Wednesday, June 15, 2005

Sell Out

Yellow flower among the goose poop
I’ve sold my soul to the Google gods, people. See those ads in my sidebar? If you click them, I’ll make money… or so they tell me. Don’t look at me like that, I have a kid on the way.

Here are some less than interesting facts about me today:

I forgot to put on deodorant this morning.

I also realized that I forgot to take my prenatal vitamin yesterday. What is wrong with me?

I got a crazy leg cramp at 1:30 in the morning that woke me up.

My nipples are consistently hard to the point that they hurt.

A new picture of my belly is up at the baby blog. Beware, it may swallow you whole.

My mom’s dog is in heat and I swear she tried her hardest to communicate with me yesterday about how much it sucks to be a woman. It was a time of bonding.

Blueberry Pop Tarts are my favorite.

I was really into root beer up until a few weeks ago. I’ve drank so much root beer that I think my farts probably smell like root beer. Now I’m very much into lemonade.

ESC and I worked out our meeting spot yesterday… It involves burritos and margaritas…I’m blog whoring and meeting every single person that comes into the Pittsburgh area. So if you’re around, email me. We’ll party like I’m pregnant and you’re not.

I watched Sex and the City last night and there was an awesome episode about the girls getting invited to a baby shower of a friend of theirs who they used to party with. The pregnant lady used to get all crazy and strip at parties and date rock stars and stuff, and they couldn’t believe how lame she was since she settled down and got married. All the while, Carrie thought she was pregnant. The woman showed up at a party that Samantha threw to celebrate NOT having a baby, and she tried to get all crazy and strip like she used to do in her former life. She couldn’t do it. Carrie got her period and everyone lived happily ever after. It made me wonder how much I’ve changed since becoming a mom to be. I don’t feel like I’ve changed much. But I think change is inevitable. I used to get drunk and flash my tits at parties but I don’t foresee that happening again in the future (even though they’re more fabulous now than ever before, and the hard nipplage makes them even more noticeable). I think that’s called maturity though.

Now go make me some money you poopy heads!

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