The Shine

It is Monday, my little bambinas.

And a Monday it is.

Bubba Gump has been in workaholic mode the past few weeks, working 6 days a week, crazy hours in preparation for south by southwest in Texas in a couple weeks.  He has coincidentally contracted what appears to be some strain of plague so I have only seen him conscious and awake but a handful of times the last couple of weeks, most of which he has spent making some seriously disgusting noises and trying to cough the black death onto me.  So far I have managed with only a minor headache, for once in this life his seriously hungry-for-power-and-domination German immune system has not made mine it's bitch.

I have dragged my ass to the gym every day most of the last week. Mr. T and I even shimmied and did the chicken dance at a dance class with old ladies and gays.  Yesterday, on Bub's one day off, I managed to convince him to take me and the fur children on a walk.  Me, him, Phoebe, and Luna - who wore a parka on account of being the only husky in the history of ever to shiver if it's below 65 degrees.  So far I find that I hate exercise for the first 10 minutes, find that whining and complaining make me feel better (others be damned) and then I'm fine.  Perhaps one day I will work my walking up to a slow jog provided someone chase me wearing a bear suit.

Also, I have actual magical powers.  A touch of the shine, if you will.  I knock people up.

What?  Yes.  Your problems are solved.

I send my irresponsible half-sister sheets for a delayed wedding gift, and she is impregnated in said sheets within a week.

The one time I ever bothered to set anyone up, they got married, and despite the fact that the woman in question, though I love her, is a rancid bitch, they had a child last May. (So technically I've created a child... it's just not mine).

My one non-blog related infertile fix up, I took the girl for pancakes and she was pregnant within two weeks.

And Sunny, the only one I am happy about, I'm convinced I took part in knocking you up by forcing you to watch Sinister.

So my methods are apparently sheet gifting, blind dates, pancakes, and horror movie rape. Line up kids, I'm more talented and better smelling than spooj.

My feeling on this ability, lovely blog friend aside, cannot be expressed with words but rather through the majesty of goatsong.

I am going to admit, openly, that I am about to be unreasonable.  That should make you feel better.

I am in total awe and wildly impressed by chicks that when they get pregnant, put something in their announcement about how their pregnancy was NOT conceived with a bottle of tequila and the mistaken use of a balloon animal for a condom, but through struggle.  (Mrs. Griswold you rock my socks off).

I genuinely don't know if I would do a Facebook announcement, I think I will.  I genuinely don't know if I will put something in said possible Facebook announcement about my struggle involved with conceiving.  I'm not usually a chicken shit, but the idea of sharing my struggle with people does make me quake in my boots a little bit.  ( I have no idea WHY, the only reason I can think of is that my 'friends' list is partially made up of people I don't really know.. but this is not an excuse).  Should I get pregnant, I'm going to have to get over myself and put a little something in the announcement - jokey as it may be - about it not being easy-pacheezy.

Because fuck me, in the sea of pregnancy announcements that have occurred on Facebook the last couple of months - no shit, HALF of them are twins.

Now, not to be skeptical - as twins, triplets, etc. obviously occur in nature - but c'mon.  Can we not do a shout out to fertility meds?  Just a wink and a smile?

Of the... let's say 10... twin announcements since Christmas, I can open my mind to say that two of those may be natural, and I feel I'm being liberal here.

Short of some Groupon for a very particular brand of witchcraft and/or wizardry that I clearly would've been first in line for, no.  NO I SAY.

To assume all 10 are natural...  It's to assume the girl that looked liked two tylenols on top of an ironing board that shows up at your high school reunion with watermelons acquired them naturally.  It's to assume that Courtney Cox's eyebrows at the age of 45 just started naturally fleeing upwards from the rest of her face.  It's to assume that Michael Jackson was solely a victim of a skin condition, it's to assume John Travolta's skin has just of it's own accord decided to try to strangle his skull, it's to assume that Tyra Banks got into Harvard business school strictly on merit.

I am not one for holding anyone's uterus (uteri?  Uteresus... look at that beautiful herd of... uterus.  We'll go with uterus) to psychotic standards or any standards for that matter, but I can't help but feel a wee bit disappointed that not one of these people mentioned anything.  Not that they have to, not that they should, it just would've been.... impressive.

Because if it's all natural, there's some serious magic shit going on on the east coast and we should all be fleeing there by the dozen.

And speaking of the Shining, I can tell my period is afoot because it is the only time I crave chocolate by the metric ton.  (And in the spooky shining vein, I have inexplicably the last couple of months, for the first time in the 22 (!) years since I got my first period, had regular cycles).  So off I go to CVS to attempt to find some slightly innocent version of chocolate.

The one shining moment I have to look forward to this evening is The Bachelor (I know, I know - I'm hideous, don't look at me.)

Do you know that the oh-so-boring, completely vanilla (without so much as a hint of interesting to upgrade him to french vanilla) bachelor is a born again virgin?  Can someone explain this to me?

Because if in addition to knocking people up, within the arsenal of my magical powers I could wake up every morning and re-grow my own hymen, I feel like this is something I should be looking into.  You know, just to mix things up.