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::

Nice to see the sky get gloomier and gloomier the closer it gets to be time for me to walk home.

::sneaks over to make out with Maria::

If this is the way you people talk down individuals bent on death and destruction, I like it.

You make commence with the making out.

Hey wait! I thought I was the Boss of Everything!

Hm. Typing that caused me some stress. I think I'll remember the HAPPY creed: "A stressed worker is an unproductive worker."

t climbs back into hammock

JZ, I give you the secret I'd have killed to've known about when knocked up: baby consignment stores. Seriously--best maternity selection I've ever been able to find. It's also helped my nursing wardrobe.

If this is the way you people talk down individuals bent on death and destruction, I like it.

Me, too.

I'm scheming death and destruction for ... my in-laws. I can't help it. If the old man saves the useless, un-re-closeable bag from one more cereal box, or leaves the already-dribbled-on toilet seat up one more time, or turns up Rush Fucking Limbaugh to decibel levels that could be heard on Mars, I will lose. my. shit.

Don't even get me started on Crazy!BiL. He ... No, I can't even type it out. The kitchen knives are far too close at hand.