Ooogh, staying up too late watching debates makes for a sleepy lady. Plus of course watching the Daily Show afterwards, because Jon Stewart will be my second husband. So, I will sum up:

* John Kerry clearly won the debates, because he made actual points and was clear, while the president was stumble-mouthed, condescending, and relied solely on semi-irrelivant sound bites.

* It doesn't really matter who "won" the debates, it matters who "wins" the election. I doubt these debates changed anyone's mind who had it already made up; hopefully they got some of the remarkably incoherent undecideds to make a decision.

* It's freaky to hear Republicans speak about the debate and say that bush did well; It's like hearing an abused woman defend her husband. And did you see the Daily Show? Who gave Giuliani the speed??

*On a different note, last night was our last baby class. It was nice and there was cake, but I couldn't stop thinking, "The next time we come to this hospital will be to have a baby." It Freaked. Me. Out. However, I was there with about 10 other freaked out women and their mates, and we all said we'd exchange email addresses, and we have the nice lesbian couple in our town that we see at the coffee shop, so hopefully some of the cooler people will get together on a regular basis and be freaked out about our babies in a group.

*We have guests this weekend, so I must continue with the cleaning, or at least the neatening, of the house, including and especially the room they are to stay in. It is currently covered completely in baby colored tissue paper and decorative bags from the shower. Hee hee, not really tissue colored like a baby, the tissue is in more of a pastel pallette.

*I am super crampy, and we have nothing for breakfast for some reason. I may have to leave the house earlier than expected, though I am not very hungry due to the crampiness. hmpf.

Hey everyone, I haven't had the baby yet. No, really. I haven't. Really? It seems to you that I have been pregnant forever? Gee, not me, I forget most of the time, except when I notice the bowling ball resting on my colon or when I attempt movement. I know it seems impossible, but I am still 2 weeks from my due date so Get Off My Back!

Also, I now have adolescent-reminiscent acne. Fun!

I made brownies from scratch for the first time yesterday and am pleased to announce that I don't like them. They are too cake-like, and I prefer fudgy brownies. However, this means that I won't eat the entire batch before I get to my last childbirth class tonight. Huzzah!

I am on the fence about the debate tonight. I know who I will vote for, so really, I should just watch the Jon Stewart wrap up on Comedy Central and get all the sound bites I will need to hold a conversation. I just can't stand to watch GW speak; not only is he smarmy and self righteous, I could handle that, but I just know that there are people out there who are eating it up, and that really irritates me. Can anyone else see through the "tactic" of the missle defense system being put up today, even though everyone who has ever worked on it says it isn't ready and really won't do squat? You see, the stupid people will just say, "Ooh how decisive. I feel so much better with the defense system up." Gah! Maybe you should have to take some kind of test to be able to vote. I don't want these people deciding policy.

This, in fact, is the reason I give to people who ask why I would bring another child into a world with so much hunger, corruption, blah blah blah, we're so overcrowded already, you won't have disposable income, etc. I tell them that if smart people stop having children, only stupid people will breed, and the world will be overtaken. It is my duty as a citizen of the world to have and train children to have manners and think critically. Do you really want your nursing home to be run by the sixth child of BeckySue Shanaynay, who don't know zactly who the babydaddy is but she went on Springer three times to try and find out? The same child who isn't getting a decent education because you are too short sighted to see that funding public education is everyone's duty? (boo hoo, I pay fifty cents in taxes to public schools that I will never use and which are poorly run. Unfair!)

Hmm, this turned into rant, didn't it? Where the hell did I start out? Oh, right, the debate. See, I clearly should not watch. I get too upset and start disliking people in general.

Instead, I will read "Gone With the Wind". Yes, that is the current novel in hand at the Tracitalynne household. I got it at a League of Women Voter's fundraiser for fifty cents. I've always wanted to read it, and, can I tell you, it's a page turner! Really, it's fantastic, totally engrossing. It's incredible how you can think that Scarlett is such a bitch, yet you feel for her and care about her character.

On a related note, HH and I were watching Mr. Blandings Builds His Dreamhouse and there is a scene when Cary Grant and Myrna Loy are listening to the contractor go on about bills and expenses, and then Melvyn Douglas -Myrna's old boyfriend and current real estate attorney- comes into the room in Cary's robe and pajamas. (He had stayed overnight when he got caught in the rain and Cary was in the city. Perfectly chaste, I assure you) As the contractor drones on, the three do this incredible double take that made HH and I laugh out loud. It was really subtle, and nothing more is said because nothing more needs to be said. Not to sound like an old fogey here, but most movies made now, or really since 1955 or so, would have drawn out that moment and hit the audience over the head with it, explaining it to death. Most directors, or possibly it's the studios, I don't know how it all works, assume that the audience rides the short bus to the theatre, and therefore kill all spontenaity or any kind of decent writing or acting the film may have originally had. I still think one of the best scenes on celluloid is in The Philadelphia Story, when Jimmy Stewart goes to Cary Grant's house drunk to tell him off. I love that he has trouble with the word "leveler". I love that he keeps calling him "C. K. Dexter Haven". I love that when Cary Grant says, "Oh you are, are you?" Jimmy says, "Yes, I am, am I." It's all in the delivery, people.

Okay, enough from the grumpy pregnant lady. It is Freezing in here, so I need to stop being at the computer for a while and either go run errands at Target or sit on the couch with some hot chocolate. Or perhaps nap. It's a toss up.

Oh man, This is a great word, and oh so topical.

From Dan Savage.

I just went upstairs to fold clothes and take a nap (ah the glamourous life!) and I first stopped in the bathroom to go pee. As I went into my bedroom, however, it dawned on me that I had, in addition to peeing, randomly brushed my teeth.

Now, I am an advocate of good dental hygiene, don't get me wrong, but why the *hell* would I brush my teeth at 2:30 in the afternoon? There is no one here to smooch; I had macaroni and cheese for lunch, so I am not too breath-stinky. I think I need that nap more than I originally thought.

Good night

It is 9 am and I got to watch Nick and Jessica while eating breakfast. TiVo is the coolest thing ever.

Today it is raining like crazy, thanks again to Florida. Heavy rain makes my Pregnancy Head so much worse; I may as well be in a coma. Also, you can't see the spectacular foliage as well. It may be a little cliche, but really, New England is the place to be this time of year. The trees look like static fireworks--Pow! Fizzz-Zap!

On NPR right now they are talking about Target banning Salvation Army bell ringers this holiday. I for one am okay with it, for several reasons, the main one being that I dislike that awful noise the bell makes, and you can hear it from the minute you get out of your car until you are well into the store. Then of course there is the semi-homeless, semi-smelly, usually chain-smoking person half heartedly standing by the red bucket. However, what has annoyed me about the NPR piece is the customer they interviewed who is "suspicious" of Target's motivation for giving to charities. He says they are just doing it to make themselves look good. Uhh, yeah, that and the tax deduction. Is charity wanted only if it's completely altruistic? As if any large corporation gives to charity out of the goodness of the board of directors' hearts. I am all about supporting charity, in fact I am excited for the day that we have enough disposable income to give regularly, but it's true that if we end up making a significant amount each year, we will give in such a way as to get something back, whether it be invites to cool, exclusive museum events or just a dvd package of some PBS show.

Of course, in our current state, we are scraping around for cash to get a laptop so I can work after the baby, and then there is the minor issue of the questionable reliability of our automobiles, which has more signifigance with the coming baby as well. So we are more toward the "receiving" of charity than the "giving" end, but we are working on it. We make more money, on average, than Harvey Pekar, which is sort of upsetting, although I am not sure who for.

Let's end this on a list. Here is a list of things for me to do today:

1. Laundry, esp. underwear

2. Pack CDs for hospital: Buffy, Vivaldi

3. Illustrator Lesson from Classroom in a Book

4. Clean Living Room (I am going through the house room by room, one each day. That way my Pregnancy Head doesn't get distracted and just do one small thing in each room, making my Herculean - or is it Sisyphean? - efforts for naught.)

1. This Blog is super cool and insightful and funny, especially now that they actually update. Oh, and they are both very attractive as well.

2. I am very susceptible to marketing lately. I believe it is related to the constant need for sleep. Today I bought Drakes Coffee Cakes at the grocery store just because they were on sale and there was a pyramid of them. Well, that and they are very tasty.

3. HH and I were discussing Iraq, which you have to do if you listen to NPR at all. Here is my completely unresearched and unfounded theory:

These are a tribal people. All cultures began as tribes, that's how we all used to work. No culture simply leapt into democracy; we had kings and slaves and serfs, and then the slaves and serfs overthrew the kings or emperors or whoever, and then most people sort of morphed into some kind of democracy (This is a slightly abridged account of World History). So maybe it is unfair to expect the Iraqis to just adapt; they missed the Revolutionary boat back in the 1700s. They were busy trading and developing a numerical system and everything while "we" were establishing kingdoms and abiding by the Magna Carta. Perhaps we all, as a group, should try to establish a kingdom or emperorship in Iraq, preferably someone non-crazy. That seems to be the main problem, no? The certifiably insane seem to be the ones who end up in power, with their manias and fear of females and anger management issues and the beheadings. Who beheads anyone anymore? These people don't need invasion and poorly trained police; they need a benevolent dictator. I vote for Gallagher, or possibly Emeril. Get them the hell out of here, anyway.

4. Kirstin Dunst is the worst actress ever to set foot on a sound stage, with the possible exeption of the lady in the playpen in Pink Flamingos.

5. Paris Hilton is so immeasurably boring that I can't even hate her. She is the utmost in dull, and sharing this with you is the last time I will ever spend personal energy thinking about her.

6. At 37 weeks of pregnancy, I had my second weekly doctors appointment today. The poking around that is now requisite has revealed no progress in the baby-getting-here parade. (not that she's not actually here; she is very much in existence, and on this plane as well. I just can't squeeze her or bounce her around when she gets the hiccups, which she gets a lot. It's a figure of speech.) As uncomfortable as I am, I am sort of relieved, as I would like to give birth later rather than sooner so she can be a Scorpio like her dad and I. That would be cool.

Did I mention that my brother and sister-in-law got me 9 of These for the baby? Do I need to say that they are awesome?

This is what my pregnancy calendar says:

Day Number 261

37 weeks (gestational age: 247 days / 35 weeks)

19 days remaining

This may explain the sudden outburst of tears at 7 am, when I asked HH if we were going to do anything fun this weekend, as it is one of our last baby-free weekends for the next 20 years or so.

I am not regretful or anything, it's just that Life will be Different, and all the books say that a mourning period is normal and doesn't mean you secretly hate your baby. Although if we are honest with ourselves, how very different will it be, besides the not sleeping so much? HH had kids when we met, and we had them every weekend. While we have been here, we haven't exactly been tearing up the town. Town tearing is much more boring when you already have someone to sleep with. Most of the fun of going out to clubs is finding someone you can drunkenly flirt with. I can drunkenly flirt with HH any time of day, and he's an easy score. He's my own special little tramp.

I realized today that I have never been this uncomfortable for such a long stretch of time. There is mild pain occasionally, but mostly I am just constantly uncomfortable. I am fairly certain that constant discomfort is also a torture device, so someone please tell me what is up with that? It's all for a good cause and all (have you seen the lambswool bunting I got for the carseat? It's so damn cute and fuzzy I just want to shrink down and crawl into it) but I think I must retract my previous statements about how great pregnancy is. Pregnancy is fantastic in the 2nd trimester. I could be 6 months pregnant indefinately. This whole 8 months pregnant thing is starting to get old. Not only am I 30 pounds over my normal weight, but I have heartburn, and I can't move fast, and it's extremely difficult to shag my super cute husband, and I can't easily pick things up off the floor, especially if there is nothing around to hold on to. Oh yeah and I can't sleep and I pee all the time. And, it's 9 am and I need a nap, plus I complain on my blog all the time and people either get annoyed or laugh at my pain. But soon, there will be the ultra cuteness and the pooping and the tiny bitty smallness and the squishey smoochy babyness. I like the babyness. And the decent excuse for daytime naps. Yay naps!

Okay, that last entry was a lie. I will never stop blogging unless someone hires me to write about myself somewhere else. But the TiVo action is super. I have Seasons Passes to Buffy, Angel and the Daily Show. Joy! HH is already talking about doing hacks on it. *sigh*

I have officially entered my 37th week of pregnancy, which means I am so very huge. The doctor poked around in my parts on Tuesday and there is no progress. I go back for more prodding on Monday. Sheesh.

I am so large that regular meals do not suffice. My stomach is so compressed that I am compelled to eat 6 smaller meals rather than 3 regular ones. I am off in a mo to get frozen fruit for smoothies. Yay smoothies. Rolling over in bed is a huge ordeal, with much popping of spines and hips and grunting and waking up of the husband. Speaking of hips, they hurt! They can't take the pressure, and neither can the knees. Thankfully for them, I can only work in bursts. I get a bee in my bonnet to hang up some of the photos, etc. that have been on our floor for months, and I get to do about 2 or 3 before I make that Chewbacca-like noise that bears do when shot by a tranquilizer dart. I struggle, but slowly and inevitably I wind up on the couch with 1,000 pillows for the next 2 hours. It's not doing much for the state of my house, especially the crusty bits under the countertops. They say you get a burst of energy a day or 2 before labor begins, so I guess I'll just wait for that.

For those of you who came here late yesterday, sorry for the glitch. I tried to be fancy and ended up being decidedly un-fancy. Oops.

However, my lovely TiVo is here now. I may never blog again.

I dreamt that we broke into a woman's house because she had a stockpile of those hats that Madonna wore in the "Borderline" video, the stripey one with the bow. We just wanted one apiece. She called the cops on us, and for some reason we just stayed there and waited for them to come. When the cops arrived, it was Gadget from Monster House, who we had just done a favor for, so he didn't arrest us.

On a more reality-based note, it is suddenly FALL. Or at least, it was, but today it's supposed to be 80. The hurricanes blew in some ark-like rain for a couple of days and then it was long pants and sweaters, no question. But today, and the rest of the week, will be 78-80 and sunny. Ahh, New England.

On a more what the f*** note, I am outgrowing all my maternity clothes. Is this normal? It is very upsetting to look at the waistband of these pants and then notice that they are leaving distinct and uncomfortable impressions in your skin. I don't want to spend the next few weeks in the house because I can only fit into men's extra large sweatpants.

On a squealing with glee note, TiVo comes tomorrow!!! Wooooo!

I had my baby shower on Saturday. Remember the fretting I did about not having anything useful for the baby? We can just go ahead and file that under "Fears, Unfounded". Have you ever become exhausted from opening up presents? I have. I think I opened presents for about 2 hours. Thankfully for the gathered crowd, there was a big bowl of champagne punch and a game to play (baby bingo, with big bags of M&M's for the prizes. There were a few elbows thrown in the back of the room to get to the chocolate, but mostly they behaved themselves). We have a plethora of stuff. We have stuff the likes you have never seen. We have, happily, a lot of the stuff from our main registries, and we have, gratefully, a lot of really cool stuff that would be really unregisterable-for. For example, a rattle shaped like a crab that cracks me up every time I see it. And a super cute blue dress with fancy pants for underneath, and funny soft baby high top sneakers. The award for most touching and breathtaking has to go to my aunt, who brought us back from London a pair of gorgeous hand water colored Winnie the Pooh pages from original books that were rescued and restored, complete with certificates of authenticity. We are not huge Pooh fans or anything, but these are really beautiful and sweet and appeal to the art historian in both of us.

My mother did a great job overfeeding everyone, cousin Lisa put her formidable event planning skills to work. Note to self: invite Lisa to every party from now on and make her plan it. She brought a helium tank and blew up many many balloons; my 3 year old niece Shyloh now worships her as a god. And speaking of Shyloh, here is my list of

Three things that Shyloh did to make me laugh this weekend, starting from a chuckle and ending in hyperventilation and tears streaming down my face:

1. conversation between myself and the girl:

ME: Do you want any more waffles?

She: no.

Me: Is your belly full?

She ( defensively ): There's no baby in my belly.

2. My mother asked her if she was wearing underwear (she is potty training and had dressed herself that morning). Shyloh silently backs herself up to my mother and holds out the back of her pants, clearly demonstrating that she was not, in fact, wearing underwear.

3. She gets up on the coffee table, and while we are explaining that she probably should not be on the coffee table, she somehow does an impromtu and clearly unplanned sideways cartwheel off the table. She is suddenly completely perpendicular to the floor, the top of her head a picometer from the ground, yet still facing completely forward. I think the reason she didn't cry was because the three adults around her were incoherent with laughter and she knew there was no sympathy to be had.

I would like to blog more, but it is getting late in the day, and I have Pregnancy Head so it has taken me much longer than usual to do my duties as Lady of the House today. Pregnancy Head is an unfortunate mix of sleeplessness and hormones which prevents me from making the simplest decisions and impairs my ability and desire to do much of anything. I should not be allowed to drive in this condition; it is much like having a head full of whiskey. I would not pass the most lenient drunk test today.

My personal philosopy is closely related to the teachings of Jean-Paul Sartre, according to this from mimi smartypants. I was pleased to note that Nietzsche was up there, too, because I really like that scene in The Meaning of Life when the American couple go to the restaurant that gives them ideas on what to talk about. "Did you know that Nee-cher was a phil-o-so-pher?" Makes me laugh.

I have been awake since 2:30 am, because my body is possessed by discomfort demons. I got up to go pee last night and my sacrum made the loudest POP! I have ever heard coming from bones that have not then immediately snapped in two. Chairs are inherently uncomfortable, although the couch can be made palatable with the severe application of pillows. Here at the computer, the space surrounding the desk is littered with unacceptable seats, as we cannot yet afford an Airon Chair for $800. What we have come up with recently is a big exercise ball, the 75 cm one, that was recommended for use as a birthing accoutrement as well. It is quite comfy and makes me sit up straight for the most part, and also it bounces. The only troubling thing is that I can't really get totally relaxed because of this harrowing tale of danger!

I am still too sleepy to comprehend css or Illustrator, so I think I will take a walk and purchase a mocha like the decadent housewife I have become. To assuage my guilt, I will run as many errands as I can on foot, and probably make a mess of the site redesign that I will hastily do before HH gets home, as if he is some strict schoolmarm who will crack my knuckles with a ruler if I do not attempt some html coding*.

*(he is not, that is just a game we play, and most nuns do not wear a vinyl buttless habit. Just for the record.)

For those of you who beleive that you have too much time on your hands, consider this.

Oh life is, or at least will be, good in TraciLand. We are rejoining the TiVo fold on Wednesday, joy of joys. We shove off the oppressive yoke of cable and its insulting On Demand crap, and rejoice in the true freedom that is TiVo and dish service.

After crunching the numbers, we discovered that it is the same price for non-premium cable and cable internet as it is for dish service with 125 channels PLUS TiVo and a DSL line. So we get everything, including local channels, and we don't have to watch commercials and we can watch and rewatch all the Buffys we want. Screw you, Comcast! You suck! HaHahahahahhahahaaaaa!

We had been thinking of doing this for a while now, but we have just been ignoring the tv since we moved in, and it didn't seem to be a priority. But now that I am in my 8th (9th?) month of pregnancy, I have a tendancy to just sort of shut down at odd hours of the day and night, and thus have discovered a problem: When I am awake at 3 am, especially when there is a crying inconsolable baby in my arms, I will have nothing to do while I sit in a sleep deprived stupor attempting to funtion. I have a very low tolerance for stupid and/or boring television, so infomercials and Saved by the Bell reruns are out of the question. Solution: TiVo!!! And, since I can watch what I want when I want, I won't be overly tempted to sit in front of the tv all day instead of doing work; I can watch the good shows in the middle of the night when I am wide awake, not during the day and evening when I am exhausted. (I already sleep like a baby, and I have 4 weeks left).

Speaking of being exhausted, I woke up bright eyed at 6 am, and now, at 9, I am wiped. So, off to bed again, to wake in an hour and continue my day of learning html and css. Whee!

Would it be insensitive of me to call my wedding photographer in New Orleans and ask if my proofs and negatives are in a safe place, away from flood danger? What if I ask if they are okay first, then demand that my negatives be kept on their person at all times until I need them in case my copies get damaged?

I just had too many thoughts at once, so I stood there in the kitchen for a full 30 seconds, staring at a cup of coffee (decaf organic, please!). You could hear the neurons fizzling.

I am officially 36 weeks today. This means that I could safely have the baby any minute, and she would be fine. I am not sure if that makes me 8 months pregnant or nine, as 36 weeks divided by 4 weeks in a month is nine, but that would mean that when you deliver, you are really 10 months pregnant, as 40 divided by 4 is clearly ten. (I'll bet all you non-pregnant people didn't realize that, did you? Yep, the average woman is pregnant for 10 months! What a scam!)

Last night I may or may not have got my first taste of contractions. I felt decidedly cramp-y and vaguely nauseated, and spent the rest of the night on the couch with lots of pillows. I also could not stop eating, but that is not completely unusual. However, if it is true that labor is like your period times 100, I am not going to like it, not one bit. I have had cramps that made me vomit, and I do not want to do that for 8 hours. My mom is a labor and delivery nurse, so I have always been assured that labor, while not something you would want to go and do every day, is not as bad as the movies would have you believe. Nobody except white trash ever screams and carries on and swears at the husband and everyone else in the room; it's not the unbearable pain that some women would have you believe. So I have always had a fairly good attitude about labor. However, if I am going to have that pukey crampy thing going on for hours on end, I may not swear at anyone but I sure will be grumpy. There will be no photographs of my face (or any other part) during this time, as I tend to make a most unpleasant face when I am displeased.

On another pregnancy note, it now takes me so long to roll over in bed that I actually fell asleep mid roll, and woke up an hour later flat on my back and unable to breathe. I have an entire month to go still. sigh