Discombobulation Station

Double Cuteness/Single Digits

OH my goodness you guys.  My most FYC has supplied his about-to-bust lady with some dangerously cute video this week.  YOU CAN'T HANDLE THE CUTE (or at least I can't BRING ME SOME GODDAMN CAKE).

Cloud leopard kittens!

Flower monkey baby!

Have excellent Fridays, everyone. We will be sure to keep you informed of any human-baby news if it occurs over the weekend. My doctor has requested that I try for this weekend, since she will be away over my due date. Told her I will do my best.

xoxo, A

Break Out the Windex

YOU'VE GOT TO CLICK ON THIS.

Trust a bloggess. And then bring me some cake. Please. Preggo sezs DO IT.

xoxo, A

Ridunkulous

I like to listen to pop music in the car. Since I rarely, if ever, buy anything off the top 40 chart, I consider it a pop cultural duty of mine to try to see what other people are listening to. Its still the same crap - Pink warbling about being sober, some good ole 80s ballads, but what I usually stop at is WGCI. Motoboy can't stand the reverb voice thing that is so popular right now, but I like it and can usually be found doing a good ole fashioned urban neck bob while checking out the tunes.

Tonight, riding home from Trader Joe's, after having a very pleasant 10 minute commute home from work ($17 parking is sometimes worth it) I came across a most delightful song. The ridiculous nature of it reminded me of the first time I heard My Humps by the Black Eyed Peas. I think I was with A., and we were in LA or somewhere. She, of course, already knew many of the lyrics, and I was driving and looking at her in amazement. They made a song, with those lyrics. Seriously?

This song I heard today was called Birthday Sex. It had a decent beat but the lyrics were cracking me up:

It's yo birthday, so I know you want to ride out
Even if we only go to my house
Sip on weezy as we sit upon my couch
Feels good, but I know you want to cry out

You say want passion, I think you found it
Get ready for action, don't be astounded
We switching positions, you feel surrounded
Tell me where you want your gift, girl

Girl you know I-I-I, Girl you know I-I-I
I been feenin,
Wake up in the late night
Been dreamin bout your loving, girl
Girl you know I-I-I, Girl you know I-I-I
Don't need candles and cake
Just need your body to make...
Birthday sex...Birthday sex
Birthday sex...Birthday sex

See you sexy and them jeans got me on 10
1-2-3 Ding, I got you pinned
Don't tap out, fight until the end
Ring that bell, and we gonna start over again
We ridin with passion, 'cause it's your birthday
Been at it for hours, I know you thirsty
You kiss me so sweetly, taste just like Hershey's
Just tell me how you want you gift, girl

[refrain]

First, I'm gonna take a dive into the water,
Deep until I know I pleased that body
Or girl without a broom I might just sweep you off your feet
And make you wanna tell somebody...how I do
Or maybe we can float on top my waterbed
You close your eyes as I improv between your legs
We work our way from kitchen stoves and tables,
Girl, you know I'm only able to please
Say you wanted flowers on the bed
But you got me and now it's on again

[refrain]

Without a broom! Waterbed! Improv! How many stoves this girl got? What is "weezy" should I try that?

Love,

E

who often feels like an old lady...shocked at those "kids" nowadays...

Lucky 13

So dudes, this nesting instinct they talk about? Totally 100% true. I have been going absolutely nutso lately with the cleaning and the laundry and the baking and etc etc etc. Yesterday's schizo springy weather pushed the cleaning thing into OVERDRIVE ALARUMS WAH WAH SPRING IS HERE BIRDS ARE SINGING WAIT IT'S SNOWING NEVERMIND MUST CLEAN.

So I cleaned and cleaned. And today I can barely walk. Because:

The Belly, she is Huge. And Low. This makes me grunty and waddly.  Ah the delicate and beautiful wonder of bringing life into this world!

Please to notice my giant grinning face. I was about to make pancakes. And behind me is one box of store-bought eclairs and one box each of homemade chocolate chip cookies and banana-oat-peanutbutter muffins. My nurse got me in trouble for not gaining any weight last week so HA HA let's surround ourselves baked goods.

(But seriously, I haven't been trying not to gain weight. My hands fall asleep when I am sleeping because my shoulders are too heavy.)

(Also, my usually-not-pressurizing Very Nice Doctor gave me A Look on Friday when I told her we were still finishing the baby room, well, actually, not even close to finishing the room do you know how LONG it takes to take up 150 year old paints? and said You know this baby could be born at any moment? Eep.)

And just 'cause I feel like photo-sharing today, here is what FatGrey Cat did while I was cleaning:

Like the cat, you can witness evidence of extreeeme! manly behaviors out the window. The FYC offered to help out a friend by putting a new engine in his car, so they were out there all day, also grunting, but also drinking beers and listening to music. Sometimes I wish I was a boy.

But! Back inside with the Swiffer and the laundry machine, I got to make piles of cuteness. Like this:

That is where baby Adelaide will sleep (we think, we are also getting a cradle from my mom and yet endeavoring to get the proper baby room set up with crib and such), with the menacing duck and adorable pillow her Grammy Marilyn made. 

How can a fuzzy duck be menacing, you ask? Check it out: 

I have a manic gleam in my eye and these outstretched armwings are NOT JUST FOR HUGGING MWAH HA HA.

Damn, I might have to remove the ducky so I can get some sleep.

And...that's our show for today, folks!

xoox, A

Momma's Get on Down

HI! It is a few days early for a Friday video, but this one is irresistible. Seriously.

Enjoy! Preferably with the sound WAAAAY UP.

xoxo, A

No Spring Break is A-Ok

Because I was off work for over four months, I recently turned down a sailing trip to the British Virgin Islands with motoboy and his friends, a couple of motopeople and lovely human beings that I like very much. I had a feeling a few months ago that I might actually be working by the time the trip came around. It's a catch-22: either you can't commit because you don't have the money or you can't go because you're working. But I'm actually ok with it. Ten days on a medium sized sailboat in the Carribean sounds dreamy, but not if you're worried the entire time. I once took a trip to Amsterdam in the middle of a pretty hectic MA thesis composition (remember that Danny!?) and I have to admit I was too worked up to truly enjoy it. Lesson learned. If you're going to spend that much money, you might as well be in a good enough place to enjoy it.

So instead, I will happily stay here and work my dream job, for the month or so at least that I am booked for it. I still really can't get my head around how this happened. Somehow I introduced myself to a new agency, and through some very good connections/recommendations after I had done my leg work, got signed on to do the job I've been wanting to do for the past six years or so. I get to do my favorite part of the job, and there's an entire department dedicated to the part of the job that I used to do out of duty and not really passion. I'm still trying to make sure I don't fuck it up, because I want it to turn into more work or possibly a staff position. There's quite a bit of fake-it-till-you make it going on, especially when I'm in meetings with people speaking intelligible marketing speak on client calls, or sessions for things I have a rudimentary understanding of, technologically speaking. But I'm sure I'm not the first. I take some comfort in knowing a lot of really idiotic people who have done this job before me, and will after I move on.

Some other weird sort of comfort is all the emails I'm getting from people recently laid off from the terrible hispanic agency that is a two month period covered on my resume as "freelance." Many of them were laid off on the spot, with no severance, and a realization that the agency didnt care about quality, or honesty, or integrity. They just wanted to rip their clients off in the biggest way possible, and apparently a lot of the clients realized this and dropped their business. They seemed to have let go the only people who were passionate and intelligent and qualified. Which says a lot about their business model.

But as far as me,  couldn't be happier - spring is coming - I think! It will be 70 degrees tomorrow (oddest St. Pat's ever), followed by some typical -50 degree drop the rest of the week, but I will take my scooter out and around town and call that my spring break. Maybe have a margarita, and raise it to my friends sailing off Tortola, and be happy about the sweet ass day rate I am not going to screw up by having more than three. Maybe four. If its a Thursday. I mean, this is advertising. We all know how to work through a hangover.

E.

A Shyness that is Criminally Vulgar

Back in the day, every one who was anyone in the teenage world in Greater Portland (admittedly, a teeny tiny little microcosm) went to a club called Zootz on Friday nights.  Zootz was super, super cool - a real, sweaty club, a black hole where we could wear black and smoke clove cigarettes and dance to the Smiths, the Cure, Fugazi, and all those bands that were on perma-play in our ears in our Walkmen as we walked our high school hallways. Zootz was owned by Portland's coolest guy Chris Clark, who still occasionally throws a cool dance party (for old people like me who remember Chris Clark's raves). The staff of Zootz was super cool too - my friend Jim Libby's roommate Eric did the door (and wouldn't charge me the $5 cover if he was working, AND would let me in to 21+ stuff if I asked real nice). He looked like he walked straight out of Singles. And he had lived in D.C.! A real city! Amazing. Mean, great looking bartenders wore black t-shirts and tattoos to sell us wicked expensive waters. A girl with long blonde dreds and 6 inch high creepers also worked the door. And then. Then, sometimes...there was Spencer.

Oh, Spencer. He was the hottest of all hotness. Understated cool dresser, with great shoes. I would approach him on the Fridays he worked, hold out my trembling hand for the stamp, and wonder if he noticed me. I knew him well enough to be appallingly tongue-tied when I saw him working his day job (at the shoe store where we all went to buy our Docs, which explains why he always had good shoes), because you know, I saw him once a week, he knew some of the same people as me, I was supposed to be able to say HELLO and act NORMAL but he was SO HOT I couldn't.  It was a crush for real.

Fast forward to the present. Clearly we are all quite different than back in those days, but you know how you can fool yourself into thinking hey I am still cool.  Hey I might work in an office and be knocked up and drive a Volvo but I work for nonprofits am going to use cloth diapers and more often than not Dirty is blaring from the Volvo's speakers!  STILL. COOL.

Except. One afternoon while returning to the Volvo in the company-sponsored parking spot, walking my Motherhood Maternity-swathed preggo belly and Floyd the greyhound: there I spied with my little eye one Spencer. Oh, Spencer: walking to HIS sensible car in HIS sensible outfit with his blackberry or some other PDA of the moment glued to his ear having a banal conversation about meetings or some such. NOT. COOL.

And definitely not hot.

And lo, we confront the primary hazard of returning one's homeland from the land of eternal youth: here, everyone gets old, including me.

xoxo, A

Mean People

But hilarious all the same! Me thinks telemarketers are not all that smart. With apologies to my friends who have ever done telemarketing. What kind of hell is that I can't imagine.

Enjoy!

E.

Down the Rabbit Hole

It started with a simple email from the FYC. A forward from a greyhound group leader in New Hampshire with the subject line "Another Reason to Love Dogs. " The email told the sweet story of a sweet greyhound named Jasmine who lives at a wildlife rescue center in England. This email touched on my heart's sweet tooth, prompted a mad Googling session and OMG YOU GUYS. 

First I found this story, and the photos left me melted all over my keyboard.

Exhibit A - Jasmine and Bramble. Argghhhh makes me feel like I have eaten a pint of Cherry Garcia, in a good way:

AND THEN. 

This video. 

Watch this video, then rewind it to the :57 mark and hit play. And repeat. Ad infinitum, until your appetite for CUTEST THING IN THE ENTIRE GODDAMN WORLD is quenched. 

Happy Friday all!

xoxox, A