Monday: Go ahead, talk to me. Ask me anything. I’m quick, witty, intelligent and intuitive.

Tuesday: WTF? How much time and money did I spend on college and law school and for what?

Wednesday: Phew, a little relieved, a little revived. Still tough, I’m no genius and still can’t get on Jeopardy, but I’m no fool.

Thursday: Talking to my therapist about everything my parents did wrong.

Friday & Saturday: Drunk and toasting Will Shortz himself.

Sunday: Fuck You.

#NewYorkTimesCrossword

Monday:

Sunday:

1.0 and I were on a flight from Seattle to Denver last weekend. The flight attendant and her cart were about a row ahead of ours when some big unexpected turbulence began. The captain turned on the seatbelt sign and asked the flight attendants to take their seats. Do you agree that you always feel a little more scared when they say that? Anyway, the flight attendant locked the cart and took a seat, there happened to be an empty aisle seat right next to her cart.

Couple things so far: have you EVER seen a flight attendant sit in a passenger seat like that? Also, she locked and kept the cart in the aisle. I’m thinking that’s just not a good idea during turbulence. But ok.

Then the person who’s empty seat that was came back from the bathroom, a young woman and her 6 month old baby. I’m pretty sure she was a little nervous to be in the bathroom with her baby during that jolt but to come back and see you can’t get to your seat because the cart and flight attendant are occupying it probably didn’t make her feel any better. The cart truly was before the horse’s ass in this case. The flight attendant shot up and said, “The captain told me to take a seat, so I sat.”

Actually, the captain told you to take your seat, not a seat, but semantics.

So she got up, gave the woman her seat, locked the cart and then was gone. I was pissed. Why would she walk all the way back to her seat and leave a heavy cart with coffee and drinks right in the aisle during turbulence. Then the passenger next to me tapped my shoulder and said, “Just so you know, the flight attendant is sitting on the floor in the aisle next to the cart.” UM…..

Both T.H. and one of my best friends asked me if I took a picture…FFFFFFUUUUUUUCCCCCKKKKKKK!!!!!!!!!!!

So I’ve been known for pausing the TiVo on ridiculous frames by coincidence. To name a couple: a topless male vampire slayer from Vampire Diaries tied to a bed (sadly, not of Ian) and a vagina from Orange is the New Black. Unfortunately, I don’t have proof of the aforementioned still frames. But I wised up for my most recent TiVo pause and took a picture of the frame I was lucky enough to capture:

I pause the TV to either pish (a total inconvenience) or get dessert (a pleasure). This particular moment was to actually go do both. But I was immediately sidelined when I saw this still frame (as were many of the Broncos or Ravens I’m sure). I took a picture and promptly sent it to Trophy Husband. He’s at the game so I ASSUME he doesn’t have the pleasure of this view. TiVo gets extra props for the bottom line.

Note: All puns intended.

But don’t worry, after I sent this, I immediately sent him a picture of 3.0 from our ultrasound this week.

I gotta go, I really need to pishi and get some ice cream.

Well I, for one, am very happy to start the year anew. Good ol’ 5774 for my tribal members. Tonight we’ve got the Broncos v. Ravens as the NFL season opener in Denver…ignore those of us davening during halftime. (Ha, autocorrect wanted to change that word to “raven-ing”…um, not cool to us Jewish Broncos fans, although hopefully that’s what the Broncos do to the birds tonight!)

But for this Israelite tribe member, there are even more exciting things for this coming new year: I am officially back on the Starbucks mocha track. (see Happy Mother’s Day…Again!)

There is a bit of a tweak, the pregpocalypse mocha entails 2% milk and whipped cream (don’t EVER judge a pregnant person for her whipped cream). Speaking of whipped cream, I find it makes sense to always have it on hand. I may not have milk, bread or eggs, but whipped cream is a staple in this household. And with the weather out here turning all Fall on me immediately after Labor Day, this version of my daily mocha feels appropriate. So now I can officially wallow in the Seattle overcast with my cliche (honestly, can’t figure out how to put the stupid accent over the e here) Starbucks.

Luckily, because of my rule that pregnant people do not fast, I will be enjoying this mocha on Yom Kippur as well…repenting as I drink.

And in all seriousness, L’Shana Tovah.

Exactly! It just occurred to me. The game, Trivial Pursuit, is exactly that. I all of a sudden feel so much better. For the longest time I was so passionately against the game Trivial Pursuit. I just never won and it pissed me off.  Yes, I get competitive and like to win, but usually I am a good sport.  NOT with Trivial Pursuit.  I felt stupid playing it and was annoyed that people would gloat over knowing some completely random facts that mean nothing to anyone unless they are playing Trivial Pursuit. So I was against playing it. Wouldn’t do it. Couldn’t handle the gloating, the constant rejection. But mostly, I hated not being able to get one of those pies out when you accidentally put it in the wrong way! But now that it has totally occurred to me that the makers of the game named it as such so that someone like me would understand that it’s trivial, worthless information that people win with, it’s official…I still won’t play the fucking game.

I heard something terrible today. And leave it to Rodan + Fields to be the bearer of bad news. They have already hijacked my Facebook with all their reps’ posts. I found out today about face-crushing. Do you know what that is? I know R+F aren’t the first people to bring up the concept, they are just the way I finally heard about it. It’s when you sleep on your side or stomach and your face essentially gets smushed into the pillow for hours, creating wrinkles. I already know of a specific wrinkle I have from this very thing; however, I didn’t know the name and now I am sad. I’m sad that I am officially “crushing” my face. In essence, I am crushed. Being amidst my 3rd pregnancy, I know what it’s like to want to sleep on your stomach and not have the luxury. The first thing I did when I came home from the hospital after having my first 2 kids is throw myself face first onto my bed. I was intoxicated with joy and lack of oxygen. My own personal form of asphyxiation fetish. But now it’s like I have to stand up in a group and say, “I am The Blue Ribbon Wife, and I’m a face crusher.” What kind of steps are involved in changing this? There’s no support group. There’s no one to stay awake all night and gently ease my body over onto its back when my weakness for crushing takes over in my semi-concscious state of sleep. My husband is no help because I make him sleep on his stomach so he doesn’t snore (right?!). I have to wake up every morning knowing that at some point I probably crushed.

Even if I am able to sleep on my back and change my ways, I am now aware that my two favorite things in the world: 1. Laughing and 2. Sleeping on my stomach, will cause me heinosity (why isn’t that an official word? Btw, I’m convinced my friend and I coined this word that is nowhere to be found except on Urban Dictionary) in the future and possibly a lot of money spent on botox, surgery or R+F products (well-played).

I’m crushed. I just need some time.

Well, I couldn’t post this at the time, but I’m wishing myself another happy Mother’s Day since it’s the day I found out we are going to have child version 3.0! At this moment, there are too many emotions happening, mostly pissy bitchy (as my mom puts it) because I’m listening to 1.0 scream her head off that 2.0 ALMOST hurt her with a tennis ball. Not that he hurt her, he ALMOST hurt her. So downloading 3.0 is creating some mixed emotions today.

While I say “mixed emotions,” know that is more of a momentary feeling. I’m so excited to meet the third baby!!! Like most people, whether it be your first, third or (G-d love you) your fifth, I’m overjoyed and scared.

In addition to the joyous elatement (why isn’t this a word?) that is the hood of mothering and brewing of a spawn, there appears to be a serious new development with this specific pregnancy. Get ready for it…version 3.0 is incompatible with Starbucks mochas.

No, you don’t understand. Anyone who knows me personally or happens to be friends with me on Facebook knows, Starbucks is my oxygen. My daily decaf tall 2 pump nonfat no whip extra hot mocha is what keeps my blood pumping through my veins. The BRW lives for her Starbucks.

At about week 6 of pregpocalypse III, it was over. The thought of consuming my mocha literally makes me gag. I am currently 17 weeks. And if you don’t count the 3 mochas I have bought in attempt to reverse this cruel effect, I have not had a mocha, latte, etc. in 11 weeks. I have been able to drink half of a tall coffee Frappuccino…which essentially isn’t an accomplishment but rather a tragedy, as the only coffee blended drink that is appropriate in any situation to consume is a Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf Ice Blended (which, I’m happy to say, I was able to drink half of while in Southern California for a trip).

There has been debate amongst the people as to whether this is temporary or permanent. If this is permanent, it could be one of the greatest shifts my universe has ever experienced; the other being the shift that took place during pregnancy #1 where I became and remained allergic to wine. Wine. So Pimm’s Cups it is from now on (well, in 23 weeks).

Me: What’s the attire for the dinner event tonight?
Trophy Husband: The attire is…Seattle.

“I’m very coachable…that’s why I make a good husband.” – My Trophy Husband

I did something today that not only have I never done but I would absolutely make fun of anyone who does do it (and I still will). I ironed the top part of my bed sheets. I had to. They have gotten so wrinkled on the edge that they have lost color in those creases (you can see that in the pics). I couldn’t be more against something like this. It is a complete waste of time, energy and education. However, they have been wrinkled for 8 years and I was on the verge of either taking them to the dry cleaner or buying new ones, both of which are more uneconomical that just sucking it up and ironing them. Also, this has NOTHING to do with this weird tick I have where I run the edges of sheets in between my finger and my finger nail.

Here are the before and after pictures:

Before

After

I won’t say the experience was better or more satisfying than an orgasm (that’s against the Blue Ribbon Religion), but it certainly took longer from start to finish.