~ Sometime after I got pregnant I turned into a giant softie. I wasn’t emotionally devoid before this or anything but ’round the time I got knocked up I found my emotions had moved to just a sceeerraaatch below the surface. Suddenly I was the woman crying about Clorox commercials (The one where the little girl is pretending to be a mermaid in her bathtub, to be exact. I was thinking “One day my daughter will have an imagination!”. Waterworks.) I kind of thought that this would go away after all the Natal Juice dissipated. No such luck.
And honestly, it’s more than just ridiculous at this point. I mean, there are things that have always made me cry (”The Land Before Time” made me sob in the theatre when I was 8. I can’t even listen to the music to this day and I haven’t seen it in some 17-ish years…) but then there are things that make me tear up for absolutely no reason at all. This happens about once a day and, while I’ve developed a technique for thwarting oncoming tears, I’m still pretty embarrassed by the whole thing. And the motives for the tears run the gamut, too.
My husband tells my daughter she’s beautiful? Tears.
A woman is crying in her car in the Sonic parking lot? Tears.
A song reminds me that I miss my best friend? Tears.
Holocaust footage? Just as many tears as if I see a dead cat on the side of the road.

~ The programming on Bravo is making me lose faith in humanity. With all these “Real Housewives” shows and other shows based around self-centered, drama-laden idiots it’s turning into MTV for adults. Which. Is. Gross.

~ Celebrity verdicts? Alright, here we go:

- I don’t think Dave Chappelle lost his mind; I think he didn’t want to sell his soul for fame and that’s admirable and even more indicative of his genius. I miss his work but I admire his integrity.

- I don’t think Michael Jackson did anything with those kids. Do I think the man was bonkers as a result of a fuuuuucked up childhood? Yes. Do I think that his music was only really “great” when he was working with Quincy Jones? No question. But the first kid who’s parents pressed charges came out years later and admitted to making the whole thing up and the second case pretty much showcased a mother out for MJ money. Also, when the kids stayed in his bed, he slept on the floor. Just let the man rest peacefully, for Christ’s sake. I really think that his life is one of the saddest stories I’ve ever heard. Fame took a toll on his sanity; he’s free from it now. Let’s try to learn something and then get the fuck over it. (And I’m glad he pwned his dad in his will. Way to stick it to him, Mike.)

~ I just wrote a song, which is weird because musical inspiration NEVER comes to me and when it does it’s always a massive exercise in terrible. But this time the song is actually pretty good. It’s more pop-rock than is my taste so I’ll probably never play it in public, but hey, it’s a start.

~ Two days until the trip to Chicago. I folded and purchased Dramamine today. I’ll be using this for emergency only and will probably suffer from a little guilt afterward.

~ Shit, I’m bored.

~ When Greg and I had only been dating about six weeks we traveled up to Chicagoland to visit his parents. While there we took a superlong road trip to Cleveland for the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame induction ceremony (which, by the way, takes place in the freaking Waldorf-Astoria… miiiiles away from Ohio) and stopped off for lunch in the small town where Greg grew up. Even though we were only at the beginning of our relationship and were still completely unaware we were about to become parents, we looked at each other and said “You know, I wouldn’t mind starting a family and living in a tiny town like this with you.”

I’d forgotten about this exchange until just this morning.