Can I give my baby girl my porn name?


Many moons ago, I work at a skin magazine. Not Playgirl. I worked there for years and years as some of you know. But this was before Playgirl. It was a skin mag where I wrote about hot boobies and flashes of ass from the sexiest stars in Hollywood. I wrote of their dalliances with other sexy celebrities and how big and juicy their tits were and I wrote about it in a way that made it seem I lusted after them, hoping the reader would get all lusty too and get off on the film stills of the celeb in stages of undress or in the act of simulated sex on the screen. There were nipple slips, too. Readers loved the nipple slips. The magazine was called Celebrity Skin and it was most purchased by incarcerated men. And I recently learned Skin is no longer in print.

Moment of silence.

Because we didn’t use our real names in this fine publication, the staff came up with porn names. Mine was Nova DiGregorio.

Skin’s staff had a Magic Marker, a Candy Warhol, and some other creative monikers I cannot recall. And you may recall the publication gained a lot of press when it was sued for featuring nude photos of Jennifer Aniston taken by paparazzi who trespassed to get the shots. Not the magazine’s proudest moment.

But really, were there any?

So…Nova. It was one of my favorite names for a girl. It means new star. It’s also the name of the woman played by Linda Harrison from Planet of the Apes — the TV show, not the movie. Someone once told me I looked like her and boy was I flattered.

Nova is also the name of the coolest car on four wheels. I prefer the late 60s, early 70s Chevy Novas.

And yes, Nova DiGregorio was my porn name — I combined my favorite name with a family last name. And I wanted to give that name to my girl twin.

I haven’t told this story to my husband yet. But he is against the name anyway. He was for it, then decided it was too weird. His name is Hans by the way. This revelation will just put it further into the no pile.

I’ve already come to terms with it. Nova will not be the name of my daughter. Though I am finding it very hard to say goodbye to a name I really loved, despite it being associated with my past porn life.

Dear NYC,

I am hating you right now.

Let me make it clear. I do love NYC. I was born here and so far have lived 23 of my 36 years in NYC. The rest of the time I was only about an hour and a half away. But shit is getting wack. Or maybe I just am at my end.

Being pregnant in NYC summertime is crap. If it was winter it would be crap, too, just for different reasons.

It’s super hot. Like 90 plus wicked humidity. But besides that, the subway is even hotter with even more stagnant air. It’s like a sauna and pregnant women are not allowed in a sauna.

The other day, I couldn’t wait to get home to relax. I mean, this is everyday, but it was this day in particular.

I take the subway — the 6 to the F. It involves a transfer at Bleecker. But the 6 never stopped at Bleecker. No announcement, just barreled on — passing stop after stop without even honking the horn like the train usually does when it skips stations. People were concerned. Finally came to a stop at Brooklyn Bridge, so everyone got off and backtracked without ever knowing why. Took the 6 uptown to the stop the train missed. What in the world was going on?!

When I finally got to the F train platform I was sweating. Serious sweating. Sweating like no human who only was walking should sweat. Not even a pregnant at 18 weeks with twins human. Though I do feel like I am turning into a bear with all the hair growing all over my body. But I don’t even think a bear would sweat this much.

And I was already wearing my second pair of panties for the day since I sweated through the other pair. A nerd pair I bought from from Duane Reade. Hanes. Cringe.

Then I felt it. A stream of liquid running down my leg.

What? Was it my water breaking? It’s too early. Was it blood? I was almost afraid to look. But I did.

It was sweat from my ass.

Dear NYC. I so hate you right now.

I can’t sleep

I’m awake. A good three hours before I usually get up.

It was still dark before I made my flax waffles.

I had a bad day yesterday. It didn’t help that the humidity in NYC was unbearable or that my ankles looked more like softballs or that it rained buckets.

I felt really ugly.

If I just looked at my baby belly, I was beautiful. But if I focused on myself, I was repulsed.

Ankles…told you about them. My legs are pale, translucent and in desperate need of some self tanner. I sweat…a lot…and it’s getting more difficult to even shave my legs, and forget about my bikini area — it’s hard to see beyond my belly.

My skin is a disaster. And it’s not just pimples on my face; it’s my arms, my chest, my neck.

And when I looked in the mirror at myself, unshaven stark white legs that looked like sausages stuffed into nerd shoes, I had a moment of depression.

Am I thinking too much about vanity? Maybe.

But it is what it is. It is how I am feeling.

Some say you give up everything for your kids. But I don’t believe you should. I want to still be me, a better me, a mom me, but a mom that is still me.

I went to bed around 9:45pm last night. Woke up twice to pee and that final time I got up, around 4:30am, I don’t think I ever went back to sleep.

I decided to stop tossing and turning and get up. Feed the cats, feed myself those flax omega-3 waffles I eat just for my twins, get to work early so I can leave early.

I will shave today. Apply a little self tanner on those legs. Wear my heels. And hope for a better day.

How do you spell parents?

I don’t want to sound like the grammar police or come off as a total bitch, but I have to admit I find humor in some misspellings.

Sometimes I just get annoyed.

But hey, I’m not perfect. I’ve misspelled before.

And feel like an ass when I do.

But here is my favorite misspelling of parents so far. Spelled this way by a parent.



What happens when you are surrounded by other bloggers?

me 18 weeks

My co-worker/blogher/friend Sheri wrote a roundup of some of her highlights at the Blogher conference in Chicago over at her blog Today is Pretty. Bloggity, blog, bloggie. Great idea, Sheri. So here’s mine.

The thunderstorm Chicago had one night. Hearing it from the 20th floor of a hotel was crazy scary cool.

Having ladies want to talk to me for my tattoos or baby bump.

The Mexican feast for lunch on Blogher day 2.

Giving away oven mitts that said “Moms are hotter than you think” and seeing Sheri shake oven mitted hands with other bloggers.

Eating a turkey burger with French fries and lemonade at Feast. Yum!

The bed at the Sheraton. It was king-sized divine.

Listening to Sheri read her post “Amends” in the grand ballroom. She made me cry — it was phenom. As were others. What talent!

Hearing Tina Brown of The Daily Beast say she would never go back to print.

Ilene Chaiken, creator of The L Word, in all white.

Watching Paula Deen prepare for her demonstration. She wanted to chat with the audience first. She’s a firecracker, y’all.

Fellow blogher Kim worried about me at the Food Blogger session. The session I wanted to go to was too full so I joined her. It made me hungry.

The huge, bigger than my hand, chocolate chip cookies.

The Pioneer Woman, Ree, and Twanna of Funky Brown Chick in the Identity/Passions: Enough About You…Who’s Reading You? session.

Deb from Deb on the Rocks in the Business of You session.

I’m excited Blogher in NYC next year — no travel for me! Yay!

I want lemonade


Craving of the day: Lemonade.

Screw that — lemonade is my craving every day.

All I want is lemonade. And then another glass of lemonade.

I buy lemonade from the store and then I cut it with water so I can still taste the lemonade, but it lasts four times longer.

It’s as if I am afraid there will be a lemonade shortage.

My friend Sheri said she too craved lemonade when she was pregnant, only she would just eat a lemon.

Mmm…that sounds good, but only if the lemon was ice cold, fresh out of the fridge.

I’m going to Blogher


I’m driving from NYC to Chicago…over two days…while 17 weeks pregnant with my hubs in tow to go to the Blogher conference.

I’m super excited. And no, I’m not crazy…I just have an irrational fear of flying. The first step is admittance, right?

Anyway, if you are attending, perhaps I will see you there? Look for me! I’ll be the pregnant tattooed lady wearing nerd shoes.