Yes, Valentine's Day is the anniversary of a spectacular massacre - something to do with the mafia in Chicago, possibly, involving Tommy guns. But it's just another day here at the salt mines, except that every amateur baker has brought in chocolate brownies, chocolate cookies, chocolate cupcakes, etc. It's cruel, mainly because we're all cooped up here, and those of us who aren't pregnant are in the grip of PMS, and the boys are all hiding under their desks. So it's a figurative massacre, I guess. In the true spirit of Valentine's Day.
My Valentine, Woogie, gave me 5 turds this morning, and I think I'm getting more presents later, too! :)
In other news, the mention of Travis Corcoran, long-lost and completely forgotten until Jonathan mentioned him last week, caused some confusion on Lake Forest Way. Somehow Mom & Dad thought he was a new beau of some kind, and pressed for all the delicious details. I had to disappoint them, while suppressing the urge to vomit; in fairness, though, no one had their best year, appearance-wise, in 1985. But while he may not still be pasty, pudgy, dorky and obnoxious, I bet he's still pasty and obnoxious; and therefore, not my type.
Speaking of my type, that elusive phantom, I read on Sunday that there is a dating site called Geek-2-Geek, upon which one can find one's intellectual soulmate without having to leave the comforting bluish glow of one's flat-screen monitor. I'm planning to investigate, and will keep you posted. I'm betting that some profiles are compsed entirely in mathematical notation, or heavily freighted with Star Wars references. I can hardly wait!!
The marathon training continues; Saturday was a bust, since Mary and I both overslept/chose to sleep in. But we did go on Sunday to the unofficial run along the Mission Beach boardwalk. It was a beautiful sunny day in San Diego, and the beach was full of the bold, the beautiful and the bulging. But the sun was strong, the waves were high, and I did not pass out. In fact, I ran a larger percentage of the 3 miles Sunday than I did last Saturday. Was it the pressure of all those eyes upon me that pushed me, or the incentive of the hot boys in their almost altogether that inspired me? I don't know. But while I didn't lose 25 pounds on the spot, I was very smug the rest of the day about my exploits. That's because I wasn't flamingo-pink in the face, mouth-breathing heavily, or sweating cartoonishly anymore. At the time, not so much. But let me tell you, my couch-dwelling readers, what I have learned from this experience so far: the ability to feel smug is worth almost any physical discomfort. Not for me the euphoria, the satisfaction of charitable effort, the endorphin high - just smug, and I can eat as many cookies as I damn well want to - because I ran 3 miles today! (Maybe that's why W likes to ride his bike.)
Speaking of Lake Forest Way, I'm still waiting for Mom to confirm that she will be here for the birth of Baby Watkins - last time we had the delivery room all to ourselves, but it's going to be crowded this time, and I need a wing-man. And I'm still waiting on the baby pictures of Lisa from her baby-hood - otherwise I will have to find a pink baby bonnet that will fit Woogie. (Don't ask, really.)
And I haven't picked a location for the shower yet, but I have the invitations (treacly and precious), glittery butterflies (maybe we'll name her Mariah), cutesy placecard holders, and baby confetti. I just need to pick the place, make a reservation, write the invitations and mail them, and come up with some sort of cutesy game to play while we're there. That's all.
I ought to go now - I"m expecting 2 joins today and I don't want to mess up my karma by goofing off too much.
A bientot, Meredith