Moving Sucks

I'm going to go ahead and make a bold statement here.

Moving is awful and no one enjoys it, and if they do, they are crazy people.

These people are obviously sociopaths.

On that note, Grey, I, and all the kitties have arrived and are pretty much completely unpacked here in Michigan. I'd say that being pregnant made the whole experience even less enjoyable than other moves we've taken, but really, it was equally as unpleasant as the other four times we've moved since we've been together.

This is due in part to the fact that Grey's new job provided a moving stipend, which meant we could pay people to move the boxes for us. Well, to move boxes for me, since Grey is still allowed to lift things that are over 15 pounds, unlike my baby bearing self.

So yeah.

....

You know, I honestly thought I'd have more to say about this topic, but I really don't. Except for the fact that we left behind an entire kitchen drawer that contained my rice cooker, our blender, and several specialty pans, it all went pretty smoothly. I mean, we left Illinois on Monday, and we're already essentially done with the whole unpacking thing today, not even a full week later.

*sob*

I guess if I have any tips that I learned from this particular move, it would be to hire movers if you possibly can, because they are awesome, and pregnant or not, having extra people around to move your stuff is super helpful.

Also, realize your limitations. If you need to sit down, sit down. I had swollen ankles that could've doubled as flotation devices before I finally decided to give it a rest, and had to take pretty much a whole day or two off of unpacking for them to return to human sizes.

Grey also managed to obtain a bruised rib, so we were a cute invalid couple, sitting on the couch, him with a frozen bag of lima beans on his side, and me with my elevated elephant feet, playing Wario Ware for hours because of course the first thing that got set up was the TV and the Wii.

For future references, this is a TERRIBLE game to decompress to. Seriously, there is nothing more stressful than that freaking thumb wrestling mini game. IT'S IMPOSSIBLE TO WIN, WHY WOULD THE GAME DESIGNERS EVEN DO THAT?

Oh, and check all the cupboards and drawers because you will feel really, really dumb when you realize that with the power of two college-educated brains combined, you still managed to leave behind like $250 worth of kitchen equipment.

*wailing and gnashing of teeth*

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On Being Six and a Half Months Pregnant and Going to a Strip Club For the First Time

First off, yes, yes, I know, I have not written a blog post in forever. I'd apologize, but instead I'll just post a picture of me and my baby bump to distract you all, then move on to the topic on hand.

Also, too lazy to crop this photo, so enjoy my adorable owl toothbrush holder too.

So, life has been pretty insane these past few weeks, what with getting ready to move to another state and also continuing to bake fetus into screaming human baby. As we've gotten a good chunk of the essential moving things done, like finalizing on a rental house in Michigan, getting off of our lease here, and finding a good moving company to work with, we've been spending a lot of our time cramming in as much friend time as possible.

This allows me to awkwardly merge onto the actual subject you came here for; one of Grey's friends took him to a place called the Silver Bullet, and I, along with another wife, were invited to come, too. Fifteen minutes later, cue me waddling into my first ever real-life strip club.

New experiences, illustrated in neon.

I'll admit, I had major apprehensions about actually walking into the bar; not only have I actually never been to a place where the breasts swing sans covering, but I am (shocking) pregnant.

Like super obviously, having trouble moving between tables, pregnant.

I am currently the living, breathing physical embodiment of consequences from sexual desire. So, like the opposite of what I imagine people want to see at a nudie bar. (Or in the case of the Silver Bullet, a topless bar. Panties stay on in this establishment.)

Pictured: Motivation to keep those dollar bills and put them into a high- interest, long-term college savings account.

You know what, though? It was a ton of fun. I am really, really glad I went. In fact, I think it's one of the better things I've done for myself since I've gotten pregnant.

Weird? Maybe.

But, allow me to explain myself.

Also, if you couldn't tell, this is going to be quite the graphic, personal blog post. If you find naked people, sex, or the idea of naked people having sex disturbing, well, you probably shouldn't be reading my blog in general, because I had to get pregnant somehow, and it had at least a little something to do with naked people sex.

Spoiler alert, not how babies are made.

1. Going to a Strip Club Made Me Feel Pretty

Ever since I have gotten out of terrible, awkward puberty, I have been blessed with a healthy self-image. I, in general, have always thought of myself as a fairly attractive lady. Even when I was technically overweight or had terrible haircuts, I never really felt fat or ugly.

Then, I got pregnant.

Here is a list of things that have happened during pregnancy that has led me to feel less attractive:

• Throwing up. Like, a mountain of vomit.
• Nausea. Similar to vomiting, only without physical proof.
• Weird zits in weird places.
• My OB saying, after looking at my chart, "You look puffy, but you're actually a little underweight."
• Sweating. Never ending streams of sweat coming out of everywhere.
• The realization that nothing fits and anything that does will be stretched to oblivion after it has served its purpose.
• Going swimsuit shopping and discovering the tops that are normally sold in stores only have enough fabric to cover one boob. Barely.
• Hair growing everywhere. Leg hair thick and bountiful, hair all over my stomach, mustache, and two very long nose hairs.
• Ligaments stretching.
• Having the following adjectives used to describe you on a daily basis: huge, gigantic, humongous, big, really pregnant, Buddha.
• That one time a coworker, upon seeing me back up, went, "Beep, beep, beep, wide load coming!"
• Knocking over stuff with my wide load.
• Gas. Both the burpy and the farty kind.
• Being reminded constantly what a "cute" waddle I have.

Now, I do realize that there are more important things in life than feeling pretty. My baby is healthy, Grey got this new job, I have awesome and adorable kitties; life is more than satisfactory. I don't need to feel beautiful to feel happy. I'm confident in more aspects of myself than just my looks.

Writing blog posts in a timely manner is not one of those aspects.

But still, it sucks. I didn't feel pretty; I just felt pregnant, and, at that point, those two things could not be combined.

Strippers showed me that I was quite wrong.

To be clear, I do not mean this in a mean, comparative way; it wasn't like I walked in and the strippers were unattractive, and I, therefore, felt better looking being surrounded by ugly people. To the contrary, I'll be honest; those women were super hot. Oh, and they were only wearing tiny, tiny underpants, so there's that too.

Like this tiny. Only exaggerating a little.

Here's the thing though. All those hot, pretty much naked women kept coming up to me and telling me how hot I was. One of them even asked if I ever worked as a dancer myself. Never before have I been so flattered to be asked if I had ever been a stripper. Oh, and I got a hug, which was actually really sweet.

Also, strippers smell like cocoa butter and glitter. Just so you know.

Also, my huge, unruly boobs that I had become very self-conscious of were like stripper catnip; they just zeroed right in on 'em. Seriously, everyone of them went straight for me and the girls. It was pretty great. (On a side note, strippers are very courteous. They all ask for permission before touching and say thank you afterwards. Just good manners.)

By the end of the night, no one mentioned that I was huge or stopped to tell me that I was looking "super pregnant today." Instead, I was told several times that I was radiant, my skin was "so smooth", and that my hair was amazing.

So to sum up, if you haven't had the experience of attractive, topless people telling you that you are also attractive and wanting to touch you, let me tell you something; it is absolutely great for your ego. Seriously.

And yes, I did give out dollars, and yes, it is a possibility that these compliments stemmed completely from said dollars. To that I say this; I have spent money on stupider things that have not made me feel half as good.

A feeling that is worth a fat stack of one dollar bills.

2. Going to a Strip Club is Actually a Really Fun Couple's Activity

Now, I know what you are all thinking: it's one thing to have thong-clad women hanging all over you, telling you how awesome you are and how great your face is...

Yes, yes, shower me in your compliments.

...but a completely different thing if they do it to your husband, who is sitting right next to you, with a ring on his finger, thank you very much, ma'am.

Admittedly, even though I am quite secure in our relationship, and in how I know Grey feels about me, I was a little wary about the thought of watching another lady touching him. Or, in the case of what actually happened, a lady climbing on the table, throwing both her legs across his shoulders, then crab walking towards him, all of which was done with an amount of fluidity that I did not think possible by the human body.

Seriously, how does one possibly make this look anything other than stupid?

Surprisingly, I was not at all bothered by watching women put their boobs on my husband's head. In fact, it was actually, and I am being completely sincere, really fun. We held hands, tipped generously, and were both super impressed by how some of those ladies worked the pole. In the end, it was just something the two of us were doing together, and it was new, slightly taboo, and very exciting.

Like bungee jumping, only with more high heels and naked people.

I do not know what this says about me or about our relationship, other than the fact that we are probably weird perverts, but I don't really care to psychoanalyze it myself, especially when it works as well as it does. It's fun to hang out with my husband, no matter where it is.

Plus, he was always quick to agree with the glittery ladies about how cool I am, which, again, makes me feel good, and is worth a dollar.

(Grey, this does not mean I am going to start giving you dollars.)

3. Going to a Strip Club Reignites Certain Things That I Thought Had Left The Building For the Remainder of This Pregnancy

~POSSIBLE TMI ALERT~

You have been warned.

Seriously, I have no way to put this gently.

After the strip club, my sex drive came back. I thought it was gone for the rest of the pregnancy, but it came back with a vengeance. Like a killer whale seeing a baby seal after a long period of famine.

Graphic.

I don't know if it was because my self-confidence had been restocked, or if it was just being reminded that I was in fact a woman, and not just a walking incubator, but either way, it has found it's way back home.

Welcome back, little buddy.

Yep.

So there's that.

Moving on.

To conclude, here are some tips and tricks to navigating a strip club, regardless of whether or not you are pregnant:

• If you are unsure about etiquette, just ask. Strippers do not mind being asked, or at least, they are very good at masking any annoyances of being asked.
• Tip the girls. Seriously, it's just common courtesy when someone is doing their job well, and tips are their main source of income. 
• Don't be afraid to ask the stripper with the amazingly soft skin what kind of lotion she uses. (Cocoa butter. My skin is now also amazingly soft.)
• Keep an open mind.
• Write a blog post about it, so I won't feel so weird about having had such a good time and then telling the Internet all about said good time.
• Have fun!

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