Booth babes and crazy New Yorkers

So, prepare yourself for a bunch of posts to this blog... I am in New York at a conference which means my day is a cycle of 1 hour sessions followed by a 45 minute break during which I am supposed to go talk to voice recognition/speech automation vendors. But, I am not interested in being sold anything today, so I will likely just catch up on email and blog. :)

Here is what I love about these conferences: the Booth Babes and the fact that you can't find anything other than coffee to drink.

So, what are booth babes? They are the hot chicks hired to stand at a vendors booth, wear skimpy clothes and pull in poor suckers who don't realize (or rather, don't care) that these girls don't actually know anything about the product they are "representing", they are just there to start the conversation. So, the men initiate the conversation, thinking, "I don't mind being sold something, as long as it is by this hot 20 year old in a mini skirt and sports bra looking thing." And then, sadly, the booth babe engages in conversation only until the slick sales guy in alligator skin shoes has finished up with the last poor sucker and can take over the conversation. Not being a man, I don't understand if the poor suckers are clueless to this process or if they are really just that desperate to talk to a pretty girl, so they don't care. I mean honestly, what kind of business person would buy a multi-million dollar software package from a person wearing hot shorts and a tube top?) This ploy seems pretty transparent to me, but again... I am not a man, so maybe not. Any man willing to clear this up for me?

Second favorite thing about conferences: the fact that coffee is the ONLY drink available. Surely, I am not the ONLY non-coffee drinker in this industry. The only options currently are coffee, de-caf, or hot water (for tea). I have considered getting myself some hot water in a cup and just letting it sit for an extended period of time to cool off, but then I discovered my other sneaky option - they have small pitchers of 2% milk as a healthy option to cream to put in your coffee... I sure get some strange looks grabbing a coffee cup and dumping the entire contents of one of those 2% milk pitchers in... desperate times.

And, my last comment for this blog - New Yorkers are crazy. I went to the bathroom after landing in New York (compliments of pregnancy that I couldn't wait until I made it to the hotel) and there was a line. So, while standing in line, I noticed there was a crazy lady on all fours UNDER the baby changing table. And, what's more... she was apparently talking to herself. Huh? Now, the obvious thought is, "Oh, poor crazy homeless lady escaped from a mental institution." But this lady was clearly not homeless... she had the full-on fur and jewelry action going on. So, as the line moved forward, I really strained to see what the heck was going on under there. When I get close enough, I could hear she was saying stuff like, "Come on honey, just come out. You need to go to the bathroom." "You are going to need to go sooner or later and now is the time." "I'll get you a treat if you just come out and try to go." So, then I was even more confused because it was WAY too small for a child to be under there with her. So, I had to look, even though it was obvious. (I had to bend over as far as my prego body would let me.) It was a little mini hideous cat in a mini kennel. I had the hardest time not laughing out loud... I mean honestly, why the heck was THIS the opportune moment for the cat to go to the bathroom? I can only assume it is because we were in a bathroom, which I guess means she was going to put the cat on the toilet? (Uh, Meet the Parents anyone?) She was still coaxing when I came out of the stall... New Yorkers are CRAZY!!!

Poor, poor Corbyn

Corbyn had a very, very funny post on here... his first blog ever. All about how my family reunion may have been the funnest event he has ever attended in his life, how motorcycle helmets are not meant to be thrown, tossed, set in the dirt, left in the sun, etc., how pasta salad needs pepperoni, how baby's diapers should not be changed on picnic tables where people will be eating soon, and lastly, how men are the real victims of pregnancy. I saw it, and emailed him that I was offended that he felt victimized by my pregnancy - I was kidding (mostly), but apparently, he really is victimized, because it struck so much fear into him that he deleted the post. For those of you who didn't get to read it before he deleted it, you missed out. For those of you who aren't his wife (and therefore NOT the one victimizing him), it was probably extremely funny.

So, I learned something about myself. Apparently, I am a very scary pregnant woman. I've heard about those...

Squats are soooo last week

So, I tried to do squats yesterday as part of my leg workout. I don't know what happened between last week and this week, but I feel like my belly must have doubled in size or something. Last week, squats were uncomfortable, but do-able. This week, they were just plain comical. Luckily, no one was around to see. (At least, as far as I know.) Every rep, I tried widening my stance to make room for my belly, until finally, my legs were so far apart, there wasn't really any up-and-down movement when I squatted- I was just kind of standing there with a bar on my shoulders bobbing.

So, I guess my squat days are over for the next 3 months, which really bites, because it is my favorite leg exercise. Unless any of you formerly pregnant women have figured out a trick you are willing to share with me on how to compensate for the big belly - I am definitely open to suggestions.

Just a random funny story...

I was weeding my garden the other day and as I weeded around my melons, I was reminded of a very funny story. (Forgive me, Heather, I have to share.)

So, Heather (my sister) last year planted a garden. Mid-summer rolled around and she decided that although her cucumbers were somewhat small and oddly shaped, she just couldn't wait any longer - she wanted to eat one right now. So, she picked one, took it in the house, peeled it, cut it up, and ate it. Apparently, it was disgusting. So disgusting that she decided she wasn't a fan of that particular breed of cucumber and she would just leave them in the garden to rot... it would be good fertilizer.

Well, a month or two later, she wandered back out into her garden and discovered a miracle! Those disgusting, oddly shaped cucumbers and magically transformed into... melons.

No, my sister does not have blond hair. Yes, she got good grades in school. Yes, she has been in a garden before. Yes, she has seen both melons and cucumbers before. I can't really explain it... I guess she just is very driven... she wanted a cucumber, so she made one (in her head, at least).

Sorry, Heather, I didn't mean to out you, but it is just too funny not to tell.

The greatest compliment of my life...

So, here is the argument I had with Corbyn last weekend.

Corbyn is not great at giving compliments... ok, so compliments are non-existent with him. While I am pretty used to it, it has started wearing now that I am getting pregnant fat. So, I told Corbyn that I need at least one compliment a month. He was shocked and offended... in his mind, he had been giving me great compliments all along. Here is our conversation:

Amy: You need to give me at least one compliment a month. And you need to get used to it, because our little girl is going to need compliments every once in a while, too.

Corbyn: I do give compliments!!!

Amy: Really? Like when?

Corbyn: Like the other day... I told you I thought you were doing a good job not gaining weight too fast.

Um... yeah. So, somehow, Corbyn thinks, "You aren't getting fat too fast" is a compliment. I can see the positive reinforcement in it, but I just can't quite stretch it to compliment. Obviously, we have some work to do before our little girl becomes a teenager, otherwise, she is going to have major self esteem problems.

I spoke too soon...

I was all excited about going 8 days without puking. Well, I shouldn't have even commented on it, because you know how that goes. As soon as I comment, my good luck reverses. 4 nights in a row of puking again... I am back on the wagon. Ugh. 

My new favorite line...

So, this post is for all the women out there.

As I have mentioned in several previous posts, I work for a great company. The president of the company stopped by my office on Thursday to see if I would be interested in going to the Jerry Seinfeld show on Friday night. (Which, of course, I was.) So, he gave Corbyn and I tickets. There were many funny jokes, but I noticed Corbyn laughed extra hard at one of them... because I think it is probably pretty true. Jerry was talking about "tone" and the difference between a man and a woman. The basic jist - a man walks into his buddy's house and says, "I am hungry. What is there to eat?" (said with a tone). The buddy says, "Eat whatever the hell you want." If a man walks into his own house and says, "I am hungry. What is there to eat?" (said with a tone), the woman says, "Why are you yelling at me?" For some reason, we women feel personally responsible for a man's hunger and his helpless inability to provide himself with sustenance. So, when I noticed Corbyn thinking that was sooooooooo funny (and realizing it was only funny because it was true), I adopted my new favorite line. From now on, whenever Corbyn asks what is for dinner or whines because I put beans in his Pork Barbacoa Salad, or use applesauce to make the cake a little healthier, I am just going to say, "Eat whatever the hell you want." (Sorry, mom.) I used that line three times over the weekend... you would be surprised at how liberating it is. And, I believe Corbyn will think twice before laughing quite so hard at a joke again.

By the way, I typed this whole thing without my contacts in, so if there are spelling or grammar errors, I blame my blindness.