In defense of the pregnant lady...

So last night...we thought someone was going to make it's way into the world.  I had champagne on ice, dreaming of epidurals, cleaned-off babies, and no-longer-swollen ankles.  Not me, of course.  Considering I had a beer and coffee cake for dinner.


But...life's cruel sometimes.


Instead, I'd like to cheer up the pregnant lady by talking shoes...and overall awesome things that we've done in the past when we lived 3 hours apart.

We're pretty fun together.  We'll go shopping.  She'll let me take a bath in her tub (back in Virginia, Wookie & Co. didn't have a tub).  I wrangled with her kids.  And we tried out for QVC selling Walgreens mud masks. Our audition was shot down worse than Simon Cowell.  But it was a lady, and her chest hair was still comparable.


Tuesday I could have used her extreme knowledge of lesbian shoes while in the local Birkenstock store.  Those 2 shoes I've been debating....are "fashion" shoes and aren't manufactured in my size.  Woooooonderful.  Stupid "narrow" feet.  So I'm sweet talking the store owner and we find a comparable pair to what I'm wanting.  A dark slip-on shoe, but not black or brown, a neutral.  But when called the distributor and found out there were only 2 in my size, I had to call the ball.  TWO!  Umm...I guess so.  If I want Birks, I have to act fast apparently.  Stupid skinny feet.  Although Bethenny Frankel would be proud.

I miss my short hair.  Every time I see her chopped locks, I long for my own short set back.  Since June I've been trying desperately to grow out my mane.  And it's been...interesting.  There are times I want to hack it back where I love it.  I loved my short hair.  But I also love me some ponytails.  So it's a tie.  And I'm not "Laquisha" enough to get hair extensions. That and I'm a cheap ass.  And no, Mom, this doesn't mean hair extensions should go on my Christmas list.  I just prefer Mommy McD's hair to mine.  That's all.

I may or may not be having "troll withdrawal."  And I may or may not have price-quoted a trip from LAX to Washington-Dulles for next year.  And for $200 pretty dollars, that can be a reality.  So we wait....and we see.  Then we may purchase.

The East Coast is a different creature in not understanding the odd eating habits of the Oregonians.  I feel like sometimes we're a part of a National Geographic show where people stare at our meals.  I'm not a big fan of fried foods, sweet tea, and overall artery-clogging indigestion and pre-diabetic states.  For many Southerners, they don't understand salads with strawberries and blue cheese crumbles, microbrews, and cheese not from Vermont (I never found Wisconsin cheese, so those happy cows must have been on strike).

I will say, McD, I've used this cup about every other day.  And because it's pink, Mr. Wookie shouldn't want to touch it.  So it's safe.  For now.  Until Baby Sister visits.

I love that I can kind of get her kids to take emo shots with me.  Sometimes they work.  Sometimes they don't.  And sometimes the kids flail.  And sometimes I flail.  Oh wait, I always flail.  Here I go trying to blame the kids.  Sounds like I'll be a great parents someday!

And despite her failure to launch a successful modeling career from Washington, D.C., I still love her.  And the fact that she currently can't button up this fabulous jacket.  Or the shorts.  But that won't stop me from hugging her when I see her next.  And that time I won't have to reach around the belly.  #Missyou.