me and blogger, we're old friends.

I really am a horrible blogger. I'm much better at OD, my real home. Ask me about it some time, why don't you.

I guess the reason I rarely get in this white square is because I don't have much excitement to report lately. I'm such a homebody, even more so now; I have no material for yous.

In one week, I'll be half-way done with this pregnancy. I'd lie and tell you how much I enjoy being pregnant, but really I cannot wait to pop this kid out. I'm anxious to meet my child, hold it's little hand, rub it's soft cheek, give it baths and rub lotion on that round tummy. I really can hardly contain myself. If I'm truthful, I have to admit that I've been waiting for this since high school.

I can also do without the pregnancy side effects: the aches, the stretching, the abstaining from mmmmm-beer (especially during this hot-ass summer). I'm old, y'all. This shit wreaks havoc on the bod (and we all know how I feel about my bod).

I watched Be Cool last night. Liked, not loved, it. Not Get Shorty, but Vince Vaughn and The Rock aka Dwayne Johnson were both funny as shit. (Is shit funny?) I also rented Constantine (well, the man rented it...I just nodded my approval). I haven't watched it yet. I also have Lemony Snickett. Also, I watched The Life Aquatic. Also Cursed. Also also also! Apparently, I've been spending a majority of my time on my ass watching flicks. Word.

I've also been reading. I've managed to finish three books in the last month. I told you I am a homebody.

This post has been brought to you by fat bellies and parentheses. As you were.