They started on our basement today, jackhammering through the concrete to lay French-type drains around the perimeter. This would be fine if I wasn’t here, or was able to sit on the porch, but a) I’m blocked in and EVERYONE thought I should stay here to supervise (although it’s not like I’m going downstairs, but whatever) and b) the porch is 80 degrees, like the damn outside.

So I’m in the living room with the lovely air conditioner and the overwhelmingly loud sound of jackhammers—so loud, in fact, they’ve knocked over a painting, knocked some stuff off a coffee table and have sent the dog into spasms.

I present, for your listening pleasure, the music of the next three days: Sounds from the Basement.

(Mind you, it’s way louder when not recorded through your laptop’s microphone.)

Today it is 87 degrees, well on it’s way to being way-too-fucking-hot-to-live, and so the Chop is celebrating Father’s Day by sitting on the couch in front of the air conditioner. It’s supposed to be high 80s all week, which really sucks when you’re pregnant.

The Peanut has gotten very good at kicking regularly now, and slowly but surely, my belly button is getting shallower—which is really bizarre. I read an article the other day about how, yes, a lot of women love pregnancy, but a lot of women really hate it. It’s uncomfortable, painful, hot and irritating—and yeah, I think I fall into group B. Pregnancy? Not my favorite thing. I’m looking forward to having a baby, but the nine months wait time is a pain in the freaking ass.

An old friend of ours recently had a pre-eclampsia event that resulted in her delivering by C-section right around 29 weeks (she was four weeks farther along than me). The baby is doing great, no longer intubated I believe and now that he’s a week old, about 2 lbs. I know it’s stressful for them, but part of me thinks, hmm, early delivery might not be so bad.

My goal is 35 weeks—the doctors have discussed inducing me a bit early depending on my liver—which means I have 10 weeks to go. 10 of the hottest weeks of the summer, sigh, 10 weeks where I have to ideally finish four major projects. Ugh.

One of the worst things about moving one year and getting pregnant the next? Cravings.

In college I became addicted to nime chow, an Asian soft roll, with shrimp, bean sprouts, etc., and the most amazing vinegar-type sauce with peanuts. Sadly the only two restaurants that I’ve ever found who carry it… an hour+ away. Fortunately there’s a branch of one of those restaurants about 30 minutes away, but after a day of working, 30 minutes seems like forever.

Then there’s two of our favorite restaurants in Newport, both eclectic, one with more Mexican flavors—the best fish tacos of all time. Chop’s mom was in town last weekend, so after a lighthouse tour on a boat (surprisingly, I did not get sick—go baby), we ended up over there, Chop in tears as he ate some incredibly hot jalapenos.

My goal every weekend is to convince Chop that going south for dinner (or lunch), is a great idea. I’ve only succeeded once, lol. An hour and a half, he says, for dinner? I guess if you really want, but let’s get all this done first. Stuff which ends up taking most of the day and by 4PM, I’m ready for a nap.

Word to the wise, don’t move and get pregnant right away. You will be sooo sorry, lol.

Early this week our dog killed a bunny.

Chop asked me last night why I hadn’t blogged about it, and I laughed—busy with work, blah blah. But the truth is, I’m still just so freaking disturbed by it.

He had taken her to the store (she loves the car) and on the way back in, two bunnies were bounding on the path. To our great surprise, she managed to grab one. Chop says she dropped it right away, but it was a baby (not much bigger than my hand, and I have tiny-Burger-King-commercial hands), and it didn’t make it.

By the time I got outside, it was in it’s death throes (seriously, so disturbing). So I picked it up (baby bunnies? soft, warm, cutest things alive) and we carried it to the backyard to bury it.

The rest of the evening was spent with me looking at the dog and thinking “bunny killer!” — I know she didn’t mean to, and I know it’s in dog’s nature, but still… tiny. baby. bunny. Pregnant-with-crazy-hormones over here doesn’t do well when cute little babies die.

Presently she is sleeping harmlessly on her bed, no hint of a killer in her cute puppy face, glad that it’s no longer blazingly hot and humid.

Last weekend the Chop and I went to a local hardware store to get some paint samples. I, of course, completely forgot about the low/no VOC nonsense, so yesterday we ended up at Home Depot. Two gallons of (pregnancy-friendly) paint and supplies later and the nursery is about to begin.

The best part is that we’re not the greatest painters and the Chop would prefer to be cleaning the house (and mowing the lawn and doing anything else besides painting, omg, the horror), so he is currently killing time by getting coffee and taking grass clippings to the dump and I’m debating the best way to drop cloth the floor.

During the testing phase, I got two colors up just fine, but the darkest one managed to splatter everywhere—the floor, the baseboard, the door (wtf)—so we decided it’d be best to cover whatever we could.

So far, it is not going well.

When we bought our house, we knew our gardens were going to be a pain in the ass… but they were so nice, and beautifully landscaped… and half a freaking acre. The guy who owned the house was a contractor/handyman type and it’s evident in all the awesome details (hardwood floors, gorgeous kitchen, three bathrooms) and in the yard. We have huge trees (perfect for tree houses), buckets of different flowers, lots of grass, and our own well with built in sprinklers — we also have a company that weeds, mulches, etc. and a company that maintains the sprinklers. Hi, home ownership? Fucking expensive.

Sadly the sprinklers in the backyard went on this morning around 4 and haven’t shut off, despite me flipping the turn off valve, so now my backyard is like Jungle Book and the cats are having a party. So far cardinals, bluejays, some random black birds, squirrels and two bunnies have decided that our backyard is their new sanctuary. Aside from the incessant chirping, I’m highly entertained. It is 85 degrees (on it’s way to a high of 90, thank you fucking hot wave! I LOVE 90 degrees when I’m 5 1/2 months pregnant) though, so I get the love affair they’re all having with water spouting from the ground. On the other hand, two squirrels are copulating and that’s really kinda creepy.

In more entertaining news, the baby is finally kicking enough for other people to feel him (I’ve felt him for a couple of weeks), so after I had a crazy dream where the baby’s foot was formed and pushing enough that I thought I could feel his toes and see his full foot and ankle near my belly button (pregnancy dreams = insane), I woke the Chop up.

So if you’re in the neighborhood and bored at 7AM, feel free to drop by. There’s a Mariachi band that seems to start playing about that time.

When I was about 17 the alternator gave out on the Jeep I was driving. Highly terrifying, I was lucky to have it happen right before I got on a bridge, and right above a street that descended to the house of a friend. When your alternator stops working, your entire car stops working. All the dials go to zero, no radio, air, the car powers itself off — and you can’t turn your wheel either.

This morning, going about 75 on the freeway, my alternator, for lack of a better word, fluxed. My car shut down and using the momentum I had, I attempted to exit the freeway, forgetting that my wheel was not so keen to turn. I ended up pulling off in the middle of a turning exit lane (awesome, I know), cruising over a cement barrier and settling in the dirt.

And then, I tried to turn my car back on. Which, admittedly, might’ve been a bad idea… except it turned on. I pulled back onto the road, turned around and got back onto the freeway and arrived at work with no other problems.

So I’ve decided a) someone set off an EMP of some sort that temporarily knocked out the power of my car (and yeah, sure, no one else was affected, but it was aimed at me!) or b) my car had some sort of crazy hiccup and now it’s fine.

I have my fingers crossed I’ll be able to turn it on and get home, because I don’t really want to have it towed 45 miles back to the mechanic where we live. And the Chop really doesn’t want to have to come and get me, lol.

Personally, I see sex. Now, that could be because I’m “adult” or because I’m pregnant and horny, but still, dolphins? It took me a little while to see the damn dolphins.

From BoingBoing.net: “Scientific American is doing a whole issue on optical illusions and they’ve got a sampling up on their website as a slideshow. It’s interesting to see how some illusions are created by physical tricks of the eyes, while others are, apparently, psychological in nature. This illusion, for instance, is supposed to be influenced by the way sexual maturity changes your frame of mind—kids see dolphins and grown-ups see, well, sex.”

Yesterday was the Chop’s oldest sister’s birthday, and fortunately his younger sister called to remind him—which was good, since apparently I was supposed to remind him, but I have “pregnant brain,” so my memory is impaired. Or so they say.

He texted her around 11PM, and she responded by saying she was in California with her boyfriend. I told him to text her back and say, “allie says have good bday sex!,” but he refused, quite vehemently, lol. So I texted her and we went to bed.

About an hour later my phone rang. I didn’t recognize the number, so I didn’t answer. It called again and I thought “fuck it, fine” and answered. It was a guy, asking who I was—of course I responded with, who’s this? He didn’t say, but asked if I was some random name—I said no. Then he asked if I was Chop’s Allie. I said, uhh… yeah?

Turns out his sister didn’t have me in her phone and they were wondering who the random person was who texted her about her sex life. Yeah. Well done on my part. The Chop thought it was hilarious.

Two things:

Does anyone else think Faisal Shahzad sounds like Fievel and Shazaam? Every time they say his name on the radio, it makes me instantly think of this guy:

Also, is it weird that the National Day of Prayer comes after the national(ish) day of eating Mexican food and drinking margaritas? Hi, now that you’re coming off a mighty hangover, sit down and pray for your soul. Except in Arizona (fuck you) where I feel like they don’t celebrate Cinco de Mayo, and if they do, they better stop, because you know that party’s getting raided.