Just in time for Halloween

One of the many pregnancy symptoms I am not having is cravings. Well, there may be an exception to this. I drink milk like the the power is out and everything in the fridge will go bad in a matter of hours. After a year of being a snotty low-carber who shunned the cereal aisle, I now eat cereal for breakfast, lunch and dinner, and I pour enough milk in the bowl to grow an entire skeleton of bones all by itself.

But anyway. Friday night I came home from work, starving as usual. And I swear, the thing that sounded best in the world was the last ham and cheese Hot Pocket I knew was waiting for me in the freezer. I love Hot Pockets, I don't care how many preservatives and chemicals and fake cheese and other crap is inside those things. At one of my high schools you could buy a single Hot Pocket from the school store and eat it in the hallway all snuggled up to your boyfriend who slurped his Coke and tried to put his hands in inappropriate places. Ah, memories!

Hot Pockets are another thing I haven't eaten since converting to wheat pasta and two-eggs-for-breakfast, but whatever, I'm growing another person here. I popped it in the microwave and settled in to watch last week's Gilmore Girls before Phillip came home. I'd eaten the first Hot Pocket with a knife and fork, because everyone knows those suckers get blisteringly hot and the fake cheese tries to melt off your fingers. But I was so hungry. As soon as the microwave dinged, I lunged for my Hot Pocket, dumped it in a paper towel and lunged back to the couch to continue my neverending choruses of Shut up, Rory! I held my Hot Pocket inside its paper sleeve and took a huge bite-

and the ham and cheese dribbled out over my lower lip, dangled off onto my chin and dripped onto my sweater. Of course, I didn't notice the cheese on my sweater at that moment because I was too busy screeching and shrieking and hurling the evil Hot Pocket across the living room. I am now the proud sporter of the ugliest crustiest grossest lip burn you have ever seen in your life, complete with a tiny matching scab on my chin. And when people ask me what happened, I have to use the words "HOT POCKET" and MAN that is embarrassing. No one is very sympathetic either. Like my friend the Interior Designer said yesterday at lunch, "I've never known anyone who blistered themselves on food before."

I am, however, tempted to blame this on pregnancy. This is, for example, my second burn since I got pregnant. The first one happened when I was making pumpkin bread and the loaf tin slipped in the pot holders when I was taking it out of the oven, tipped over, and bounced off my delicate upper thigh before splattering all over the floor. I had a blistered red line across my leg for a couple of weeks, but at least no one saw that one.

I've been trying really hard to come up with SOMETHING to say when someone asks me how I'm feeling, but really. I'm not showing. I'm not sick. I FEEL TOTALLY NORMAL. But! BUT!

This weekend we went to see Marie Antoinette. Here is what I know about Marie Antoinette: she may or may not have said "Let them eat cake!" and she got her head chopped off. The End. But I may have cried through the entire thing. FOR NO REASON. As sympathetic as they try to make her, she's just... not. (Also, how come she is eating in every single scene, but is still rail thin after three children and umpteen years of decadent feasting? If I were a French Revolutionary looking at Kirsten Dunst as Marie Antoinette, I may have had to think to myself, "Hmm, perhaps she is not eating cake either?") Anyway, I cried and cried. It started with the preview for the Nativity story movie, barely controlled itself during the actual movie and came to a head in the ride home when I wailed, "HOW COME I AM CRYING OVER STUPID MARIE ANTOINETTE?" I turned on Phillip. "How come YOU aren't internalizing a stupid movie! WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?" And I sat there having my little tear-fest while Phillip half laughed, half oh-you-poor-thing-ed, and I wondered if this is what Fellow Bridesmaid was talking about when she mentioned hormones.

GAH.

In other news, praise God for an extra hour and waking up to SUNLIGHT. This weekend I decided I am buying a light box, EVEN if I have to sell a kidney to afford one, and I will carry it around with me like a spoiled chihuahua.

Comments

[Angela]

You know, when we were first looking at apartments up there we noticed two big trends:

1) No air conditioning--VERY soul shaking for a born and raised Southerner

2) Free use of tanning beds

We though the tanning beds thing was so hilarious--of all the freebies you could throw in, Washington decided on tanning beds?? After living there for a year, Colby has decided that he completely understands and whole heartedly supports the tanning bed concept.

Also? Marie Antoinette? CRIED?? Seriously??? Hee!

[Jenny Ryan]

I have a light box. It is THE BEST!

[Jennifer]

This post struck me as so funny.

And I agree hot pockets are really good---along with Kraft dinner which is probably even more with the preservatives and whatnot (I mean what in nature could possibly make anything the color of that cheese powder.)

I used to eat the meatball ones.

[the Pharmacist]

Damn those delicious Hot Pockets!

Let me know if you find a pocket sized light box. But until then, I will keep my pocket sized flask filled with gin. Also does wonders for SAD...just kidding!