Girls with Guitars are Smug

2011 has proved to be--in the world of Brooke--the year of the pregnant women. Four co-workers, two close friends, and three of my sisters have had children or are in the process of getting really fat as they grow their little lima beans.

I am not bitter because I am not fat. And I can drink lots of champagne cocktails, a result of which I have a massive hangover still at 2 p.m.

A sweet male friend sent me this link the other day in commiseration for all the pregnant women I'm surrounded by. He thought I'd appreciate the humor:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tJRzBpFjJS8

I am saddened to report I did not appreciate the humor. The only issue I have with the pregnant women I know is that they can no longer drink with me. They all hate getting fat and don't like their floppy tits even when their husbands and boyfriends do and they think I'm funny when I ask them questions about the future of their vaginas, what long-term vagina plans they have.

The problem with this song, I think, is that it does not distinguish pregnant people from assholes. Some women are assholes and pregnancy may exacerbate that, sure. I am happy to report I don't know many of these women. If I do, I hide them from my Facebook feeds.

Any world problem can be solved with a little bit of humor. But Garfunkel & Oates don't seem to be having fun with pregnant women, therefore they are not funny.

If I sound earnest about all this it's because I'm hungover.

No really: it's because I'm not pregnant. WAH!

I'm going to buy a guitar and make myself feel whole again.

Then write a song about the shallowness and self-importance of others.

Later I will post it on youtube under the title Woody & Balls, because I like Woody Allen and balls.

Decembering

Hi, I'm back. It's been two years since I've posted--did you miss me? Since then there have been two deaths, about eleven pregnancies, six half marathons, a handful of stops and starts on book projects, one kidnapping, a few tornadoes, and Nola ran away and came home three times. Most of us are still alive and we are mostly happy.

Through it all I'm still buggy.

I think so. I'll have to work on redefining what that means.

I saw the movie Beginnings today and I wondered what it would be like to be terribly beautiful and filled with ennui. So I posed that way on the couch for an hour before Brock said, Okay, playtime's over, it's time to clean up. I came upstairs with a rag and furniture polish and started writing this blog entry instead.

My first full marathon is in March and I'm behind in my training so I'd rather not write or think about it. Maybe I will write later but for now will eat a slice of pumpkin bread.

I can promise you only this: I will continue to generate ideas that will go mostly unfulfilled, which will serve to remind you of all your own untapped potential. That's what I'm here for.