He Used to Do Her Hair! I Know!

I told the deputy regional counsel of a federal government agency today to "shut up!" when she told me she knew Dwight from Real Housewives of Atlanta.

Apparently, reality TV makes me lose all semblance of professionalism.

Saturday, July 10, 2010: A Perfect Day

Woke up next to a snuggly, cuddly boyfriend

Made breakfast: coffee, toasted whole wheat English muffins, egg white omelets with shallots, mushrooms and white American cheese

Ikea

Farmer's market

Matinee movie

Boyfriend made dinner: antipasti salad and garlic basil shrimp

Went to bed next to snuggly, cuddly boyfriend

Let's do that again real soon

Seal of Quality

I'm going to give them the benefit of the doubt and assume the little critter in the middle of the Seal of Quality on my Chinese take-out container is supposed to be a panda.  However, I see baby wombat. 

Nothing says quality like baby wombat. 

Pity Party

So waking up at 6:30 every morning, working full-time at the internship, and then working evenings and weekends at the part-time job has apparently left me too exhausted to do anything when I get home except put on my pj's and try not to fall asleep until I actually fall asleep. 

I have two more weeks of interning and then I'm going to sleep for three days before heading down to Atlanta for a family visit. 

On the bright side though, I finally found my student ID so I can now get back into the student gym.  Thank goodness because I can't even tell you how badly I want to add going to the gym to my schedule. 

I really want 24 consecutive hours with nothing to do.  And a cookie. 

Freebie!

Saunter on over to D&D and enter to win a lovely pair of earrings. 

Read everything else while you're over there.  Then one day you'll find yourself unable to buy a duvet without calling her in the middle of the day from West Elm on your lunch break to hear her thoughts on fabric patterns. 

But first, the earrings.

My Best Friend's Wedding

When we met in the 7th grade, I kinda thought you were a weirdo.  The problem was you were too nice to me.  I was new.  A new town, a new school.  And you accepted me like it was nothing.  You seemed unaware that there were cliques and protocols and rules.  You can't just be nice to people.  It was all wrong. 

But you ran with the crowd I became friends with and we became friends too.  You overlooked and forgave my mean girls stage.  Our parents divorced around the same time.  We got closer.  Until you were my best friend.  I've never looked back. 

We used to lie side by side in my double bed and talk about everything.  Boys and kissing and growing up and college and parents and everything in between.  I talked about my dream wedding.  You talked about your dream bachelorette party.  Because even though we were the same, we were so different.  I always wanted the husband and the kids and the dog.  You wanted adventure and excitement and to not feel tied down. 

Until Steve.  And then against every instinct you ever had and against everything you thought you wanted you ended up across the country with a house and a cat and a dog.  I talked you through every step.  Cheered you on and called you on the bullshit. 

So when you announced you thought you would get married, I wasn't surprised.  I thought of the 16-year-old you and laughed with you about it.  We talked dresses and flowers and photographers and venues and how you really just wanted to elope. 

You asked me if I would mind.  I was honest.  A part of me would be upset I wasn't there, couldn't do all the Maid of Honor things we'd planned, but I just wanted you to be happy.

For weeks, every time the phone rang, I expected the call that you were engaged or married.  And then it came.

"What'cha doing?"

"Nothing.  Watching TV."

"Anything new?"

"No.  Not really.  You?"

"I GOT MARRIED."

I felt the tears come unexpectedly and unbidden.  Sher, I am so, so happy for you.  You are the sister I never had.  I want your happiness more than I want anything. 

What I didn't expect was the bittersweetness.  The constant memories of those two 16-year-old girls lying side by side in my double bed.  Your bachelorette party was going to be so awesome.  And I was going to make one helluva toast.  I would've even helped you hold up your dress so you could pee. 

But it's fitting that you did it this way.  The adventure and the spontaneity and the excitement you've always wanted to be a part of your life.  You found a way to have everything you've always wanted and then some. 

I can't believe you're a married lady.  I can't believe my best friend is married.  I can't believe we're not still two 16-year-old girls lying side by side.  I love you.  I'm so proud of you.  Thank you for including me in every step along the way.  And thank you for making the final step all on your own.  Just like I knew you could.  And just like I knew you would. 

And just for the record, here's how I would've ended my toast:

Here's to new beginnings and old friends.
Here's to happiness.
Here's to doing things your own way.
Here's to following your heart.
Here's to a lifetime filled with adventure.
Here's to Sheridan and Steve.

I love you.  Congratulations, lady. 

October, Please

Look, I realize it's hot as the underside of balls out there.  And, quite frankly, it doesn't smell much better thanks to 101+ degree heat in downtown Philly only exacerbating the satisfying scent of open sewer grates. 

But that is not an invitation to you to walk around with no shirt on, sir.  Especially given that in the defiance of all logic you removed your shirt while leaving in tact your mid-shin-high socks.  Under your sandals. 

Let's recap: no shirt, yet socks, sandals.  101+ degree heat.  It's like taking off your pants but leaving on your mittens. 

This heat wave is assaulting all my senses.

Tomorrow

The last thing I would ever want is to be overly dramatic, but this is terrible, terrible, terrible news.  I happily left the horror and oppression of the Texas summer behind when I left at 18.  And now it has found me.  It's too mother-effing hot is a perfectly legitimate reason to not go to work, right?

What Else Could a Person Possibly Want in Life?

I will forever be grateful to whoever it was who first pointed out to me that when you hold your left hand straight out with your thumb sticking out, the line from your index finger to your thumb makes the shape of an "L".  It might have been a kindergarten teacher.  It also might have been something I overheard as a teenager and was relieved to finally have an easy way to tell left from right.  Either way, I still use this method to confirm that left is left.  If you catch me slightly raising my left hand in traffic, well, I'm not waving hello.  I'm making sure I am in fact about to make a left-hand turn.  With this in mind, you can imagine my dependency on the built-in navigation system in my car.  His name is Robert.  I have talked about him before here and here.  I love him. 

Another of Robert's charms is that he can be voice activated.  You can verbally control the thermostat, radio and navigation system and Robert will talk back to confirm that he's adjusted the temperature to 75 or changed the radio station per your instructions.  I don't use this feature very often because more often than not, Robert just says he didn't understand and asks me to repeat myself and, quite frankly, I have enough issues with the men in my life not listening the first time so I don't really need to get into it with Robert on a daily basis.  However, the children in my life, my little cousins, are obsessed with Robert and love to tell him what to do and have him talk back.

I did not realize the depths of this love and the elevated status it gave me in their eyes until one day I was driving with my cousin Kevin.  He was probably 10 or 11 at the time.  He was in a foul mood and had been stomping around my grandma's house, mouthing off and slamming doors.  I happened to also be in a foul mood that day so I thought it might be a good idea for the two grumps to go for a drive and give everyone else in the house a break.  We drove for a while, going nowhere in particular, and I just let Kev vent.  He was ranting and raving about his mom never letting him go anywhere, nobody understood him, his life was so hard and how he wished he could just grow up already because then everything would be great.  Typical 11-year-old stuff.  But because I was feeling pretty crappy that day too, I decided he needed to know the truth.

"You know, Kev, life doesn't just get better because you're a grown-up.  I'm a grown-up and I can be unhappy sometimes.  Sometimes life sucks no matter how old you are." 

He turned to me with an absolutely disgusted look on his face.  "What do you have to be unhappy about?!?  You HAVE A TALKING CAR!"

I tried not to laugh.  Thank you 11-year-old for putting everything in perspective.  I'm a grown-up with a talking car.  Life must be pretty damn good.

That was a couple years ago, but still, when I'm having a rough day I hear Kevin's voice in my head screaming, "You HAVE A TALKING CAR!" and that's all it takes to make me laugh.  I can't wait until he grows up and starts bitching about bills, or his girlfriend, or not being able to figure out what to do with his life and I can hopefully return the favor and help him realize that everything is relative.  One person's talking car is another person's answer to everything wrong with the world. 

In the meantime though, I have a talking car and he can't leave the house without permission.  So, yeah, I guess I see his point. 

In Case You Were Wondering

mom: How's the eating healthy going?

me: I'm having a big feta Caesar salad and a green tea frappucino for lunch right now as we speak.

mom: So not well, I take it.

I also seem to have lost my student ID so I can't get access to the free gym on campus.  Since that's where the scale is, I haven't weighed myself in forever.  I'll get back on it ASAP, I promise.