THAT House.

Yes.  Another Halloween post.  The catch is that this time I'm worried that neighborhood might be in jeopardy.  As the title of my blog suggests, we live in a run of the mill, average middle class neighborhood.  I feel completely comfortable going door-to-door trick-or-treating. . . .

Until we got to that house.  Only I didn't know it was that house until it was too late and the confused hermit was staring at my perfectly adorable three year-old.  The picture--random angel water fountain next to the front door, but without accompanying landscape or color of any kind.  A small square area blocked off next to the door with a homemade cardboard sign sporting chicken scratch with "deliveries here."  (Only later would I be suspect of why someone wanted their packages hidden, when the front porch wasn't especially visible from the street anyway. I think that's where bomb-making equipment might be delivered.) Back to the moment.  We knocked because, after all, the porch light was on.  The wall(s) of DVDs actually caught my eye before the person answering the door commanded my attention.  Average-sized Asian male with athletic shorts.  Not crazy or suspicious when considered alone.  But the tucked-in Garfield t-shirt with the athletic shorts pulled half-way to his armpits was cause for concern.  Square glasses straight from my grandfather's bedside table. . . in 1986.  The candy was in a metal pot.  And then, then, I noticed that the entire living area visible from the front door was covered by computer and electronic equipment.  And did I mention there was no welcoming smile or even a "you're welcome" to my three-year old's thank you? Creeptastic.

I didn't suspect there was a crazy internet crime mastermind was in my very.own.neighborhood.  And that is how that house became that house.  Its own unintended Halloween spectacle.

10 Things I Know

I never know how much to share about the trials joys of pregnancy.  Especially at the end.  I mean, it's a lot of up-close and personal bidness.  I have posted before how everyone, and I mean everyone, has an opinion on how a pregnant woman looks.  In the span of a couple of days, I had people tell me that I looked great and then someone ask, "how many babies do you have in there?"  Here's what I know:

1.  It's really effing hot (today it was roughly 109 degrees--that's one step from hell, if you were wondering).  Chronic sweating makes me cranky and icky smelling.
2.  Being hugely pregnant is much harder when it's one-step-from-hell hot than it was when I was hugely pregnant in February and May.
3.  I am anti-social as the end of pregnancy nears.  Even with my dearest friends.  The question, "What do you want to do?" is answered in my mind with, "Hibernate."
4.  I have approximately 5 shirts that are sufficiently long enough so that my stomach doesn't hang out.  I've never been the mid-drift exposing kind of girl in the best of times--I mean, I've had maybe three 2-piece swimsuits in my life and they were all worn 5 times or less. 
5.  There are a lot of really stupid people in the world.  Temptations to comment on this stupidity make my hibernating desire the safest option. 
6.  Pelvic Symphisis Dysfunction is some kind of painful.   The end of pregnancy is made bearable for me with a combination of massage, chiropractic care and acupuncture.  I'm not sure I could walk without their help.
7.  I look like a 90-year old woman when I hobble to the bathroom in the middle of the night. 
8.  I get the best sleep from 4:30am to 6:30ish.  That this coincides with my husband leaving for work, might or might not be coincidence.
9.  I want my house to be clean and organized, but have zero energy to make it happen, unless that includes making honey-do lists for my husband.
10.  I still haven't pre-registered for the hospital.  That's how sure I am that this baby won't be here until my due date.  Or after.  Which will make me a really hateful person.  Fair warning.