puritan panties
until this past saturday I'd never owned a white bra or white cotton panties before. I've written in the past about wearing white cotton panties, but I was just bullshittin, man. white cotton panties just sound so scandalous in their purposeful prudery and ya know I previously rocked that madonna/whore complexity like kimora lee rocks stiletto jimmy choo's. I was probably really wearing some black shizzles with ruffles while I was shamelessly lying about them being white and modest...I like draws with ruffles a lot, it's very burlesque. my new white bra, which is the first I've purchased in my new bra size to accomodate my new big tatas, makes the girls look perky and perfectly round like a compass drew them on my chest (do you know how much effort it took me to think of what that thing was called...first I said protractor but I knew that couldn't be right...it's been a long time since I was in art class) ...a much needed breast ego-boost as the darkened areola thing that happens with pregnant women doesn't look good on me. I'm too light brown to have some dark brown areolas...I don't like it at all. at least I don't have those real dark stretch marks though...and I haven't had any major skin problems besides the break-out on my forehead which is now less noticeable due to a combination of noxema and bangs. being pregnant is supposed to be beautiful, yet hormones make our beauty go haywire. shit is ironic.
I wasn't able to find out the gender of the beans last week as I'd hoped...apparently beans just wouldn't get in the right position. the sonogram kind of hurt...I doubt it was supposed to, but after an hour of being prodded and pushed on my stomach at every angle with that instrument they use, I could barely walk I was so sore. and the sonogram gel dripped down onto my draws and freezing fucking cold is just not a phrase adequate enough to describe the temperate of that shit once the nurse technician stopped rubbing it into my skin. half the positions she had me laying in rendered me unable to watch the observation screen, but from what I did see beans has a really round head and a button nose...looks like me already. all this prompted me to explore the baby development videos on babycenter.com when I returned to work. hey, guess what...um...big mistake mmkay. I started out with the tame videos, cooing and shedding anticipatory, sentimental tears of a hormonal sap, business as usual...then I got to the actual videos of birth itself and all that turned into unpredictable, uncontrollable shouts of "NASTY. GROSS. G-R-O-S-S." babies are covered in womb goo when they come out, ya know, and even the cutest baby is not cute all gooey like that...but all that notwithstanding, it looks painful, I honest to god thought I might pass out. I don't get how a dude can go back to thinking of his female as a sexual being after seeing that kind of display...but as jason had to explain to me, that's grown folk shit. right now I am still holding onto the immature vanity of pre-parenthood...practically dreading christopher witnessing me all splayed out pushing and stressed and sweaty and mad at him an shit. I'll get over it, as everyone who's already got kids reminds me...being able to accept your mate as parent and lover is beautifully human. I don't really feel hot right now, though, I am definitely showing now and I feel like a cow...not at all sexy...I had to buy the biggest pair of jeans I've ever bought yesterday and although they are way more comfortable then anything else I was wearing up to this point and actually too big, I am mortified that my waist is expanding. I figured the most difficult part of being pregnant would be the morning sickness and internal haywiring, but it's all an issue of ego and aesthetics with me. I really oughta stop fucking complaining, I'm giving the wrong impression. I am happy to be with child, some women can't get pregnant at all, I'm just gonna keep it really real like I always have and let yall fools know the good and the bad.
so my father is a hot mess. he calls me everyday to give me names to add to "the list", which is short for "the list of names ron shaft winfield approves of for his grandchild" a.k.a. "waver from the list and I will never talk to you again". he's given us a few we like but for the most part the names are boring me out of my mind. it gets on my nerves when I know it shouldn't...but it's like he's insulting me by doubting my ability to name my own seed something that won't subject her/him to a childhood full of ridicule and misspellings. not that there's anything wrong with that...barack is doing fine with his name and so is goapele and djimon and o'shea.
the company I work for is romancing a teenage pop singer/actress of the most flawless of reputation and shiniest of haloes right now...supposedly she will be in here later today with her management team to discuss a contract. at least half the guys I work for have already made references to sexually having their way with her...or cleaning ourselves up for her pristine approval...this place is depraved. it's so nice to belong somewhere. I'm still depraved ya know, in my own way...I just can't act on it right now. this is pretty much what I'ma be living and, as an extension, writing about for awhile...pregnancy and womb goo and big jeans...if you were only interested in me when I was shoving dollar bills in g-strings go read them archives.
I miss you, ma. I hate the rest of my friends. at least the evil fucktarded ones who don't know how to call or visit nobody. I love riki, though. she's back in new york for a couple weeks with her 5-or-6-or-somethin-like-that-month-old daughter so we're gonna meet up after I get back from cleveland and reminisce about the times when all we worried about was making it through bartending school. I look forward to meeting christopher's mama, too...we talk on the phone and I don't think she's too mad at me for getting knocked up by her young innocent son a few months after we moved in together. I wish our work schedules weren't so strict and we could be in cleveland now...so I could help her cook an shit. I like to do my part to kiss a parent's ass.
you know black folk ain't into the whole celebrating the pillaging of the pilgrims part of thanxgiving, but we love to eat. get full and thank the most high for those who love and feed you, that's all thursday needs to be about for me.