I am back from vacation and sick with the muppet flu, the Jim Henson, i'mgonnadie variety. Well, ok, that's hyperbole, but still... it's extra sucky. And of course I over-do everything because I have this tremendous HG reference in light of which all of my other ailments seem "piddly".
It usually goes something like this:
"I've a fever of 103? Well, heck, it's not like it's HG! Of course I can unload and put up a week's worth of vacation items for four people while doing 47 loads of laundry!"
And then I'm twisting the sheets, sweating buckets, and seeing dead relatives all night long.
Anyway, I'm home.
Hey, do you remember the island coffee bar with Internet access? Well, they had this teeny, tiny sign (that I didn't initially see) saying I had to pay them $14 for using the computer for an hour (even though I bought an $8 meal). D'oh! Turned out to be an expensive lunch, but well worth it, as I "accidentally" left the After abortion blog up on the screen. "Oopsie."
Hey, do you remember the Cider House Rules video I found in the beach house? The one that reeeally irked me? Well, I couldn't destroy it, because that would be wrong. I couldn't conveniently "lose" it, because that also would be wrong. What, what, what could I do to combat the eeee-ville of such a slick Hollywood promotional effort for abortion? What could I do that could be positive in the life of the next person to come across that block of plastic garbage? Not much. But I did whip out an FFL flyer, fold it in half, and slide it up inside the video case.
So the next person who quips, "Look, honey! They have Cider House Rules, that heartwarming tale of an orphanage-slash-abortion facility in which one of the orphans, who is glad to be alive, sees the error of his abortion-opposing ways and uses his knowledge and talents to step into the abortionist shoes of his mortally drug-addicted predecessor!"... well, THAT person will have an interesting moment with literature on what it TRULY means to be a feminist and the myriad positive options that exist in and for an evolved society.
That's all for now. I'm going to go crawl back under the covers and resume simultaneously wimpering and snotting all over myself. Be sure to catch Building Babies: Inner Adventure tomorrow. The imagery in the ads looks amazing. (And ya, I hate the title too.)
P.S. When asked how old my baby is I respond, "She's 12 months out." If anyone questions, I explain, "Well, obviously she's a year and nine months old, but she has been out of the iron belly for a year." Hey, I just like to be accurate.
:: ashli 7:59 AM # ::