Thanks, KP

I just checked out KP's latest blog and am blown away by her photos. When did you become a contortionist, KP?? Which isn't even a fair question because I know when she did and how: she's been doing a ton of yoga in the last year or so and has been loving it and challenging herself with it. And seeing her in those poses makes me so proud of her - and so disappointed in myself. I used to do yoga fairly regularly and while I wasn't great at it, I was pretty flexible and enjoyed it, and what's more, felt really good after doing it. In fact, KP and I used to go to yoga together when she lived here (and afterwards we'd go out and undo all the yoga goodness by drinking beer and eating pub food). Point is, I used to push myself to do it, to be even a little bit active, and now I don't and I don't know why the hell not. When did it get so damn easy to be incredibly lazy? You can only use the excuse of being too tired or too busy for so long - and I'm not even really either of those all that often. So just what is my problem? Maybe my approach to exercise, or yoga specifically, is the same as what seems to be my approach to writing (or rather, not writing): if I can't blow my own mind with a sentence, I don't bother trying to write it; if I can't turn myself inside out after a few rounds of yoga, I don't do it. But that's not good enough. Not at all. So, with my birthday around the corner, I really feel like the best present I can give myself is a few drop-in classes. And a good swift boot in the ass.

Aunt Me

Even though there have been 8 months to prepare for my new role, I am still astounded that I will be an aunt in less than a month. Maybe it's never having been pregnant myself that makes the pregnancies of all the women in my life who have been or are pregnant seem to go by with extreme speed. Or maybe it's just that I live in some twisted time warp of my own making. Because I swear it was only a few weeks ago that my sister was telling me she's expecting and now here she is nearly ready to give birth. I look at her, a rounder, more baffled version of herself, clearly going to have a baby, and I still can't seem to grasp it, that she'll be a mother. And she can't grasp it either; in fact, the weight of it seems too heavy for her to even imagine being able to lift. But the truth is, she's going to be a great mother -- and I hope to be a great aunt, because as the due date rushes in, it seems like such a special and amazing thing to be, something that the speed of all this has prevented me from really getting until now.

The boyfriend speaks

So, at least one person has become fed up enough with my lack of blogging to invite himself to submit a guest entry. Enjoy his diatribe below and stay tuned for my response, which I'll post, um, soon...I promise!


Hello all you fellow Bamboon & Zebas fans out there. I must begin by thanking the lovely Bex for inviting me to be a guest blogger on her site. And I must now immediately abuse the invitation by asking an admittedly blunt, rhetorical-ish and perhaps dangerous question: am I alone in my desire that Bex post blog entries more often? I would use the following adjectives to decribe said desire: desperate, burning, frustrated, anxious and possibly frothy. Don't think I haven't tried, people. We all know that when she wants to, Bex can write like a yak in heat. But getting her to do so can be as difficult as, uh, a yak in heat.

Here's how it usually plays out. I'm doing chores, and she's watching E-Talk Daily. I timidly suggest she work on her blog, adding that she's a talented writer who is visiting a most cruel deprivation upon her fans by neglecting to write. All dignity is forgotten as I beg and plead. It's at this point she turns torwards me and screams "FIRST OF ALL, I'M WATCHING MY SHOW, ASSHOLE. SECOND OF ALL I'LL WORK ON MY BLOG WHEN I GODDAM PLEASE! AND THIRD OF ALL, HOW ABOUT I CONTRIBUTE A KNUCKLE SANDWICH TO YOUR FAT FACE?". She then punches me in the face for about five minutes. Bloodied and sobbing, I usually return to cooking dinner or doing laundry - always pantless, by decree of you-know-who - and swear that next time, I'll keep my big, supportive and increasingly toothless mouth shut.

So I appeal to you, other four readers. Please help me shoulder the burden, and either write your MP to draft some sort of "back to work" legislation or perform some kind of witchy voodoo ritual that gets Bex bloggin' again. I'm tired of getting beat up all the time. Plus, I want to read more love ballad lyrics that she wrote when she was 12...