Tuesday, April 29

'Twas the Night Before Jazz Fest

I'm going out of town for a few days, so I'd really like to leave you with something profound. Of course, nothing profound is coming to mind. I'm heading tomorrow, straight from the office, to the airport where I shall be whisked away to that magic land known as "Eat Until You Puke" (formerly known as "Drink Until You Puke," however, Brown Brown has insisted upon a name change). The trip to New Orleans could not be more fortuitously planned: just today I went to the doctor's and learned that I gained twelve--yup, count 'em twelve--pounds in the last six weeks. Which is bogus. According to my scale it's only been about eight in the past bunch o' weeks. Which just goes to show me that I have to schedule these appointments for 8 a.m. and I can't eat before I go. After lunch visits aren't working for me. But, since the doctor said that I am still well within my healthy weight gain (I've actually only gained fifteen pounds since the very beginning, so everything is groovy), I plan on not worrying and having that second order of beignets, thank you very much.

Now, stop reading if you are my parents: The doctor measured my uterus (and interestingly, used a paper tape measure. I wouldn't have thought those things needed to be disposable), and I commented, "I'm going to keep that belly ring till the bitter end." She replied, "It actually looks okay." I said, "I had a friend who just had a baby and her belly button never went outie." She replied, "Oh, it's that's not the problem. It's that the skin between the holes gets stretched out so the holes enlarge and the ring gets closer to the surface." Blech. I thought I only had to worry about outies. I'm loathe to take the belly ring out, because it's the third most permanent thing I've ever done in my life (the second most permanent thing is my marriage. There's a tie for the top spot of most permanent things: Brown Brown and my tattoo), and I've had it for ten years now, which is pretty much as long as I've ever had anything. It was my last gasp of New York life before becoming a West Coaster. (I told you two to stop reading! But you didn't pay attention did you, and now you're grossed out all over again that I have a belly ring. Well, too bad.)

Now I need to go and obsess about what I've forgotten to pack. It's usually socks, but since I've already got those, it's going to be something else this time. Something bigger and better. And tomorrow I can go to work and obsess that my 1,500-word article is at 3,000 words and it still doesn't have a lead. And at 6:10 p.m., I'm going to get on a plane, and I will be done obsessing. Till next week!

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