Saturday, October 18, 2008

A little room, please

I can't breathe. Sleep. Eat. Walk. Bend. Or even git it on properly at this point.

The gift of gestation is a mysterious one indeed. It blows, my man. It's fucking hard. Even the most blessedly blissed out mamas wake up with a mouth full of almost digested food every once in a while. But we keep. On. Doing. It. Did I mention that it hurts to push the thing out, too? It does. Can't leave that part out.

But here I sit; swoled up like a bloated kaiser roll languishing in a still puddle, and I'm happy.

That is, until I leave my house, my haven, my family and go out into the world and see OTHER PEOPLE.

Here's a tip humanity: I KNOW I'M BIG. I know I look like I'm about to "drop that thing". I know my boobs are huge and my smile is infrequent. I know. Your reminders make me want to put on some lipstick and go pit-bull on your ass, k?

Oh, and no you can't touch. Peace.

Friday, October 17, 2008


So, the other night, when John McCain for the upteenth time put his maniacal, pudgy fingers in the air in the form of quotation marks and openly mocked "the health of the mother" when it comes to late term & partial birth abortions; I screamed.

Next time I have a septic mother carrying a 22 week old fetus who is growing more ill by the minute, I'd like for Mr. McCain to come and explain to her that it's for the best that she and her child die. Together. Miserably. Oh, and he can tell this to her partner, her parents, her friends and her family members.

Out of touch doesn't even begin to describe him and his tantrum fueled rants regarding what is so very clearly not a black and white issue.

May he and the dumb-fuckery that is Sarah Palin, rot in obscurity.