I am having a serious bout of writer’s block y’all. It’s not that I don’t have things to write about. I suppose I could discuss my daily tweets to Obama, or the Selena party I attended, or even the never ending battle with Truman’s snot. I just don’t FEEEEEEEEEL like writing. ::pouts::
You know what else is bothering me? I can’t find a dadgum pair of jeans in this whole entire godforsaken city that will fit my rotund ass! I have tried several stores, and I thought I had finally scored at American Eagle of all places (where I, in an ever continuing effort to be as awkward as possible, called the 18-year-old salesgirl ma’am). But alas, they turned out to be too big. SHOCKED FACE. I will still wear them because the world is already well acquainted with my butt crack and I don’t mind looking like a just took a huge dump in my pants. I just can’t wear maternity jeans for the rest of my life y’all, even if they are super nice skinny ones from the Gap. Maybe if I start calling them jeggings, I will be okay with it. WHO I AM I KIDDING? I HATE THE WORD JEGGINGS.
Crazy first world problems. I am done with this post. I am all riled up now. Here are some pictures of my son looking adorbs. BTW, it is totally his fault that I need new jeans in the first place. He is worth it, I GUESS.
I have been soothed now. This kid’s picture is like a balm for my grouchy soul.