yeah yeah i'm pregnant and it's obvious. that must mean that my brain has vacated the building and i am only capable of talking about babies. People just need to stop doing the following;
a) showing you random pictures of their babies, or other peoples babies. do i care? am I supposed to care? just because i'm pregnant am I supposed to get excited about every other baby on the planet? i'm not a baby person. i never have been. i like my friends babies and i'll love my own baby but showing me a pixelated photo on your phone of your cousins new baby doesn't thrill me. of course I have to act like it's the cutest goddam random baby i've ever seen.
b) telling what the sex of the baby is based on amateur guess work. baby kickin? that means a boy. ooh eating honey are we?? that's a girl. Hey thanks stranger, how about next time you just follow me into the ultra sound room and we can clear this mystery up once and for all.
c) telling me how tired they are and that you're life is about to come to and end. maybe it will, maybe it won't - i sure wouldn't go around telling someone their life was about to come to a poo stained end even if it was the truth. fuck off with your truth mongering and let me live in denial just a bit longer.
d) telling you how much you're going to fuck your children up based on the way you approach your pregnancy/lack of nursery decorating and plans for raising a child. Yes I have headphones strapped to my stomach, no it's not nursery rhymes its The Knife. no i'm not having a nursery, yes I brought a knitted breast for my kid to play with... does this mean it's going to be a serial killer? fuck off with your antiquated judgements.
e) poo-pooing all over the names you come up with. this is why you have to come up with fake names to tell people. "Yes Magina is what we're thinking of - it's a hybrid of Marge and Georgina"
Of course I assume after I have a baby i'm going to turn into 'that person' ... "hey stranger, check out my crap blurry photo of my baby! your boobs are enormous! that means girl. hahahhaa i haven't slept in 3 months - good luck with that. oh you're naming your kid that? i always associate that name with this fat ginger I knew in primary school who we used to bully to the point of suicide for being a fat ginger with a stupid name. you are glowing!!!!!!!!!"
Magina Forever
Wednesday, February 27, 2013
Friday, February 15, 2013
You pregnant! No discount...........
The phrase 'babymoon' is one of those annoying middle class 21st Century-isms that really irks me. So I decided to go on one!!!!!! (what a jerk.)
Helloooooooooo Marrakech!!!!! Crazy Crazy Crazy Town. Step outside your Riad and get run over by 10 Motorbikes, a Donkey, and 20 homeless Cats... in the Riad however... Paradise!
This was probably the most relaxing holiday I have ever been on. Wake up in the morning, have Tea & Coffee and tiny biscuits in the room before heading up to the roof terrace for a 5 course breakfast, then laze around chasing sunbeams like a cat till 2pm and then maybe wander down to the Souks to look at cheap junk, not buy anything, head back to the roof terrace for afternoon Orange Juice and Popcorn, have a nap, head downstairs to the courtyard for 4pm Macaroon Hour, go to the room for a pre-dinner shower, eat a 3 course meal in the restaurant, then head back to the room for a nice luxurious rose petal bath before getting into the king size bed for a solid nights sleep.
Repeat x 5
We did break up the routine of each day with a variety of extra curricular activities.
The unnecessary breast massage.
the Riad we stayed in had an amazing spa so we decided to book massages. Mark is always the guinea pig for these things so he went first. When I saw Mark afterwards before heading into my own massage he gave me the heads up that it was "good.. but weird" ... I would have to wait until after my own bizarre massage to find out just how weird his was compared to mine. I'm no stranger to massage, so I am pretty down with the acceptable clothing rules and protocol.
Enter Massage Area > Masseuse shows you where to lie down > Massesue hands you a towel and exits the room whilst you change out of your clothes and position yourself with your dignity intact.
In Marrakech they are more of the "get naked in front of me and get awkwardly onto the bed" well I assume that's what she wanted, what with the language barrier and all. I mimed my best way through the whole "remember i'm pregnant so no belly rubbing for me please" which was clearly translated in her mind to "rub the hell out of my boobs for 45 minutes"
Now i'm not saying that I don't appreciate having all parts of the body worked on during the massage, but they really go in for every area when they are in the zone. I think they would have preferred it if I had taken all my clothes off including my underpants. If I hadn't waxed my bikini line before going on the trip it would have been really awkward when she was practically massaging my labia through my knickers.
Anyway - I was very relaxed afterwards, maybe even a little aroused what with all the nipple rubbing. I went upstairs to to see what Mark had meant by his "good but weird" comment and it turns out the masseuse had also worked his nether regions - getting her hands right in his underpants and loosening a testicle so that it was hanging out of it's underpant region and sticking to his leg with the massage oil. Good Thing we didn't go in for the Hammams, they probably get naked with you and scrub you down inside and and out.
Other than the weird massage whenever we went out walking on the streets the market sellers were quick to point out my belly, and then get us to look at their wares, and then not give us a discount.
We honestly spent most of our days on the roof getting sun and hanging by the pool.
One of us would be lookout for the breasty-testy masseuse so we could hide our faces when she walked past.
Marrakech for the win.
Helloooooooooo Marrakech!!!!! Crazy Crazy Crazy Town. Step outside your Riad and get run over by 10 Motorbikes, a Donkey, and 20 homeless Cats... in the Riad however... Paradise!
This was probably the most relaxing holiday I have ever been on. Wake up in the morning, have Tea & Coffee and tiny biscuits in the room before heading up to the roof terrace for a 5 course breakfast, then laze around chasing sunbeams like a cat till 2pm and then maybe wander down to the Souks to look at cheap junk, not buy anything, head back to the roof terrace for afternoon Orange Juice and Popcorn, have a nap, head downstairs to the courtyard for 4pm Macaroon Hour, go to the room for a pre-dinner shower, eat a 3 course meal in the restaurant, then head back to the room for a nice luxurious rose petal bath before getting into the king size bed for a solid nights sleep.
Repeat x 5
We did break up the routine of each day with a variety of extra curricular activities.
The unnecessary breast massage.
the Riad we stayed in had an amazing spa so we decided to book massages. Mark is always the guinea pig for these things so he went first. When I saw Mark afterwards before heading into my own massage he gave me the heads up that it was "good.. but weird" ... I would have to wait until after my own bizarre massage to find out just how weird his was compared to mine. I'm no stranger to massage, so I am pretty down with the acceptable clothing rules and protocol.
Enter Massage Area > Masseuse shows you where to lie down > Massesue hands you a towel and exits the room whilst you change out of your clothes and position yourself with your dignity intact.
In Marrakech they are more of the "get naked in front of me and get awkwardly onto the bed" well I assume that's what she wanted, what with the language barrier and all. I mimed my best way through the whole "remember i'm pregnant so no belly rubbing for me please" which was clearly translated in her mind to "rub the hell out of my boobs for 45 minutes"
Now i'm not saying that I don't appreciate having all parts of the body worked on during the massage, but they really go in for every area when they are in the zone. I think they would have preferred it if I had taken all my clothes off including my underpants. If I hadn't waxed my bikini line before going on the trip it would have been really awkward when she was practically massaging my labia through my knickers.
Anyway - I was very relaxed afterwards, maybe even a little aroused what with all the nipple rubbing. I went upstairs to to see what Mark had meant by his "good but weird" comment and it turns out the masseuse had also worked his nether regions - getting her hands right in his underpants and loosening a testicle so that it was hanging out of it's underpant region and sticking to his leg with the massage oil. Good Thing we didn't go in for the Hammams, they probably get naked with you and scrub you down inside and and out.
Other than the weird massage whenever we went out walking on the streets the market sellers were quick to point out my belly, and then get us to look at their wares, and then not give us a discount.
We honestly spent most of our days on the roof getting sun and hanging by the pool.
One of us would be lookout for the breasty-testy masseuse so we could hide our faces when she walked past.
Marrakech for the win.
Monday, February 4, 2013
Fatso in Paradise
Being that it is generally colder than a witches tit in February, we have decided to get away and go to sunny Morocco for a bit of sun and relaxation. To be honest aside from the sunshine and warmth and weightlessness from floating around in a pool the thing I most looking forward to is freedom to fart at any given time of the day.
I work in a close knit office, and whilst we can talk about any subject amongst each other, sitting in the corner and farting all day is generally frowned upon. This is unfortunate because I am often so full and gassy that I feel my tits are going to explode.
It's really hard to decide what to pack for a holiday in a country where you have to dress for the local customs. Difficult for me because all my clothes can be defined as "culturally slutty" given the rules i've got to live by on my trip. To be fair, it's probably a better look to have your body swathed in a flowy dress rather than a micro mini like your normal self.
I have been putting on the pregnancy weight as per the norm, but that doesn't stop me from living in denial when someone mentions how big you look.. "I just ate a big lunch..." all my self denial was thrown in my face when I went to put on my nice slinky swimsuit to put together a lounging around the pool outfit... because by the time I got the swimsuit over the bump and extra skin the boob holders couldn't go any higher than my navel. Not a good look.
I'm just going to go in a bikini 2 sizes too small and live like dental floss.
I would also like to add that the definition of awkwardness & impossible should be defined as a 6 month pregnant woman trying to wax her own bikini line. For one: you can't see where you are putting that wax, and secondly you can't see where you pulling that wax. I don' think my crotch has ever been more angry with me. Lots of redness/swelling and bleeding. It looked like a 13 year old's first period down there. And for what? do you think people are going to look at the pregant woman in her dental floss bikini and judge her on her raging hairy sideburns creeping out her bikini line? no, if anything they would be horrified by the whiteness of my body and the non-pube like hair growing all over it. Pregnancy is like being injected with a slight Yeti Hormone. Sexy.
I work in a close knit office, and whilst we can talk about any subject amongst each other, sitting in the corner and farting all day is generally frowned upon. This is unfortunate because I am often so full and gassy that I feel my tits are going to explode.
It's really hard to decide what to pack for a holiday in a country where you have to dress for the local customs. Difficult for me because all my clothes can be defined as "culturally slutty" given the rules i've got to live by on my trip. To be fair, it's probably a better look to have your body swathed in a flowy dress rather than a micro mini like your normal self.
I have been putting on the pregnancy weight as per the norm, but that doesn't stop me from living in denial when someone mentions how big you look.. "I just ate a big lunch..." all my self denial was thrown in my face when I went to put on my nice slinky swimsuit to put together a lounging around the pool outfit... because by the time I got the swimsuit over the bump and extra skin the boob holders couldn't go any higher than my navel. Not a good look.
I'm just going to go in a bikini 2 sizes too small and live like dental floss.
I would also like to add that the definition of awkwardness & impossible should be defined as a 6 month pregnant woman trying to wax her own bikini line. For one: you can't see where you are putting that wax, and secondly you can't see where you pulling that wax. I don' think my crotch has ever been more angry with me. Lots of redness/swelling and bleeding. It looked like a 13 year old's first period down there. And for what? do you think people are going to look at the pregant woman in her dental floss bikini and judge her on her raging hairy sideburns creeping out her bikini line? no, if anything they would be horrified by the whiteness of my body and the non-pube like hair growing all over it. Pregnancy is like being injected with a slight Yeti Hormone. Sexy.
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