And...

...we're having a boy. Sweetness.

Cracked wheel? Try cracked head.

OMFG. NMF is going on and on and on and fucking on about how he ran over a piece of concrete on the way to work and cracked his wheel and how he’s driving around on the spare and oh my God should he go over to his boyfriend’s house tonight because he doesn’t think he should drive on it (duh) and when is he going to get a new wheel and Friday?! he can’t wait until Friday, he needs it now and by the way do you want a cat? It’s a Man Coon…oh, Maine Coon? Yeah, well he knows this lady that is getting rid of one (proceeds to read the internet description of a Maine Coon including markings, personality, origin and a whole bunch of other crap). And maybe he should just take it…maybe it will help him not be so lonely…so anyway, back to him. He ran over a piece of concrete and cracked his wheel. Can you believe it?

Wasting time.

I have nothing to do. Literally. All my shit is done and my next meeting isn’t until four. I can’t really go online, not without it being some kind of covert mission anyway. There’s too many nosy goodie two shoes around here. Crap. Nowhere to go, no one to visit and waste time with, it’s too cold for a walk around the building--I may just lose my mind.

Let’s analyze this situation for a minute here. Is there not enough work coming in to keep two writers busy? Cause I don’t think NMF has been all that busy either. Hmmm. I wonder if I should be worried about my job.

Side Bar: I am so thoroughly irritated at the moment I can barely stand it. TFH is sharing her lunch with NMF. So, not only does she massage his shoulders several times a day, now she’s offering him bites of her lunch. That’s even more infuriating than listening to them plan weekend skiing trips all fucking day. Thank God there’s no more snow. I seriously can’t take these two retards and their pseudo lovemaking. Excuse me while I shut the “door” to my cube.

Speaking of cubes, suddenly I really want some cheese cubes. I think it's time for lunch.

The boys vs. the girls.

Thursday we find out if we're having a boy or girl. I think it's a boy. I've been wrong before. But only once or twice, right Mr. D? Most of my family think it's a girl. Mr. D keeps flipping back and forth. First it was a girl, now it's a boy. He can't make up his mind, which goes to show just how much of a Libra he really is.

For some reason, I want a boy. I used to want a girl really bad, but now I want a boy. I don't know why. Well, that's not entirely true, I do know why. We've agreed on a really great name for a boy and I don't want anyone else to take it. So far, out of all the pregos I know, I'm leading the pack when it comes to delivering first. Except my sister-in-law, who is pregnant with a boy and due in about two weeks, but she already knows our name so it's highly unlikely she'd take it. I made it clear even before I was pregnant what our boy name was.

I know, I know. It all seems a little catty and superficial...hoping I have a boy just so I can name him a certain name. But it really is a great name (And I'm not telling you what it is until after we find out. I don't want to jinx it so don't ask.). Don't get me wrong, I will still be happy if I'm having a girl. I'll be thrilled because not only will I be able to dress her in the latest designer fashions with fabulous accessories to match (and do her hair and makeup and get her a sparkly pink cell phone and...), I won't have to worry about circumcision!

Yeah, that one's still TBD. Honestly, though, I'm leaning toward the ol' snip-a-roo. I mean, come on, the kid is not going to remember it. Besides, it's better healthwise. At least that's what I've read. There are some people out there who say it's cruel and I can see their point. But when it comes down to two minutes the kid won't even remember or a lifetime of potenital chronic infections or teasing from adolescent boys, and later from significant others, because he's got a shield to go with his helmet...well...I'm going to have to say off with it. Now if I can get my husband on the same page.

Revelation.

I don't know how it took me so long to figure this out, but now I know why the last writer who sat in my cube gave him a four pack of toilet paper when he left.

It's Friday, bitches.

So The Hag was out sick yesterday. There was no bickering or “witty” banter back and forth between her and NMF. More importantly, though, there was no massaging.

Several people commented on how quiet it was since NMF didn’t have anyone to squawk at all day. God knows he didn’t have anything to say to me. Except maybe “boom” or a random “are you swamped?”

I think because so many people said how quiet he was being without The Hag around yesterday, he made a decision to really ramp it up today. He’s barely stopped talking since he got here.

Oh, and he just farted. Loud. And didn’t say excuse me. I’ve got to get up and leave before the assy peanut aroma makes its way over here.

GOOD MORNING!

Is it really necessary to shout at work? The answer is no. Especially at 9:40am. Not necessary at all. In fact, it’s fucking downright rude. And if you do it again, I’m going to rip out your tongue with my bare hands and then snap you neck like a twig.

Sorry, but designers are dumb.

I’m not saying all designers are dumb, I’m just saying that the ones I work with are. They do things like, you know, use the wrong fucking backup for the proofreaders because, apparently, they can’t tell which document is obsolete and which document is current. Here’s a clue: look at the fucking date, asshole. It’s not hard. Especially when I told you that the document account gave us was not formatted properly and I would have to re-format it and then give it to you. Which I did, so why would you include the wrongly formatted printout as backup? Because you’re a retard, that’s why. Now I have to go back and cross off all the suggested formatting changes that proofreading made because you can’t think beyond your “clean design.” Jackass

P.S.

The massaging of the shoulders at work needs to stop. Seriously. I don’t care if the dude is gay, bitch, you don’t need to be rubbing anything that is connected to another human being while in a work environment. Unless it’s attached to me. Like my back. Then it’s okay.

I mean, I know you’re a fag hag outside of work, but do you need to lay it on so thick at work? We get it. You like hanging out with members of the homosexual community. So take your disturbing habits outside, since they’ll never end up in the bedroom, which is what you are so obviously hoping for.

Quickie.

NMF is annoying the fuck out of me today. I know, what's new, but he's just so fucking weird I can't not express my severe irritation. He's so fucking nosy. So neurotic. So utterly immature I can't even stand it. He's got some real problems, that one.

Spring cleaning.

Okay. I've really got to clean up my links. There are tons of peeps I've got listed that a.) never blog and b.) have moved links or disappeared or something. The problem is I'm too lazy right now, which has kind of been a reoccurring theme lately. I hope I snap out of it. If I don't, that would mean I'd be too lazy to hand the baby off to its father. And that would be bad.

Thunderous thighs.

Unless I'm carrying an additional baby in each leg, my thighs need to stop expanding. LIKE NOW.

On a lighter note...

Some funny phrases my husband and I use around the house:

When someone is having trouble articulating a thought: "Take your time." or "Use your words."

When someone farts, silent or otherwise: "Who shit the bed?"

Bowel movements after midnight: Night Moves (Example: "Are you okay?" "Yeah, I was just working on the Night Moves." Usually followed up with a Bob Seger impersonation)

Regarding pooping: Painting the bowl, Taking the Browns to the Superbowl, Dropping the kids off at the pool

Alternate terms for explosive diarrhea: Anal Tantrum, Screaming Shits, Green Apple Two Step and, simply, The Rrhea

When someone is being longwinded: "I gotta go, Bob." (from Lost in Translation)

When someone needs further clarification: "What's the jelly situation in the house?" (Courtesy of Dane Cook)

Or conversely, when someone tells you something you already know: "Thank you, but I already know the jelly situation."

General term of endearment: "Shut your face."

General term of annoyance: "You're such a Jerk Store."

Claim of innocence: "That's the triple truth, Ruth!"

Husband's compliance to wife's wishes: "You got it, sister."

Wife's non compliance to husband's wishes: "Don't tell me what to do!"

Wife's response to husband's non compliance: "It does what it's told or it gets the hose."

Wife's (rare) compliance to husband's wishes: "Whatever."

Husband's response when wife laughs at husband: "Laugh it up, Chuckles."

Husband when wife drops something: "Got it there, Fumbles?"

Drunk husband on a night out with friends: "Come here. I want to smell you. Why? Because you smell like a woman should!"

Putting "let" on the end of every word: "Don't forget to buy me more of those picklets I like." "Did you feed the kitlets (hybrid of kittens and let)?"

When either one of us finds something stupid or boring, we pretend to be Alex Trebec on Jeopardy! interviewing a contestant (he's the master at shutting someone down) and say: "How incredibly uninteresting."

Friggin bored to death.

I've been working on one assignment all day. I could have been done this morning, but I'm totally milking it. I don't know what else to do. I've gone to all my internet places, read the news, added more things to my registries, yes, but there's only so much surfing you can do at work before attracting too much attention. I've got to at least attempt to look busy. But I'm totally not and it's seriously killing me.

One thought has sort of kept me half way occupied, though. And that thought is starting another blog. But instead of bitching about life, I'd bitch about pregnancy. Just kidding. It would be a cross between a blog and really helpful website about pregnancy, kids and being a mom...a blogsite if you will (okay, that's totally lame. especially for a copywriter). It would contain my musings, of course, but it would also feature other stuff I think people would want to know. Like what the hell is a layette? And does my baby really need one? I'm learning all these new things about being a mom and I guess I thought it would be cool to put together a place where I can share this stuff with other moms and moms-to-be.

So does that sound retarded? Too over done? It's okay. You can tell me the truth.