A BFP and spontaneous hugs in the store

I actually didn’t even intend to test this morning. It surely would be too early — no need to prematurely crush your hopes and all that.

But then I got to thinking, “You know, you have three of those little buggers. You wouldn’t be that upset if you don’t get that second line yet, now will you? It’s like a science experiment!”

So there you go. All good science experiements should involve human pee.

And the first thing I said?

“Where’s my camera?!” Yep, that’s me.

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I do have another weblog that I have regularly posted to for quite a few years now, but since everybody I know and all my mamma’s friends know about that site, I’m gonna keep all the oh-boy-we’re-havin’-a-baby stuff hidden away deep within the internet until we, you know, tell people. Hopefully I can keep my trap shut until Christmas. We’ll see how that goes.

Right now, at this very moment, only two people in the world know. Myself and the lady that rang me up in the Fanatical Fan Sports Store in the mall. I went by there earlier today to get some Fanatical Fan-branded baby gear to break the news to The Husband with. At first the lady guessed I was going to a baby shower.

“No, actually . . .” I replied, ” . . . and, oh my God, you’re the first person I’m actually telling, but I just found out I’m about to have a baby, and this is how I’m gonna tell my husband . . .”

At this point I started to loose it, then she started to loose it, and she ran around the counter and gave me a big hug and her congratulations. It was a wonderful moment, actually, and the first time so far I’ve had a happy cry about the news — of course, I’ve only known positively myself for about 12 hours.

The Husband will be home soon, then three people in the world will know. I know I will cry when I see the look on his face.

truck stop

I read a story this morning found on Digg called How Does It Feel to Die? It’s a fascinating read if you’re into the scientifically morbid stuff, discussing the differences between a drowning death, a hanging death, decapitation, death by motor vehicle accident, and so on.

A reader on Digg’s site commented on a dream he had once where he died — it felt very real and the worst part was not being able to tell his family to not be sad. I stopped reading after that comment and left for work, leaving the page up on my computer and didn’t think another thought about it.

Later in the afternoon, I was driving my Elliott car to an appointment with a client. I do love my Elliott. He is great fun to drive and a very spiffy color. The only thing about the Honda Element is they have pretty large blind spots, as you’re about to find out here in a minute.

So Elliott and I were stopped at an intersection on Highway 119 heading towards 280 and about to go under the I-65 overpass. The 119 turn lane to get on I-65 South had the green arrow and various cars were making their turn.

I watched as I then got the green light and three more cars continued to turn left through the intersection. The last one was a white sedan. I remember thinking, “Asshole,” then the intersection opened up and I began to go forward.

The next thing I remember is a cloud of dust to my left and I look out my side window to see nothing but the grill of a huge 18-wheeler feet away from the side of my car, stopping just in time. He was turning left, too, though I had the green light. I didn’t even see him until he was beside me. That entire 18-wheeler fit into the blind spot created by my side mirror and door frame.

I’m not sure if his lane had a yield-on-green signal or an absolute red light, but that’s not the point. So what if I had the right-of-way? If his brakes hadn’t have worked or if he hadn’t have noticed me in time, he would have slammed into the driver’s side of my car, right where I was.

The reality of this, of what could have happened, hit me not ten seconds after I continued on my way from my non-accident, and I immediately became upset and shaky. I thought of my husband, my parents, my sister, and how quickly we almost came to having a very shitty day. The Digg user’s comment about not being able to tell his family not to be sad came back to me in a rush.

The quickness of how everything happened is what scares me most. One second I’m entering into an intersection and the next second I’m looking at the grill of a truck. I’m irritated because I consider myself a good driver and technically I didn’t do anything wrong, but there was more I could have done. I knew about the blind spot with Elliott; I should have checked the turn lane for idiots. I hate that I can only do so much and for the rest I must rely on the intelligence and good reaction times of others.

And so all these thoughts pour through my head as I continue on Highway 119. My tears threatened to spill over but I refused to let them only because I was on my way to an appointment with a client and I was wearing the wrong kind of mascara for a crying jag.

technicolor seats

I know I haven’t written much about Auburn football lately. If I had done so you would have been reading tear-stained posts. Some of the press and fan-talk has been pretty vicious, especially towards Tuberville. Amazing how quickly some people have forgotten what it was like in 1998, i.e. my freshman year.

We got a chance to go to yesterday’s game versus New Mexico State with Cathy and Jason and we had a fantastic time. Also, thankfully, Auburn won.

We had wonderful seats, too. Right on the 50 yard line, not too far up — it was nuts. We could smell the Gatorade and everything.

I was so close I could see Quentin Groves heave over and barf on the sidelines in the second half.

Hot Girlsâ„¢

When you go to the beach, you’re bound to see some scantily-clad flesh. For some people, what would be the point of a beachy retreat if you weren’t going to see some booty?

Once when I was a kid a lady walked down the beach in an absolute thong. We are talking dental floss up the crack here. Our family still talks about that event.

So when we came back out to our staked-out piece of sand after lunch on Friday, we didn’t think much of the three girls who had decided to sun their already perfectly bronzed bodies not five feet from our stuff. As my sister and I sat there in our umbrella shade, though, our eyes kept sneaking glances their way, and our tongues started wagging in catty whispers.

Their evenly toned skin, the curve of their hip bones, their flat stomachs . . . these were Hot Girlsâ„¢, and they were way too close to our stuff. How rude. How brazen. How tactless!

The more we watched, the more comical we found them. They would flip to tan their other sides at the same time like bacon on a griddle. Hot Bacon. We surmised that they must be sorority girls from Alabama, due to the way they butchered “Sweet Home Alabama” when it played on their beach radio.

That evening we were determined we would get out to the beach early the next day and stake out our place so the Hot Girlsâ„¢ wouldn’t get so close to us. We didn’t need to see that silliness. “No Hot Girlsâ„¢!” was the chant that evening in our condo.

That next morning Steven and I claimed our spot with chairs and a rather large umbrella and settled down for the day, Hot Girlâ„¢-free. About 30 minutes later I hear some giggle-gaggle commotion behind me, turn around, and . . .

Oh. My. God. They MULTIPLIED.

About ten Hot Girlsâ„¢ converge on a spot a short distance from us. Well, it’s all I can do to stifle my giggles. The scene is just hilarious in its absurdity. They begin to oil each other up. I watch as one of them rubs tanning oil all around another one’s crotch. It is an adolescent boy’s dream come true. They all undo that top tie on their bikinis, tuck it down, and lay on their backs with their legs propped up in the exact same pose. Synchronized Hot Girlâ„¢ tanning: Barely Legal.

Later on, two more straggler Hot Girlsâ„¢ join the gaggle to create a full dozen Girls that would, as a group, flip sides, pop up their heads to check out a guy, go for a quick squealing dip in the water, and surreptitiously try to show more skin than the others by pulling down their tops and bottoms as far as they could go without exposing the absolute goods.

The Hot Girlsâ„¢ made their last appearance Sunday morning and by the afternoon they had scattered, presumably for the drive back to Tuscaloosa before Monday classes. Finally, we were Hot Girlâ„¢-free, even if only for an afternoon.

I do hope they are pleased with their almost lineless tans. They certainly gave our family something to talk about for the next few years.

needed a random August post

I have a Hermione in my lap and she is happy. Earlier today she was fascinated with the trackpad on my laptop. She kept reaching out for it. The computer registered her paw as two fingers so the site I was viewing would scroll down. Thank you, Hermione; I was done with that paragraph.

It’s the hottest it’s been all year. You gotta hand it to the month of August. I can’t even breathe outside. It’s going to be 103° today. Fifty-one days ’till October.

Twenty-one days ’till Auburn’s first game. Foo’ball!