Someone, anyone, please give me permission to kill. That's all I need. Really. Just give me a "Go forth on a rampage of wanton death and destruction," please. Ta ever so.

As your Fairy Gothmother, I say go for it.

Maria, go read the Goofus/Gallant slash I linked to earlier. I'll guarantee you'll end up laughing too hard to want to rampage.

Thanks, brenda. That's the kind of helpful hint I need.

Don't ever, ever, ever go with Countrywide for any of your mortgage needs. Automated bimbos following a script, and systems that don't talk to each other make me very, very angry.

Oh, and the restaurant will be flooded AGAIN by Thursday. Twenty-six feet, which fills the basement and one foot on the main level. Three times in three years. The odds have to change at some point.

No way I've ever had double digits on that measurement.

Corseted, I think I've managed 11-12", but that was before marrying Hec and gorging myself on all his tasty pasta and risotto dishes. And right now? Working on a 10" differential in the other direction.

Also, ugh. I just spent an assload of money on... bras and a turtleneck. In the last 5 months I've found exactly one bra that seems to reliably fit and be comfortable and that hasn't filled me with bra rage within 72 hours of purchase; I just found it on Amazon discounted from $39 to $35 apiece and bought two more, but it's making me feel all cranky and resentful that I have to do this. I've bought more bras in the last 5 months than I had in the previous 5 years.

Plus, practically all the maternity tops on Amazon are either sleeveless or ridiculous (in the maternity clearance section, I found a fuzzy brown turtleneck marked DOWN to $279. The fuck?). My arms are (a) doughy, and (b) freezing cold in this most typical of San Francisco summers, and Amazon is just giving me page after page of cap sleeves and crocheted camis and GNYARGH.

Me and my angry boobs and fat arms are possibly the whiniest, most entitlement-oozing first-world rant ever. Please, someone, put me in my place and tell me how you wish you had a man and a root.

Damn, I type slow.

Sorry, Maria, that only gives you a "license."

BWAH!

As your Fairy Gothmother, I say go for it.

You will survive the apocalypse. Bless you.

juliana, I don't even know who Goofus and Gallant are. Is that going to matter?

Me and my angry boobs and fat arms are possibly the whiniest, most entitlement-oozing first-world rant ever. Please, someone, put me in my place and tell me how you wish you had a man and a root.

Never! Especially not on your birthday.

I rant about the same things and I'm not even pregnant. It's perfectly fine, just as long as you realise that you are an incredibly sexy, beautiful, intelligent woman with legions swooning at her feet.

You want me to tell you how much I want...a manroot?

Hmmm.

(And tank tops and cotton cardigans are a thing of joy. And you can pin all kinds of cute pins to a cardigan.)

As for the angry boobs -- new bras are your best choice, really. Give the angry boobs what they want, says I.

There should really be an all-girl punk band named Angry Boobs.

No way I've ever had double digits on that measurement.

I've had double-digits on that measurement since puberty. In fact, right now I think I have a 13" difference between my waist & hips.

You will survive the apocalypse. Bless you.

Yay, survival!

Happy happy birthday, JZ! And happy anniversary, Sparky!

(I've missed other people's birthdays and anniversaries, I just know it. I have been skip & skim girl lately. The big evil work deadline that we laid to rest? Has regenerated and is lurching around as a new evil. Goodbye, any notions of free time I may have once cherished. It was lovely having you visit.)

JZ, have you tried Target? They have cute Liz Lange maternity stuff for really pretty cheap. I lived in it with Sara.

::sneaks over to make out with Maria::