Me toil part-time at jah Cold Stone Creamery.
With regards to pregnant celebrities.
The phrase "baby bump" makes me want to snotrocket on my shirt, stagger into a conveniently-located display of canned goods, and finally taser myself into a seizure.
I think it might be because it focuses so much on the one body part -- babymaker, source of a woman's right to existence! -- to the detriment of the woman. That, in turn, makes the baby public property for the consuming public, in a way that kind of bothers me? I think it might be overdeveloped notions of the body as private property, but this skeeves me on the same level that strangers going up to touch a pregnant woman's belly skeeves me.
My dislike of the term would be why I get twitchy and shifty-eyed at the drugstore checkout counter, when I am by the display of Us Magazine. (Link goes to an US Magazine "Guess the Baby Bump" quiz, where you can guess at celebrity identities based on their body and belly, with their faces cut out of the picture.)
However, I am pleased that Lyn-Z has a fully-functioning uterus, and appears to be healthy. I suspect that she could still probably knock me out with two or three punches. Maximum. If she was dosed up on tranquilizers. This would be why I find her incredibly attractive.
What, I didn't say I wasn't a perv. Just not a baby fetishist!
(Also, please note that I have not been pregnant (as far as I know! what, it could happen!), and so persons who have been pregnant or are pregnant should feel free to weigh in and school me.)
With regards to my cat.
The other day we were out in the back yard, chewing on some goldenrod and reading some late nineteenth-century fiction, when a drill started up on a neighboring wall. It was a heinous noise, I'll admit. Malcolm reacted with great sagacity, by which I mean he fluffed up, took off, ran face-first into a brick step, did a front somersault, got up, looked horrified, smacked face-first into a light fixture, fell down, got up, looked horrified, and sprinted off to hide under a tarp.
He eventually allowed himself to be coaxed out from under the tarp, and went about his business as though nothing had happened. I have gratified his dignity by not mentioning the incident within his hearing.
With regards to school.
I have read more than a hundred and fifty books, gotten a conference proposal accepted, and lost all of my social skills.
GET OFF MY LAWN. I DON'T EVEN HAVE A LAWN, BUT I WANT YOU OFF OF IT. PRONTO.
The phrase "baby bump" makes me want to snotrocket on my shirt, stagger into a conveniently-located display of canned goods, and finally taser myself into a seizure.
I think it might be because it focuses so much on the one body part -- babymaker, source of a woman's right to existence! -- to the detriment of the woman. That, in turn, makes the baby public property for the consuming public, in a way that kind of bothers me? I think it might be overdeveloped notions of the body as private property, but this skeeves me on the same level that strangers going up to touch a pregnant woman's belly skeeves me.
My dislike of the term would be why I get twitchy and shifty-eyed at the drugstore checkout counter, when I am by the display of Us Magazine. (Link goes to an US Magazine "Guess the Baby Bump" quiz, where you can guess at celebrity identities based on their body and belly, with their faces cut out of the picture.)
However, I am pleased that Lyn-Z has a fully-functioning uterus, and appears to be healthy. I suspect that she could still probably knock me out with two or three punches. Maximum. If she was dosed up on tranquilizers. This would be why I find her incredibly attractive.
What, I didn't say I wasn't a perv. Just not a baby fetishist!
(Also, please note that I have not been pregnant (as far as I know! what, it could happen!), and so persons who have been pregnant or are pregnant should feel free to weigh in and school me.)
With regards to my cat.
The other day we were out in the back yard, chewing on some goldenrod and reading some late nineteenth-century fiction, when a drill started up on a neighboring wall. It was a heinous noise, I'll admit. Malcolm reacted with great sagacity, by which I mean he fluffed up, took off, ran face-first into a brick step, did a front somersault, got up, looked horrified, smacked face-first into a light fixture, fell down, got up, looked horrified, and sprinted off to hide under a tarp.
He eventually allowed himself to be coaxed out from under the tarp, and went about his business as though nothing had happened. I have gratified his dignity by not mentioning the incident within his hearing.
With regards to school.
I have read more than a hundred and fifty books, gotten a conference proposal accepted, and lost all of my social skills.
GET OFF MY LAWN. I DON'T EVEN HAVE A LAWN, BUT I WANT YOU OFF OF IT. PRONTO.