signs things are changing

last night and again this morning, at about 5:30am, I got up and started washing baby clothes in anticipation of the wee one's arrival. as i sat, folding insanely small clothes, I thought to myself, "self: what the fuck?"

is it cheating if she only has one leg?

It's 4am and I've been kicked awake by my super awesome ninja baby, who, sadly, is insensitive to things like time. So i'm up. i've got a glass of milk and i'm pondering the profound questions posed to us in the latter half of Season 4: The Sopranos. For example. does Tony consider it cheating when he has sex with the one-legged occupational therapist known as Svitlana? And moreover, does Svitlana?

The C-man exclaims "poor Richard" (or whatever Svitlana's boyfriend's name is) and I say "no harm, no foul". It's not like he's ever going to know and Svitlana certainly isn't dumping boyfriend for Tony - she's way to smart for that nonsense. So there is no "poor Richard".

C-man says I had better adjust my definition of cheating to include all extra curricular sexual activities with other people, including one-legged persons. Apparently, Svitlana does not get a pass. So for all you one-legged hustlers out there looking to lead me away from my man, I'm sorry. We can never be together.

i'll just say it, I'm funny...not recently but...

i'm funny. i was funny. i have proof. i read my old blog entries all of which start at the dawning of the kylie program. i had a message and the message was about my ass; the complete overhauling of my behind with Saint Kylie as project manager, oh the comedy. funny. funny.

now, i'm all over the place. travel. work. blah blah blah. so let's talk about my ass: it's spreading like cheese whiz on hot toast.

why? no exercise and i got a bun in the oven. i would post a photo but am afraid it would have a serious impact on Canada's already low birth rate. i got a big ass and a sway back. pretty.

26 weeks and 6 days

today represents almost a full waking 12 hours of crying jags. why? because i'm pregnant and it would appear, at least for today, i've gone mad. completely bonkers and crying at everything. so there it is. this is my first day of pregnancy-induced mental infirmity.

my ass and its size, the reason for this blog dating back about two years now, is moving in the opposite direction of dear kylie's. what can i do?

Dear Reader: Sorry for my absence. Today I have some generalizations and observations on my trip to italy.

I've been away both physically and mentally from my post here. I was all dried up like a rotten walnut. But today I have some thoughts to share...

Excuses from the author: below are rough notes...the spelling and syntax is chaotic.

Rome: Great. Beautiful. Wonderous City. Romans smoke like it is the cure for something. In between courses of their meals, while they are getting their hair done, and i assume, possibly during intercourse. The city is walkable and easy to get around. People are friendly and animated.

Roman men: Deeply, seriously gorgeous men. The long lashed blue-eyed girly ones and the rougher bigger square jawed, hard-nosed ones--all very, very handsome. It was, in fact shocking, at the magnitude of their varied and stunning good looks.

Roman women: More orange around the skin than their male counterparts and not as pretty. Great bodies though. Crazy good bodies, doesn't matter how old 18 or 45 - hot bods. But orange skin and rough around the face.

Food in Rome: Tonnerelli pasta in a cinnamon sauce with marscapone and chick pea puree...what can i say, it was truly divine. Da Francesco's, a small and hopping local eatery also made kick ass pesto...totally fresh.

Punchbuggy nun & Punchbuggy priest: Now you may think this game too easy in the city that is the seat of the Holy Roman Empire...and yet, it never got old. We marked a two block radius around the Vatican in which we did not play the game because it was simply too easy. But, once away from the Vatican the game was on. We saw nuns and priests of every stripe; Loretto's (Mother Theresa's order), Franciscans, Cappucines, blue nuns, grey nuns and so on. This proved to be a deeply satisifying and entertaining game, gaining extra points for claiming sisters and brothers in the more unusual and rare orders.

Florence: TOO MANY PEOPLE! Too many. Too too many. Oi. Yes Art. Oh Art with a capital A...and yet, I'm all renaissanced-out.

Fiesole (in the mountains above Florence): Beautiful, peaceful, quiet. Heaven.

Venice: Ummmm, possibly the coolest city ever. I feel sorry for the Venetians having their streets, canals and everything else clogged up with the touristas. But then that is what happens when you live in a totally unique place. And they get their even...We went to some fancy restaurants which were not that great. Food on the whole was twice as expensive as Rome and not as good.

Venice - Home to the Biennalle: The perfect antidote to Renaissance Italy...contemporary art from around the world. The British and French pavillions were particularily engaging. There was much wonderful art, days and days of viewing and i know i only saw a fraction of it. This is reason enough to return again and again to Venice.

gentlemen...a word?

i know it's hot out. i do. i'm pale and freckly. not as pale as two friends with the initials T and E (moonbeams practically) but pale none the less and the heat really bothers me. it's sticky and miserable.

however, i must insist that while you are out in public that scratching, rearranging, and pulling your balls away from your hot thighs is not acceptable. ever.

i feel your pain, i do, sometimes, like right after i get my hair cut, the hair fluff gets down my shirt and in my bra and you really just want to stuff your hands in your shirt and give the girls a good scratch. i want to. but i don't. cuz scratching yourself in public is gross.

activists schmactivists

some people want to kill a tiny little sweety pooky polar bear named Knut. they want to kill him because he is an unnatural beast being all born in captivity.

poo on them i say, poo.