mental instability

So last night I had a serious breakdown. And when I say "serious," I mean I was halfway to the insane asylum and "serious" does not come close to adequately expressing my level of, er... sudden mental dysfunction. The details of why are unimportant. Just know that last night was a night I felt like a really, really, really bad person. In fact, Bruce said later, "You know, for a moment there... I thought you were going to get physical." And not in a sweet love way, people. Let's have a moment of silence for the part of Bruce's heart that may have died last night after witnessing the spectacle and lessened his love for me.



Right. Anyway, moving on. I am better today and less of the psycho maniac I was last night (barely). I just want to thank Bruce for marrying me almost 10 years ago, and if he knew then what he knows now, he may not have. But I know that marrying him was the best thing I ever did. We'll give him a few more days to try and feel the same way...

On another note, this pregnancy is moving along just great. And when I say great, I mean that I am so large already that when I ran past a dark Luis Vuitton store the other morning and caught a glance at my reflection, I almost lost the will to live. The looks of disgust and appall thrown my way only solidify my insecurities of being a freak of nature, running at 6 1/2 months pregnant. Luckily, I have a knack for embarrassing myself and rarely am affected by it. Except for that time I got a mic wire stuck in my sports bra while teaching a kickboxing class (pregnant with M) and had to run out to go pee halfway through, and then it took so long for me to get the mic off that one of my class participants came flying into the women's locker room to check on me and found me stark naked from the waist up with my pregnant chichis hanging out, trying to untangle the wire... yeah. That was an uncomfortable 30 minutes rest of class. But life goes on, friends. Life goes on.

drama, drama, drama

Every day it's like she is bursting at the seams with fiery passion and just can't contain it. How will this translate 10 years from now? I'm frightened.

beauty secrets

The other day, my mom, Audrey, and I received this email from Dani:

Ladies,

I've officially completed my research of the ultimate concealor. It's taken five years, but I've finally found it.

Here's your solution:
[It has been deleted. I cannot tell you out here on the world wide web. So sorry.]

It's expensive, but AMAZING. A lady never gives up her beauty secrets, but I give them to you ....because you're me :)

P.s. Hard times ahead in the beauty department. I nominate myself as "the usher." I will usher us into old age, gracefully. Noelle, you're in charge of fitness. Audrey, you're in charge of nutrition. And mom, you herald our souls.

Everyone man your stations.

Love it so much. And I suppose I do feel bad at times that M will never have a sister. Girl cousins will have to do.

world cup fever

Sigh. It's over and I'm a little sad about it. Latinos don't mess around. I loved the hype around here leading up to it. I loved that L got to skip school for a kick-off party with his other five-year-old friends. I loved that Bruce has hardly worked the past month, because they were all busy watching the games from 8:30 - 10:30 a.m. and 1:30 - 3:30 p.m.. I loved that B got obsessed with the perfect predictions of Paul the Octopus and wanted to google about it all day long.

Plus, I just love the game. I always have. Like maybe a teeny tiny part of me married Bruce, because he can play a good game of futbol. A very small percentage, of course. There were other admirable qualities. But on one of our first dates, he brought me to one of his soccer games and scored seven goals that night. I shouldn't write these things out loud because he'll wave this banner 'til his arm falls off, but maybe his chances with me experienced a significant upswing that night.

American football players? Meh. Baseball players? More meh. Soccer players? They are hot. I think it's the shin guards. Speaking of...



Ay me. What was I saying? Sure, Spain was playing some great futbol all throughout the World Cup and they maintained some incredible ball possession (except in the final). But is it still perfectly acceptable to root for a team because I find them better looking? Iker Casillas, Fernando Torres, Jesus Navas... those Dutch men were gargantuous and awkward in comparison. Of course, there's also Puyol who defied some secret code of Spanish footballer hotness. But nobody's perfect (poor guy). Also, I can't stop watching it...



The tears. The freakin' tears of joy. And how he can't keep himself from kissing her in the moment to thank her, too. And how his hand lingers on her neck after that kiss. Like would Beckham ever be that impulsive with Posh Spice on live TV? Please. Those bloody English. It would be staged and contrived like her bony, orange spray-tanned body atop stilettos. Nobody does real drama like the Spaniards and Latinos. I wish the World Cup was every year.

daily affirmations

Cutest. Thanks, D. Made my day. xo.