girlfiend

More than 50, but not as impressive as in previous years.

57. Your Pregnancy Week by Week
56. Great Expectations: Your All-in-One Resource for Pregnancy and Childbirth
55. Stitch ‘N Bitch
54. Knitting Without Tears
53. Being Committed
52. The Other Shulman
51. The Journal of Mortifying Moments
50. Eleanor Rigby
49. The Mermaid Chair
48. Prodigal Summer
47. Thirsty
46. You Know You Love Me: A Gossip Girl Novel
45. Born Confused
44. Choke
43. Olivia Joules and the Overactive Imagination
42. Wedding Season
41. Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil
40. The Good People of New York
39. Slouching Towards Kalamazoo
38. Bergdorf Blondes
37. In the Cut
36. Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim
35. The Guardian
34. Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell
33. Native Tongue
32. The Anxious Parent’s Guide to Pregnancy
31. The Time Traveler’s Wife
30. The Price of a Child: A Novel
29. Girl Talk
28. Prep: A Novel
27. The Last Time They Met: A Novel
26. Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince
25. Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix
24. The Plot Against America: A Novel
23. How to have a Baby and Still Live in the Real World
22. The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Pregnancy and Childbirth
21. The Girlfriend’s Guide to Pregnancy
20. The Panic-Free Pregnancy
19. The Ice Queen
18.Blink
17.Racing the Sun
16.Ingledove
15. Creating an Inclusive School
14. Blending Genre, Altering Style: Writing Multigenre Papers
13. Angels and Demons
12. My Name is Brian Brain
11. Stop that Girl: A Novel in Stories
10. The Goddess Rules
9. Skinny Dip
8. Little Earthquakes
7. Friday Night Lights
6. Jump Ship to Freedom
5. Speaking with the Angel
4. Becoming Naomi Leon
3. Journey to Jo’burg
2. The New Jewish Wedding
1. The Misfits

I can’t decide which spelling of Chanukah/Hanukkah I like the best, nor can I figure out the best way to spell Chrismakwanzahanusolstikkah, but happy, happy to you all. Or not. Whatever.

I’m not nearly as cranky as I was around this time last year, although looking back at the December archive it appears as though I wasn’t as cranky as I remember being. Maybe I just wasn’t writing about it. As for my relative lack of crankiness this year, perhaps it’s because of all of the good pregnancy hormones coursing through me. Of course I am still cranky. I wouldn’t be me without being annoyed about something, but all in all it hasn’t been that bad. In fact, in the gift department things have been pretty good. Even Boyfiend’s mother who usually gets me a ton of shit didn’t do too badly this year- not a single bar of hand painted Christmas soap and not one crappy Christmas candle.

I got an iPod Nano with some accessories, a gift certificate for a prenantal massage, a bag to stash my needles and other knitting supplies, Stitch and Bitch Nation, Borders and Barnes and Noble gift cards, earrings I’ll only wear when at events with Boyfiend’s family, hors d’oeuvres plates that I don’t particulary like, but are much better than what I could have gotten, an oil and vinegar pourer thing along with the second cheapest bottles of oil (Pompeian) and vinegar (Heinz)one could buy (except of course for the supermarket brand), and some other things I can’t think of right now. The fetus also received a few outfits including a bib that randomly says “I love grandma.” Since my mother has long since decided her name, which is as far from grandma as you can get, I certainly hope Boyfiend’s mom is itchin’ to be a grandma.

The cheap ass olive oil/vinegar thing and random bib came from Boyfiend’s aunt, the wife of the dickhead uncle who called me a baby killer. (I can’t remember if I told this story, so here’s the brief version. My doctor told me that drinking wine was fine- he specified a glass, not a bottle- so after watching Boyfiend’s family get shitfaced the previous night and begin their descent into drunkenness the next, I indulged in the equivalent of a thimblefull of wine. Dickhead uncle slammed his fist and screamed at me from the other end of the table, “I can’t sit here and watch this happen. You are doing the worst thing possible and killing your baby. You’re killing your baby and I can’t just sit here and watch without saying something.” I sat quietly and finished my wine so I wouldn’t explode and call him a cocksucker while everyone else in the room promptly came to my defense, as drinking a fucking glass of wine is really not going to kill a baby. Needless to say he never apologized for screaming at me in front of a room full of people. But back to the other story.)

So as I was saying, the cheap stuff came from Dickhead and wife who are known for being cheap as hell. For my bridal shower Aunt Dickhead got me the cheapest item on the registry and chips, popcorn and salsa. The snack items all had bright orange clearance stickers on them. Why? Because the date of freshness had expired. The woman was too cheap to buy a bag of chips for $2.40 and bought me a STALE bag instead. Boyfiend says that as a kid he was always bitter at Christmas time because his parents would get his cousins kickass toys and he and his brother would end up with clearance rack button-down shirts from stores that only existed where Aunt and Uncle Dickhead lived. His cousin would get Transformers and Hot Wheels and he’d be stuck with socks and ill-fitting dress shirts. I can’t stand cheapness. I have no problem with frugality, inexpensive items or bargain shopping, but being cheap is something I just don’t get. Why load up with crap when you can get one decent thing? I can buy my own shitty olive oil.

But all in all, things are good. We only spent an hour or two with the Dickheads and the rest of Boyfiend’s family is downright tolerable if not enjoyable. The baby hasn’t been quite so tolerable. It’s spent the last few days all wedged up in my right side. I look way lopsided and it’s not especially comfortable. In fact, it really sucks and causes me to grimace far more often than I’d like. I now understand why so many women are desperate to get these things out of them by the end and I still have ten weeks to go. Can you believe that? Ten weeks. It’ll be here in no time. We’ve got to start getting stuff together. Or at least get a car seat, because they won’t let us bring the baby home from the hospital without one.

Anyway, Happy Holidays.

This site just turned up number 1 in a search for “100 stupidest girl names ever.” Unfortunately the link does not take you to the names Nevaeh, Madysyn, Aunisty, or Lavitra. (Did I mention Malice? Or Amyrakle? How about Khanada or Korea?)

Other recent search terms include:

dee 2005 suck f@ck in dodge minivan november
poses for suck your own p*nis
sniff sis in law cr@tch

I love my dad, but he can be incredibly frustrating.

We were just on the phone- he leaves for his annual Christmas trip to Florida tomorrow- and all of a sudden in the middle of a sentence he stopped and yawned. I said,”Tired?” He paused and said, “No that was weird.”

“What was?”

“I don’t know how to describe it. This thing happened to my body. It happens around my upper body, near my heart. It’s weird. I don’t know how to describe it.”

“What do you mean, is it like a shudder?”

“Yeah, kind of. It’s been happening the past few months.”

“How often?”

“Seven or eight times a day?”

To myself: Are you fucking kidding me?
To him: “Have you talked to your doctor?”

“No, I have an appointment in March.”

“Dad, seven or eight times a day is scary. Change your appointment. Move it up. That shouldn’t be happening.”

“Okay. I’ll change it.”

“Yes dad. Please. See your doctor soon. It’s not normal. It’s scary. It shouldn’t be happening that often.”

Only my father. He’ll be 71 in a few weeks and doesn’t stop to think that it’s not fucking normal for your body to do something weird and uncomfortable SEVEN
OR EIGHT TIMES A DAY. What if he’s having small seizures, what if it’s his heart? I’m so fucking pissed that he hasn’t bothered to see a doctor and now I’m scared that he’s getting on a plane tomorrow and won’t be back for a week and he’s got this weird health problem that he hasn’t bothered to get checked out. I want him in my baby’s life. I want him in my life. I don’t want anything to happen to him.

A brief snow-penis-related post at Mac’s reminded me of this story that I don’t think I ever recounted here. Last year Boyfiend and I were out to breakfast at Little Pete’s at the Philadelphian, which is a restaurant on the ground floor of a building that’s so huge the residents never have to leave. (In addition to the restaurant, which is open at least 18 hours a day, the building is home to a market, pharmacy, dry cleaner, physical therapist, bank, travel agent, hair salon, doctors, accountants, lawyers, 2 swimming pools- 1 indoors, gym, and Dr. Sal Calabro of Howard Stern fame.)

We were seated by the windows which look out on the patio, slightly below Fairmount Avenue. As we perused our menus I noticed something odd on the wall outside. “Yo, is that a penis?” Peering closer, it appeared that yes, indeed it was a penis, just sitting out on the wall that separates the patio from the street. People walking on the street would see it if they looked down, people heading down the stairs to the restaurant would pass it at eye level. From our booth in the restaurant it looked as though the penis, a slightly larger than life size cock and balls, was carved from soap or a pretty big potato. It was rather rough looking, yet oddly graceful in it’s simplicity. We watched to see the reactions of passersby.

Only no one noticed. We became increasingly frustrated as not one person seemed to realize there was a penis sitting on the wall. One guy stood outside and smoked cigarette after cigarette, seemingly staring directly at the penis, yet not appearing to actually see it. Wanting someone else to share our secret, we started discussing the penis more loudly than acceptable in a public place. Still no one noticed. It became funnier and funnier that we were the only two people, besides the person or people who left it there, who knew there was a cock on the wall.

At one point I’m sure I swore I’d never do this, but here we go with another post about a cat.

Phyllis is out of her kitty-cat mind. Really, she’s lost it. She’s currently in the bathroom up on the counter meowing like crazy in her silent open-mouthed weirdo way. What she’s crying at I’ll never know, but she’s been in there for close to half an hour.

A few nights ago I made some green beans for dinner, ate half and left the other half out on the counter in case Boyfiend wanted some green vegetables when he got home. I was upstairs in the parlor when Phyllis left her perch on the chair. A few seconds later she was back, hunched over something. Upon closer inspection it was a green bean. And she was eating it. She finished and ran back downstairs. She returned with another green bean. And she ate it. Then she went down again and brought back another green bean. Since when does this cat eat VEGETABLES? She’s stolen an entire steak off of a plate with a single claw, but has never before shown an interest in vegetables. They weren’t even seasoned. No salt, no butter, just plain vegetable.

She’s still in the bathroom. I hear odd noises, but no more meows. I wonder what she’s destroying.

Phyllis also likes to pee on things. There’s never any rhyme or reason to it, but if there’s a pile of sawdust or dirt or anything resembling litter, she’ll pee on it. And plastic. I don’t know what it is about plastic, but for Phyllis, it’s the perfect place to relieve herself. A ball of empty dry cleaner bags? Better than a toilet. The other day she decided to pee on a plastic cutting board. A cutting board! The butter dish was on it. Who the hell pees on a cutting board? I know she’s only a cat, but I’m sure she’s spiteful and does it on purpose. I probably hadn’t fed her quickly enough.

She’s left the bathroom and is now perched on the armrest of the couch, right next to my shoulder. She’s purring in my ear, the freak. For years she wouldn’t come near me. Every time I approached, she’d bolt like I was about to attack her. Now, she’s purring sweet nothings in my ear.

Damn cat.

On Saturday I went to Target with a few friends so we could finish up some shopping. Boyfiend happened to be at the Lowes in the same shopping center when we arrived, so he met me to pick out some toys for his little cousins since two of them are boys and I don’t have much experience in the buying toys for little boys department. We went to the toy aisle and found some fun toys for the two boys immediately. Despite the ease of which we found two of three, Boyfiend is not much of a shopper and had already had his fill. I told him that he didn’t have to wait around with me. I’d pick up the last little girl cousin’s toy and he should take the stuff we already had and go. He offered to give me some money, but figuring I probably wouldn’t spend more than $10 on a toy for a 9 month old, and feeling relieved that I wouldn’t be in charge of carrying toys in addition to the rest of the stuff I had to get, I told him I was fine and I’d see him at home.

Later that night we were wrapping gifts. We wrapped the little Baby Einstein, Old MacDonald singing farm thing I picked out for the baby, and a bunch of other gifts for our families. Boyfiend asked, “Where are the fun toys we got for the boys?” I said, “I don’t know, you brought them home.” “No I didn’t.”

“What do you mean you didn’t? You took the cart with the toys and left.”
“I didn’t take the cart, I left it with you.”
“You mean you left the cart sitting in the aisle?”
“I thought you were going to buy the stuff, that’s why I offered you money. I didn’t leave it in the aisle, I left it with you.”
“Why the hell would I send you home without the stuff we picked out? What was the point of you going in if you weren’t going to carry the bulky kid’s stuff for me, the pregnant wife?”
“I don’t know, I just thought you would buy it.”

Stupidest miscommunication ever.

It’s cold. So cold I’ve decided not to venture outside today. In fact, I haven’t really made it downstairs all that much. I had grand plans of doing a little holiday shopping (yes, I said holiday, not Christmas, you fuckers) and baking but the difference in temperature downstairs was enough to send me back up to my second floor parlor. With the help of a few logs and the embers from last night I got a fire going and haven’t left the room in hours. I just watched Empire Records (which may be one of the worst movies I’ve ever seen- I really hate Renee Zellweger) and Isaac planted himself smack in the middle of my abdomen an hour ago. I have to peer over his head to type. I think he’s trying to bond with the baby.

Oddly, about a half hour after I wrote this I decided to brave the cold and go to yoga. Even though I’ve been going to the gym 3 or 4 days a week I haven’t been to this yoga class in months. At first I wasn’t going because I was convinced my baby had Downs and I didn’t want to talk about it with my yoga friends, then I took the knitting class on Wednesdays, and by the time that was over it was cold and dark in the evenings so I didn’t want to go. It’s really hard for me to get back into it once I’ve stopped for a while, so I’m impressed that I chose today, of all bitter cold days to suck it up and drive there in the dark. But I did, and it felt really good to stretch like that again. The past few months I’ve been working some yoga poses into my gym workouts, but it’s not the same as actually going to class. I’m surprised by how flexible I still am considering my level of slack and the fact that I’m 4 pounds away from moving up to the next big notch on the scale. A round of prenatal yoga classes starts after Christmas and goes until the week before my due date. I think I may have to join the class if spaces are still open. It will probably help limber up my birthing hips.

I’m not sure why I haven’t been writing much lately. There’s plenty going on, but it seems like I have nothing to write about. I’ve been pretty consumed by baby name message boards which probably makes me a loser, but I can’t help but be fascinated by all of the idiots. It’s like a train wreck. I want to stay away, but can’t stop staring. People are truly out of their fucking minds as evidenced by the girl’s names Nevaeh (heaven backwards), Lybertee (a gross misspelling of a noun), and Liandrew (apparently it’s biblical.) It makes my eyes bleed.

Last week I went to Le Bec-Fin for lunch. The potato salad was the best I’ve ever eaten, the dessert cart was heavenly, the rest of the meal was fine. I only bring it up because that meal was how I learned that when I wrote about my lack of swelling, I really did jinx myself. While getting dressed, I figured that since the restaurant was fancy-schmancy I should probably wear shoes instead of sneakers. I unfortunately learned that since I’ve been wearing sneakers every day for months I’ve lulled myself into a false sense of security. Not a single pair of my shoes fit over my newly fat, formerly size 6.5 feet. Upon closer inspection, and an attempt to fit a pair of slightly big size 7 boots over said fat feet, I also learned that my ankles had indeed swollen. I wore black sneakers and I’ve been elevating my feet as much as possible ever since.

After the fancy French meal we went to the Franklin Institute to check out the Body Worlds exhibit. For those who haven’t heard of it, the exhibit is subtitled “The Anatomical Exhibit of Real Human Bodies.” And that’s exactly what it is. Corpses on display. The bodies are treated through a plastination process. It’s disgusting, morbid, and strangely beautiful. I don’t think I have the words to describe the exhibit in any more detail, but if you’re not easily spooked, interested in the workings of the human body, like the Mutter Museum, and want to know what smoker’s lungs look like, you should definitely check it out. In my current condition I could have spent hours in the fetus gallery alone.

We got a tree yesterday. It’s pretty small compared to the size of the room, but since I’m a Jew I don’t really mind a small tree. In the spirit of compromise we made it a Chanukah tree, using blue and white lights. Later, before we finish hanging ornaments, I’ll make a tin foil Star of David tree topper, since I haven’t been able to find any ready made Chanukah Christmas tree toppers online. I am open to suggestions on that one.

One more thing. In case you were wondering, seven months pregnant sex is pretty funny.

See, it’s my belly. With the shirt on it doesn’t look so big.

But then you look at this one and all of a sudden it’s like, “Holy shit, there’s a baby in there!”

This is just fascinating. 3 more months. I wonder how big it will get.