Like sand through an hourglass...

As I sit here at my desk I have begun to ponder the various days of the week. Today is Thursday, a day that could be clarified as a bit of a nothing day. It is neither mid week, the weekend or a hump day, it is just Thursday. Growing up at school Thursday would have been the quiet kid at the back of the class that kept to themselves, not an over or under achiever or overtly weird, just kind of there, you know.

Keeping with this train of though I figured that Monday's are the most hated days, or the smelly ginger kid who eats way too much cheese. Tuesdays are the day in which we all just accept our fate as lowly worker ants, or the school bully who steals your lunch and there is nothing you can do about, even hiding in the toilets wont work. Wednesdays are the first bit of light in the week, not the greatest day but far from the most hated, or the kind of cute girl in maths who you would like to shag but would much rather go a nude round or two her hot & slutty best friend. Then we hit Thursday, the nothing day, the quiet kid who just slips through life. Friday is excitement, it is the last day of another dull working week and all your focus is on the upcoming weekend, or your new best friend once your real best friend has moved from the neighbourhood, the kind of kid who is great to hang out with but if you could you would much rather have your old best mate back. Saturday would have to be the most popular day, the day where you can do whatever you want or Wednesday's hot & slutty friend who you can do whatever you want to. As for Sunday, this one can go either way. Option one is you can fell bummed that in 24 hours you will be back with that cheese smelling ginger bastard again or Option two is you can spend the day kicking back nothing at and loving it, or that first girl who let you touch her boobs, you know the one who was fun to be around one day and then the next a complete cow.

Wow, I have pondered that for far too long, time to get down to business.

On Tuesday night we had out antenatal class and aside from the normal birthing shenanigans there were a couple of interesting things that happened. Firstly, we watched a little documentary on natural births that was made by non-other than Ricki Freakin' Lake. Overall it was just another birthing video, although this one contain no up the jaxy shots and exploding water bags. I always wondered what happened to Ricki once her talk show got the boot. I just assumed she follow her love of being a bit rampant tart but it appears she may have kept her belly in the production game making such high quality 'films' as this one. The second interesting thing that happened was that i got to wear the pregnancy sympathy suit. Basically this is just like one of those fat sumo suits you see at fairs except it is full of water to give you that slight feeling of baby kicks and you put a small bag on the inside to press on your bladder. From this experience I can see where the loss of balance and coordination comes from and I am now truly amazed at how few times pregnant Mere has fallen over recently. Before leaving this week's antenatal class alone there is one fact I want to share. The birth canal is the first time a baby is introduced to bacteria, so if a woman has a cesarean birth it is sometimes recommended that the new mother reach down between her legs, get some fanny fluids on her hand and rub it on the baby. I am not shitting you about this, I swear this is what the lady running our class told us, granted it may not have been as delicately put as I have just done but the message is the same and if you wanted me to break it down even more I could simply say, 'Vaginas. Natures Bacteria Slide'.

So yeah, Thursdays, I guess you could say are a day in which my mind runs a little bit more loosely.

I think that using a urinal at the same time as others can tell you a lot about those people. For example, my work shares this building with a number of different science based organisations and whenever I am in the toilet and one of them comes in they either do one of two things. They head straight to a cubicle, lock themselves in and go for a pee and before you ask I know they are peeing cos you can hear them. this tells me they are either shy or are not so sure if they need to pee and don't want to stand there with their tally whacker in their hands doing nothing. If they do not go for the cubicle option they step up on the urinal, mumble some sort of greeting and then stand as close to the aluminium wall as possible. This tells me they are either incredibly humbled by my massive wanger or scientists have figured out a way to pee without ever being hit by splash back. My other urinal observation is 95% of guys, and I am one of them, will look at the roof, or at least quite high up the wall, when someone else is next to them using the facilities. What is all this about, are we scared the guy next to us will think we are a gay if we look at our own diddle or is that if we look down there is a small chance we may catch a glimpse of a sausage that is not our own?

Before I wrap this ranting mess up I want to share one more thing. Over the last few months I have developed this real problem, and it is one that I cannot put down to anything except possible male baby brain. Every time I go to the toilet I seem to forget to do up my fly afterwards. I know this happens to everyone occasionally but this is happening to me more than not lately. A month or so ago I took Millie down to the local playground and when I got back Mere pointed out that I had been 'that guy' down the park playing with kids whilst my fly was down. Today I had a meeting with a major sponsor of the school and his national marketing manager which i thought went really well until I came back in the office and Jesse, my co-worker, pointed out I was flying low, which meant I had been that way the entire meeting and campus tour, top bloody stuff.

I am going to sign off now and try to think of a solution to my fly dilemma that is slightly cooler than Jesse's idea of me wearing elastic waistband trackies.

Later days.