Debbie Does Drivel

More than one month ago I wrote the "pregnant" entry.
Unacceptable.
I've made a pact with myself to blog at least 4 times a week.
I start tomorrow.
Practice for my unfulfilled writing career.
Ha.

I'm SICK again.

Which is why I haven't written.

Still plan to though.

Shortly.

Once I get my face off the toilet.

DISCONNECTED

I'm lonely.
My good friends all live in Chicago.
My neighbors get high all the time (when they're not surfing).
I never see my family.

I'm down, really. My dad told me today that he's moving to Reno in the next few months and that made me sad, especially when I remembered I haven't seen him since May anyway and his moving 500 miles away probably won't change things much.

Kev and I crave good, like-minded friends. But it's hard to find after a certain age. I even went so far as to post for friends on Craigslist. One person replied. We haven't met yet. She probably thinks we're swingers. Which we're not. We're too lame: we just want friends.

My good friend recently moved far north of me and promptly made tons of new neighbor friends. Now, I barely ever see her and she isn't at all interested in my being down.

I've always had lots of friends. Now, I don't really.

So I got pregnant. Now, I'm making a new friend from scratch.

WHY MY DAUGHTER SHOULD BE, IN FACT, MY SON

She walks pidgeon-toed.
She laughs in a low voice.
She loves kung-fu.
And basketball.
And baseball.
She does that heavily-muscled, barrel-chested man in bar swagger, where she holds her hands in fists by her side and walks with her shoulders, instead of her feet.
She roars like a lion.
Her mullet.
She hates lullabyes.
She likes rap.
She pees on the floor. Standing up.
She scratches her crotch.
She laughs when she farts.

Mother's intuition: I did name her Alex.