- I have to do something with this list in the previous post, because I know it's great to have a list somewhere for someone who is searching and also simply for the fact that it doesn't really exist anywhere else.
So if I get ambitious I'll consolidate it into one post and link it on my sidebar. Of course considering how tired I am, that may be a fantasy.
- Pssst, by the way, Megan is pregnant again, she comments on my blog and on a few of yours, but doesn't have a blog of her own. On that last post, she told me in the comments! Congratulations Megan! We have to go out for a ginger ale to celebrate hon! I'd offer to buy you a beer, but you know how it is, eh?
- In other news, I am so happy that NaBloPo fuckin' Mo is over I CANNOT tell you. I cannot read this many people posting and such great stuff. And comment? I just can't think up enough great stuff to say back. I may be just clicking all as read like Maggie suggested and starting fresh. Trouble is, I'm sure I've missed some major life events for some people now. Shit. I'm sorry.
- I finally went to Costco, and stocked up the freezer for the next millenium or the next miscarriage, which ever comes first. And bought Mac a Squawkers Macaw electronic parrot. Totally goddamn annoying, I put it in a darkened closet downstairs and it's still talking. A feature of this toy is that it repeats everything it hears. So far, it says "Shut up you stupid toy" and "Fuck me, how do I turn this thing off". I'm thinking I need to return it, or take a valium.
- I'm so impressed that Elizabeth Edwards commented on Tash's blog. And very very awesome list on that post. I love the line about the DeadBabyMama cocktail party. I want to hold one of those....I'm thinking some T.O. bloggers need to get together and have another sex toy shopfest, or just the cocktails?
- Today, I went to the Doctor alone, and since my appointment got switched, Mr.Cotta couldn't come. Baby has a heartbeat...and we have passed twelve weeks, now at 13 weeks. My doctor is nice, but boy he had a strange idea. He actually suggested exercising, with a personal trainer, someone he supervises directly who will come to my house. He is worried that with the osteoporosis I'll get worse because I'm not "exercising like normally", but sitting around since I am afraid to move. I still do a lot, if not hauling laundry and hockey bags anymore, I still put laundry away and tie skates, but who's kidding who here?
I wasn't sure how to break it to him that the only formal exercise I prefer to engage in is lifting a glass of wine to my lips. I switched to OJ recently but, really lifting a glass is just like lifting weights, isn't it?
Anyway, I think I looked at him like he had an arm sticking out of his forehead, I was so shocked, but he assured me that he does this with all his high risk patients, even the ones on bed rest, can do some stuff lying down so they avoid losing too much muscle and bone mass. Hmmm, we'll see. The avoiding the gym part appeals to me. I don't like any of those tight fitting clothes they all wear, and most gyms seems to reek of competitive sports and narcissism. Or maybe it's just the horrid pickup lines I get. Whatever, I refuse to sweat in public. It's gauche. And it's nothing to do with sexism, I think it's terribly rude when anyone does it, male or female. If you wouldn't pee in public, or pick your nose, why would you willingly allow any bodily fluid loss to be witnessed by anyone other than your spouse or a licensed medical professional? Blech....in the privacy of a labour & delivery room, or your own home gym, sure, but running around on the street half-naked, soaking wet and ugly?
I mean really, all this body worship sort of reminds of the way evangelicals worship JAY-SUUUS, or the way tabloids worship the Britney trainwreck, or the way economists worship the "wisdom" of the stock market, all of which also make me feel uncomfortable. We can exercise for fun & fitness, or bike or whatever, normal stuff doesn't bother me, it's more the extreme esthetic of running snobbery or cycling until every last ounce of fat is gone, and so is every last ounce of kindness. Walking into those gyms, you know you aren't welcome unless you are already fit; no fat people allowed, and no flabby people allowed. Hell, no one allowed in who hasn't already drank the Kool-Aid.
Anyway, I know it will suck, but I'm willing to meet with the guy once. I'm not really sure where he thinks we could do this. There is no place in my house with enough floor space to do anything at all. Oh shit, and then I'd have to clean up just to have him come over.
Sigh...I'm already tired thinking of this. Time for bed.