Thoughtless Thursday

I don’t feel like thinking of anything to say. So here’s a photo.

Some things you may or may not need to know:

1. This is what I look like after an 11-hour work day.

2. I am wearing red stilettos.

3. That sweater is pregnancy hiding magic.

4. Black really, truly is slimming.

5. I am 26 weeks as of…now.

6. I took a side photo to prove I had a belly but my phone decided to delete it and I didn’t notice until right now. Not last night when I could have retaken it. SO USE YOUR IMAGINATIONS.

7. And that’s all I’ve got.

My Foray into Blemishes

Dear !@#%$# Baby.

Enough with the zit-causing hormones. Honestly. It’s been three weeks of breakouts and I’ve had more crap explode on my face than the entirety of 1996. When I was 15. I have always been lucky (and thankful) to have fairly nice and relatively blemish-free skin and now you’re wrecking everything. So knock it the @#$%! off. The mood swings and the food indulgences and the weight gain are enough. Leave my face alone.

And the precious blemish that will. not. go. away? On the very tip of my nose? Is that seriously necessary? I don’t know if you’re trying to get into the holiday spirit or what, but I could live without the Rudolph Zit.

Apparently the Rudolph Zit also makes me a man. Damn. I look like Lars Ulrich or some shit.


Pregnancy Means You Don’t Have to Give a Shit!

Dear Shithead.

Apparently because I get to carry your leecher ass around, that means I don’t have to care about my appearance, my health or my job responsibilities!! YAYYY!

I came upon an article about “Pregnancy Benefits” yesterday. I didn’t expect it to be amazing and real and usable, considering its source. But I read it anyway because I had work to do and I was avoiding it. Read it, made fun of it on Twitter and wound up thinking about it again this morning. It was so stupid it angered me. Read it yourself and then return for my commentary.

So. According to Nickelodeon Parenting or whatever, pregnancy gives me the excuse to be as trashy and rude as possible.

Letting my roots grow out.

Eating huge hamburgers.

Not wearing make-up.

Ditching out on work and shopping or napping.

Cutting in line.

Hogging the TV and being a DVR douchebag.

Wearing flip flops without shame.

Thanks, but I’ll pass. I’m not saying I am a perfect work ethic (far from) or that I don’t eat more fast food than I should. But shit, I did that crap when I wasn’t pregnant so I’m not using it as an excuse now. But the slacking on your personal appearance?? That’s just dumb. If you’re feeling fat and bloated and you’ve got a mini monster kicking you in the bladder, wouldn’t you WANT to look good? The one thing you have control over?Why is it a benefit to ignore your charming good looks? More people, including strangers, pay attention to you. Don’t think they aren’t passing judgement just because you’re a baby carrier. BLESS HER HEART she is so in tune with that baby bump she can’t get her hair done or put on real shoes.

F. THAT. And I wear flip flops a lot. In the snow.

Now, granted, I’m early into these shenanigans and three months from now I’ll be saying F@$K YEAH I DON’T HAVE TO PUT MASCARA ON OR DO MY HAIR. But at this point? Yeah, no. I’m the rebel that got her hair dyed at 11 weeks.

And the you-don’t-have-to-go-to-the-gym “benefit”? That’s just irresponsible. While I haven’t gone yet (but I went running once, three weeks ago) I know deep down that I SHOULD go. Telling women they have a built in excuse to avoid working out (unless there’s a smoothie bar hehe) is idiotic. We’re told to do some form of physical activity. But not going is way easier than going so hooray excuses!



My list of “benefits”:

I can eat what I want, when I want. IN SEMI-MODERATION.

At some point I’ll take advantage of mom-to-be parking. IN SEMI-MODERATION.

I am sure I will come to appreciate lycra. IN SEMI-MODERATION.

I will cut in line if I am peeing my pants. IN SEMI-MODERATION.

I may be oversensitive to the lolololololol I’m a woman tee hee schtick, though. Which is why I like to troll some pregnancy boards instead of participate.

The end.

At some point, I will draw myself being that described, lazy, dirty, scrubby woman – but I’m not drawing that picture at work. I have some dignity to maintain.