I've been reminded as of late how neglectful I've been here on my blog - as it is, I have a lot of other internet ventures on my plate, and felt like I haven't had much to say. But that not having much to say certainly backfires from time to time, and then you wind up spilling all sorts of things to a bewildered mailman who only asked you directions to first and main. Not that I did that. What? I didn't.
So let's see. I just realized I've been saying something wrong for years. It's not "for all intensive purposes." It's "for all intents and purposes." Who woulda thunk it.
Earlier this week I was plagued by something I haven't had since I was a teenager having what I'm sure was way too much sex... a bladder infection. The first thing my doctor said to me when I got there was, "You're getting older, it's going to happen a lot more." Seriously? Do you like getting punched in the mouth by a girl who only slept half-an-hour the night before while precariously balanced on the toilet? Then it's your lucky day!
And there may be something in the water at the office, but everybody seems to be pregnant. My good friend has just found out she's pregnant and she's 38 and totally excited - both of us exclaimed that the dog was going to be so happy to have a baby in the house. I've also decided that she will be the cutest pregnant person on the face of the planet. It seems to go one of two ways - either you're glowing and adorable, or you've just been run down by a truck. Were I ever to have children, which I don't think I were, I'm betting I'd be the truck way. Besides, every time I even think about kids, my boyfriend starts gravitating towards the nearest flight of stairs.
Pedicures. I've discovered I really just don't like them. As many times as I've tried, they tickle, then they start stabbing and digging with those damn tiny sharp instruments that look like they only belong on a dentist's tray ... and sure my toes look pretty, but are they supposed to burn like that?
Valentines Day. Normally sucks - mother of all non-holidays, but I got a REALLY cool PBR shirt - a nice, tight, girlie one, from the boy, and we took the coolest drive I've ever been on since I moved to Oregon - up to Stonehenge! It was beautiful - a great day, finished off with dinner in Hood River at the Full Sail Brewery. I'm a happy girl. Had a serious Stand By Me moment when we were walking along the train tracks to better view an old mining transport shute up alongside the highway. We'd seen a LOT of trains already that day - I was already on high alert. You'd be amazed how quiet those damn things are when they're a lot closer then they seem. JW confirmed my horrified expression with a casual "Yep, that's a train," and I practically climbed a tree. THEN get this - when we were leaving Stonehenge, we were driving by this huge field of cows, and we flew past... then JW and I both kind of looked at each other like... did we just see that? He threw the car in reverse and we backed up to this big, enormously pregnant cow who had... well ... something hanging out of her backside that looked like a grocery bag filled with ... well ... red liquid. It was really, really strange. There were a lot of calves out in the field - including one who was still totally all wet and wobbly and being nudged by its mama. We watched this cow oddity for about half-an-hour - having no idea what that sack-thing was, but watching the cow pace increasingly around, pawing the ground, laying down then getting back up to pace. She kept staring at us. We finally left and upon returning home, googled "cow sack" - so it would seem she was in stage two of cow labor! Anyway, I finish my post tonight hoping she is safe and sound with her new cublet. Kid. Baby. Cowling. Cowlick.
