You don't know rough, sister.

I went out Friday night, which is a big thing for me cause I rarely leave the house at night. But with a sitter at my fingertips, the world was my oyster. Dinner at the cafe, browsing Amoeba, late night Simpsons showing at the Arclight PLUS freshly made caramel popcorn, all with some of my best friends. It was great. Except...

one of my friends couldn't be there. She gave birth the night before you see, yet she still called me from the hospital to ask me what movie we were going to see...without her. (Insert collective 'AW' here. Poor her.)

I felt really bad because, well, this is the second time that I've told someone that giving birth is a breeze. And it is. For me. When the Baby was born I was literally lying on the table and the doctor even said, "Wow, this is so easy for you. You are so good at this, you should have more!" Great. I finally find something I'm good at and I can't get paid for it, nor do I want to do it ever again.

But three pushes and the babies come out and I'm ready to jog around the block and eat a sandwich thanks, is how I give birth. It's a gift I guess. But it's really bad when you tell that to your newly pregnant friends who inevitably go into the world's most painfully long complicated labors. Um. Yeah. My bad. I guess calling my preggers friends up and saying, "How's your vajayjay?" doesn't win me any friend points either.

To distract you from the idea of giving birth, I give you this picture of one of my most favorite places in L.A., a view from the mezzanine at Amoeba. Look at all those lovely, lovely cds. Ah. Much better than vajayjay stories.