You know how girls always have that cutesy romantic fantasy of making out in the rain? Maybe of getting flowers delivered anonymously to her office? Or there’s the one where you get into a big screaming fight and then the girl says something controversial, and the guy yells can’t you see it’s because I love you? or something along those lines. I’m not sure what’s sexy or fantastical about a screaming match though, so that last one may just be my twisted mind.
Anyway, last night I decided that making out in the rain was certainly not cute enough. Or perhaps I figured it was TOO cute. See, I don’t really do cute/romantic/sweet. Yet, after a drunken night of two-stepping, cowboy hats and Bud (yuck – Bud sponsors the Stampede, it tastes like piss water to me) and after disrobing to hop in the shower with O/N, he pulls me outside for a little dance.
Side note: Yes. This really happened. To me. Yes I know, it’s wrong and cheesy and a little horrifying.
Remember though; I am naked. He is naked. It’s raining. We’re dancing. Obviously we ended up getting it on in the backyard with me bent over a flower pot.
So afterwards, after the shower, we’re laying in bed being idiots (we were trying to see who could make thier voice lower while saying “ohhhhh yeaaahh”, like in that commercial? He obviously won, being a boy and all but I think I put in a valiant effort), and he tells me he has a song for me. Keep in mind he is drunk here. He says: “AA [my initials] I think I love you, AA, I think I love you, dah dah dum dah” to which I giggled awkwardly and changed the subject.
What can I say. Dancing in the rain and confessions of love in a song, all in one night? Too much for a self-proclaimed cynic to handle.
Oh, and I just hope his neighbors don’t have telescopic-lensed cameras.
Not that kind of dream, as much as I want to change the world I’m not quite at that highly intellectual level of thinking where I actually have a plan to do so, but I digress.
No, the dream I had was one in which I had a child. Not just had a child but was pregnant with said child, gave birth and then had a baby. Who then grew into a small walking non-talking entity. She was super cute but seriously WTF?!
I read somewhere that if you dream you’re pregnant your body is trying to tell you something (like, um, that you’re PREGNANT). Now I’m normally fairly good with my birth control; Nuvaring – love it! Seriously ladies this is the birth control of the future. I’ve tried the Pill (ugh, who can remember that shit? I can’t remember to take my diet pills with every meal for a week to drop 5 pounds for houseboating – how the hell can I remember a pill every. Single. Day. No thanks). I’ve tried the Depo shot and if I had a horrible enemy girl that I hated I might inject her with it in her sleep if she was extra super bitchy or something but other then that I wouldn’t give that thing to anyone. I gained 35 pounds in a month (thank gawd I’ve lost THAT), I had super PMS (all the time) and mood swings like you wouldn’t believe. Um, ya no wonder it’s 98 percent accurate. Who the hell wants to sleep with a fat bitchy girl? So I would say Nuvaring is the way to go.
ANYWAY, this month I was LESS then careful. As in I didn’t put it in. At. All. Whoops. Anyway O/N and I had a drunken night (broken shower? Check. Broken bed? Check. Birth control? uhh…not so much) but I wasn’t really worried about it because I think I may be infertile anyway. Until I had a DREAM about being fucking pregnant.
Anyway I woke up in a bit of a panic and telling myself that I was definitely pregnant because I feel fat and bloaty, I’ve been eating like crap all weekend and had cravings for weird things, oh gawd and when was my period due…??
Oh. Right. I guess that would explain all the bad food and fatness. Lets just say I’ve never been so happy to be sportin and if you read Mean Girls Guide to Glory you will get that reference. http://thegloriouslifeof.blogspot.com/2008/02/what-we-mean-girls-are-really-saying.html
I guess that’s what my body was telling me with the pregnancy dream.
My apologies to the boys who read this. Some things you just have to get off your chest.