Happy Father’s Day to my most-treasured men.
How many daughters can say they’ve danced on stage while their dad rocked the crowd?
My little sister and I can.
And please excuse my boastful ways, but this man is the father of my unborn child.
Life is good.
What a perfect weekend. My three very best friends, in the same place at the same time, bearing gifts for Whoorlito. What a rarity! We usually make it happen once a year, but it has become increasingly harder as we grow older and families expand. So as you can imagine, in my current sappy state, I nearly imploded with love.
However, first things first. To my fellow Mac users, have you played around with Photo Booth? Hours upon hours of entertainment, I tell ya. It’s a true miracle the four of us actually left the house.
Our weekend consisted of one day down in my hood and one day in LA, home to the fab Caroline. Saturday, the girls came down to my place with all sorts of goodies for Whoorlito, Prince of all Spoiled Children. He received books, toys, clothes, more clothes, and please feast your eyes on this beauty. Yes, the cutest Kate Spade diaper bag on the planet. Which, might I add, will go famously with the gift I just received from my parents. Ahhh, the infamous Bugaboo. The Stroller of Champions! The Stroller of Controversy! The stroller of which owners are constantly reminded that YOU COULD FEED A SMALL NATION OF CHILDREN WITH THAT PRICETAG. And yes, it used to bother me a bit. I would immediately launch into my memorized sales pitch, “Let me tell you about ALL the details of this stroller – it’s a bassinet AND a toddler stroller! It’s all the stroller you will ever need! Air-filled suspension tires! Precision handling! Mosquito nets! Rain covers!”
Now, I start and end the discussion with a brief, “To each his own, sonny”. Or maybe, “To each his own, you nosy assmunch with no life”. Usually, one of the two does it.
Besides the fabulous mini-shower, we walked around the beach, enjoyed the weather while eating outside at great restaurants and visited my favorite cupcake place (no line this time!). Of course, all of this wouldn’t be complete without plenty of juicy gossip and embarrassing stories of our past. We’ve definitely been through a lot together- weddings, births, deaths, several moves around the country and many boys.
I literally have boxes of photos featuring the four of us. As I perused these boxes recently, something became blatantly apparent. While many of photos from the the past years contain the four of us looking sweet and sober, most involve varying degrees of drunkenness.
Exhibit #1 – Sweet and Relatively Sober.
Exhibit #2- Drunk and/or Dazed.
And the Piece de Resistance. Dating back to 1988, it is where the roots of our friendship were planted. Two freshman high school girls looking hot with some serious perm action. My braces were pretty fresh, too.
Thanks for the past 18 years, princesses.
I’m hot. And tired. And annoyed.
I contemplated not writing this until my body temperature cooled off a little, but I have now realized my body temperature is NEVER going to cool down until I have this baby. Which really aggravates me to no end. I’m the cold-natured girl! I’ve never had this problem before…the heat-induced crankiness is beginning and people should be very afraid.
Just today, three people commented on my “pregnant glow” while working. Um, pregnant glow my ass. If you call a complete meltdown with a double-dose of swamp ass a “glow”, more power to ya. Too much information? Well, you try getting in and out of your car 20 times a day, lugging around a bag full of drugs (IN A SUIT MIND YOU) in 90-degree inland California weather. I’m not sure how much longer I can endure my job. Talk about the proverbial “bun in the oven”…whoorlito is literally being cooked in my stomach.
Unfortunately, returning home from work doesn’t remedy the problem. Our house, like 90% of the homes in my neighborhood, doesn’t have air-conditioning. Consider it one of the perks of living by the water- the sweet ocean breeze cools everything down all of the time! Our utility bills are never more than $20 a month! It’s beautiful and amazing out here!
Well, it’s beautiful for 10 months out of the year, but summer can be a different story. Luckily, we have “June gloom”, which is caused by a foggy marine layer that hovers over the coast for 3-4 weeks, keeping it very cool around here. But of course, the ONE SUMMER I’m pregnant, the marine layer swept in early and has now run its course (we think…I’m still holding out hope).
I have to add a disclaimer, though. I am fully aware that 83 degrees with low humidity is downright lovely summer weather according to average American terms. I grew up in Oklahoma where the heat index soared into the 110’s during the summer. Have you ever flown into Oklahoma during the summer? It is quite possibly the ugliest city to view from the sky. Everything is brown because everything is DEAD. The grass doesn’t even survive the summers. It’s horrible. But everyone has air-conditioning in Oklahoma, so as crap-ass as it is outside, you can always hide out in your cool house.
Coastal California? Not so much. And you all, IT’S NOT THAT HOT OUTSIDE! People are performing acrobatics due to the beautiful weather. But I’m hot. So hot I want to cry. Buckets of tears.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I am going to cut off a pair of my pajama pants and eat a popsicle.
Stay tuned for an endless bad attitude! Tomorrow’s subject: the job that is kicking my pregnant ass.
**UPDATE- this was written yesterday. It is now 7:44am and I am officially not hot this very second. I am actually wearing fleece. The sky is overcast. I looked out my kitchen window and saw these new blooms. Which means there is a slight chance of my shitty attitude improving.