Back and Fat.

So anyway, I have taken like a month of from blogging. That is the luxury of blogging for yourself, I am the boss of me, and I can do as I please.

That means when I am 8 months pregnant and it is 90 degrees out, and I am working two other "jobs", I can put the blog in my to-do pile and say "when I get to it." I didn't mean for it to be such a long break but, you know how summer is.

The other problem is I don't know what to write about. I mean I am a little pre-occupied with my own situation to think about celebrities and  too pregnant to EVEN attempt something on my lay off list, I feel like my readers aren't really into pregnancy rants... lets face it I'M NOT INTO PREGNANCY RANTS. I'm so sick of talking about being pregnant and answering 10 times a day when I'm due BARF. Why? Why is it that the only thing people think a prego wants to talk about is being pregnant?

Then again... what else can I do? Right, I mean being pregnant is the only thing a pregnant person is allowed to do.

ICK. Can you tell I'm nearing the end only 49 days left?

I think thats long enough to clean my room and finishing steaming my carpets (again).

Anywhoo, instead of focussing on my irritants, today I am going to compose a list of things that I am looking forward to once I hit the finish line.

TOP TEN THINGS I'M LOOKING FORWARD TO AFTER GIVING BIRTH:

10. People will no longer call me "huge" to my face. Instead they'll quietly discuss what a lard ass I became.

9. When I get in and out of cars or walk up stairs it will no longer feel like the bottom of my pelvis is going to shatter into a million pieces and fall out of my vagina.

8. Peoples breath will no longer make me vomit in my mouth, sure it may still stink but I should be able to handle it with out the pregnancy super power of smell.

7. I will be able to eat hot wings, hot sauce, and other spicy foods with out crying all night as my stomach acid erodes my throat.

6. I will able to look at my skinny friends with a tolerable amount of hatred, instead of blinding jealousy.

5. Cashing in my designated driver credits.

4. My feet will no longer resemble salami logs with german sausage toes.

3. I can go to the gym, starbucks, amusement parks, bars, strip clubs, concerts, sushi restaurants, and use bleach to clean... with out any assholes telling me why I shouldn't.

2. Baby's smell good and they are snuggly... that's the flip side to a diaper full of shit and the ability to shatter glass with their cries.

1. Vodka. I can finally have a stiff drink, and I no longer will have to watch others with their flat stomachs and normal feet party while I wait to drive them home.

 I am going to make a promise to ya'll that I will start posting more, but don't hate me if I don't. I will still be thinking about The Whoracle, and how I can make it better this winter.  I promise. If you have any suggestions send them in.

XOXO

SQ

SIS: THE BEAST

Single in Sandpoint: Notes from the hot, irritated and pregnant

Ok. So I admit it. This is a slow summer for me. I can’t drink, I can’t tear up the town,
caffeine is a no-no and I am so sleepy by 10 p.m. that I fall asleep sitting up. In other
words, my social life is pretty much that of an 8 year old.
You know those times in life when you think back on your mother when she was in
her heyday and you’re like, “Golly, how did good ol’ mom do it?”
Yeah. This is not one of those times.
When my mother was in her childbearing years, drinking alcohol was only mildly
discouraged and you could have all the Coca Cola you desired. There weren’t pregnancy
Nazis around every corner letting you know that “shell fish are off limits” and asking
you about breastfeeding.
And when people did get annoying – which they do ALL THE TIME – mom could
prop her feet up and order a Bloody Mary or a cappuccino and no one would even bat an
eye.
If I even enter a place that serves alcohol someone is calling my cousins the next day
to report that I was seen “out” while pregnant.
Sorry guys, I thought it was still generally OK to sit in a restaurant whilst others
drank. My bad. When I took the pregnancy test there wasn't a wise old bearded man in
the corner to give me the behavioral specifics so I didn't turn myself or unborn child into
a Gremlin.
Speaking of drunks, I don’t mind driving ya’ll around and listening to you proposition
each other. I don’t even mind it when you continue to turn up the radio so that you can
hear the music – even though I’m fairly sure that you could hear it just fine if you weren’t
screaming.
I embrace my role as designated driver because I like to give back to the community.
It’s my way of saying thanks to all those who have gotten me home safe in the past.
Seriously, though, I've had a lot of time to reflect on the behavior and social practices
of those around me. I've realized that there is something pure about an intoxicated person.
They tend to love you regardless of your surly mood and they forget all the bitchy things
that you say to them.
They still love you the next day – even after you removed the battery from their cell
phone so that they can't call their ex-boyfriend.
In fact the more I think about it, a drunkard is probably the perfect companion for a
pregnant person. Sober people tend to notice your irritation more.
Here’s an example:
I was photographing a wedding the other day, it was about 900 degrees outside and
I was sweating like a pig. My hair was wet. My clothes looked like sausage casing.
All the drunken people at the wedding were sweet angels who offered me chairs and
occasionally groped my bump. One man even hit on me. (This simple fact alone made
my summer.)
The sobers, on the other hand, asked me things like: “Are you sure it’s not twins?”
and “You know what causes that right?”
What the hell?
What if pregnant people just rose up and fought back? What if I just looked that stone-
cold sober person in the eye and said, “Oh yes, having sex causes this condition. You
probably haven’t had that problem in years.”
The fatter I get the less patience I have.
For instance, I’ve started saying things, sometimes rude things, like the truth.
You know when someone asks you for your “honest” opinion but in reality they
don’t want it? Well, I’ve discovered that there is some sort of hormone that gets secreted
during the last months of pregnancy that eats up your ability to politely lie to people.
It’s terrible. You don’t even have to gossip anymore because every person that has
annoyed you knows it.
I’ll admit, there is that beautiful, serene part of pregnancy, but there is also its less
talked about second personality which rears its ugly head when the pregnant beast gets
taunted.
You don't want her around. She's the type that would take off her own shoe and beat
you with it if you cut her off in line at the grocery store.
Just try to remember this: the Beast is twice the size, twice as hot and twice as irritated
as a regular citizen. When you see a Beast at the beach, avert your eyes. And no matter
what she looks like, NEVER comment on her size.
With those cautionary comments said, and my duty as a pregnant citizen fulfilled, you
should all be spared the wrath of the Beast.
Now go out there, enjoy your summer and make some bad decisions. That's how
single people and those with liberal arrangements should be spending their free time.
Me, I’m going to go make out with a Blue Raspberry Slush Float from Dub’s (the
Lord's food). Catch up with you next time!
Scarlette Quille