Thursday, January 15, 2009

Tell me baby

I wrote this post just before Thanksgiving.....

It has been over a week since I heard the best news I’ve heard in a long time:

I am going to be an Aunt.

The morning after I heard the good news, I woke up and 4am and started planning the baby shower. Later that day I was telling my sister about the menu I had planned. I had only gotten to the cucumber sandwiches before she interrupted me.

“But you hate baby showers, Big Momma.”

“This is different. It is your baby shower. My sister’s baby shower. A shower for my niece or nephew. A shower for lil' Big Momma (hint, hint)! Besides, I have decided that I am going to revolutionize baby showers. I am going to make them fun, and not just by serving booze.”

“Are you going to make me play that game where people have to guess the diameter of my belly?”

“No way. Your husbands cock, maybe.”

“But I am not sure that I want a baby shower.”

“You have no choice. This is your first child. You need everything. Besides, think of all those bitches who invited you to their baby showers. They owe you.”

And so the conversation went and continued for the next 20 minutes. We discussed the funny names that her and her husband had discussed. We talked about the fact that I don’t know how to change a diaper. We talked about the fact that I couldn’t wait to babysit….would she actually trust me with her child? What surprised me during our conversation was how calm she sounded. And trust me when I say there is never anything even remotely calm about my sister. I guess she has been mentally preparing for this moment longer than anyone could have realized.

P.S. She is having twins!!!!

P.S.S. So I’m wondering, internet, do you think these cutout cookies would be appropriate for the shower or just wrong?

I've fallen and I can't get up

Who would have thunk that I'd be sitting around on this cold winter night, wishing to be The Gimp?

Yes, you read that right. I'm not wishing to be Forrest Gump. I wish I was The Gimp, not the Gump. And I can promise you that this has nothing to do with our outing to the sex toy shop on Sunday.

I'll leave that last sentence alone because my dear, sweet mother reads this......

So you are probably asking, "Why would a nice girl like CBM wish she was THE GIMP?" Keep your pants on people, I'm going to tell you why:

Because for the last week, I have been this gimp

I am pretty sure this is karma kicking me in the ass for wishing that I was in a wheelchair this summer so that the Mr. could push me around Vancouver. Karma probably isn't the right word here, but get off my back, I'm nursing an injury. And possible head trauma.

So the long and short of it is I fell while playing tennis on Saturday. Be glad that you didn't witness this horrendous event. I'm fairly certain it was the most ungraceful and klutzy act of my entire life.

The punishment for my crime is that I am not supposed to be on my feet for TWO WEEKS. And just in case that doesn't learn me all up right, I can't play tennis for FOUR WEEKS. You can already see that I am talkin' like a billy after a mere 4 days on the couch. What will I become after 14 days? At least I am still showering.

OK, so enough waah, waah, waahing about me. My experience has given me a new respect for those with permanent disabilities. I have been aware, for most of the last 35 years, that most of the people on this planet are butt heads. It seems these days, whenever I leave the house, butt heads are everywhere. They stare and you and cut you off. They get huffy when walking behind you. They don't hold doors or elevators.

I have considered installing a machine gun in my crutches, but I seriously can't see myself being someone's bitch after I'm imprisioned for my crimes. So instead, I'll vent through this post.

Now I'm not going to open a can of Jerry Lewis woop-ass on all ya'll. I'm just going to remind you to be nice to those in need. And I'm not talking about me here, unless of course you find me fumbling to light my cig while holding a beer and trying to teeter on one leg. Angeline Jolie would so want you to help me. My point here? If you see someone who is struggling, for the love of Pete, help them out. My momma taught me that, why didn't yours? Because your momma wears combat boots.

And if I catch you, not helping? I'll first do this.... try to mess with your game, throw you off. And then I'll woop ya....

.... militant grandma style. Remember, Big Momma is bad ass. And I have friends....