tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-63045956214958317232011-04-21T12:30:55.811-07:00I opened a coconut with a screwdriver and a hammer on the cement tile fourth floor of my residence hall during finals week. It was eleven thirty at night. I drank all of the milk through a plastic straw.Hollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04518761482364947521noreply@blogger.comBlogger31100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6304595621495831723.post-30670874159105792492008-10-22T20:40:00.000-07:002008-10-22T20:46:27.764-07:00My husband and I fight over the internet. Kind of.<br /><br />When we have it, he spends 3-6 hours per day YouTube-ing skate videos and myspace-stalking his favorite musicians and skate teams.<br /><br />When we <em>don't</em> have it, I don't get to update my blog, read my favorite webcom, or check my email. (Unless, as is the case right now, I stay after at work.)<br /><br />Luckily for us, we don't have the ability to argue anymore. Our wireless connection has booted us once and for all.<br /><br />So here is the problem:<br /><br />In order to get myself back online, I have to go to the landlady and complain and she will have someone come to fix our WiFi. <br /><br />Do I want that?<br /><br />Or would I rather give up my daily net in exchange for 3-6 extra hours with my hubby?<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6304595621495831723-3067087415910579249?l=bigfootmouth.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Hollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04518761482364947521noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6304595621495831723.post-31934224594455149782008-10-16T21:22:00.000-07:002008-10-16T21:30:55.675-07:00Only a pregnant woman would use such a word in reference to her abdomen.<br /><br />There is a living, breathing human baby growing and kicking and twisting around inside of me and - cute as the <em>idea</em> is - it kinda grosses me out.<br /><br />Nothing against babies. I like babies. They giggle and poop and coo and barf partially-digested breast milk down the back of your shirt. It is adorable. I'm just not sure that I am ready to turn my midsection over to this hog of a creature quite yet.<br /><br />I'm constantly starving. My boobs hurt. My skin itches and my feet are puffy and I pee every twenty minutes and people won't stop touching me.<br /><br />To clarify: I'm cool with the <em>baby. </em>Totally. I just wish I didn't have to be <em>pregnant.</em><br /><br />In a perfect world, I would get pregnant, go to sleep for nine months, and then - voila! -a bouncing baby whatever. No morning sickness, no constipation, no middle-aged women pawing my stretching stomach shouting: "Oh, my, hunny! You sure you just got ONE in there??!"<br /><br />Whatever.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6304595621495831723-3193422459445514978?l=bigfootmouth.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Hollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04518761482364947521noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6304595621495831723.post-70775213046853475492008-09-25T21:32:00.000-07:002008-09-25T21:33:54.618-07:00Off to some great world wide web in the sky?<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6304595621495831723-7077521304685347549?l=bigfootmouth.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Hollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04518761482364947521noreply@blogger.com0