This is How I'll Lose the Baby Weight

Jarred came to see me this weekend. He's such a good little brother. He hasn't seen me all year, so his reaction to seeing his sister eight months pregnant was to :

1. Laugh
2. Whip his phone out, take my picture and send it to all his friends.

Steve does the exact same thing whenever he sees two or more redheads together in one place. My phone will blow up with pictures of redheads and the message: "Look! I discovered a ginger colony!" Yeah, two or more redheads in one place = Ginger Colony.

Since Steve's birthday last weekend went largely uncelebrated, Mom decided to bake him a cake. When the time came to cut said cake, I was behaving in typical indecisive Libra style--mock-slicing the round layer cake with my knife, and asking Jarred, "Should I cut it this way...or should I cut it this way?"

Jarred shakes his head, "Just cut it like it's pie."

"Oh, no! That would make the slices way too big!"

"No, it wouldn't. Here, just imagine that this cake is your lottery winnings. Cut a slice that represents the amount you'd donate to charity."

I. Laughed. So. Hard. Mom thought I was going to go into labor.

Happy Memorial Day, y'all! And may your food portions be as generous as your charitable donations.

33 weeks

I'm 33 weeks pregnant! I'm beginning to see the light at the end of the tunnel, which is exciting. Baby is the size of a honeydew melon now. One more fruit to go! I feel like I've been pregnant for over a year now. According to thebump.com, Robinson's senses are improving. He can recognize "simple" songs now...does that mean he was listening to Ludacris and Jay-Z this weekend when Steve was painting the nursery? Doc says he's about four pounds now. So he's got seven weeks to double in size. That's a tall order.

Amy and Angie are hosting a BBQ baby shower for Steve and me this weekend. I realize that last sentence makes it sound like we're gonna BBQ a baby, but I'm not going to revise. I'm super excited to see everybody. I've more or less been hibernating the past several weeks.

Let's see, what else...he's getting pretty powerful at this point and is actually capable of inflicting pain. Finding a comfortable sleep position is becoming a challenge. Nightly bathroom trips are increasing in frequency. I've read about and heard people saying how their dogs know that they're pregnant. Mine don't. Do they think I'm smuggling a watermelon under my t-shirt? They jump on me, sit on me, climb all over me. I hope they learn to respect the baby more than they respect the bump. And to that end, I am working with Libby on not jumping up on me. She's the mighty one.

So Long, Gary Coleman

Per TMZ, Gary Coleman's wife pulled the plug on his life support, and he died at 12:05 PM Utah time. He was 42 years old. Goodbye, Arnold.

What Choo Talkin' 'bout, E! News?

Gary Coleman is listed in critical condition in a Utah hospital following a head injury that resulted from a fall. The news has been confirmed by his manager and his wife. Wait, he still has a wife? I thought he divorced that sassy ginger kid after she vandalized their home like Billy Idol in a Bangkok hotel room.

In a statement released by Gary's manager this morning to E! News:

"As of mid-morning on May 27, Mr. Coleman was conscious and lucid. By early afternoon, Mr. Coleman was slipping in and out of consciousness and his condition worsened. We are saddened to announce that since mid-afternoon, Mountain Time, on May 27, 2010, Mr. Coleman has been unconscious and on life support. At this critical moment, we can only ask for your thoughts and prayers for Gary to make a speedy and full recovery."

I just asked my Magic 8 Ball if  Gary was gonna get better, and it replied, "Outlook not so good". Here's hoping for a miracle.

Fun with Google

I downloaded this thingy for my blog, and I don't know how it works or what it does, but once a week I receive a report via email, and it tells me the Google searches that brought new readers to my blog. These search topics mildly amused Steve and me, so I am passing them on to you. So you can be mildly amused. Or not. Some of the searches aren't "funny", but I think it's funny that of all their possible Google search results, they decided that my blog had the answers they were looking for. How foolish, Google user! My reaction is in green.

Calamity Jane golden news humane Can I buy a verb? 
compression stockings are oh-so-sexy.
Liberace movie starring Jake Gyllenhaal.
Megan Mullally currently starring in the worst "I Can't Believe It's Not Butter" commercial ever. Fabio called. He says you suck.
pregnant movies more laughs and fewer stretch marks than the real thing.
scholl sandals look great with compression stockings.
baby preparation 29 weeks if you're me: you haven't painted the nursery, baby-proofed the house, or taken any kind of childbirth or childcare class. Way to be on top of things!
lolita sex young girls photos Eww! Three Mutts refuses to contribute to this sort of depravity! I suspect this Googler user is featured on Megan's Law.
Jessica Simpson has blown any chance she ever had to be a Colgate spokesperson.
"to pull a samantha" what does that mean? If you ask my friends, it means to wear a low-cut shirt and talk too much.
sixth grader performs paparazzi and makes this 28-year-old woman feel like a talentless hack.
Brad Wollack on Saved By the Bell Is my blog was the only place on the world wide web that includes posts featuring "Brad Wollack" and "Saved by the Bell"? Probably.
text descriptive my hospital I got nothin'...
brokeassweave.blogspot.com is a much more clever blog title than "Three Mutts and a Baby".
circumsized because I mispelled misspelled "circumcised". And I really did just misspell "misspelled".
Heigl acknowledges she's earned a reputation for being a miserable, ungrateful cow...by acting like a miserable, ungrateful cow. Great, now I kinda like her.

Mark Your Calendars!

If this is old news and I'm the last to know, shame on you for not telling me! Between a Pearl Jam and a Blues Traveler song, Pandora played an ad for the new addition to Chick-fil-A's already tasty menu: The Spicy Chicken Sandwich, available June 7. I. Am. Ecstatic. It's the perfect fast food meal, like the time somebody picked up a Wendy's Spicy Chicken sandwich and drove next door and bought McDonald's fries. (Spoiler Alert: it was me.) If I had known sooner, I could have reserved a free sandwich, but no reservations are available in my area now. If only I hadn't eaten so much Chick-fil-A during the second trimester and sworn it off for the rest of the pregnancy, then I would have known sooner. This news is way bigger than the KFC Double Down.

Quote of The Day

Jarred: Effin boss' sister-in-law made us lunch. These janky sandwich wraps. Not good.
Me: Ick.
Jarred: It tastes like a hobo's leftovers.
Me: hahhahaahahhaahaahahahahhaah
Jarred: And they are up there mean muggin us while we pick them up.
Me: Why the mean muggin?
Jarred: Cause she looks like Rod Stewart. I dont know, she sucks. Smelled like a funeral parlor hooker up there. I mean, these women hunt down the worst perfumes.

Presented Without Comment: Sex and the City 2 Reviews

"'Sex and the City 2' is about someone else's boredom, someone else's vacation and ultimately someone else's desire to exploit that vicarious pleasure for profit. Which isn't much fun at all."–A.O. Scott, New York Times

"The only thing memorable about 'Sex and the City 2' is the number two part, which describes it totally, if you get my drift. Everything else in this deadly, brainless exercise in pointless tedium is dedicated to the screeching audacity of delusional self-importance that convinces these people the whole world is waiting desperately to watch two hours and 25 minutes of platform heels, fake orgasms and preposterous clothes. It is to movies what fried dough is to nutrition." -Rex Reed, New York Observer

"The experience of listening to the girls complain about their fairy-tale lives from the comfort of an all-expenses-paid luxury vacation in the Arabian desert may leave a viewer feeling by turns nostalgic, disoriented, and impatient." -Lisa Schwarzbaum, Entertainment Weekly


"Fans of the HBO series would be wise to pivot on their Manolo Blahniks and steer clear of the mortifying mess that is Sex and the City 2" -Claudia Puig, USA Today

"The characters of Sex and the City 2 are flyweight bubbleheads living in a world which rarely requires three sentences in a row." -Roger Ebert

"In this second screen incarnation of the fabulous HBO series, the satire is sagging, the irony's atrophied and the funny is flabby." ~Los Angeles Times

American Idol Finale Commentary

In 50 years, when I'm 78, my boobs are 20 and my face is 39, I'll be sitting on my front porch with grand babies on my lap, and I'll tell them that ol' Sammy remembers exactly where she was the day Simon Cowell bid farewell to American Idol. They will listen in wonder as I tell them that, prior to 2002, when people heard the name "Simon", it conjured up images of a Saturday Night Live character played by Mike Myers:

"Moy name is Simon, and I like to do draw-rings!"

Here's how the 9th Season finale went down, through my eyes:

- I didn't watch last season, so tell me: Kris Allen isn't big on enunciating? I needed subtitles for his performance. Cute kid, though.

- I have no reason to feel this way, but something about Siobhan Magnus feels awkward. I used to feel the same way when watching Smashing Pumpkins videos during the 90s. And something about Aaron Kelly makes me want to give him a juice box. Their song takes a turn for the worse, as I begin hearing music that makes me think of some dated Bee Gees song. I thought, "What, are Barry and Robin Gibb gonna show up next?" And then there they were. I must be psychic. Or was it Maurice? Whichever one is still living. I only recognize Robin Gibb because I recently saw his photo on a gossip site that reported he acted like a horse's arse at Heathrow Airport. I know nothing beyond that headline because, well, I was born during the Reagan administration and therefore have no interest in Bee Gees: Behind the Music.

- This season's chunk of chocolate thunder, Michael Lynche, performed a duet with Michael McDonald. I'm slow on the uptake, so I'm just now figuring out that they're gonna sing hits and then be joined on stage by the hitmaker. I thought Michael McDonald songs were just for my silver fox, Taylor Hicks? Michael McDonald looks like Colonel Sanders after ordering the Kenny Rogers Cosmetic Surgery Special. I'm mesmerized.

- Next up was Dane Cook, who took the time to set some of Simon's greatest insults to music. I can tell by their faces that Ellen and Simon both very much hate Dane's performance. Also, is Dane's undersized shirt a nod to Simon's notoriously tight tops? Then, all the Idol rejects came on stage like a reunion for VH1 and E! reality show has-beens. Some guy who looked like Bobby Trendy got a hold of a microphone and started babbling about how he was more interesting than Simon...something like that. I don't care enough to even rewind my DVR. Cut abruptly to commercial.

- Christina Aguilera, do you need a moment to chew it over with Twix? I feel like she couldn't decide exactly what she wanted to sing, so she took a page from the Kris Allen and Nick Jonas School of Music and just decided to gargle all the words to her latest song. Christina is the hotness, and she knows that no matter what she does, we're all gonna sit on the edge of our seats, nodding and smiling like my Vietnamese nail technician when she tries to make small talk with me. Neither of us can understand a word the other is saying, but we live together in perfect harmony.

- Casey James, what's you secret for lustrous, bouncing curls?

- Did tonight's music selection come from WMJJ Magic 96's playlist? I began having flashbacks to my time spent in the orthodontist's chair having my braces tightened, listening to Hall & Oates.

- Daryl Hall was having some Peter Brady moments on stage. Hitting those notes was a strugglefest. He should have borrowed Justin Bieber. The Biebs hasn't gone through puberty yet. What am I saying? American Idol is live, and it's past Justin's bedtime. Duh.

- How do you not love Crystal Bowersox's dad? Evening wear by Harley Davidson is classic.

- Crystal takes the stage to perform Alanis Morissette's "Ironic". Ironically, I am a fan of Alanis, but not of this song. Because nothing she describes in the song is in fact ironic. They're just things that suck. But I guess "Doesn't That Suck" or "Ain't that a Bitch" isn't gonna shoot up the charts on Casey's Top 40. It's my heartfelt wish that Crystal had chosen "You Oughta Know" instead. Then, as if Santa Claus himself heard me, Christmas came early and Alanis and Crystal performed together, "You Oughta Know."

- Carrie, Carrie, Carrie. You're everything I wish I could be, and nothing that I am. Tip of the hat to you.

- American Idol's sponsor, Ford, gifted Crystal and Lee with a Ford...Fiesta? A Ford freakin' Fiesta? You should have given them Mustangs. Or, better yet, a Bronco. That would have been my choice.

- Bret Michaels is the new Betty White. As Americans, we have a tendency not to appreciate our celebrities of yesteryear until they float off to the big tour bus/wicker furnished lanai in the sky. Now we're just beginning to recognize these living legends and reward them with a renaissance. We're all so thrilled and relieved that Bret cheated death (once? twice? three times?) that we've taken him back from the free clinic gutter tramps he's been carousing with for the past few years and made him America's sweetheart. Weren't we all delighted to see him?

- Paula's here! Please be lucid, please be lucid, ahhh...it was awkward. Like Steve Buscemi's best man speech in The Wedding Singer. What, you haven't seen this crown jewel of Adam Sandler's filmography? (says me). Here ya go. You're welcome.

Sample line: "Why can't you be more like your brother? Harold would never beat up his landlord!"

 - The tribute to Simon continues with a performance by past Idols and Finalists. Afterwards, Paula guides Simon up to the stage. I've seen Hey, Paula, and let me tell you it's a real roll reversal, Paula helping someone else walk in a straight line. I'm impressed. I really hoped she would sing "Rush Rush" or at the very least, "Promise of a New Day". I am denied.

- Kelly Clarkson's hair looks fantastic.

- Where is David Cook?

- I'm watching Janet, "Miss Jackson" if you're nasty (which I am). Seeing her without her long, luxurious mane of hair is as confusing and upsetting as my 1987 visit to The Magic Kingdom, where I hugged Minnie Mouse and discovered that inside her big, yellow Minnie shoe was a small, brown human shoe. As I sat in a restaurant crying, my dad attempted to console me. Rubbing my back, he softly asked me, "You didn't really think she was a giant cartoon mouse, did you? You know she's an actor playing a character, right?" I've loved Miss Jackson since Rhythm Nation, and all these years I've given no thought to her weave. And now that weave is gone and so is a little bit of her mystique.

- Let's cut to the results. Like a coin tossed in the air, I call it: Crystal Bowersox

- And the new American Idol is: Lee DeWyze!

- Lee DeWyze sweetly makes the biggest understatement of his life: "I am so happy right now." I melt like butter.

I think the American Idol host and judges should have made a pact like the cast of Friends. They're all in it together until the end. I don't like them departing one at a time. Will we really tune in next season without Simon?

Google Leads to Gays and Giggles

My work pal, Donnie (he's been mentioned before here and here) brought this nifty device to work: it's one of those handheld massagers. He was kind enough to give me a demonstration, and I immediately took to the internet to procure one of my very own. He told me it was called "The Bear Claw" massager. That's what I entered into Google, and this is what I got: Bear Claw Massage, located in New York state and owned by Ron. He looks like Philip Banks from The Fresh Prince of Bel Air. What a "bear", indeed!

Left: Ron the "Massage Bear" Right: Philip Banks

For those of you who never watched Kathy Griffin's My Life on the D List, Kathy (one of my favorite redheads, and a friend of the gays) spent considerable time talking about "bears", a subset of homosexuals distinguished by their round, furry masculinity. Kinda like a big gay lumberjack!

So...imagine the fit of giggles Donnie and I erupted into when we innocently tried to locate a back massager (friend of the pregnant woman), and instead found a bear (friend of Kathy Griffin). FYI, it's The Original Palm Massager, and it's available on Amazon. Not at "Bear Massage"

A Few Words Regarding Sex and the City 2

Please, do not let me rain on your cosmopolitans, but I'm lacking enthusiasm here. Maybe one of you can help pull me out of this funk. I love Sex and the City. I own the series box set. I was in line at the theatre the day the first film premiered. I now own that film on DVD. I have a tank top that says I'm a Samantha. Not to sound overconfident, but I think I could seriously dominate in a game of Sex and the City trivia. That said, I can't decide if I'm excited about this latest installment. Don't get me wrong: I'm excited about the idea of a sequel, I just don't know if this is what I had in mind. It's like if your lover surprises you with a home cooked dinner...and it's Manwich. "Yum! Thanks, lover!"* It's a sweet gesture, but it leaves a little to be desired. That's how I feel about the trailer for Sex and the City 2. And doesn't the term "lover" make you uncomfortable? I bet you'd like me never to use it again.

The first film surprised me in how sad and heavy the subject matter was. And without Carrie's voice chirping narration throughout the film, it was very different from the series. But I get where writer/director/producer Michael Patrick King was coming from. The series had ended four years earlier, and the characters lives had gone on. He had to advance their story lines, and that involved some pretty major life changes for the ladies.

Now that we're on to the second film, I am expecting a little more of the fun and flamboyance that made the series so outstanding. That's what leads me to my ambivalence: a lot of the fun of Sex and the City was living vicariously through four glamorous women who live in a city more exciting than ours, financed by the kinds of careers we dreamed of as school girls, wearing clothes we can't afford, attending parties we're not invited to, drinking cocktails we've never heard of, and dating men we'd love to go out with (if we're single). Basically, they're living the dream. That's why we love them, right?

The trailer for Sex and the City 2 shows the girls not in "the city", but jetting off to a far away land for a luxurious vacation...in Abu Dhabi? Was I not cc'd in the memo that states that women across America are all adding "vacation in the Middle East" to their bucket lists? Has Michael Patrick King just been dying to live out this "Arabian Nights" fantasy on the big screen? I know that since they went to Mexico in the last film, any old vacation won't do for this installment. This is Sex and the City, after all, we can't have our ladies in a Sandals resort. But why do they have to go on vacation at all? After the bleakness of the last film, I was hoping for some more fun in New York. United Arab Emirates isn't even a nation I've dreamed of visiting. If the trailer is any indication, a hefty portion of the film is set in this location. I'm stumped. The French Riviera or Greece make more sense to me...but Michael Patrick King didn't consult me, the Super Fan.

Since I can't knock back girly cocktails in the theatre with a group of girlfriends, and I promised not to drag Steve to any chick flicks for the foreseeable future, I'm not sure when I'll get around to seeing this film. I'm certain that I will, but I haven't logged onto Fandango just yet. I waited patiently for two years for this sequel, and now that it's finally here...well, I'm pouting, that's all. I really hope that the trailer is simply designed to keep the details of the film a secret, but right now it feels like they're forcing the Abu Dhabi storyline on us. As if watching the ladies vacation in the desert is what fans have been waiting for. Just watching the trailer left me with sand in my bra. Ehh, whatever. I hope to be pleasantly surprised.

*I know Steve will have something to say to me when he reads my "Manwich" comment. So, to clarify, Steve has never fed me sloppy joes. It's truly a metaphor, and not taken from my life experiences.

Insomniac Theater: SodaStream

While you were sleeping, I watched this infomercial for SodaStream. It's for people who are just sick and tired of purchasing, carrying, storing, drinking, and disposing of their current store-bought soda pop. SodaStream allows you to use your very own tap water and one of their 30 varieties of sodamix flavors. I may be suffering from insomnia, but that doesn't mean i don't aspire to catch another REM cycle, so I mainly listened with my eyes closed, wishing for sleep.

While I didn't catch this infomercial in it's entirety or give it my full attention, I noticed an absence of commentary on how delicious SodaStream sodas are. I bet it tastes like watered-down Triaminic. They mainly emphasized the convenience, affordability, simplicity, variety (creamsicle! root beer!), and my favorite selling point: environmental friendliness.  There were many remarks from SodaStream users, who seemed so grateful to be released from the shackles of having to purchase and store their soft drinks. I had no idea that 2-liters and fridge packs were such burdens. I'm serious, these people had a lot of pent-up resentment towards purchasing, storing, and disposing of soda cans. Sheesh.

Does Sally look burdened to you? Nope! She loves her Dr. Thunder!

I mainly saw mothers making the soda in the infomercial. How fun for mom. As if they don't have enough to do. I guess this could be a novelty item that's fun for kids...but it's no Snoopy Sno-Cone Machine. Realistically, the only people I could see using this product are the Duggars. They make their own laundry detergent for pete's sake.

Crossing Another of the List

Note: Post contains subject matter of a purely "pregnancy" nature. Nothing graphic, just dull. They can't all be winners, right?

I've worked in the salon and spa industry long enough to lose my grip on reality and consider massages and pedicures as necessary to life as getting the oil changed in my car or brushing my teeth (and I mean daily, Jessica Simpson!) Nevertheless, I strongly believe in the benefits of getting both massages and pedicures on the regular, which is why I included on my list of 101 Things, #93: Get a Massage.

Massage is generally recommended for all healthy pregnant women beginning as early as their 10th week. Certainly, you would want to run this by your doctor and use your best judgment. Also, be sure to choose a massage therapist who is certified in pregnancy massage. There are certain techniques and pressure points that are to be avoided in pregnant women. There is my disclaimer. I'm responsible, y'all!

I've had probably five massages during my pregnancy so far. It is so relaxing, and a great way to take care of myself during a pregnancy that has been filled with so much discomfort. Massage has many benefits, including reducing stress, lowering blood pressure, improving lymphatic drainage (we're talking about cankles, ladies!), soothing tired, sore muscles, and working out all the kinks, aches, and pains that come with growing a human. I leave feeling relaxed and possessing an overall sense of well-being. Soon enough, everything I do will be for my little guy. I'm indulging in a little "me time".

I decided to include this on my list and write about it because well, if all the pregnant ladies are out there having massages and pampering themselves during pregnancy, they aren't talking about it. I am here to sing the praises of pregnancy massage and encourage others to treat it as a part of their prenatal care, not just something that you do once during pregnancy if a thoughtful friend gives you a gift certificate. Take care of your baby's mother!

Pole Dancing with the Stars

I've been pulling for Erin Andrews all season on Dancing with the Stars. She is the single reason Steve agrees to watch it with me. I love her. Clearly, Steve loves her. My chunky butt isn't at all threatened. She's the all-American girl, and she's the only finalist who isn't a professional dancer. Yeah, I said it. Nicole Scherzinger and Evan Lysacek have unfair advantages and I'm so irritated that it's been downplayed and dismissed all season. That's not what the spirit of this show was about. No, they don't professionally ballroom dance, but anyone who has ever studied dance (15 years of classical ballet right here) knows that if you are trained in one discipline of dance, you are more easily adaptable when it comes to learning other forms of dance. And, ballroom or not, a dancer is a dancer is a dancer. Additionally, I'm willing to bet my tap shoes that, if prior to their appearances on this amateur dancing competition, had you approached Nicole on the set of her "Buttons" music video, or Evan at Smuckers Stars on Ice and said, "You are not a dancer!" they would have taken their stilettos and skates respectively, and told you to stick them where the sun doesn't shine. But now, they're on national television, blushing and stammering "Oh, I'm so out of my comfort zone here!" and being gushed over by Carrie Ann Inaba because they're so "naturally talented" when in fact they are trained professionals who earn their living in part based on their dance skills. So there.

I've felt this entire time that Erin is in it to win it. She's sort of the underdog, but she's also the darling of the competition. Then, there was last night's Freestyle round of competition. I was blowing up Amy's cell phone with my text messages of criticism and disapproval:

"Erin wanted her freestyle dance to tell the story of her and Maks, and that dance takes place on a mattress. How subtle, Erin."

"Erin is gonna lose DWTS because instead of doing a fun freestyle she decided to have simulated sex onscreen. FAIL."

Yes, I text in complete sentences with minimal abbreviations.

Erin claims that the decision to perform a lyrical dance was to "take a risk." Never kid a kidder, Erin. The decision to perform a lyrical dance was a self-indulgent one. It's like when I entered the Jefferson County Junior Miss Pageant Scholarship Program, and the judges asked me about my choice of talent, a ballet en pointe to The Wizard of Oz. I answered honestly that as a little girl I made a promise to myself that I would one day perform on stage while wearing a pair of red glittered pointe shoes, and I was here to make good on that promise. I think the judges appreciated my candor.

Then they asked me if I knew who Tony Blair was. I didn't.
Then they asked me if I knew who Alan Greenspan was. I didn't.

Caitlin Upton, Miss Teen South Carolina, isn't the only one whose ignorance cost her the crown...

Enough about my glory days, let's get back to Erin. We're close in age, both raised in the south, and both took dance lessons as children. I have no doubt that, like me, she has many happy memories doing pique turns and slowly sliding into the splits to a Celine Dion song. So she likes lyrical dance. So she had the opportunity to perform a lyrical dance by a renowned choreographer on a national stage and she took it. So she couldn't pass up the chance to roll around on a mattress with a hot Russian so that everyone and my Nana could see what Maks taught her. Own it, but know that unless her fan base is randy fellas who love to vote the maximum number of times, she probably lost the disco ball trophy to my arch rival, Nicole "I'm not a professional dancer" Scherzinger.

I'm Rooting for the Pink Ninja

The Biggest Loser finale is tonight, and I can't wait! I typically watch while eating something that would cause Jillian Michaels to have a conniption fit. My favorite part is the weigh-in. As one of those women who is prone to thrice-daily weigh-ins myself, there is something very rewarding and exciting about seeing these contestants hop on that scale to see their progress for the week and learn who is safe and who is up for elimination. The drama! The suspense! If NBC aired a Biggest Loser weigh-in every day of the year...I would watch.

I cheer for the Pink team. I was tipped off about them on Facebook, where I learned this mother/daughter team has another daughter who graduated the year before me at Hoover High School. Pink team members Sherry and Ashley Johnston call Knoxville, Tennessee home, but if Sherry's other daughter, Cyndie, is a Hoover girl, then Sherry and Ashley are at least honorary Hoover girls, and I have to pull for them!

That being said, I would have pulled for Sherry and Ashley regardless. They are fantastic. I've watched this show for years, and it is refreshing to see these women achieve their goals without whining, throwing a pity party, making excuses, relying on politics, or otherwise being a trouble maker or drama queen. Also in their favor: they're not one of those annoying guys who goes on and on about how they're here to inspire [eye roll]. Sherry was eliminated weeks ago and has gone on to continued weight loss success at home, but 27-year-old Ashley, who started the competition at 374 pounds, earned her place in the finals after dropping 161 pounds! I never thought Ashley would make it this far, not because I didn't believe in her, but because the Reality TV gods always take away the ones I love the most. They're so cruel. But this time, good prevailed and Ashley's going all the way!

I'm proud of Ashley, because she has accomplished so much, and she did it with grace and class. I know she will have lost even more weight when she appears on the finale, but she looks fabulous and beautiful already! I would love to see the $250,000 Grand Prize be awarded to her.

Your Daily Dose of Cuteness

Nothing warms my cold, black heart like a photo of a boy and his dog. In this case, an orphaned orangutan and a stray dog found wandering on the grounds of the zoo. Now they're besties.

A Pirate Looks at 35

I would be remiss if I didn't say a few words about my boo, who turned 35 yesterday...

Last year we had a party, but this year we painted Robinson's nursery. Or, rather, he painted Robinson's nursery and I did pregnant lady things like keep Steve company and spend an hour meticulously cleaning and disinfecting the door, door frame, and door knob leading into Robinson's room.

I took him out for sushi on Saturday night and gave him a gift certificate for a Swedish massage. On Sunday morning, Laney and I went to Rudy's BBQ and picked up some breakfast burritos for the birthday boy. Laney was happy to ride along with me, but disappointed that the drive thru girl didn't offer her a snack like they do at Double Dip. Next to Rudy's is a large vacant lot that on Sunday morning was filled with RVs belonging to all the Parrot Heads who came to town for Jimmy Buffett's concert at Pizza Hut Park on Saturday night. We would have loved to have seen that show. Nowadays, we're not exactly having a lot of "fun" in the traditional sense, so being in close proximity to fun is kind of nice.

Steve was 25 when I met him. I used to spend Sunday afternoons watching him play golf or going to a movie together. Now I'm watching him paint our baby's room and we're taking afternoon naps watching the History Channel together. What a difference a decade makes! Times have changed, but we're excited for what is in store.

She Gotta Bump

This one goes out to all of you beautiful pregnant ladies...

"Don't be nervous about your amniocentesis, I wanna eat you up like a bag of Reese's Pieces!"

Is It Bad That I Want These?

Steve Madden named a pair of shoes after Jersey Shore's Snooki. And if loving them is wrong, I don't wanna be right. Of course, he spells it "Snookie". I guess he decided to take the extra "e" that Brittny Gastineau wasn't using. Anyfistpump, is it ok to wear shoes inspired by a half-pint guidette?

The Absolute Worst Thing About Being Pregnant

...is that I didn't time it better. One of my favorite girls in the whole world, Ashley (also referred to as "Sally" in previous posts) is getting married today to one of my favorite fellas, "Pres". I was honored to be chosen as a bridesmaid. But I'm not there. Because I am 32 weeks pregnant today, and my request to drive 750 miles from my house in the Dallas suburbs to her wedding in Gadsden, Alabama was met with a "You're joking, right?" by everyone from family members to health care professionals. If I were already in Alabama, I would have just have just swallowed my pride, assumed the role as "blimpiest bridesmaid", ordered yards and yards of extra fabric and let my mom re-construct a maternity bridesmaid dress. Alas, I am too far away to participate. I've tried not to think about it too much, because it makes me really sad. I know my life will be different once I become a mom, and staying in touch with my friends from back home has always required extra effort on my part due to my distance, but I wasn't prepared for things to change so soon. That's why this email I received two days before the wedding from one of the groomsmen was bittersweet:

"Aww yeah, you've heard about the dopest pool party in the world. Now it's coming to Gadsden for the celebration and wedding of the hometown hottie, Ashley “Tid Little Shoes” M. and the outta town oakie, Daniel “Pres” C. That's right, the wettest wildest pool party will be Saturday, May 22nd, at the fabulous Gadsden Inn & Suites. Come see live performances by Flo-rida, Ke$ha, Justin Bieber, and one Ashley C. doing the Superman. Participate in the coed wet t-shirt contest. Don't worry, complimentary airbrush t-shirts will be given away. So grease up your body and BYOB because nothing gets Pres & Tid more excited to get married than seeing all of their friends doin the stanky legg! Please forward this on to anyone you see fit and remember - the party starts when you get there!"

I love my crazy girls, and they're gonna have all kinds of fun without me...

Congratulations, Sally and Pres! xoxo

I Just Love the Local News

I've said before that I watch the Today show every morning, and I also watch the local news leading into Today. Every morning, at the very end of the local broadcast, they have a little segment called "Tell Me Something Good." Steve calls it "Tell Me Something Gay." It's where viewers submit a photo, usually of a puppy or a baby, along with a description of the photo. It's intended to evoke warm, fuzzy feelings in a world that's filled with chaos and doom.

This morning's "Tell Me Something Good" recognized Calamity Jane, a three-legged Golden Retriever who works in a children's hospital as a therapy dog. Additionally, Jane once saved a family from being robbed at gunpoint, and before that, she survived being shot and left for dead. This is the cause of her missing the leg. I like how the anchor woman clarifies that as a result of having one leg amputated, Jane now has three legs. Thanks for clearing that up. Then, the astute anchor woman decides to ad-lib (that's when they say the darndest things!): "You know, and I bet she's got a few more stories to tell before her life finally ends...we hope of natural causes. Good lookin' dog, though."

I know it's asking a lot for a Friday, but I hope that's the dumbest thing I hear all day. To see Calamity Jane's story (it's a one minute video and she's super cute) check it out below!

I DO Want to Express Myself, and I Don't Need 37 Pieces of Flair to Do It.

The further I get into this pregnancy, the more laser-focused I become on the business of pregnancy and motherhood and the more I perceive anything else as an unwelcome distraction. Namely, anything work-related. I realize my inability to multi-task or be a complex human being makes me super lame, but my cankles also make me super lame, and they aren't going anywhere. The one thing working in my favor is that being (very) visibly pregnant makes me "cute" (that's debatable), vulnerable, and harmless-looking, which allows me to basically say or do anything I want. It was these same qualities that made Sophia from The Golden Girls great. Now if only I could harness that new found, temporary power and leverage it towards a greater goal...

I'm trying to get through my remaining weeks of pregnancy and working with some grace and dignity, but this surge of crazy pregnancy hormones has other plans in store for me. I'm extremely cranky. My co-workers aren't helping matters. I avoid the break room at all costs, because if I set one foot in there, I will face such questions as, "Are you going to breastfeed?", "Will you be delivering vaginally?", "Do you plan to have a natural childbirth?" Having a baby bump is like wearing a t-shirt that says "Ask Me About My Vagina". Is it too much to ask that I be allowed to heat up my chicken noodle soup without having to discuss my lady parts with people who, up until a few months ago, were complete strangers?

Today I am irritated (the reason isn't important) with a co-worker who Steve has only heard me refer to as "Persian Dwight Schrute." She's a tall, very thin, attractive part-time front desk employee, and her attendance record would be grounds for termination by most reputable employers. She routinely calls in sick for days at a time, only to come to the spa to hang out because she's "bored." If she isn't enjoying a free massage, pedicure, or blowdry, she likes to sit in a chair at the front desk or by the pedicure stations, her long legs folded up like origami, obsessively trimming the split ends of her long black hair with a pair of scissors for hours. I would love to tell you that this is the behavior of an 18-year-old cosmetology school dropout, but we're talking about a college-educated woman who's on the wrong side of 25. Possibly 30.

Despite the her part-time employment status, she has this maniacal desire for authority. She regularly hijacks management responsibilities that have not been delegated to her. She has demanded to fire insubordinate coworkers, and has been desperately seeking a "title" so that she can rule the spa with an iron fist. For fifteen hours a week, tops. One other tidbit: I heard that she is shunning one or more members of her family indefinitely. That, combined with her hunger for power makes her one beet farm removed from The Office's Dwight Schrute. 

I promised myself I would work up until my due date. I really want to stick it out as long as I can. Money makes the world go 'round, people. I'd love to have some extra cash stashed away before I go into early retirement. But if these knuckleheads at work don't ease up, I just might not make it...

In Honor of The Office Season Finale

My favorite show, The Office, has completed its sixth season. The ending was the perfect set-up to bring Holly back next year. That better be their plan, since Steve Carell has said he won't be renewing his contract, and that season seven will be his last. They wouldn't toy with my emotions by acting like they're bringing Holly back and then not, would they? My other favorite shows, Parks and Recreation, Dancing with the Stars, and The Biggest Loser are also coming to an end. Now what do I have to look forward to? Besides the baby. I hope you're watching The Office, because I make too many references in my posts for you not to know these characters and episodes. The show has been on the air for so long, I have begun to notice similarities between my family members and the show's characters. So, in honor of the season's finale, I will have a little fun...

Pre-Pregnancy Samantha = Kelly Kapoor

"I swallowed a tape worm last night. It's going to grow up to three feet inside of me, and then it eats all of my food so that I don't get fat. And then after three months, I take some medicine, and then I pass it. Creed sold it to me. It's from Mexico. "

Pregnant Samantha = Stanley Hudson

"I wake up every morning in a bed that’s too small, drive my daughter to a school that’s too expensive, and then I go to work to a job for which I get paid too little. But on Pretzel Day? Well, I like Pretzel Day…"

Steve = Jim Halpert
"I bought the boat tickets the day I saw that YouTube video. I knew we'd need a backup plan. The boat was actually plan C. The church was plan B. And plan A was marrying her a long, long time ago."

Laney = Pam Beesly Halpert

"I have so many people to thank for this award! Okay, first off, my Keds, because I couldn't have done it without them. Let's give Michael a round of applause for MC-ing tonight, because this is a lot harder than it looks. And also because of Dwight too. Um, so. Finally, I wanna thank God, because God gave me this Dundie. And I feel God in this Chili's tonight."

George = Kevin Malone

"I just want to lie on the beach and eat hot dogs. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. "

Libby = Erin Hannon

"In the foster home, my hair was my room. "

 Olivia = Angela Martin

"Sometimes the clothes at Gap Kids are just too flashy, so I'm forced to go to American Girl and order clothes for large Colonial dolls."

(note: Olivia is my mom's dog. I just had to throw her in for funsies.)

Generation Gap

I'm pretty sure that every generation since The Greatest Generation has felt that the generation immediately following theirs is disgraceful. I am grateful not be a part of this newer generation, purely from a pop culture standpoint. I realize I am looking at this through the eyes of a 28-year-old, but I'm pretty sure I'd feel this way at any age. I feel completely out of touch with what's cool today, yet I'm ok with it. Here's why:

1. Justin Bieber

I need somebody who works with tweens to please explain why girls love this guy. I don't mean they just love this guy, from what Ryan Seacrest tells me, he's like the second coming of Elvis, Paul McCartney, David Cassidy, Donnie Wahlberg (watch your mouth, he's my favorite New Kid) and Justin Timberlake rolled into one pre-pubescent overly-coiffed boy. Girls actually get trampled and crushed attending his concerts. Like Michael Jackson did at the height of his fame. The Gloved One was once worth being hospitalized over (not really), but Justin Bieber? Every time I hear Seacrest use the term "Bieber Fever" I want to throw a Yosemite Sam temper tantrum. Have you no dignity,man? Is this kid a musical prodigy? Is he loaded with charisma? I. Don't. Understand. I used to have trouble understanding the appeal of Zac Efron because I don't trust a guy who spends more time primping than I do. For the record, I spend a lot of time primping. I will take Zac any day over this Bieber kid. Zac and I wouldn't last long. Punk would use all my hair product and hog the mirror, leaving me no choice but to throw him out on the street. I don't like to share. Back to Bieber. How do I put this delicately? He is devoid of masculinity. Masculinity is sort of a prerequisite for me to find a guy attractive. Maybe if I didn't think about Dani from A Shot at Love with Tila Tequila every time I see him I wouldn't struggle to recognize his appeal. Maybe 28-year-old pregnant married women are not Justin Bieber's target audience?

My Generation's Superior Counterpart: Nobody. My generation didn't idolize boys who still take afternoon naps and eat PB&J with the crust cut off .

2. Ke$ha

Ok, confession time. I don't listen to the radio. Haven't for years. I don't like the commercials, or listening to songs I don't like, or constantly changing stations to find the songs I do like. I just listen to my iPod. I'm a simple girl. The last time I listened to a radio was during the Christmas holidays, driving my mom's car with my brother in the passenger seat. During the hour or so spent in the car, we heard this god-awful song at least three times, and it made my ears bleed:

I'm talking about everybody getting crunk, crunk

Boys tryin' to touch my junk, junk

Gonna smack him if he getting too drunk, drunk

What in auto-tune hell is this? It must be popular if it's getting so much air play. "Jarred, what is wrong with the kids today? This music is garbage!" Jarred shakes his head woefully. I have no idea who sings this song, which I now know is entitled "Tik Tok". Meanwhile, I'm seeing pictures on the internet and in magazines and on television of this girl named Ke$ha. The "$" replacing the "S" tells me right away that she's cla$$y. It took me literally months to make the connection between this glitter-sprayed gutter troll and this song that I deem an assault on humanity. It took an additional month after that to learn the pronunciation of her name. This is when I begin praying that my unborn baby is a boy, because if this is what girls today are saying and singing and looking like, I just don't think I can handle it. If she represents the future of our nation, I might have to start brushing my teeth with a bottle of Jack.

My Generation's Superior Counterpart: Pink
 






3. Spencer and  Heidi

Somewhere, high in the mountains of Crested Butte, Colorado, Heidi's mom is crying. I'd like to send Darlene Egelhoff a big bouquet of flowers and a card that says, "It's not your fault." I once met a woman from Crested Butte, and so naturally the first thing I said to her, is "Oh, you must know Heidi and Darlene!" And guess what? She did. Her son dated Heidi in high school. Something like that. The woman's only comment was "She was such a nice girl. We just don't know what happened." You said a mouthful, lady.

Our Generation's Superior Counterpart: Whitney Houston and Bobby Brown





4. Miley Cyrus

If you had told me in 1992, when I was doing the "Achy Breaky" line dance during gym class, that this mullet-headed crooner's spawn would one day be at the center of the American consciousness, I would have told you to stop jerkin' my chain. Honestly, I thought that once the Hannah Montana craze ended (i.e. when she and her fan base outgrow the TV show) that Miley would fade into obscurity. When will I learn? They never exit gracefully, these tween and teen idols. Except for Debbie Deborah Gibson. Girlfriend did it right. Miley needs to stop. The more I see and hear from her, the less I like her. Viewing her performance on the Teen Choice Awards, where she infamously pole danced atop an ice cream truck while singing "Party in the USA" (and seeing the thunderous applause from her parents) was like witnessing armageddon. Ok, I'm being a shade dramatic, but seriously, I can't stand that song. At least Miley has admitted in interviews that she does not write, select, or personally care for her own song. This explains how a 16-year-old could sing lyrics like:

and the Jay-Z song was on

So I put my hands up

They're playing my song

Really, Miley? Which Jay-Z song is your song? You were eight when "Big Pimpin" was released. You're killing me, smalls.

My Generation's Superior Counterpart: Hilary Duff

5. The Jonas Brothers

I have almost as much trouble understanding the appeal of these clowns as I do understanding Bieber. At least these guys appear to have achieved puberty. I'm not completely sure which one is which, but the one on the left is throwing me Edward Scissorhands vibes. I'd like him to stop right now. I heard the one on the right sing once with Stevie Wonder. It sounded like he didn't know the words to "Superstitious". It sounded like he was gargling fruit snacks. Once again, we have a situation where boys are using more hair product than me (an offense punishable by lifelong exile) and they're overdoing it with the layered look.

My Generation's Superior Counterpart: Hanson

6. Pretty Wild

I am unclear as to how these girls got a reality show, but I just can't stand them. Every time I stop on an episode or promo while flipping through the channels, one of these girls is screeching and crying. They sound like tea kettles. I want to jump into the TV and shake them by the shoulders and say, "Use your words!" Friday, I woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of these girls shrieking and wailing (I had fallen asleep watching Chelsea Lately), and Steve had just returned home from a party. He asked if he could change the channel. "Absolutely," I replied groggily. "These girls are awful, just awful." Then, with the utmost sincerity, Steve responded, "You have no idea." I hate the way this show glamorizes being shallow and out of control (because I'm an old fart), but maybe the "no contest" plea from Alexis Neiers, sentencing her to six months in jail for ["allegedly"--do I still have to say that?] burglarizing Orlando Bloom's house will send a message that these girls are losers.

My Generation's Superior Counterpart: The Real World: Las Vegas











7. Lady Gaga

As if this post up to this point, along with every previous post hasn't demonstrated how un-hip I am, I'm gonna make myself sound very uncool now. Lady Gaga gives me the creepy-creeps. I actually like her music, and I'll bet she's a lovely person, but the way she goes to such great lengths to be so...strange...is off-putting to me. She's like some long-lost love child of Liberace and Marilyn Manson. I spend my life trying to look "effortlessly striking" and here this chick, who has better legs than me, is going out of her way to be weird looking. Why does she want to scare me so?

My Generation's Superior Counterpart: Britney Spears (I'm reaching here, but let's be real: we all remember where we were when we saw her dance on stage with that snake. Girlfriend was groundbreaking)

Ok, I've said my piece. If you guys can let me know if I'm not the only one who feels this way, or if you can explain the appeal of these people in a way I'll understand, that would be appreciated. Good day to you.