i'll bring the sweatbands

Granted, this is the lazy approach to posting. BUT, emails like these provide insight into how this mind of mine works. Also, let's all just take a brief moment to acknowledge that my friends are incredibly patient people when you consider that they have to put up with obsessions like these:

"...secretly I've been wanting to go on a Richard Simmons cruise. Mostly because I think it'd be hillaaaaaaaarious. The only problem is that I bet said cruise involves significantly more effort and significantly less eating than I'd like. These are only minor details, my friends. Just imagine, the OPPORTUNITY to see Mr. Simmons in his trademark shorts. Is there anything more fantastic in life? I think not. Someday, those shorts will be dipped in bronze and labeled as the 8th world wonder."

I'm so classy

The following conversation took place after some magic that involved layers, masks, and a little sumptin' sumptin that we like to call adjustment filters. Hot.

Sarah: not to be cocky, but I just totally rocked photoshop's world.

Jay: oh yeah?

Sarah: CS3 now feels the need to smoke a cigarette and thank me for a job well done.

Jay: oh wow.

Sarah: that's what it said.

second guessing pre-coffee wardrobe decisions

This morning after noshing a bagel and tossing back about a gallon of coffee, I looked down and thought "hum. I may look a weensy bit like I dressed for the set of a 1980's dance video today.

In my defense, the forecast this morning was 60 degrees and sunny. I had also just finished doing laundry last night which means the options were endless. My creative juices were flowing, the limitations of dirty leggings, pants, underwear, etc. were GONE. I felt unfettered. I also apparently, felt like I could dance on through my life.

And because these situations deserve to be mocked, even at one's own expense, behold the bodaciousness that was the 1980's:

(note the shirt which is ALSO a skirt. Rad)

therapy

Therapy session 1: Sitting in sweatpants, drinking wine and chatting with one of my favorite people on this earth. We were crying and telling one another just how much we loved/valued our friendship in 20 minutes flat. Happily buzzed in 45 (both complete light weights), and elbow deep in our take-out Thai food about an hour after that. Note to self: need weekends like this more often.

Therapy session 2: Holding a sleeping baby. Realize that she is her own kind of perfect, even if the uncertainty of her future sometimes devastates me.

Therapy session 3: Driving into work because I can't find street parking and refuse to get another ticket. Accidentally land myself in the middle of a construction zone, stuck behind a cab driver who is trying to put his car in reverse. One yelling match (complete with waving and dramatic hand gestures) later, I realize that I have managed in that moment to get rid of every stress from the last 3 weeks. Decide to yell at cab drivers more often.

whoops

If anyone needed proof that I am not remotely prepared to be a parent, they needed only listen to my mom's voice mail from last night. "Hey love, this is mom. Just calling to see how your weekend was...if you went to NJ...how the baby is doing. Also, just wanted to make sure that you were ok after your date with Abdul."

Interpretation: Because if you are NOT ok, I will most definitely drive down there in your defense and do things that the Lord himself might disapprove of (full disclosure, my mom is a pastor).

In highschool I went to my senior prom with a boy who was in college. A boy who had played football. About two weeks after the event, I told my dad I was pregnant just to see what his reaction would be. This was my own form of entertainment - watching my dad change from an odd shade of green to straight up pissed. But in this particular instance, it hadn't even crossed my mind that my parents would read this post and wonder if I'd gotten myself into a situation I couldn't handle. In truth, Abdul was a gentleman. A gentleman who winked. A lot.

We go get dinner *wink*...I move, but I come visit *wink*... I get job with city, and then we go somewhere special!! *wink, wink*... I call you, yes? *wink*... ooooooh no, we have to say goodnight? *wink*

As if Abdul didn't make the night interesting enough, we managed to get ourselves into a political debate with the only other diner sitting in the restaurant. We were sitting there chatting about the upcoming election and how pretty Hillary's pant suit looked on this last debate and how Barack is so friggen' great that it warms my politically apathetic heart. Then out of no where, random lady pipes up from across the room that the media is treating Hil "SO unfairly" and being "TOTALLY BIASED towards Barack... because, well, because he's Black and they don't want to appear racist!"

I tried very hard to wipe the "wtf" expression off my face. I suspect that I failed miserably.

Fortunately, this didn't seem to bother her a whit and she proceeded to blather on for a few minutes about her own views before bringing up the last election. At which point, I stated quite nicely that I didn't vote in the last election because I couldn't really support either candidate. I didn't like Bush, but I also couldn't figure out what the hell Kerry stood for except that he was "Not Bush." Random lady stared at me, and then (I shit you not) said "Well, then you're just as responsible as Bush is for sending this country to war.

So, there you have it. I am responsible for inducing heart-failure in my parents (sorry guys), and for sending our great nation to war (REALLY sorry about that one, America).