I'm being stalked by my change jar.

Conversation from this morning:

Me: "Okay, you get points for being clever, but it's really not funny to wake up to the judgemental eyes of Andrew Jackson watching me sleep."

Hubby: "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Me:  "THE CHANGE JAR. Andrew Jackson is STARING at me, and I'm lying here half asleep being watched by some voyeuristic dead president."

Him: "What??"

Me: "I'll send you a picture."

Andrew Jackson disapproves of your saving habits.

(From my angle, under the headboard it was even worse, the glass made his eyes look even more judgey.)

Him: "Holy Crap. That IS really creepy."

Me: "I thought YOU did it."

Him: "Nope. I'm not that clever."

Me: "This just proves Andrew Jackson is stalking us from beyond the grave. We better not spend that twenty. It's probably cursed."

Him: "Doesn't that mean we should spend it?"

Me: "No, because if he gained sentience in our jar he'd probably be pissed to be given away in trade for enchiladas or something."

Him: "Damnit."

Me: "I know right."

Him: "No, now I want Enchiladas."

Me: "Crap. Me too. Jackson's days are numbered."

Conversations with Boobs

Pregnancy does all sorts of unique, exciting things to the human body. Most are uncomfortable. Boobs are no exception. I know, people read Boobs and think it's going to be some salacious sexy post.... No. It's really not. Pregnant body boobs are like whiny four-year-olds you must house in a bra of proper specifications to avoid misery. Here's the joy of boob changes in several conversations.

Last Month
Boobs: Did you notice? We're getting bigger.
Me: Yeah... That's kind of obvious.
Boobs: We thought you should know. BECAUSE EVERYTHING HURTS NOW.
Me: I SAID I KNOW.
Boobs: No more bras! EVER! We REFUSE!
Me: FINE. *goes bra-less*

One Hour Later...
Boobs: We aren't happy. We told you EVERYTHING HURTS so now you're without a bra? Are you  
           some kind of monster??
Me: FFS! YOU SAID NO BRAS.
Boobs: EVERYTHING YOU DO MAKES US ANGRY!

One Week Later...
Boobs: Your bras don't fit. Are you trying to crush us to death? This is ridiculous.
Me: FINE. We'll go shopping.
Boobs: Too tight.
*next one*
              Too itchy
*next one*
              WTF! Can't you just find a bra that isn't some contortionists NIGHTMARE?
Me: DO YOU THINK THIS IS FUN FOR ME EITHER? AUGH!
Boobs: Fine. the last one. Let's just get the hell out of this store.
Me: Agreed.

One Week Later...
Boobs: You remember the lady at the store who fitted you for a bra? The one who was REALLY REALLY sure we needed a C cup, so we bought the fancy nursing bras there?
Me: Yes...
Boobs: The new bras are too small!
Me: FFS! WHY DO YOU KEEP DOING THIS TO ME?
Boobs: IT'S NOT OUR FAULT THAT YOU GOT PREGNANT! BLAME THE UTERUS!
Me: Goddammit. *back to the store*

One Week Later...
Boobs: We like this bra.
Me: That's great.
Boobs: Just one problem...
Me: For gods sake, WHAT NOW?
Boobs: Your bra is damp.
Me: What the hell?
Boobs: SURPRISE! WE REMEMBERED HOW TO LACTATE!
Me: There are not enough words to express how much I hate you right now.

Blogging Joys

You know how when you really really need to go to sleep, because it's already late, and you have to get up in the morning, but instead of helpfully going to sleep your mind decides now is the best possible time to come up with all sorts of amazing new ideas, solutions to the worlds problems, and how better to fix that clogged drain? Yeah... Insomnia is a bitch.

Insomnia is also why this blog exists, because I tend to think of the most clever sarcastic things to say about life when I'm in bed, trying to sleep. I've been threatening my twitter with some place to put my more irreverent humor. (ie not suitable for work, includes swearing, probably boob jokes.)

It started out as a plan to make it all about pregnancy and how that whole process hijacks everything in life, but given the fact that I have the attention span of an over-caffeinated squirrel right now, I can pretty much guarantee the subject matter here will wander to include conversations with my husband, parenting moments, and those times I just really need to rant about something. I need to rant much more often now that I have raging hormones and frankly everyone should just be glad I haven't killed anyone by now.

(This all might be funnier if you know me. I might just be coming off as deranged crazy person right now. Which isn't entirely off base, but I assure you, I'm harmless. I only think out detailed and specific ways to harm my enemies. I don't do them. Besides, actually performing a crime and blogging about it before or after would be pretty stupid. Think about it.)

So... that's my mission statement. I will make an effort to make it all fun and interesting, if I fail then this will mostly serve as a memoir for me to look back at in saner times and say, "Wow, I really WAS batshit crazy wasn't I? Good thing I'm not doing THAT again."

Note to Future Me: We decided on TWO KIDS. Remember that. If years from now you get all nostalgic for some cute squirmy baby (Babies are awesome, I get that.) I want you to remember CAREFULLY how insane, uncomfortable, nauseated, and tired being pregnant makes you FOR NINE MONTHS. If you change your mind later, I will build a time machine and slap you upside the head. -Pregzilla

Finally, a note to all you grammar crazy, format hounding typo hating types. I'M SORRY. The sheer effort of staying on topic, spelling correctly, and not merely quitting mid sentence makes me way less interested in caring about whether or not I was consistent with my use of italics. In my real life I pretend to be a writer, here, I just don't care enough to care. So basically what I'm saying is I know there are rules. I even know enough to feel a vague twinge of guilt for breaking them. Right now, I'm sitting here having what amounts to a fairly paranoid conversation with some reader who may not even exist, because deep down I suspect you all are judging me for every comma splice and misused caps lock.
But I'm pregnant, tired, and completely out of my mind, so... I'm going to break those rules, and hope that the rest of you (Comma Nazi Excluded!) will enjoy the writing despite its flaws.
Okay. Done with that. Back to your lives citizens.