Missy Sophia

My lovely and very particular kitty Missy Sophia loves the bathroom. She thinks the bathroom is the perfect place to get attention and love and she purrs and gently taps us (well me, my husband hardly ever lets her in the bathroom with him) to tell us she's there and loves us and it's just a huge love fest for her.

We have a routine now: I open the bathroom door, she runs in and jumps on the toilet seat, I pick her up, and put her back on the floor. We leave the seat down because we had a cat who liked to drink the toilet water, and it's something we just never got out of the habit of doing.

The other night, when I was having trouble sleeping and was dead, bone-tired, I got up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom (another pregnancy side affect that was supposed to decrease after the 2nd trimester, but hasn't, gosh darn it). Sophia was already up and moving around. When she saw my stumbling to the bathroom, she ran to the door, waited for me to open it, and then ran inside.

Usually I will wait for her to jump on top of the toilet seat so I can then pick her up, give her a kiss and drop her on the ground so I can proceed with my business. But being dead, bone-tired that night, half asleep and brain dead, I didn't think. I just lifted the toilet seat up right when Sophia jumped to get on top of it.

My brain didn't even register what was about to happen until Sophia turned and gave me a "how dare you be so stupid, you stupid, stupid human! you know I like to jump on top of the toilet seat, you idiot! And now I have toilet water all over myself! Disgraceful!" look.

I quickly reached over to grab her so she wouldn't fly into the toilet completely, but she's a quicker thinker than I am at 2am. She jumped back, started flaying her little wet paws around, trying to shake off the water while shooting me dagger looks from hell.

I finished my business and stumbled back to bed, feeling really bad, but not so bad that I would try to dry off her little paws for her before going back to sleep.

And you'd think she'd never want to jump on top of the toilet seat again, but she still does it. Maybe she's just more careful of her human idiots who are "taking care" of her.

Sarah & No Name

I used to listen to Sarah & No Name (actually, Sarah & Vinnie when it first started) while driving to the BART station each morning until my husband started working in the same city, and he became obsessed with getting to the BART station as soon as we could. The show wasn't on at that time, of course. Before he worked in the same city, he would sometimes take me to BART in the morning and pick me up later on, and I always changed to station to Sarah & No Name. So he knew the show.

For some reason he started listening to it while at work and now loves it. I don't listen to it at work, so I just miss out on all the fun.

Since Friday we've gone to work together, and three days so far we've left before 7am, which means the show is on the radio, and we can listen to it.

But what does my husband do? I realized this today -- once we get in the car and start listening to the show, my husband has to then start talking over the show to tell me what happened on the show the day before.

So today I stopped him and told him that he keeps doing that -- talking over the current show so he can tell me about a past show. Which means I'll never hear the show, even if I'm in the car and it's on. He was perplexed, so I told him that he keeps doing it, and that I'd like to listen to it in real-time. I told him to finish what he was telling me, but then to be done with it. Of course he didn't finish.

Boys and their toys and men with their stories.

And Cousin Ben crashes

Cousin Ben reviews his handy work. Suddenly he begins to feel ill. Too many raviolis, beer, champagne and scotch, he thinks. His melancholy mood drives him to seek comfort. He misses his Missy Sophia.















Cousin Ben crawls to the bed, finds his cell phone, and makes a quick call to his beloved. After slurring some endearments, he hangs up.















Feeling somewhat satisfied, slightly dizzy and a bit lost, Cousin Ben prepares himself for sleep. The day is finally over. Montreal has wiped him clean full of his senses.















Sweet dreams, Cousin Ben. Tomorrow is another day.

Cousin Ben gets down and dirty

Cousin Ben decides to order some room service now that he's finished with his day in Montreal.















Being as hungry as he was, Cousin Ben had to raid the honor bar selection before room service arrived.






















While kicking back on the couch, Cousin Ben gets a little thirsty.














Ah, yeah. A nice cold one really hits the spot!


















Drink up, Cousin Ben! Glug, glug.












Oh, yeah....let the eating and drinking begin! A nice bottle of bubbly and some scotch...Cousin Ben is feeling fine.















Uh oh, we all know beer, bubbly and scotch don't really mix with writing utensils and paper.

Proof that I cannot do math

You Are 5% Left Brained, 95% Right Brained

The left side of your brain controls verbal ability, attention to detail, and reasoning. Left brained people are good at communication and persuading others. If you're left brained, you are likely good at math and logic. Your left brain prefers dogs, reading, and quiet. The right side of your brain is all about creativity and flexibility. Daring and intuitive, right brained people see the world in their unique way. If you're right brained, you likely have a talent for creative writing and art. Your right brain prefers day dreaming, philosophy, and sports.

Are You Right or Left Brained?

Another sleepless night

Changing sides in the bed certainly doesn't help (and it makes me the person who has to get up and chase Zoe down so I can lock her up), and now my happy, fun crazy brain is coming back full-force, and I can't stop thinking, thinking, thinking about everything. Can I have a day off from worrying about everything and thinking about everything and laying on my left side?

So here I am at home at 6:23am, enjoying a small glass of chocolate milk (the next best thing to a milkshake, I've realized), when I should be on BART, just hitting the tunnel under the Bay. Now instead of leaving at my normal time, I will be stuck at work until my husband's guilt complex decides we can leave. Which means tonight I get home late, eat dinner and start the vicious cycle all over again.

More fun games

You are 80% Capricorn

How Capricorn Are You?

You Are Jan Brady

Brainy and a little introverted, you tend to think life is a lot worse than it actually is. And while you may think you're a little goofy looking, most people consider you to be a major babe.

What Brady Are You?

Another joy of pregnancy

I'm getting to the point where I can't sleep comfortably due to my ever growing Zit. I bought a body pillow last week (that's now deformed from over use) for some support while laying on my side. I'm completely paranoid now because all the books and web sites say I shouldn't lay on my back because the pressure of my uterus will block blood flow to a major artery, and of course, I can't lay on my front because I'll squish Zit. I'm not supposed to lay on my right side for some reason (I can't remember now), so that leaves my left side. And guess what? I absolutely loath laying on my left side.

I'm waking up all night long because laying on my one side and not really moving around and having a body pillow stuck between my legs causes my muscles to tighten up and hurt. Eventually I do give up and turn onto my right side, just to save my sanity, but then I wake up and realize I'm on my right side, so I flip back to my left side again.

At some point I'm going to have to move to my husband's side of the bed because it's getting harder and harder to crawl over him to get out of bed during the night. I have never felt comfortable sleeping on the edge of the bed -- I've always slept on the side next to the wall, so I might just end up on the floor. Or the couch.

Needless to say, I don't envision getting any good sleep for a long, long, long, long, LOOONG time. Cause I'm only going to get bigger as the months go on, and then Zit will be here, and it'll take months for a full night's sleep again. Although I've never really slept well as it is without some drug interaction. Maybe I can sleep sitting up? I do that really well while on BART.

Fire! Fire! Fire!

It amazes me that with all the apartment complexes we've lived in for the past 10+ years, it wasn't until we moved into our condo complex that we've encountered fires due to idiot people who live in the complex.

As with the last time, which was on a Sunday, we were late getting outside tonight after the alarm went off because of the kitties. I only received one massive scratch from Missy Sophia, and Zoe was a dream kitty after I got her out from under the bed. By the time we both got out, I couldn't breath because of running around (probably the most activity I've done since I've gotten pregnant) and panicking and just being pregnant.

I'm now flat on my back trying to relax, Zoe is wandering our condo in a daze and not talking (highly unusual), and Missy Sophia is under the bed, where she'll be for a few days.

Fires are always fun. I just wonder when we're going to have a really bad one, and if we do, when my husband and I will give up on trying to get the kitties in the cat carriers and just leave them. (Never)

Someone even made a comment about how we had to get our "kids" out first. Yes, that's right. They are my babies!!!

Anyway, Zoe lost another life from fear, Missy is in a coma, and I'm hoping the shock and adrenaline didn't do much to my Zit. Other than that, all is well.

Cause I like to steal over people's cool toys

You Are 24% Sociopath

From time to time, you may be a bit troubled and a bit too charming for your own good. It's likely that you're not a sociopath... just quite smart and a bit out of the mainstream!

Are You A Sociopath?

Still can't do the math.

I've lost half my brain power now that I'm more pregnant than I was months ago (even that statement seems rather retarded). And I still can't figure out any other method of counting my pregnancy progress other than the good old fashion weeks method. Now I know why people do it that way and especially when they have kids.

This occurred yesterday:

Lady: Oh, Janine, I heard from what's her name (my boss, yet she couldn't remember her name - for real) that you're pregnant. How many more months do you have?

Me, looking perplexed because if I can't even figure out how many months I really I'm, how am I supposed to figure out how many months I have left?

Lady: Well, how far along are you? (After realizing I'm too stupid to figure it out.)

Me: 3.5 months.

Lady: Oh! just the first trimester.

Me, being slightly offended that she put it that way, like the first trimester means nothing yet it means everything! And then I thought, but I'm in my second trimester! What's wrong with this woman?: You mean second trimester.

Lady: No, first...oh, well, 15 days or so, I guess.

Me: Don't downplay my progress.

Lady: Laughs and then quickly walks away.

So later on I was thinking about it, feeling indignant about how people just brush off things that are important to me, and I thought, wait, am I in my second trimester? So I did the math, which came out right, and so I thought I better do it again, so I did. Turns out I am in my first trimester and have yet again made an ass out of myself because I can't do math or figure out other ways of counting my progress other than simple weeks.

Weeks vs. Months

Today I realized I've been saying I'm 4.5 months pregnant to people because I'm at 14 weeks. I'm really at 3.5 months. Proves yet again that I cannot do math, even on a basic level.

Child Care

Who knew child care was so much? Seems the day care center of my choice is going to put us back over 18K for the first year of Zit's life. Which is something we realistically cannot afford. We might as well send Zit to college at that rate.

So now comes the hard part -- trying to figure out how to pay for someone else to raise our baby, keep our condo, our sanity and not resent each other in the end. Luckily there are three free referral services within Alameda County, and my work provides this same type of service. So I started with work first, made some more inquiries with day care centers that I have a feeling will cost about the same as my first choice, but what the hey, might as well try, and then we move on to the other referral services. My biggest fear is having to put Zit in an in-home day care, where one lady can take care of 3 infants, her own child under a certain age PLUS two kids (CA law deems this okay), but supposedly this is the cheaper way to go.

Now I have to look into loans just in case we can't afford day care in general because I don't know where the extra money would come from. I'm not sure if you can even get a loan for day care. What's your collateral? Your baby?

If a loan isn't a possibility, then we'll have to consider selling our condo, which will break my heart because of the money we've put into it plus I know we will never buy something again for a long, long time, if we even do. There's something in me that doesn't like the prospect of renting my whole life.

And, as with all major decisions, this one is causing strife and spewing negativity in our lives, which is doing me no good, but I should be used to it by now. I just want the best for Zit at the moment, although I've been told I should be taking care of myself. Wouldn't that be nice.

Cousin Ben continues on his trip....

Cousin Ben in front of some historic government building (how he figured this out? He went to the door and opened it and then turned right around and left).












Cousin Ben loves fountains. So refreshing and sprinkly.


























Montreal houses many, many ice cream shops. Cousin Ben decided to take a break from the hustle and bustle of the city to enjoy some tasty ice cream.






















Open up, Cousin Ben. Yum! After enjoying some ice cream, Cousin Ben decided to head back to the his hotel.

Next segment: Let the debauchery begin!

Haircut

So my hair is cut, it's pretty short, and it has layers. As far as my haircut experience goes, it's a bit unnerving to have a girl cutting my hair who doesn't really talk. Then come to find out she was just a "stylist," which means she has the least amount of experience than all the rest. Saved me money, but not what I wanted (and no, I didn't ask, I'm a fool). I hate Chatty Cathys, but I really don't like Silent Bobs either.

The freakest part of the haircut was when she started cutting my bangs. I'm very particular about my bangs, so when I started feeling these sharp twingey pains from her doing something to them (she ended up turning me sideways so I couldn't really watch what she was doing), I wanted to cry. I was afraid I'd have no bangs. When she finally showed me, she had just thinned them out, which is funny cause my bangs are already thin as it is, but it seemed to help make them look less heavy.

Apparently fine hair is an anomaly in the hair cutting business, and that was one of the few comments she made about me or my hair. The stylist next to her had to feel up my hair and tell me it was fine. Thanks, but I think I knew that already.

Do I like my hair? I'm not sure yet. I have to style it today and then I'll decide. My husband likes it, "especially the back" (I guess I'll always turn around so he doesn't have to see my front, sniffle), and my mom said, "It's short" with a shoulder shrug. Not too encouraging, but I can't really expect much more since my hair always looks the same no matter what happens to it.

Next hair styling adventure: a permanent wave! But that's after Zit comes, of course.

UPDATE: My hair cut didn't quite work out so well for me. I had to buy 26 bucks worth of styling items (round hairbrush, mousse, curling iron) in order to save my hair sanity. I got it looking okay this morning, then by the time I got to work, it just went back to doing what it was doing yesterday. Lesson learned: Just stick to straight, flat, limpy hair.

Okay, so I don't like this girl so much

I had the best thing happen to me today. There is a girl I'm around that I don't like so much. She's got a holier than thou attitude, and well, the day she treated me like admin when I AM NOT and even if I was, I wouldn't be hers, was pretty much the breaking point for me. So I don't like her too much. And when I don't like you, I just plain don't like you.

Today, I was approached by said girl unexpectedly (she would never, ever EVER come to talk to me otherwise).

"Hi! Are you ready to go to the birthday celebration?"

Me, looking confused and a bit annoyed because I already knew she didn't know who she was talking to, "Um, I don't know what you're talking about."

Her looking confused and a bit out of her element of snootiness, "Oh! The birthday celebration at Thirsty Bear."

Me with quick and evil thinking and with only 1 millisecond of a pause after knowing what I was going to say, "Oh, well, I still don't know what you're talking about. I guess I wasn't invited (her face falls). Oh! How awkward."

Her looking even more confused, "L--- said to come and get you to go to Thirsty Bear for so and so's birthday lunch."

Me, ever so dripping with dryness, "I think you're talking about Y---, not me."

She looks even more confused (if that's possible), and slides over to Y----. Then she slides back over to me and asks me where so and so is.

While it may seem minor and even just plain bitchy, it felt soooo good. And if you knew this person, you would have enjoyed it too.

The Adventures of Cousin Ben

Will continue...stay tuned.....

The Adventures of Cousin Ben

Cousin Ben saying goodbye to his dearest, Missy Sophia.














Missy Sophia giving Cousin Ben the evil eye.














Cousin Ben all nice and buckled up in his seat on the airplane. He got the window seat.














Cousin Ben decided he wanted to listen to some tunes while passing his time. It's hard to tell, but he's grooving to Bloc Party. Rock on, Cousin Ben!














Cousin Ben is feeling a little homesick. May be a bit early for that, but come on, he left Missy Sophia behind











J'arrive! J'adore Montreal!























Cousin Ben decides to soak up some sun and take in the scenery.

The man who hated me.

One night after dinner in Montreal, my husband decided to run off to a cafe up the street from where we were to get us a treat for after dinner. I, being full of food and tired and uncomfortable as all heck, decided I would forgo the walk and went back to our hotel. I waddled my way into the lobby area, then to the elevators and hit the "up" button.

As I was waiting, I heard someone heading towards the elevator with what sounded like bags in tow. I hoped beyond hope that the elevator would come in time so I could hop on and be out of there before this person came around the corner, but no such luck.

I was standing in between both elevators since I didn't know which one was going to come. The man who came around the corner stepped in front of me (there wasn't much room between me and the elevators) and went to push the "up" button. I was beginning to feel invisible, but I let it go.

He acted surprised that the "up" button was already pushed (again, I wasn't there -- I was just some misty fog or something) and stood as closely to the right elevator as he could, which meant, he was crowding my space and in front of me.

Of course the right elevator was the one that arrived first, and he immediately got on. I had a choice, one that I was thinking about before the elevator even came: either I get on with him and be treated like I don't exist, or I stay and wait for the other elevator. I decided to wait. But he didn't know that, now did he? So what does he do as soon as he got in the elevator? He pushed the "close door" button, so even if I wanted to get on, I wouldn't of had an easy chance of doing so.

Yes, this made my pregnant blood going a' boilin', I tell you.

I stared at him as the doors closed, and then I reached over and and pushed the "up" button again. The doors immediately open, he looks shocked, and for the first time since we encountered each other, he gave me a slight glance like he was amazed that I actually was real, and then pushed the "close door" button again.

I'm a bit on the evil side, so I really wanted to push the "up" button again just to piss him off, but I was so mad at this point that he was biligerantly ignoring my existance, that I decided to let it go. I didn't even call him and arsehole (wasn't sure he'd understand me anyway, but I suppose some curse words are universal) because I was just too mad to do so.

Luckily that was the rudest thing that happened to me alone in Montreal. But interestingly, that was the only time I really was alone in Montreal.

Hmmm.

People finding out

The one bad thing about being pregnant is when people who you find to be the most annoying on the face of the earth and who you would not normally spend a few seconds talking to unless you absolutely had to, but yet they don't even get how annoying they are or that other people don't care about them, find out you're pregnant, they want to come over and "chat" about it.

Even if I did want to talk about it, which I don't, at least not with that person, I was only making a pit stop before I continued on to lunch. Which was my excuse of getting out of the situation because I know I was going to get lovely words of advice thrown at me about being pregnant, raising children, etc.. Eating's always a good excuse to get out of any situation.

How we were held hostage by maid service

Montreal things keep popping into my head, but really, with this one, it goes pretty much across the board with most hotels we've stayed at:

Being held hostage by maid service!!!

The first day we stayed in our room, we had a small amount of toilet paper on the roll, an extra one under the sink, and plenty of tissues. The next day, we ended up almost using all of the extra roll, but since we had tissue, it wasn't a big deal. Until we used up all the tissue. When we left for the day, we assumed that house keeping would replenish our toilet paper roll, leave an extra roll under the sink and then give us some more tissues. No such luck. All she did was replace the roll on the spinner.

So the next day my husband left her money on top of the TV in our bedroom with a cute little note stating "For House Keeping." I found that funny because who else would it be for? But then again, what if we just left the money on the TV because we're dumb, and she took it thinking it was a tip, and then we turned her in to the concierge and she had to go to house keeping jail?

My husband then took the toilet paper roll that was on the spinner and shoved it into his suitcase for fear she'd think that was enough.

Needless to say, she took the money, but didn't leave us and extra roll of toilet paper or anymore tissues.

By the next day we had tissues again, though.

I just think it's evil of the house keeping peeps to do this to people. Out of all the things they could "forget" to do, replenishing toilet paper and tissues should not be one of them. It's just a ploy to get money out of people, I tell you. Cause who cares if they don't pull your sheets and blankets back so the bed is made again? Or that the pillows I had scattered around the living area aren't put back all nice and neatly on the couch? Toilet paper is important, I tell you.

Size does matter!

Now that I'm into my 4th month of pregnancy, I find myself noticing pregnant women everywhere and wondering what month they're in. I'm not really showing so much except that my boobs are huge, which makes my upper body look like a lineman's (I am going to post a picture of myself that my husband took while in Montreal so people can see that I am not joking about how big I am up top), and that pretty much makes the rest of my body look all off-kilter since I'm short and have a relatively small frame that's just got tons of weight on it right now. So what I'm showing is my huge boobs, my large upper body, upper tummy fat roll, and Zit. I cannot wait until my upper tummy fat roll and Zit come together so at least I am round. And then it'll make more sense why I'm wearing tent shirts.

There is a gal at work who is pregnant, and my husband and I both thought she was close to having her baby. Well, more so my husband, I thought she has a couple more months to go. One day she started wearing maternity tops, and then then next day she was all nice and round, and then she just seemed rather big. Come to find out she's only in her 5th month. I'm in my 4th month. So she's got 4 more months to go of growing and all that good stuff. And I have 5. Sigh.

There's this lady on BART in the morning who is pregnant. One day I realized it, told my husband, who said she wasn't (it was hard to tell), but then a few weeks like she got round and huge and her jacket wouldn't close all the way around her belly. And then she got HUGE, huge, and we both thought she was ready to have her baby. She's still on BART to this day -- sporting a HUGE belly, t-shirt that doesn't go over her belly and a old lady sweater for warmth (I don't think she invested in maternity clothes for whatever reason because there is no reason to walk around San Francisco with your pregnant belly hanging out).

So where am I going with this? I'm just a bit freaked out is all. I can't take anymore boob growth, in fact, the size I am right now would cause me to consider a boob reduction if I didn't need them for another purpose later on. I have a pinhead, and well, with huge boobs and an upper body, it makes me sorta look like a shrunken head doll. I can only hope that from this point on, only Zit grows and not my upper body. Perhaps when Zit gets huge, and I get huge along with Zit, I'll sort of even out a bit.

I can hope? If anything, my lower legs are looking darn thin compared to everything else.

And thank goodness for About. com and their pregnant belly pictures. There is nothing better than looking at all the crazy women who posted their belly pictures at your same week so you can compare and contrast and feel a bit better about how you look.

Compromise

This is how my husband and I compromise: We end up spending money.

Long story short, in order to move him out of his room so we can slowly move Zit in, we have to buy this shelving unit from Ikea:

It will house all of his vinyl and some of my books. And yes, this will actually create space instead of taking up more because all the bookcases lined up against the wall will be put in storage. I just hope it's worth the money.

Crazy pregnancy Dream #3

I had a dream last night that I got my eyebrow pierced by Oprah Winfrey. And it didn't hurt one bit. Cost me 50 bucks, though.

Haircut

On Saturday, at 12:30pm, I will be getting my haircut for the first time in over a year. I hope this time I will not walk out of the salon feeling I just spent 70 bucks on a haircut I could have gotten for 10 bucks at Supercuts or that my mom could have done with one hand strapped behind her back.

I have faith and hope and a really good picture to hand over that shows exactly what I'm looking for, which is bangs, length and - shocker - LAYERS, that I will walk out feeling somewhat satisfied. I will hope that my first thought will not be to rush home, yank all my side hair up and then continually sport the top barrette look for the next 6 months while some of the layers grow themselves out.

I hope that I do not suffer from the "flip" syndrome, which always seems to happen to me if my hair is cut to close to my shoulders -- I do not look good with a flip, unless it's a flip curling under, but it never will without hours and hours of blow drying and hairspray, and even then, it'll flip the other way eventually.

I hope, hope, hope beyond all hope, that the person who is cutting my hair will look at the picture of the haircut I want, will agree it's a good choice for my hair type (flat, thin hair), and will proceed with such enthusiasm and positiveness that I will feel wonderful the whole time my butt is sitting in the chair.

I also hope this person isn't a Chatty Cathy who wants me to talk about something either very important (like my pregnancy, which I don't like to talk about too much because I just get unwarranted advice and opinions and stories that pretty much irk me) or things of no importance, which only irks me even more because I don't do small talk and never will. I become uncomfortably quiet and resolute to not talk any further.

Okay, so what it comes down to it is this: I hardly ever get my hair cut (maybe once every 1.5 years or so) because of all the above factors, and I just hope this time my bad attitude thoughts really do prove me wrong because the ugly stick (or low self-esteem and a large upper body stick) has seemed to whack me even harder these past few months since I got pregnant, and I need to feel good in some way, and heck, and new haircut should do it, right?

More things about Montreal that have come to mind

1. They don't believe in paper toilet seat covers in public bathrooms, but do believe in those air blowers in lieu of paper towels to dry you hands (or whathaveyou since you can make the nozzle point upwards and downwards).

2. People in Montreal believe in being tan. Tan is the way to go. Whether you live there and are tan, or you're visiting and tan, it doesn't matter. You must have a tan, be tan, try to obtain a tan, be in the process of tanning or something is wrong with you. Pale little ol' me didn't get a tan, although we walked around so much in the sun, you'd think I would have gotten some sort of tan.

3. There are no maternity clothes shops to be found. At least I didn't find them. But I did spot enough pregnant ladies wandering around to know that they have to be somewhere. When a sales gal at Old Navy was asked about the lack of maternity clothes (if you can believe it -- the Old Navy there didn't even have a section for maternity clothes -- so sad), she said that she thought there might be one shop in the "other" mall across the way, but she wasn't sure and didn't know the name. Since we were totally confused about which mall we were in at what time and where we were exactly in the underground city, we never ended up finding this one "maybe" maternity clothes shop. Needless to say, I ended up with nothing except an XLarge Montreal t-shirt that's way too big for me, but I will certainly grown in to.

Top ten things we learned about Montreal

1. Beef, especially steak, is very popular (Note: We don't eat beef).
2. If something has cheese on it, most likely it'll be goat cheese (Note: I don't particularly like goat cheese).
3. They love BBQ or the concept of it.
4. Sitting around, drinking, smoking, talking and eating are top priority.
5. The city hides all the shopping in what is known as the "underground city," which can be very difficult to find and a hard walk to traverse when you're pregnant.
6. They love their ice cream (and so do I!).
7. They love their dogs but deteste les chats (cats).
8. Everyone's bilingual, but generally speak French.
9. They don't really believe in healthy meals.
10. There is not a chocolate and pastery shop to be found in the touristy areas.
10.5 They really don't have a souvenir "item" -- like SF has fisherman's warf, sourdough bread, chocolate, golden gate bridge, etc. -- they have a moose and a bear. But that's more of a Canadian thing -- oh, and maple syrup. And I don't particulary like maple syrup unless it's on my pancakes, which, by the way, they don't have, only crepes, which, by the way, I never ate.

Quelle Experience!

I heard that said over and over and over and over in the airport Saturday morning while waiting for a flight we weren't even supposed to be on because the ticket lady couldn't "find" us or our flight (my mom, on the other hand, did find our flight). We were surrounded by a group of francophones who we later found out were the real deal and directly from France, and who were all on some chaperoned tour; Destination: San Francisco. The chaperone lady kept saying "quelle experience, ooohhooo!" over and over when her francophone friends were telling her stuff very loudly in French (and mostly directly in my ear). I realized then how sick I was of listening to French and how desperately I wanted to go home and listen to mostly English.

Now I'm wondering if I'll run into these Frenchies next week while in San Francisco. I might lose it. Quell surprise.

Parenthood

During a rather blase meal at Casa Robles in Fremont (used to be Fernando's but may as well stayed the same; you can read my unfavorable review on Yelp.com), my husband said probably the nicest thing he's said to me in a long time: He thinks I'll be a great mom.

I think I'll be a great mom as well (I sorta have to be otherwise I'd feel like a loser), but it's nice to actually hear someone else tell you that. I've been getting lots and lots of words of advice about Zit and other things, and it was becoming pretty overwhelming for me because it was making me doubt myself and my capabilities (do I really need people to tell me everything that I should / shouldn't be doing? -- in many ways yes, but at the same time I feel like I've already lost control over my own decision making capabilities), so by having the one person who I have been sharing this experience with daily tell me something that positive, it was very uplifting. And I'm always in need of some sort of uplifting, boy howdy, ain't that the truth.

I guess I can get through this with some padding on to deflect things that drive me nuts (like being told, right after being congratulated, that I won't deliver on time and I'll be late, probably a week or two -- uh, okay....I'm well aware of that, but why is that the one thing you decide to tell me? or that the butt of my joke is that I'm eating everything in sight (yes, yes, hence the too fast weight gain, but give me a break, people!)).

If anything, it's good to be on vacation.

Vacation!

I'm on vacation!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Bizzare-o incident

My husband and I took a walk around the neighborhood yesterday because I ate too badly and Zit and I needed the exercise. When we were rounding the corner back onto Cedar, the main street our condo is on, I noticed a car full of guys with one guy in the back seat practically hanging out the door (yes, the door was wide open). Apparently that's a cool thing to do nowadays.

So as we round the corner, the light turned green for the guys in the car, and they slowly drove by my husband and I, and the guy hanging out the door was yelling something at my husband while flipping him off.

I just stared at them because it made no sense and I wasn't even sure he was doing that towards my husband.

Then I asked, "Was that meant for you?"

My husband answered, "I guess so. Five guys in a car against one guy...."

The guys pulled into the parking lot of an office building we were slowly walking by, and I'm pretty sure either parked or pulled out onto the street we just turned from.

It's the first time I realized that just walking down the street where we live could mean life or death. No, no, the guys didn't do anything, but it's more the fact that they pinpointed my husband (who, by the way, was walking with a pregnant chick of all things) for his looks, I'm assuming, since they were all Latin looking, and they could have easily stopped, all got out of the car and tried to beat the crap out of him. And what was I going to do? And what if they had a gun and were thinking my husband was someone else? Who knows?

Luckily they didn't drive by again and nothing happened more than that. It all just seems so stupid since my husband and I are in our 30's, going to have a baby, and have other priorities to deal with and here comes some 20 year-old idiots who want to start something with him. And it also makes me not want to walk around our neighborhood anymore, and maybe even just move in general.

Vacationitis

I have a severe case of Vacationitis. I keep thinking of two things (and neither are of work): 1. sleep since we're both still not getting a full night's sleep due to crazy cats who think night time is playtime, and 2. thinking about all the stuff that we need to do and think about before getting on the plane Monday and sitting there for 6 or more hours (after we're on the plane, there's nothing more we can worry about except everyone speaking French and making fun of us).

It's a slow news day as well, so that's not helping my lethargic attitude. Three more hours and counting, and then I get to go home and be lethargic there. Then one more day and then...bon jour!

Zit

Zit had its second appearance yesterday. Seems Zit is taking after its father because it was jumping up and waving its limbs around. Zit's doing well -- right size, active, all that good stuff. I, on the other hand, am too fat and need to stop eating chicken sandwiches and milk shakes.

I wish I could scan Zit's picture in to show it off, but Zit's still looking rather unbaby-like when not moving although not like a kidney bean like last time. I have another ultrasound scheduled in a few weeks, so hopefully by then Zit will be looking more like a baby and less like a blob.

Baby Touching

Today I was sitting in my chair at work when my friend/fellow team member of my fine working establishment came over so he could help me deflect any weird stares or comments about my budding frame on another floor where, I'm sure some people know about my pregnancy, but not as much as they do on my floor.

When I stood up, he said, "I'm no pervert, but I have to do this."

I kinda thought he was going to do what he was going to do, but I wasn't sure.

As I was saying "what?," he reached over and patted my upper belly.

What makes this scene even more bloggalicious is that my friend M and I were talking about people coming out of nowhere and touching pregnant bellies -- without asking. I said I would probably freak out if it happened to me, but people at work know how I am. Case in point, when someone tells me "congratulations," I quickly mumble, "Idon'tknowwhatyourtalkingabout," and they say, "uh huh." So I figured this belly touching was not going to happen to me.

Wrong.

So there's my friend, patting my upper belly chubs which he thinks is a baby.

I say, rather loudly, "You're rubbing my fat!"

He jumps back, slightly freaked out, and says, "Nooo -- that's not fat, that's your BABY!"

I laugh and tell him that my baby is down below, not up top, and he should really learn some pregnant lady anatomy before he starts patting or rubbing someone's belly. And that he better not go for down below because that's just plain weird.

He thought about it, and then said, "Ewww....I just touched your fat!"

Yes, this is very true.

Hurrah!

Ghosts seem to know no boundaries! Montreal has it's own ghost tours! And I guess we are staying right in the middle of things because the starting point is really close to our hotel! I hate it when people end each sentence with an exclamation point but I can't help it cause I so desperately want to go on a ghost walking tour! And now I can! Nevermind that the ghosts will be speaking in old timey French, I just want to be spooked!