Update: Pants stayed up. Pizza stayed down.
Took me long enough to tell you that, didn't it? Damn, I'm so lazy.
Actually, TypePad locked me out of my blog this week because of some boring credit card thing that is so boring I'm not even going to bore you with the boringness.
But I am indeed, so lazy.
Tonight I am sitting at home alone, spooning Pepto Bismol to my poor dog who is still shitting foul black sludge at every possible occasion and watching Monk. Jason is out drinking.
Do you know you can't take Pepto Bismol when you're pregnant? And that you can't go out drinking? All you can do is sit at home and watch Monk. And eat string cheese.
Mmmm. String cheese.
Anyway. I meant to write this whole hilarious entry about our whirlwind weekend in Philadelphia, but it really wasn't very whirlwind at all. It was mostly about napping in expensive hotel rooms, not drinking at rock concerts while your blogging friends pity you, getting handed small bricks of hash on random sidewalks, and eating various kinds of food drenched in cheese.
Behold, the glory.
A Whiz Wit Onions for Jason. (Whiz Witout for me, because GAH, ONIONS.)
Any cheese on a cheesesteak that is not Cheez Whiz is a crime against nature.
We're just trying to be responsible parents here. The baby needs Cheez Whizzified calcium.
(I am NINE WEEKS pregnant in this photo. Nine. Weeks. SAVE YOURSELVES FROM THE SPAWNMONSTER FETUS.)