Knocked Up: On due dates

"Honey, she's your daughter. She will absolutely be late, just like her momma."
- Will on the subject of my due date

Then again, maybe not. We've been told throughout this pregnancy anywhere from the 19th to the 21st of October.

My bet is on the 20th, because it's Juve-Napoli that evening. It'd not only be fitting that Peanut arrives when her mom & dad's teams go head to head, but back when I was born, my dad and the obstetrician were apparently discussing Bradey-Illinois college basketball while Mom was in labour.

Knocked Up - Stay away from the Google

Yesterday we had the space age 3D Morphological Sonogram, which took waaaaaay longer than I thought it would, namely because Peanut is a stubborn camera shy little twerp just like her mother. The first go round the doctor got as many of the measurements as possible, decrying Peanut as a piccola peste dispettosa since she was face down into my kidneys and refused to move. When she got all she feasibly could for the time being, she sent us back downstairs to take a brief walk and eat a few candies with a fruit juice so that Peanut would move a bit.

So we did and I felt Peanut moving a bit more. We were called back up, and the doctor plopped a load of sonogram gel on my belly again, which proved to be a waste since Peanut was in the exact same position. Back downstairs for another walk, and Mon Amour and I were tapping on my belly like we were sending Morse code to a remote telegraph station. I felt a few more digs in my kidneys as we headed back up for the third time and crossed my fingers.


Finalmente she had moved position a bit, but was now hyperactive and wouldn't stay still. I lost track of how many times the doc called her piccola peste, which is a term of endearment mixed with that special frustration that only stubborn rambunctious kids can provide. A sentiment  I was starting to echo seeing how long this was taking and the fact that Peanut was starting to get her revenge  for disturbing her comfy position using my kidneys as pillows by bringing back the heartburn again.

The doc was final able to get a few good shots on the 3D scanner and we saw Peanut's face for the first time. Mon Amour was very quiet at that point and the doctor asked if he was seeing everything ok, and when he replied in the affirmative, Peanut smiled for the camera.

Somebody is already gunning for Daddy's Little Princess status.

So everything was looking ok, except the head measurements are on the lower side of the accepted range, in the 10th percentile. The doctor and her assistant looked at our previous sonograms, but said that the first one was done too late to accurately fix a gestational age and should have been done around 8-10 week. Cue me gritting my teeth as yet again the medical establishment gets all preachy contradictory with us again. I could feel Mon Amour getting all freaked out and stressy and this was not helping me keep back the tide of stomach acid creeping up my esophagus as the doctor swished the sonogram wand over my belly.

Of Rocket Pops and Fried Chicken

At diner with Will and Olive last night:

Olive: "When I was 17 I was dating this black guy and I asked my grandmother what I should cook him for dinner."
Me: "Lemme guess: fried chicken and watermelon?"
Will: "Oh lord..."
Olive: "Fried chicken, macaroni and cheese and watermelon. He was so offended. 'Why did you cook this? Are you a total racist?' I had no idea about the connotations of fried chicken and watermelon. I just thought it was good food."
Me: "You poor naive little thing. You should have been all 'Oh my lord it didn't even cross my mind, the watermelon just smelled so good and it's in season...'"
Olive: "I was not worldly enough at 17 to put that off. I bawled my eyes out that night."
Me: "True that."
Will: "Did you tell him your grandmother suggested the menu?"
Olive: "Yeah, and so then he was all 'So your grandmother's a racist.' It was horrible."
Me: "You realize this is going on the blog tomorrow, right?"

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Olive: "So you might come home to them having peed on your Salvador Dali posters..."
Will: "What?! No! Why would they pee on my posters on the wall?"
Me: "I swear you have some weird ideas about penises, Olive. Just like Mon Amour and other guys have weird ideas about vag."
Will: "Like what?"
Me: "Apparently some guys think that we'll shove anything remotely phallic up there, because that's what they would apparently do if they owned a vagina. ***BZZT!*** Wrong.  It's not a change purse."

Skewed Motherfuckin' Perspective & Sliding Doors

A conversation today between Will and I about celebrating my birthday last night:

"I'm a bit flabbergasted. He organized my birthday dinner out at Ariccia with everyone, bought me a cake, had them turn out the lights when they brought it in, surprised me with two lovely gifts and told our other friends who my favorite author is and how much I love reading. And he's taking me out of town for mini-holiday next week. He's spoiling me rotten."

"Honey, I don't know how to say this without being really horrible about it."

"Oh just say it. You're not going to offend me."

"Well honey, that's what boyfriends in normal relationships do. And he's obviously crazy about you."

"I am so fucked up, aren't I?"

"Just a bit, sweetie. I can't believe you were with that, that..."*purses lips*

"Shithead?" *grin*

"Yes. I can't believe you wasted so much time on him."

A sentiment with which I can well agree, but on the other hand, had things gone differently I might not have ever met Mon Amore né Ma Liason. Hence the reference to a tempid Gwyneth Paltrow flick in the title...

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The promised updates shall arrive soon, cari amichi. No, really. Now that the hols are over (and yes, I count my birthday as a motherfuckin' holiday, yo) I plan to get this post backlog finished up and make good with my resolution of blogging more often.

I'm also trying to quit smoking, so my whacked out theory is that since I don't smoke in front of my computer, keeping my hands busy at the keyboard will help.

Will and Olive are also quitting smoking, so it's gonna be Bitch City 'round these here parts for a while... :D

More Summer Excerpts

Will: Feed me.
Me: I am going to call you Seymour for that one.
Will: Grow a penis and come make love to me?
Me: Nope, sorry. Apart from the no penis thing, my hip bones are already bruised enough
Will: Damn you.
Will: What will I eat?!
Will: I guess I could chew on some tylenol pm and wash it down with vodka.
Will: Is that a well-balanced meal?
Me: For a drama queen, yes :D
Will: Bitch.

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My latest auto-gol in Italian
A friend, looking at pics of the Alpine getaway: Aò, ma sempre con 'sto culo in tutte le foto.
Me: Mica è colpa mia. Mi prende sempre da dietro.
Me: *dies when I realise what i just said while everyone else is laughing their asses off*
"Eesh, always with your ass in all of the photos."
"It's not my fault. He takes (pictures of) me always from behind."

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Will: I knew it was time to leave when I started playing with Olive's nipples

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Me: We were pretty toasty last night. I'd feel awkward about Ma Liason not really drinking, but then I remember that me getting drunk means that he get teh butt seks.

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Me: I need to charge my phone and brush my teeth with something other than cock.
Olive: Yes you do and scrub well before I see you tonight: I don't want to snog cock breath

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Me: I want a stripper pole.
Olive: Do you want Ta Liason to have a heart attack?
Olive: I think last night we promised him a threesome for his birthday
Me: Or something about watching. This is why Will should not leave us alone and unsupervised.

Will & Olive-isms

Olive: *squees* "Look at that cute baby. See, it's smiling at me."
Will: "Olive, it's smiling at you because it looks at your enormous rack and thinks 'Dinner.'"

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Olive: "I always wear underwear. Except sometimes."

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Will (to Olive): You have a yellow stain on the back of your shirt and your boob is popping out.

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Will: (smsing us) No you morons that was the wrong stop and now I'm lost.
Olive: Maybe we should put a GPS tracker on him.
Me: Yeah, we can shove it up his happy place.

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(at the beach)
Olive: The entire lower half of your face is covered in beard burn.
Me: Ugh, I know. My lips feel huge. Do I have a mark on the side of my neck?
Olive: Yup. Nice hickey.
Me: Bugger. I haven't had a hickey in years.
Olive: I'm surprised you can walk today.
Me: Yeah, I'm lucky I don't have fingerprint bruises on my ass. It's ok, though. Check out his back.
Olive: Holy shit.
Me: Wolverine has nothing on me baby.

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Olive: so are you ready to change your relationship status yet?
Me: OMG change my relationship status? THE HIVESSSS THEYS ITCHESSSSS!
Olive: It's obvious he cares for you a lot.
Olive: I'm waiting for the "Ti amo" to slip out
Me: AHHHHHHHHHHHH  HIIIIIIIIVVVVVVVVVVVVESSSSSSSSS
Olive: I love this game: Let's Make You Break Out in Hives. So much fun.
Me: Evil bitch.

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Me: Who do we have to blow to land you the consultancy?
Olive: Yeah.
Will: They're two females.
Me: I can lick pussy if necessary.
Olive: Blackmail could work too.

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Me: I think my cervix needs an ice pack.
Olive: TMI, my dear. T.M.I.

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Me: Hey Hooker
Will: Listen, Lafayette - not sure how it happened, but I really want you to get out of my friend's body and give her back her pattern of speech.

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Olive: I was the only female with 7 men sitting in a circle around me. It was like the beginning of a bad porn.

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Will: I'm very nice to people.
Me: Unless they have cheap ugly shoes.

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Sun, Sand & Gettin' Serious

Yesterday found me, Will, all three of my flatmates, a friend of theirs and Ma Liason beachside. This was notable not only for the fact that all of us managed to get together for the first time in a very long while, but also for the fact that Ma Liason had the rare entire Sunday off work.

He also hates the beach. He has skin like a red-head's; one hour on a pedalo in the middle of an Abbruzzo lake resulted in him looking like a lobster for almost a week. So I was caught by surprise by earlier in the week when he proposed going to the beach.

"Andiamo al mare domenica? Magari vedi un po se Will e Olive vogliano venire pure."
"Cosa? Ma tu odi andare al mare."
"Ebbene ma se ci sei tu è diverso..."

So after a bit of a late start due to the weather forecast faking us out ¹, we all met up at our local beach hangout, whereupon I promptly slathered SPF 50 all over Ma Liason; I was having no repeats of our daytrip to Abbruzzo. And it worked :) Viva kiddie sunblock. Plus, for my excellence in sunblock application I got a back massage later. I'm pretty sure that's just a socially acceptable way of feeling me up in public, not that I'm complaining...

My Cherry Has Been Popped

I have finally become part of the crime victim statistics, under the heading "Pickpockets & Bag Thieves" heading. Not only have I escaped unscathed in Rome for 13 years, but I have never ever been robbed in my adult life. (I'm not going to count when they robbed my childhood home and took my piggy bank.)

I was sitting outside having aperitivi in Trastevere with Will, a visiting girl friend of mine, her new boyfriend and another Rome based friend of hers. I had a large purse with me as the plans was to go over to Ma Liason's place after he finished working. So I had my little bag of make-up, my glasses & contact lens case, a jacket to go on  his motorcycle after, sunglasses and the usual purse paraphernalia of wallet, money & sundry documents, keys and iPod. I hung it off the back of my chair, fairly firmly wedged in between the chair back and the wall behind me.

My weekend pack of cigarettes was on the chair next to my leg as was my cell since one of my flatmates was joining us and I had been waiting for her call to signal her arrival in Piazza Trilussa. She called and I sent Will to go grab her. And here is where I am 95% sure that a Gypsy woman made off with my purse, as Will had been sitting facing me.

When I realised what had happened, you could say it put a bit of a damper on the night's burgeoning festivities. The other males went a searching up the nearby streets for a bit to see if they had dumped my purse in a bin after taking the money and good bits. Will actually shadowed the gypsy woman who had been hanging around.

"But then she made me, and I didn't want to get beaten up by some Gypsy pimp or whatever, so I came back."

I just sort of sat in a bit of a dazed shock for a bit, while my friend appointed herself as my Official Glass Refiller for the night. I did get a bit damp eyed for a few moments, but all things considered I was surprisingly sanguine, resigned to the inevitable morass of paperwork ahead to replace my docs.

A New Subject...

..for this here blog:


Cooking.

Without being fauxly modest about it, I am a damn good cook. There's the family recipes & comfort foods. There's the improvisation with whatever I have on hand. There's the experimentation with new recipes found on various cooking blogs.

When I cook, people start slavering for days beforehand. My Bastardised Tex-Mexican is famous (rightly so, as it's taken years of yummy experimentation to figure out how to make do without cheddar & jack cheeses...) and I get requests to make this or that for potlucks or picnics.

Olive, an Olive, and a Breakup

My darling Will has broken up with his boyfriend of a year, which hooo boy could I say a few thousand extra juicy words on the subject of Will's Ex, but won't out of respect for Will and any future book deals this blog might garner me¹. Last night we dragged him out to our friend's place for a glutton-tastic Easter dinner party.

I've discovered that eating an outrageous amount of cholesterol is Hangover Fairy Repellent. Between my grandmother's torta salata recipe², a metric buttload of deviled eggs, potato salads, pierogies, and various other Easter foodstuff involving eggs, cheese, meat or some combination thereof, I think my liver is protesting at the insane amount of cholesterol ingested last night instead of giving me grief for the equally large amount of alcohol we used to wash it all down. Either that or I'm going to have a retroactive hangover 3 days from now.

I Don't Remember How to Do This

So I have the beginnings of a post on the perils of Internet Dating sites, which I keep meaning to finish off eventually. But today I've sort of been musing on the Post NRA II: RNRA interactions with the opposite sex.

There was the guy who gave me a total intellectual & physical wide-on. We played a few rounds of tonsil hockey, until I discovered that he was actually dating a friend of a friend. Who was a single mom and had the usual single mom problems with the father of her child. She was extraordinarily cool when we talked, but to say I felt like absolute shit  is a mild understatement. Actually, I thought I was gonna hurl. "Hi. Yeah,  I didn't sleep with your boyfriend, but we made out in his car." I was torn between abject grovelling apologies and wanting to beat the everliving shit out of this dude for her. You don't fuck around with single moms. Single moms are sacrosanct.

So that sucked.

The Weremonkey of Prati

Taunt not The Weremonkey of Prati, for you are crunchy & taste good with ketchup.

Last summer found Will & I sharing a room, which is another story in and of itself. Let's just say that we would occasionally engage in somnambulistic ass-grabery, myself out of habit from 5 years of sleeping next to someone and Will probably because my laziness vis-a-vis depilation duties made his sleepy subconscious think that there was hot hirsute man-meat in bed with him.

Being summertime in Rome where AC is considered hazardous to one's health, the windows were more or less constantly open. One night when Will was out of town for the weekend, just as I was about to pass the border into Morpheus' realm I was jolted back into full wakefulness by some drunk-ass tourist screeching like a fucking monkey somewhere nearby. The hoots & screeches of this primate wannabe echoed throughout the quarter for about 30 minutes. No big deal at the time. I'm accustomed to late night drunken tourist shenanigans. Hell, I've taken part in more than my fair share.

The following night though, gave me an inkling that this might not be your average run of the mill drunken tourist, as once again just as I was nodding off, the screeching began, bouncing between the neighbourhood buildings like an acoustic super ball. When this continued for a week, I came to the brilliant conclusion that this was no tourist.

Some places have werewolves; Prati apparently has the occasional Weremonkey.

Introducing #1: Will

The Patsy to my Edina, the Will to my Grace. ¹

He's the male version of me, only bitchier with a better wardrobe & a higher tolerance for alcohol. He's mah homeboy *throws the Dolce & Gabbana gang sign*. I am unabashedly his Roman Hag.