Last night was the IGN/GameSpy annual Holiday party at the Crazy Horse saloon in Irvine. Maybe it's age, or maybe it's the fact that it was impossible to distinguish the kicks of our unborn son Seamus (due Jan 14th) from the MIND DRILLING BASE of the SUPER LOUD HOUSE MUSIC as it resinated with Bren's womb. It was weird, I would put my hand on Bren's abdomen to feel for kicks - and they were ALL in rhythm with the shaking of the table. That just can't be right.
Damn it, I just hope that I don't turn into a friggin nimby or join the PTA. Oh no - it's already started - I used "friggin" instead of f*cking. Nooooo the self censorship of language has already kicked in.
AAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!