'ello, loves.

Right. Just popping in to share the fabulously-cheekboned, famous British versions of Shirley & me.

More cuteness at the ever fab Project Rungay.

p.s.: If you make us cross, then we look like this:

So let me just start this post by admitting I know these feelings are totally selfish and self-centered (which is, hello, part of my arguement for why I shouldn't be reproducing yet/ever), but a big part of my baby apprehension is straight up fear and grossness. It's easy for me to get caught up thinking of baby girl pigtails and hot pink tights with Mary Janes or little boys in cowboy boots, but anytime someone starts in on gross things happening to the waist-al area, I am ready to tuck and run.

It's not that I didn't know gross beautiful things happen, but after watching this movie with Shirley, and then reading this post from the great MODG, I am extra-super-terrified. For like, five minutes, the Ricki Lake movie made me want to give birth in a kiddie pool in Shirley's back yard (she has an awesome set up, that one) with puppies and rainbows with only a Skittle sugar high to buffer the pain, but then I reverted back to my Betty Draper, wake-me-when-it's-over fantasy. Maybe. Probably. Sorry, Shirley.

Shark week

Let's cut the shit, ladies. I'm not going to sugar coat it. This is how I am feeling today:

But it's not your fault, y'all. Just wallowing in my grumpy PMSness, which has been really weird this month. I didn't actually get into the game until yesterday, but last week was spent with severe headaches and sadness--a whole week early. This week (up until today, obvs) has been puppies and rainbows and smugly healthful eating. Today there needs to be pizzas, purple couches, and Real Housewives. Instead there may be coworker facemurder.

See, there's this big project that I've been working on for 9 months. It's my work baby. My work baby with fetal alcohol system and an extra 10 lbs brought on my stress eating/research. Work baby is in the final stages of labor right now, but it's not a peaceful home birth with tubs and yoga balls. It's a mother-effing, worn-off-epidural having, cuss word screaming, annoyance fest. And the end results look like it took someone 5 minutes to throw together. But it's almost done, which means I'll have to find something else to complain about. -- L

why am i crazy all the time?!

i have guests coming to stay with me from out of town and i'm excited and stressed. we moved into our house a year ago and there is still so much i want and need to do to it. i know that just like our bodies, we ladies can also be hyper-critical of our homes - we see all of the little imperfections that no one else notices....except if you are like me, you have the annoying habit of pointing them out and apologizing for them which only makes them more apparent.

ME: look at my giant zit! omg! don't look in the fridge, i need to clean it out! ugh! my cuticles are so gross! i was going to paint this bathroom before you got here but i didn't have time so forgive me! (and on, and on, and on.....)

so even though my guests are my childhood friend and her girlfriend who are moving cross country and will probably just be excited to have a bed to sleep in and take a load off, i have been freaking the eff out and painting and rearranging and scurrying around like a squirrel on meth. today i attempted to paint the tiny little half bath that no one even goes in and while my friends are here they probably will only glance in when i give the initial house tour - this makes sense right?! a totally appropriate use of my time and energy?!

no.

and here's the kicker. i did it (for the most part - it still needs a second coat) and i don't like it.

so will i leave it? let it be until next week when i have more time to reassess and repaint?

no.

tomorrow i will freak out and go to home depot and in my limited time between appointments i will attempt to paint a bathroom no one ever uses.

god help me.