The real issue though, larger than any of those, is that my computer situation is a damn hot mess. My computer is a piece of junk. It's not actually mine, it's a work computer that I get to keep at home. Part of my 24 hour, you must be at our constant beck and call package. It's old for a computer - I would say about 5 or 6 years old - and it's already had a hard drive replaced after a complete blue screen of death, why are you keeping me alive meltdown. Still, it worked fine for email and blogging and stalking people on Facebook.
Until it wasn't.
The computer decided it didn't like wireless internet anymore. Wireless internet to my computer is for jerks and losers who spend too much time stalking old high school classmates on Facebook and if I'm going to make it do that, I'm going to have to suffer. This wasn't a problem in our apartment where I could just plug the computer right into the router in the living room and stalk away. Now the router is in our basement, in the laundry room, where it's very cold and there's nowhere to sit and the floor is cement. As much as I love filling you all in on my slow nervous breakdown, I'm not about to stand in front of my dryer (on top of which the computer currently resides) for an hour to do it.
Frank's computer is off limits to me. He has a little scanner on the thing that he drags his finger across and it reads his fingerprint and that's his computer's password protection. He's not doing anything secret or important on his computer either, just stalking and putzing like me. I simply have a long and colorful history of breaking computers so I'm not allowed to use his.
Why not write at work, like the rest of you pretending to be all busy and industrious when really you're just updating your blog? Like I'm doing right now? I share an office with my boss. Our desks are about as far apart as Dwight and Jim's are on The Office. Don't watch The Office? Seriously? Ok, our desks are practically touching and he can see what I'm doing at all times. Also, he just had major surgery that has rendered him unable to really ever leave the house...or the office so he's always. right.there. This would be an uncomfortable arrangement for blogging all by itself, but then factor in that my boss is exactly like Michael Scott except it's never funny. I'm not about to reveal to him that I even have a blog, forget letting him see me writing it.
So that's why my posts have been so inconsistent. Well, that and the general fogginess that has overtaken my brain.
But look! A picture of my freak show mutant belly! First one ever. I'm 29 weeks
today and no, it's not a fun house mirror. My hips and ass really are really that small and my belly really is that round. Rounder in person. I did not swallow a beach ball. Those are maternity pants (hate) but that's a regular shirt. Can you hear it screaming?Quick baby update: I think he's trying to kill me by slowing punching and kicking me to death. I feel like one of the extras from Alien with all the freaky ripples and waves in my belly. Like any at any moment an alien is just going to burst through.
Boob Update: I finally went to a proper store and got measured and fitted for new bras. Wanna know my new size? 36G. That's right. I didn't even know they made such a monstrous thing. Overall though the experience was very pleasant. The saleswoman was very nice and professional and if my boobs weren't out it may have even been comfortable. They had my size in stock and I'm happy to report that I kinda can breathe now. If you live in the Philadelphia area and need new bras, seriously go see Michelle at Nordstrom in the King of Prussia mall. She's good. I'll be seeing her again in a couple more months when I need another size adjustment and maybe for a nursing bra or two. Let's face it, Target is most likely not going to have what I need.
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