Old News
Grraaaaaahh. I've had an entry in a state of partial publishability for two days now (you'd be surprised how much that happens), but I can't post it because I need to link to pictures that are stuck on my camera because it's taking FOREVER to download everything that comes after the twenty-minute video of Sean and Holly's ceremony, which we captured after the camcorder they thrust* on Simon at the last minute ran out of batteries five minutes in, i.e., about ten seconds after the "I will"s.
Fret not, though, as it's not like I'd planned to post anything good. I won't be revealing any wedding photos until the bride and groom have had an opportunity to pop that cherry (SO STOP EMAILING ME FOR A SNEEK PEEK), and even though the entry itself is mostly stupid and old (it's a recap of Labor Day weekend, which was, like, years ago, AND it's in list form, aka the biggest cop-out of them all), but damn if I haven't been looking at that entry for two days already and now I'm committed to posting it, whether you like it (and me) or not.
But hey, I'm writing about Real Issues over at Work It, Mom this week (click on the widget over there in the left sidebar! it ain't gonna click itself!), so go check that out and marvel at how very relevant I can be when I try. Look at me go, referencing news and current events and all that. (Simon is rolling his eyes because when I came home from work today I told him to turn off the president's health care speech** because I wanted to watch the two-hour premiere of America's Next Top Model. Did you see it? Did you get a load of that Jesus girl? I swear her eyes turn red and shoot flames when she talks about wanting to HELP PEOPLE RAAAAAWR. Gives me the willies, that one.)
And speaking of uncomfortable body sensations and current events and my WIM column, when I went into the office today, I figured that since I had only one teeny little task*** to do that surely wouldn't take me more than a couple of hours, I could safely leave the house without packing a lunch or my breast pump, which, BAD IDEA, GENIUS, because I was there for seven hours (practically a record for me) and by the end of the day I was dying of hunger while also going numb from engorgement, and all this while I read commentary about how pumping at work is unnecessary and nursing mothers should just sack up or go stay home. Good times.
Say...writing about being hungry at the same time my boobs were bursting with liquid nutriments makes me wonder if anyone's ever kept herself alive by consuming her own breastmilk. *hangs sign on this website that says "Gone Googlin'"
*By saying "thrust" I realize that it might sound as if we're complaining that Simon became the go-to tech expert, but believe me when I say that nearly nothing pleases Simon so much as being the super-helpful-when-you're-in-a-pinch hero, so it was all good. Need someone to walk your dog, rake your leaves, change your lightbulbs, clasp your necklace, provide dinner music for your wedding reception? Let's talk; my rates are reasonable.
**I'm one of those people who should really care about the president's healthcare speech considering insurance for me and Wombat eats up more than half of my salary, and yet...Tyra!
***Note to self: There's no such thing as a "teeny little task" when it involves a four-hundred page book.
The not being able to post things is KILLING ME! Soon, soon.
I can't pinpoint exactly why but this may be one of my favorite posts ever. Probably something to do with the phrase "Gone Googlin".
Gah! Sorry for asking!
I was wondering why no one had posted any pics of the wedding yet- good to know!
I think the bigger question is: can you reach your own nipples? Because you'd have to be able to if you were going to sustain yourself on your own milk sans breast pump.
Why did my brain go there?
My brain went there too, but no, you don't actually need a pump to "express yourself," as Simon likes to say/sing. Mooooooo.
Thank you for the auspicious writeup. It in fact was a amusement account it. Look advanced to far added agreeable from you! However, how could we communicate?