You know hoodies? You know like the picture to the left? I have to force myself to call them hoodies because when I was growing up, my dad called them sweathoods...which is what I secretly call them.

The term sweathood is so dirty and nasty! I'm just picturing a hood all full of sweat. Now, it's not the most humiliating thing ever but I'm just trying to wrap my head around what other words my dad mistaught me. I know there has to be a lot out there since the man would write things like this:

zink=sink
bite-a-min= vitamin
skreen door=screen door

Amazingly, English was his first and only language. Even more amazing? I teach English.

Reveal something only moderately humiliating to me. Pwwwwweeeeassssssszzzzzzzze???

PS. Buy me that sweathood *ahem* HOODIE...it's flippin' sweet!

I want to eat all of the meatballs in the world...
simultaneously, I want to puke constantly--and yet--I never do.

John and I go for our first appointment on Wednesday, we'll let you know what's going on with the Shrimp (if you care). I found out today that he's/she's the size of a green olive and it made me want a jar of them...and about a gallon of gin martinis...extra dirty (my first alcohol craving). Don't worry, I just sucked down the salty water the olives are floating in and let it run down my chin and trail down my (ginormous) breasts with reckless abandon (I'm not bragging...I'm stating a fact, they are large, but not freakish yet...I will keep updating their status because everyone cares about that). I kinda wish I was kidding.

My new nickname for John is, "dork without borders"...
It's kind of like doctors without borders except he doesn't wear a labcoat, treat people or wear a stethoscope...
Mostly he acts like the biggest dork around (but he really doesn't...I just need someone to pick on).

But this comes from a woman who was previously calling her husband, Dorkus For Realius...um you know, a play on the name Marcus Aurealius. What? I did a report on him in 5th grade and I never forgot him. All of this leads me to believe that John probably calls me things under his breath and when I'm not around.

"Better Safe than Sorry" is a great axiom, don't you think?
We're going to John's sister's house for dinner and while she's a great cook she tends to buy all of her food at our local "scratch and dent" grocery store. The same grocery store that had John running out of it, looking pale and scare. All he went in there for was tomato juice for Bloody Mary's! So don't tell anyone but I already ate a little, ya know...just to be safe and to be full...but mostly safe.

1. My bedtime is now any time that my body is laying on the couch. I fall asleep within seconds.

2. I've always hated avocados, the other day I had the most delicious thing in the whole world and the main ingredient? Ava-fucking-cados...go figure (if I start to like bananas my whole world will shift).

3. All those times when I thought I had a poochy stomach, I didn't have a poochy stomach...in fact, I think I had a supermodel-like stomach, now using hindsight. Right now it's just a bloated stomach...but poochy stomach is just around the bend.

4. That tattoo of the stupid Celtic knot that I got when I was a young impressionable undergrad??? Yeah, even dumber when it's situated on my pelvic bone. Looking forward to see how it transforms about as much as people were looking forward to the Titanic sinking.

5. I could eat Chicken Marsala, every. single. day.

6. Or Ramen Noodles...

7. Or pasta...

8. What does it mean when all I crave is pasta and bloody meat!!! I forgot to mention that I dream of steaks...vivid, vivid steak dreams (oh don't worry...I'm not eating anything rare but I really, really miss it).

9. I don't really miss alcohol that much (so far), especially when I see John wake up with a hangover. (I know, it shocks me too!)

10. On weekends without a hangover? I am PEPPY! and I get out of bed at the ungodly hour of 5 am. I really feel for John because I would hate myself too if I were hungover.

11. I miss my sex drive...I heard the second trimester is better in that department...it better be because this is just not normal. John was shocked when he learned that I haven't used my vibrator in a week...I'm going to have sex tonight, just to feel normal!!! (That's sexy isn't it?)

12. I like to cry at the drop of a hat. For example, John's a douchebag (I mean that with love Hon) and he woke me up the other night because "I was breathing on him" (seriously!) I started to cry because he woke me up...yep, I'm hormonal.

13. My boobs are ginormous and hard. The ginormous part is not as weird as the hard part...they are seriously mini boulders strapped to my chest.

14. My dreams are ridiculously awesome in their weirdness...the most recent ones involved Cylons (I haven't seen Battlestar Galactica since I was 5), a high school building and a friend drunk on a broomstick.

15. I could eat all day and all night...but I'm not...yet. Mostly because I want to look more like Leia than Jabba when this is all said and done (what? I'm married to John...I can use Star Wars analogies if I so choose).

Last night I wasn't in the mood to cook so I sent my emissary to Wendy's. John quickly placed our typical order (when we go to Wendy's), which is a number 2 and a number 7. When he arrived at the second window he was handed 9 straws. Immediately John knew what they did wrong and he shouted (politely), "We ordered a number 2 and a number 7!" as they attempted to hand him 9 soft drinks. John didn't receive this news quietly, and quickly yelled "Who orders 9 sodas!?!"

No one had an answer for him.

First let me say thanks to both my mom and Chelle, I'm not knocking their gifts (and borrowed books), but really pregnancy books are just terrifying and they cause you to name your tiny fetus, "Kung Pow Shrimp" because that's precisely what it looks like in the pictures right now.

Is it any wonder that I've been dreaming about Sigourney Weaver in Aliens nightly? I've seen what it's morphing into this week and hopefully it's not this because whenever I think of the alien baby I think of Spaceballs too: