Check out those pupils!

So I'm having a thought - how's about you and me blow this pop stand and mosey on over to Flabbypants? Trying to maintain one blog is tricky enough, but two? People please. Originally the idea was to have a separate place to talk baby (not everybody's interested in my inner workings) but since that's pretty much all I've got going on at the moment, I'm grasping at straws here. (Britney scented ones, natch. Wait, ew.) So yes, while you'll be subjected to numerous pregnancy-induced rants, I promise to write about other things too.

Things like this. (Psst - even through the fake blue contacts, honey, we can tell you're stoned.)

Um, what the hell happened to Clay Aiken?

Ah, romance.

Happy anniversary to me! (Er, us. Hi honey.) Yep, the husband and I have been hitched for three solid years now which means... I don't actually know what it means but the traditional gift for this particular milestone is leather, which brings to mind one of two things: tight pants and S&M gear. I'm guessing Mr. Tradition thought things might be getting a little stale around year three.

Because we're us (and it's a Wednesday) we have nothing planned. I'll be working late, eating dinner with the pre-K set. Matt will be doing whatever the hell he does when I'm not around. (Carpentry? Flamenco dancing?) Celebrating mid-week is tough. While it's nice to avoid the cliche (weekends are for rookies), having to work the next morning puts a damper on things. Plus America's Next Top Model is on.

Anybody have any good anniversary stories? Ideas for romantic nights? Let me amend: ideas for romantic nights when you're 32 weeks pregnant, relatively broke, and a little grouchy?

Fame is a bitch

While I can't say I'm a fan, I've always admired Rose McGowan's look. That whole milky skin/dark hair combo? Totally lush. And aside from that brief period when she went all Christina Ricci with the diet plan, her bod was beyond compare.

And then she went and did this.

According to interviews, she claims she "had" to get a facelift after cutting her eye in a car accident. Granted I didn't go to med school but I have watched enough episodes of House to know that eye surgery should not leave you looking like Joan Rivers. If this is what living in Hollywood does to a person... (Don't get me started on the whole Robert Rodriguez thing.)

I'd never last

I hated being a waiter. HATED IT. I tried - I really did - working my way through the best chain'straunts Topeka, Kansas had to offer (I still can't go into an Olive Garden without shuddering). That said, I loves a good waiter war story so naturally I'm dying to read Service Included, a new tell-all about life at Per Se. For those not up on the NYC Foodie scene, Per Se is Thomas Keller's swanktastic restaurant in the Time Warner Center. It's known for its over-the-top service and stellar food. I believe it is also one of (if not the) most expensive restaurants in the city, starting at $250 a head.

Needless to say, Per Se trains their waiters well. The author was hired to to be a "back waiter" (a polite term for the slug who brings you water and bread) but she was still required to go through three months of training.

Three months of training. Five days a week. To bring the bread.

I cannot wait to read this book.

Apparently pink hair couldn't handle Bret's "rock and roll" lifestyle...

Wonder what it takes to be on a reality show? A reality show like, say, Rock of Love 2?

Here ya go...

FYI: Bret and Jes totally broke up

So here's the problem with trying to maintain a non-pregnancy related blog: I have nothing to talk about. Which, as someone who's concerned about becoming identity-free once she's a parent, is vaguely horrifying. I should be filled with things to say! (I've started a writer's group! The Rockefeller Center ice skating rink opened, regardless of the fact that it was 82 degrees! I recently ate the world's worst almond croissant!) But instead I'm sitting here staring at the screen, wondering if I can possibly squeak out another Rock of Love entry. (Trust me, I so, so could.) This is leading to some serious self-loathing, peeps.

When did I stop caring about my career? Why do I find myself obsessing over baby names and yelling at childrearing books? (The Magical Child anyone?) How can people spend $10,000 a month on a three-bedroom apartment? When did I become boring?

Did I mention that my belly button's about to pop?

Back away from the TV

Last night I had a dream that I was on a date with Bret Michaels. We were having dinner at the restaurant where my ex used to work so I should have known it was doomed. I had the beet and goat cheese salad. (My subconscious picked out a menu?) He didn't eat his lemon meringue pie. Then I had a challenge - something having to do with football and dogs.

Even in my dream, I thought it was stupid.

File this under GAAAAHHHH!

West Elm has already put up their Christmas displays.

Comment at will.

Hair-ther

Ah, Rock of Love. How I'll miss ye.

I was really gunning for a full photo of this thing because it must be seen to be believed. The hair! The dress!

The dress!

Rumor has it they're in the process of casting ROL II. Alas, my beloved Bret won't be participating; looks like they've tapped Nikki Sixx of Motley Crew to fill his faux-alligator shoes. While I'm sure Nikki will attract just as motley a crew (couldn't help it! Couldn't help it!) as Mr. Michaels, I doubt that he'll be able to capture Bandanna Rawk's pitch-perfect blend of sincerity and stupid.