![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
Last night The Gay Kids Club threw me a baby-shower. First they served spaghetti in paper bowl, with grapes on the side. Then there were tons of desserts: cookies, cupcakes, cheesecake, and truffles. Then I opened presents. They gave me diapers and a $25 gift card, and the other faculty sponsor knitted us a bunch of baby hats. (Really, eight hats. And a blanket.)
It just struck such a sweet note. I was very, very touched.
Because then you're ready to jigalo.
We are going to paint the nursery. So I had to get all my shit out of the baby's bedroom. So my clothes are all over the living room. I miss my clothes. I have such wonderful clothes. I walk through the living room and brush them lovingly. "Someday" I tell them, "Someday I'll wear you again, when we have a baby instead of a gigantic uterus."
I like to touch the top of my belly and say, "I'm touching my uterus! My uterus is five inches above my belly button! What the hell are you doing way up here, uterus?"
But you know what break it is? SPRING'S BREAK! Whose break is it? SPRING'S BREAK! I can't hear you! SPRING'S BREAK! All together now! SPRING'S BREAK!
Back in high school, there was a lot of call-and-response cheers at pep rallies. Sometimes I get Jigalo stuck in my head.
Hey Heebie!
Yeah?
Hey Heebie!
Yeah?
Are you ready?
Yeah!
To Jigalo?
Yeah, I got my hands up high
and my feet down low,
and that's the way I jigalo.
Jig-a-lo-o
Jig-jig-a-lo-o.
I would have to dance while I explained my Jigalo, if I were the subject. But I wasn't a student council member, or cheerleader, or connected with hosting pep rallies in any way, so I never had to Jigalo individually. It seems embarrassing. While you say "That's the way I jigalo!" you are really supposed to demonstrate what you're made of.
It just struck such a sweet note. I was very, very touched.
Because then you're ready to jigalo.
We are going to paint the nursery. So I had to get all my shit out of the baby's bedroom. So my clothes are all over the living room. I miss my clothes. I have such wonderful clothes. I walk through the living room and brush them lovingly. "Someday" I tell them, "Someday I'll wear you again, when we have a baby instead of a gigantic uterus."
I like to touch the top of my belly and say, "I'm touching my uterus! My uterus is five inches above my belly button! What the hell are you doing way up here, uterus?"
But you know what break it is? SPRING'S BREAK! Whose break is it? SPRING'S BREAK! I can't hear you! SPRING'S BREAK! All together now! SPRING'S BREAK!
Back in high school, there was a lot of call-and-response cheers at pep rallies. Sometimes I get Jigalo stuck in my head.
Hey Heebie!
Yeah?
Hey Heebie!
Yeah?
Are you ready?
Yeah!
To Jigalo?
Yeah, I got my hands up high
and my feet down low,
and that's the way I jigalo.
Jig-a-lo-o
Jig-jig-a-lo-o.
I would have to dance while I explained my Jigalo, if I were the subject. But I wasn't a student council member, or cheerleader, or connected with hosting pep rallies in any way, so I never had to Jigalo individually. It seems embarrassing. While you say "That's the way I jigalo!" you are really supposed to demonstrate what you're made of.