Well, well, well…..(and also WHAT?)
As always, please note the date stamps.
Replacing “wine roadie” with “OogieBear booger scooper” on your holiday weekend packing list is a pretty good indication that life is different now.
We’re waiting for the NoraX to come out. Right now we’re stuck with the 6.
We just moved to a new apartment building last week, and I kid you not, Eric already knows the name of every person who works here, from the 7 different doormen to the maintenance crew to the service entrance security guards. He passes them in the lobby and with a huge, happy-to-know-ya smile, says, “Hey, how’s it goin [insert worker’s first name here, because I sure as shit don’t know it]!”, as he is already everyone’s best friend and probably in some form of fantasy sports league with them, as he was with the doormen in our last building.
Me? I’ve interacted with one person. Unwillingly.
It happened in the gym this morning.
Me: <“exercising,” headphones on OBVIOUSLY, and generally minding my own business>
Guy: “Wow, look at you! You’re ready to pop!”
Me: “Well, not quite yet, but yes, end of August…”
Guy: “And you’re allowed to exercise? That doesn’t seem safe! You’re sure that’s safe?”
Me: “I’m on a back-supported bike made for seniors, cycling at level 1. I think I’ll be ok!”
Guy: “I don’t know, you’re making me nervous…”
Me: “Well, you’re making me uncomfortable, so I guess we’re even.”
Guy: < Silent. Shits self. >
So it’s safe to say Eric and I have comparable social skills.
The unfortunate thing is that I know the guy meant no harm, and yeah, dude, OF COURSE I’m making you nervous. You think this situation doesn’t make ME nervous every time I look in the mirror?!
The fact that I am not straight up face-planting every time I stand is truly defying the laws of physics (I assume. Can’t actually quote any laws of physics.)
But sorry, man, I’m in the home stretch here and the hormones win. Between my rapidly expanding frontal load and a preexisting discomfort with strangers talking to/looking at/being near me, I’m in no mood. If my rascal pouch makes you nervous, that’s fine, but keep it to your damn self.
So yeah I’d say we have about one year in this building before I make so many enemies that it’s simply too uncomfortable to stay. Took me about two years in the old place, but pregnancy is going to speed up this timeline a bit.
But that’s perfectly fine– since college, I’ve established a pattern of living in a place only JUST long enough to serve my needs and then moving out right before EVERYONE writes me off as the unfriendly, awkward weirdo-tenant, and it’s totally worked out for me so far.
Meanwhile, as I type this, Eric is enthusiastically shaking hands and exchanging “good-to-meet-ya!” pleasantries with yet another building occupant.
Shit. We can never move.
They say it’s important to discuss what kind of parents you want to be.
Every year I am so delighted to see that my best friends still understand these 5 truths:
1. I hate the phone.
2. This obviously still applies on my birthday.
3. You better call me on my birthday.
4. I will not pick up.
5. But I will notice.
Let it be written.
If you have people in your life who understand and play by these completely absurd rules without being told, you are one lucky bitch.
Feeling super grateful as I enter this 36th year– amazing husband who swooped in to do emergency Boog babysitting duty because he knew I needed one last childless bday morning in a massage chair, a bun in the oven that I get to cook without actually having to learn how to cook, the whole family in for Bibby’s famous (passed down recipe, we’ll see how Mom did) matzoh ball soup, a fabulous, bell-pepper sized excuse not to have to go bread-free this Passover, calls/texts/messages from dear friends near and far– no wine, but all the love and allllllllllllllll the cake, both with and without flour (for real. We have 3 cakes. One cooked by Eric and The Boog that might or might not contain actual boogs, depending on how well Eric was supervising).
Happy Passover/Easter, friends! Love to all! Xoxoxo
(loosely related to A Tired, Dehydrated People )
The sisters Lerman know how to spend a bright, sunny Saturday.
My OB sent me to a hematologist, who I saw today, because I tested positive as a carrier of Factor 11 Deficiency, which means I could have an issue with blood clotting…
Hematologist: “So the reason we test your Factor 11 levels is because of the epidural. If you test below a certain level, it will not be safe for you to have an epidural when you give birth.”
Me: “Umm…so then what do I do?”
Hematologist: “Well. You just give birth.”
Hematologist: “That was the end of the sentence. You just give birth. But, obviously, without the epidural.”
Hematologist: “It’s perfectly fine. People give birth all the time without–”
So yeah. I imagined the birth going something like this but apparently it’s going to be more along the lines of this:
May god have mercy on all our* souls.
Eric: “So, like…what are clouds?”