I never know what to use as a title....

All hail to the Mimi! I know, I am getting tiresome, but I love her so. Not just for who she is but for who she introduces me to. This is my new current blog-reading obsession: finslippy. I laugh out loud. A lot. I was laughing so hard I was crying, which is ok except I was at work. At the library. The nice quiet library. Where people were presumably trying to study. No wonder no one asked me any questions all morning. They want to avoid the crazy lady.

Although on the down side, blogs like these totally giver me an inferiority complex. I am not sure that I have ever in my life made anyone laugh so hard they cried, let alone spit Pepsi Slurpee out their nose.

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I have gone on record before with my opinion that the perfect breakfast is a Coca-Cola Slurpee and a Philadelphia soft pretzel. But now – I stopped at the only 7-11 in Pittsburgh that I know of, to get myself a Slurpee this morning, because I am pregnant and so can justify my usual bizarre food cravings with less guilt – and find that the devil has taken over the Slurpee machine! 7-11 sells PEPSI Slurpees now. Wrong, this is so wrong! I HATE the taste of Pepsi. Coca Cola with scads of ice is the drink of the gods, and Pepsi is just…ick. You cannot mix a Pepsi with rum; you MUST have Coke. The perfect drink with mushroom and green pepper pizza? You got it – Coke! And Coke even cures my migraines! I know it’s the caffeine, but it cures my migraines! I wanted to curl up in the backseat of my car and weep like a child. I tried to be brave and so I bought a Pepsi Slurpee, but it was just…ick. It even *melted* all wrong; all the syrup is meant to sink to the bottom so you have icy-cold delicious crushed ice on top and sweet, delicious Coke syrup on the bottom. I can see that an era is over. My drinking-Slurpees-for-breakfast era is long past, but the wonderful-Coca-Cola-Slurpee era is ended forever. I feel as if I should hold a memorial service or something of equal solemnity. Isn’t it bad enough I cannot get a panzarotti in this godforsaken city? Next they’ll be telling me you have to put mayonnaise on a cheese steak. Oh, the heartbreak of it all!

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I am halfway through Hotel New Hampshire. Man, is that a messed-up book. I had forgotten. Where does Irving come up with this stuff?

Next up: Nick Hornby’s A Long Way Down.

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A colleague has emailed me a job description for a local full-time job. Is this a hint? Am I that bad a reference librarian? Did my boss pull him aside one morning and say, "For the love of God and all that is holy, get her out of our library, and I don't care how you do it!"? When I patiently explained that I have two small children and another on the way in a few months, he patiently pointed out that "some people do it." OK, some people do. And that's fine and great and dandy. But I wish to parent my own children, regardless of how haphazard and half-assed said parenting may be. At least it's their very own haphazard and half-assed mommy.

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I took the boys to the Children’s Museum yesterday morning. I know they love it but yesterday was a particularly good day because we finally made it up to the third floor, where the “water play” is. (I love that title, but it does sound vaguely pornographic.) There are two big pools with fountains and a lock and whirlpools. You can build your own little boats, and play with the various plastic sea creatures floating around the pools. There’s an area with all these pipes sticking up out of the floor with water gushing out of them, which you are meant to rearrange as you wish to make cool water squirty things. They supply slickers and boots, but frankly, they wound up being useless. Next time we are bringing either swimsuits or a complete change of clothes. My boys stripped in the parking lot on the way out and rode home wrapped in two shirts I happened to have sitting in my car - Si looked quite fetching in the pink maternity oxford; Jude was styling in an enormous and very ugly bright blue Pitt sweatshirt. It was way more fun than the plooping, plopping clay pits out back. They just annoyed me. But the water play – that was cool. Although Gina’s son Ted seemed to totally dig the clay – maybe it’s easier to be calm about getting messy when you’re eight? Or maybe I am just a freak.