Birthdays and Bodies and Bitchiness, oh my

I know, I know, I suck at blogging. I think about it, but I think I'm developing some sort of adult-onset ADD, compounded by a serious case of PMS. It's actually been a lovely few days, with gorgeous weather and happy children and fun with friends, but I have two tests in the morning and my children are being even more than usually obstreperous and my heart is actually beating funny in time with my general irritation. I did not miss this part of being a girl while I was pregnant all those times. It makes me mad every month. I'm done with babies! No more fertility for me, thanks.

So, in the interest of not being all-bitch, all-the-time, and to further delay the inevitable panicky last minute studying I've already postponed repeatedly (oh crap! hurray! I JUST as I was typing this sentence found my chem book. That's got to be a good omen), I have to comment on the BodyWorlds exhibit my friend and I went to at the Maryland Science Center today. It was so amazing, although I was surprised that it made me a little woozy at first. Nothing awful, not as bad as the first time I watched someone get his jaw wired at the hospital, but more than I expected. The bodies are all sliced up to reveal different aspects of their anatomy, and in many cases certain external features like eyebrows and earlobes and belly-buttons were reattached to the outside, which somehow made them seem both more and less life-like. There was also one whole section on fetal development, which was one of my favorites, although I did wonder how they managed to sneak all the dead fetuses past the right-to-lifers who won't even allow embryonic stem cell research.

It was so pretty out that we went paddle-boating in the harbor after the museum. I've always wanted to do that, but somehow I never get around to doing touristy things in my own city. I also got my very favorite peanut butter ice cream from Lee's, served by a nearly-comatose young man named Duane (he really seemed to be worse at consciousness than customer service, like just breathing in and out was taking most of his limited capacity for thought and action). See how I have absolutely no room for complaint? Stupid hormones, making me grumpy. It's even more frustrating to realize that my big girl's hormones are probably responsible for her insanity, too, and that we're just feeding off each other and into some awful stereotype. Thank goodness I'm hiding in my room, purportedly studying. Better get on that.