I have been feeling swamped and overextended lately, and my back is paying the price. I have a pain that shoots from my lower spine into my hips and thighs. Not sure what this is about, but it needs to go away soon.
This weekend our friends Isaac and Emily, and the fetus within Em's belly, came to visit. We had so much fun seeing them. No matter how long we go between visits, it's like they never left. And then, you know, they DO leave and it's sadness. Em is 18 weeks pregnant and looks amazingly good. I can't wait for her to find out if she's having a boy sprout or a girl sprout. In fact, I find that I am typically more eager to find out what the sex of my friends' babies are than I was to discover if Luca was really a Schnitz (she was not...or shall I say she didn't have the little schnitz we originally suspected she had). I'm sad that they left for St Louis despite our best efforts to convince them to move back to AZ, but I can't wait to go visit them in the MO and meet little Goff.
We also had a girls' night out this weekend, in honor of Brandi, who's moving to the motherland (aka Oregon) in less than 2 weeks. Mill Ave gets a little dull once school's out for the semester, so we girls (I think at our height of fun there were over 20 of us there) pretty much had Fat Tuesday's to ourselves. It was great, until The Douche came to visit. Brandi and I were talking outside when this dude comes over and decides to pull up a(n uninvited) chair. He tells us he's from Boston and quickly reveals himself to be...well...a douche. First, he tells us he's older than he looks. Mind you, no one asked, as B and I are both happily married with child. Nonetheless, he asked us to guess his age, so we offered up a courtesy guess, and he told us we were wrong and he was 38. This rousing game of no one gives a shit please leave us alone went on, and soon Douche was informing us that he was, indeed, not really 38 (sure fooled us, buddy! way to go!), but was rather 'practically a newborn'. I assured him we were smart cookies, and even with a Superman and a Orangesicle under my belt, I was still not fooled. "No, really, I'm a newborn!" he exclaimed. To which I replied, "If I passed something that looked like you from my vagina I would be scared." Oddly, The Douche found this comment to be 'HIGH 5!!!' worthy. Go figure. My favorite part was when he informed B (who looks not a day over 28) that she looked like his best friend's mother...and then quickly reassured her this was a compliment, as he apparently has some sort of 'Stacy's Mom' complex. Ewww. Oh, scratch that. My favorite part was when he attempted to impress with his tale of 'bagging' a midget while serving as wingman for a friend once. Riiiiight.