Barefoot and Pregnant

It's true. In the face of 98 degree weather, I've become that pregnant person who waddles around the apartment in her underwear, donning a sundress and flipflops for just long enough to walk the dog around the block.

In other news...
I went camping this weekend with loverboi J, our good friends Eyeball and Novalicious, and Harvey the Superdog. Here are some highlights and public service announcements:

Camping while 32 weeks pregnant: not an issue. In fact, just fine. I recommend it. Especially if your boifriend has an inflatable queen size air mattress.

Camping in temperatures that fluctuated between 45 and 95 degrees over the course of the weekend: more of an issue. My advice? Bring a sleeping bag, no matter what weather.com says.

Camping in what I think might be a state-department sponsored site of mosquito-based bio-weaponry: such a huge issue, especially if you're trying to avoid giving your fetus an extra limb by saturating it with DEET. Kudos to the guy at Whole Foods who directed us to the Neem Oil, which did in fact seem to deter some of them. I do have some bites, but considering the insane mosquito-to-human ratio, I think I did okay.

(Poor Superdog, however, did not fare as well. After spending Friday night vomiting up whatever dead thing he managed to ingest while slinking away from my watchful eye, he developed a terrible skin rash all over his belly, and has now been sentenced to twice-weekly antibiotic shampoos for the next month.)

On transportation: Due to the fact that J and Eyeball both like to celebrate their respective butch badassness by driving pickup trucks, and due to the fact that gas in my neighborhood currently costs $4.10/gallon, we opted to squeeze into one car for family vacation. Being the only person amongst us who owns a car that seats four (no, J, those seats in the back of the truck do not count), this meant that we all piled into my aging Nissan Sentra for our weekend away. Memorial day, when we went out to the Cape to visit M-Star and frolic by the sea, this worked just fine. This time, with tents, coolers, hatchets, two fishing poles, three tackle boxes, two camp stoves, and at least seven flashlights, quarters were a bit more cramped. Eyeball and Novalicious were smushed into a third of the backseat. Superdog spent the drive buried on the floor, under a pile of pillows and Cheezits. And, although I enjoyed the pregnancy privilege of having the front seat in both directions, even I was wedged in between several backpacks, two foam "fun noodles," and a fishing pole.

Regardless, we had a great time, and Baby Fang enjoyed her first camping trip. We also spent Saturday in Northampton for Trans Pride, which though plagued by heat stroke, was a lot of fun. It was awesome to see a bunch of queers and trannies milling about in one place (a place that isn't San Francisco, that is), and nice to see other families that looked a little bit like mine.

Now, back in Providence, I'm sitting in a pile of sweat and eating frozen strawberry bars like there's no tomorrow. Loverboi departed this afternoon for a week-long trip to Scotland, and, in a move that now seems ill-considered, we used our last hour together to fuck instead of installing the window air conditioning unit. I always knew that I'd pay a price for my promiscuity. Who knew that it would be heat rash, rather than an STD?

And with that, I'll close this long and rambly post, and spare you the rest of my heat-addled brainstormings...