I was desperately clicking around The Usual Suspects trying to find a place to pimp this journal, until I realized, duh, that's what I have a weblog for.
So, go read Dooce. She just had a baby (no, like, two weeks ago) and she's fucking funny and I love her already.
But I do need to come to terms with the possibility of some grumpy single person shooting me a disapproving look as I bounce a fussy baby in one arm while I reach for a gallon of milk with the other arm, as if my baby has no business being in a public place. I was once that grumpy single person, and I feel her pain, the pain of sleeping more than eight hours a night, the pain of eating a warm meal with two hands, the pain of chugging two double vodka martinis without fear of poisoning another human being. And I want to say to the grumpy, single me of several years ago - the grumpy, single me who kept up with her eyebrows and had her nails professionally manicured every two weeks - I want to say, FUCKING WHORE! And then I want to choke her and beat her with a wooden club.