Throughout this pregnancy so far, we’ve had a love-hate relationship. At first, I hated how sore you were, but I loved that you grew.
Then you started overflowing over the tops of my bra, and I had to buy new bras.
Now I’ve had to replace my new bras with even newer bras of a bigger size.
Boobs, I’m not sure if you’re aware of this, but bras are ‘spensive. Please stop growing.
Also…Kiefer is staring…all the time.
Favorite Comment From Last Post: “No movie maker worth his salt waits until 30 minutes into a movie to have the obligatory witches-performing-C-section scene. That shit’s gotta happen during the opening credits or I’m going to go get some popcorn.”—1pointperspective
Everyone Else in the Entire World Other Netflix Subscribers,
I need your help. It’s nearly Halloween, and I just started my annual Halloween movie marathon.
Oops…. My bad.
Last year I watched the Scream series, the year before was Friday the 13th (which was insane because there were 12 movies), and the year before it was Halloween.
This year I’m watching Final Destination. That’s 5 movies. I think I can watch 5 movies in the two remaining weeks. Except I’m traveling for 7 of those days.
So no one else should rent those movies from Netflix. I can’t have “Short Wait,” “Long Wait,” or “Very Long Wait” popping up in my queue.
Seriously. Whoever has Final Destination 3…send it back ASAP. Did you put it in the mail? You did? Thanks! There’s a red envelope with a shiny (ooooo, shiny!) foil Pop-Tart package coming your way.
Just in case that’s not enough, here’s a quick Movies Teach Us post about the first Final Destination:
- Never rip an old flight ticket off your luggage.
- The Candyman also works as a mortician. (::shudder::)
- Never go to Paris.
W. T. F.
I’m so mad I can’t even talk to you right now.
Ms. Appear (We are no longer on a first name basis.)
Does this look infected to you?
I’ve calmed down a little, but you still suck.
What were you thinking? I’ll tell you what you were thinking: You weren’t thinking.
When I am laying on the floor doing crunches, I am off limits. Do not jump on my head and attack my ponytail. My ponytail is not your toy.
I do not appreciate the giant gash you left in my ear the day before BlogHer. If I wanted my ears pierced, I’d go to Claire’s thankyouverymuch.
As punishment, you are no longer allowed to hang out with Mike Tyson…ever again. Don’t even speak his name to me.
In the future, please refrain from scratching me and keep your
paws claws to yourself.
PS: You’re still in trouble.
Favorite Comment From Last Post: “So if I go into a vodka-induced coma, I’m going to have to hope I have more than little boys around. Wow. That MIGHT be the creepiest-sounding thing I’ve ever said.”—Go Jules Go