pregnant or not.

I was told by these bastions of expertise that the second trimester was the so-called "honeymoon" period - No nausea! More energy! Beautiful skin! Ok, ok...the nausea has dissipated significantly, my skin is unchanged from pre-pregnancy times, but the energy, my god the energy. It has done up and left. Yesterday during my lunch hour I walked 5 minutes into town, shopped in one store for 45 minutes, and walked the 5 minutes back to work. By the end of the day my legs and back ached, and I could have easily slept for a day. I got home and assumed my normal position on the sofa and only got up to get a popsicle. I meant to blog, but I would have needed to snap the popsicle stick in half to prop my eyes open, so instead I chose to rot to America's Next Top Model. Whatever works.

2) Pregnancy publications omitting certain effects of pregnancy : In this case, snot production. It's through the fucking roof here at BarrenAlbion. I cannot laugh spontaneously anymore lest an aerodynamic pool of snot rockets out of my nose and onto anyone or anything in the vicinity. One of my books mentions snottiness very briefly, and does not elaborate as to how it is going to affect one's personal life. Last time I checked, most people don't appreciate being snotted on.

When it's not a drippiness issue threatening to besiege innocent bystanders, I'm stuffed up. This can happen at a moment's notice. I cannot count the number of times in the past week I have rapidly developed congestion inside a five minute window. I'm not just talking an occasional blowing of the nose, but rather going from "I am going home" to "I amp goink hoemp."
The moral of this story is - beware of the snot.

3) Maternity clothing: Being a lady in the too-fat-for-normal-clothes-not-fat-enough-for-stretchable-fabric-flaps stage, I'm pretty much fucked if I want to wear anything but sweatpants with an elasticated waist or my beloved size "you fat bitch" jeans. I'm struggling at the moment to come up with anything to wear to work, as my current clothes leave me in a rather ridiculous state of muffintoppedness that could not be less attractive. Added to that is the fact that tops struggle to overcome the mountainous boobs and slightly protruding stomach, and you've got yourself not only a muffintopper, but a muffintopper that seems as if she is delighted to let it all hang out. Uh, everybody wants to see rolling, blindingly white flesh oozing out of clothing, right?

Quick gripe about the current trend of horizontal stripes in the attempt to recreate a ridiculous nautical theme...a man came up with this fashion, right? What woman voluntarily wears horizontal stripes? Additionally, was it a very cruel misogynist that decided that pregnant women + horizontal stripes = fashion brilliance and millions in sales? I was in one store's maternity section the other day and every.single.top had horizontal stripes - why?? I look fat enough as it is, but thanks for reminding me that I can look even bigger.

4) Breaking the news to acquaintances and having them ask, "How long were you trying?":
Sorry, when did this become anyone's business? Each time I've been asked this I've had to try very hard to stifle my surprise as well as the desire to kick them in the head. The best part is, once I'm silent long enough so as to evade their question, they start doing the relationship mathematics in their heads! Example:

Assface: That's great news! Had you been trying long?

Me: :::trying to think of something clever to say and failing:::, :::looks at the ceiling, pretends to have gone deaf:::

15 second pause

Assface: Well...let's see...you and The Dude have been married for what now - 4 years? Wow. That's a long time. Come to think of it, haven't you two been together since you were writing crap poetry in your bedroom, listening to The Smiths and sighing a lot? Didn't you want to have kids before now?

Me: No actually. We were doing silly, trivial things such as getting degrees and good jobs so we could support any future children. What were we thinking?

This happens almost every time I tell people. This is why I have now chosen to keep this shit to myself until Enid is like, fifty.

I have a list of about a thousand things that piss me off at the moment, but I have forgotten the other 996. I need something to blog about, so I'm sure after a brainstorm one of these days I'll remember the others. Something that is countering my almost constant annoyed state as of late can be found here. Their American Idol summaries make me snort in a most unattractive way. I'm probably releasing more snot when doing that, so I guess it is for the best that I only read them at home. Go. Read. Snot.