friday

My house is so hot.

How hot is my house?

So hot that I'm considering taking this nesting energy I've been gifted with and using it to start a business where I nest in other people's houses.  Provided they have air conditioning, of course.

Charge people dollars to unhoard their houses?

I think it's a genius business venture.  I'd have a rotating staff, of course.  But that's okay.  What pregnant person can't use a little extra cash?  What normal person can't use a little extra organization?  Maybe I can pitch a show to TLC.

No, I don't think it's normal to be pregnant.  People shouldn't normally be pregnant.

I don't get food cravings with pregnancy.  I get cravings to do! something! right! now! or! else! the! world! will! end! and! the! baby! will! dry rot! and! fall! out! slowly! in! small! shriveled! pieces!

Not unlike that weird sponge that gets too gross for doing dishes but doesn't quite get relegated to an occasional tub scrub so it somehow finds its way to the back reaches of the undersink cabinets and lives there for years while the green part gets all nappy and the yellow part turns grey and it all curls up and starts to crunch apart.

I don't have undersink cabinets in my bathroom.  Never have.  Ever since I was old enough to make the decision of where I lived, the first thing I check when looking to rent or own is the presence of a pedestal sink in the bathroom.  It's because of a long-standing fear that there will be a vampire curled up under there and he'll come charging out at me, fangs first, the minute I open the little door.  Yes, I check at your house before peeing.  Right before I check your shower to see what kind of shampoo you are using.  I'm also checking in there to make sure there is no serial killer hiding behind the curtain.  I never NEVER check the medicine cabinet.  I don't want to know that much about you, plus there isn't much in there that can kill me.  Or at least that can open the door by itself.

There's an old trick of drilling a hole at the top of your medicine cabinet (sometimes there is already one up there so you can switch the door to open the opposite way) and dropping marbles into it before you host a house party.  Woe to the person nosy enough to see what sort of antifungals and antipsychotics you keep in there.
You shouldn't really be keeping meds in the medicine cabinet anyway.  The shower steam can compromise dosage or the coating on the pills and cause them to be released in a bad way inside your body.

You know those plastic spider rings that you can buy at the Dollar Store around Halloween?  I cut the ring part off and put them in my private parts before I have lots of people over.  Ballsy is the person who tells me there are spiders in my shower, or that I got them with the gag.  Hilarious is the person who shrieks in the bathroom then says nothing about it to me the rest of the night.

Private parts of my house, I mean.  Not like private parts private parts.
That would be a different kind of party.

I think I'm pretty funny.
Not everyone agrees.

Last night I battled the upstairs heat and cleaned out my closet racks and dresser drawers of everything that doesn't fit me anymore.  It felt good.  The cleaning part.  Not the part where I had to put away 90% of my clothing.  If 60% of what I put away yesterday fits me by this time next year, I'll consider it a pregnancy victory.  60% will earn me the bronze.  75% the silver.  90% the gold.  100% will elevate me to some sort of superhuman-Oros Olympus, manna-eating, trident-wielding, ivy-entwined status.

I really need to vacuum my bedroom because I was so sweaty that my legs were picking up small pieces of nastiness and it all just stuck there.  My floor is like a dirty bedazzler. 
Maybe I just need to wear pants if I sit on the floor.
Maybe I could wear pants if there wasn't a heat index of 115 degrees on the second floor.
Maybe I should just stop living like the Amish and buy a fan or something.

There's another heatwave coming through this weekend but I'll be in New York City at Blogher.  Not the boring conference part.  I am not cut out for sitting through seminars and listening to people talk about whatever the hell they talk about at those things.  I'll be at the parties at night and I'll be out enjoying the City and my friends who live there during the daytime.

If you are there too, find me!  I just rejoined Twitter, you can find me at @LoraNeely.  I know there are lots of people who like to Live Tweet their whereabouts, so if you are there and you are posting your twenty all weekend, let me know your handle so I can find you and weird you out with a hug that goes on to long and a re-counting of everything I remember you ever blogging about.  I have a decidedly creepy good memory.  It makes people feel uncomfortable sometimes, so usually I just stare at you while you are talking and my brain ticks out a long list of things I know about you that you probably don't know that I know about you instead of asking you about things I've been obsessing about since day one.

I also have Instagram, and Tumblr.  I thought they were three different things but you would not believe how many people's Instagrams, Tumblrs, and Twitters are EXACTLY THE SAME EFFING THING.  Three identical feeds in three different places.  Why?  I hate it.  I am tempted to unfollow people because I'm tired of seeing the same exact thing three different times, but I'm not sure if that is against internet etiquette or something.
Maybe someone can explain to me why this is?
Maybe I can stop complaining about what other people do on the internet and just move on with things?

I'm considering getting rid of Tumblr, maybe I'll feel better about things when I only see things twice.

I'm cranky.  Thirty minutes til coffee.  That should help.