Thursday, October 12, 2006
LOINS, LOINS, LOINS
Loins, as in "fruit of my loins." Tenderloin. Groin. Fruit of my groin! Fruit of my groins?
My due date is just five days away, ladies and gentleman, and I just can't stop writing about it. The latest is today's LA Times piece about the scary book "What to Expect When You're Expecting." Those of you with children know of this sacred tome. Those of you without children will find that skimming this fine text will keep you childless indefinitely.
You'll be happy to know that my enraged state has recently softened into a hazy, vague wonderland. Yes, I did mow the lawn yesterday like some possessed pregnant freak, but I also stared out the window for a good hour, thinking about nothing in particular. I knew I needed to stop spacing out and start writing my column for Salon, but I didn't care.
And here's the really strange part: When it comes to watching all of the TV I need to watch in order to write my column, which is about TV, I don't feel like watching it. I would rather stare at my feet and sigh. You can sort of see how this comes in handy when you're about to do nothing but wander about in a bathrobe for a month with a suckling pig attached to your body. See, I know that sounds like a living hell to most of you, but to me, in my current hazy state, it sounds like just the ticket.
In fact, a friend just invited me to an art fair, and all I could picture was the lack of soft chairs to sit in. I pictured wandering aimlessly, looking at art. Wandering aimlessly isn't something I can do right now without getting irritible. I can walk pretty fast, and mow lawns, or I can sit and stare at the wall, but moving slowly and looking at stuff? Yuck. You can't really stroll when there's a bowling ball lodged in your groin. You can stride (or waddle quickly, with purpose), or you can sit, but strolling will only make you angry and obsessed with big, soft chairs.
The worst thing I can possibly imagine doing, though, is going to a dark club and watching some hot new band play great music. Ugh! Waiting for them to start, getting jostled by a crowd of young, hip, attractive humans unhindered by bowling balls, then listening to loud, clanging rock while standing the whole time? Sweet jesus, it makes me sweat just to think about it. I just want to lounge about in my soft pants, eating oatmeal cookies.
Today I'm going to make lasagna, though, because my mom is coming to town. Lasagna, moms, bored dogs staring out the window all day, soft pants: In my vague state, these are the greateast things in life. In other words, yes, I've lost my edge. Will I ever get it back? My soft brain doesn't give a fuck either way.
See, I knew being dumb and spaced out was way more fun. No wonder Paris Hilton is always smiling!
Monday, October 02, 2006
Pregnancy is so sexy! I look like Jerry Garcia.
My piece about looking forward to the joys of motherhood ran today on Salon. You can read it here.
No, I don't really believe it'll suck that much. But I've gotten a lot of really nice, encouraging mail, which I definitely appreciate as I'm staring down the barrel of such a big life change. People are so generous and sweet sometimes, it's pretty remarkable.