It's the most wonderful time of the year!

I’m so sad that the holiday season is so close to being over. While it’s been crazy and hectic and I have had quite a few experiences of frustration and desperation at the busy mall trying to get all of our shopping done, I thoroughly have enjoyed this last month. It’s the little stuff that I just love: chatting with co-workers about our holiday plans, random homemade treats in the office, 24-hour Christmas music on the local easy listening station, making plans with my dad to watch White Christmas, the holiday parties at work that we dread going to but where we always end up having a really nice time, driving around in the blistering cold looking for holiday-shaped pretzels and red and green sprinkles (ultimately hitting up 4 stores), and sorting through the usual junk mail and dreaded bills to find delightful cards and pictures from loved ones wishing us a happy holiday season. I can’t forget to give a shout out to the requisite “holiday sweater lady” in the office who, while during the rest of the year you find quite irritating, always makes you smile this time of year with her random office drop-ins sporting jingly reindeer earrings and bearing gifts of chocolate gold coins and red and green Hershey kisses. I so love that lady right now.

So it’s certainly bittersweet to look at the calendar and realize Christmas Eve is less than a week away. All of the craziness this month has lead up to this weekend, and it will be over so quickly! We say goodbye to paid holidays (after New Years) until Memorial Day, there will be no more Sears commercials advertising tools adorned with red velvet bows, no more fudge in the break room, no more Bing Crosby on the radio, and no more ladies with little Christmas trees on the folded down collars of their white turtle-necks (worn under their festive sweater-vests of course).

And I can’t find my Ally McBeal Christmas soundtrack CD! Actually, to be honest, I lost mine a few years ago, and then borrowed my aunt’s, which is the one I currently have frustratingly misplaced.

Do you know what else we have to look forward to once this holiday season wraps up? No, I’m not talking about the fact that we still have three months of this bitter cold winter to survive or that the suckiest let-down of a day, Valentines Day, is the closest thing to a holiday we have to look forward to; I’m talking about that other unfortunate realization that will come in January when the Visa bill arrives in the mail. Yup, holiday-fueled credit card debt, I’m totally looking forward to that happy day of realization.

Doggy-style

In an effort to avoid any semblance of work today, I've gone and created Bella her own little webpage on dogster. This further supports my admission of lameness yesterday. I don't think I'll use the blogging function though, because just about the only thing dorkier than creating a webpage for your dog would be to update it with periodic diary posts about their life. I had no idea there were actually people out there who would blog in first person from their dog's perspective, but 'tis true. Seriously, check it out, it's pretty amusing, in a sad sort of way.

Ok, enough judging, I'm one of them now.

Lazy

I'm just way too lazy these days to come up with something to write that sounds somewhat intelligent. I don't know what my deal is, sometimes I think I try WAY too hard at this blogging thing, I'm seriously so lame. In the last three days I've started to write about the Christmas party with my college girls last Friday (7th annual!), several anecdotes about time spent with Lisa since she's come back in town, about my lack of time and energy to finish shopping for Christmas, and a reencountmant of a sorta-scary/sorta-cool incident at the Chinese buffet down the street from my house involving a couple police officers with rifles (yea I said rifles, not just their handguns, they broke out the big guns... literally) doing army crawls and crazy maneuvers around the restaurant that WE were dining in! (Wow, do I get some sort of prize for longest and most pointless run-on sentence ever written?)

Anyways, I think all I can handle right now is some pictures, and maybe a few captions.

Yup, that's right, I'm putting out on the web a picture showing my white icky stomach in the middle of the winter. Well whatever... this proves that I'm not making up the whole bellydancing thing.

We went here (Café Latte in St. Paul)...

... for some yummy desserts and coffee on our first night with Lisa back in town! (Wow, I am looking shiny, I think I need to start making a habit of re-applying the pressed powder a little more often throughout the day.)

Liz's lovely holiday table set-up for the girls' Christmas party/dinner. She made us each our own green and red personalized placemat, isn't that sweet?! Notice the pomegranate martinis on the table - - those mothers were delish. (I had about six.)

Hee! Here we are doing our "Heeeey!" picture, a must-take-photo at all buddy events. I'm pretty sure noone really knows the origin of this tradition, but I don't mind it a bit because it gives me an excuse to look really strange in a picture. I pretty much look ridiculous in every picture I am in, so at least with these guys, I can laugh at it and claim it was on purpose. (Front row starting on the left: Betsy and Liz; 2nd row: Kate and Angela; Back row: me and Heidi.)

And finally, a shot of my sweet little pup, Bella (who's not really a pup I suppose, considering she'll be 1 year old at the beginning of January). She is so cute and snuggly and precious, I just cannot handle it.

Oh Christmas Tree!

Last week we got our Christmas tree all up and pretty, doesn’t it look festive and sparkly and amazingly symmetrical?

I picked it out, and if I must say, I am evidently “the shit” at picking out Christmas trees, thank you very much. Actually, this picture doesn’t do it justice, I’m still trying to figure out how to take a good picture with my new and tiny and wonderful little digital camera (an early Christmas present from my lovely husband). On closer inspection, the tree seems to be a little bit sparse, but I swear that’s got to be my poor photography skills, because in real life it seemed cluttered to the max with funky mismatched ornaments, gold and red glass bulbs, and glittery white lights.

Speaking of lights, until last week, I have never in my life had to put the lights on a Christmas tree. Traditionally, that was always my dad’s job growing up, and last year Dan naturally stepped up as the “man of the house” and took on the task. This year, however, he threw a bit of a stink about not wanting to have anything to do with stringing the lights on the tree, and being incredibly naïve I didn’t understand what the big deal was, so I agreed to do it. Just the fact that he offered, in exchange, to make dinner and do the dishes should have raised a red flag, but evidently I can be pretty oblivious to glaringly obvious signs of impending danger. (Doesn’t that seem like an easy and absurdly clear choice – do the dishes or decorate for Christmas?)

Anyways, putting lights on the Christmas tree, well apparently it sucks, and now I know. There are a variety of reasons why this seemingly simple task is so sucky, (each reason requiring its own bullet on account of the high suckiness levels going on there):

• It might just be the tree we bought this year (a balsam), but holy crap, putting the lights on our tree f-ing HURT! I started out wearing just a short-sleeve t-shirt and quickly put on a sweatshirt and mittens in an effort to spare the poor skin on my hands and arms any further torture from those prickly, scraping needles! I still got a little red rash on my wrists, and almost drew blood through my mittens a few times, but it helped a little. And let me tell you, I certainly didn’t keep my pain to myself, I was wincing and crying and complaining the whole way through, because if I’m suffering, so must all around me. Who knew those pine needles would feel like prickly death on my poor sensitive skin? I certainly DID NOT!
• There is truly no way to keep strands of lights from getting all tangled into one giant mess from one holiday season to the next. Dan swears he was ultra-careful about putting them away last year, specifically rolling them up, each strand individually, but the box of jumbled-up mess I opened prove that his efforts were futile. Are there magical little trolls decked out in camouflage who sneak into unsuspecting people’s storage closets and basements after the holiday season, making a mess of those once-a-year-appearing items which their victims have painstakingly worked at keeping organized? Do they thrive on witnessing the sweaty exasperation of a poor woman at her wit’s end buried in a sea of green cords? It’s a conspiracy… it’s got to be!
• I’m pretty sure there’s no simple or structured way of actually stringing those damn lights onto the tree - - at least I haven’t found one. It seriously took me like two hours, and I was trying so hard to not be picky, but there was always some patch looking horribly bare or green cords hanging very visibly off the front of the tree. Even worse than tediously working to avoiding these issues, is fixing them after-the-fact, which is almost impossible to do without unraveling the entire strand from the tree. Argh.

Ok, lesson learned. Next time pick the dishes.

Lisa Lisa Bo-Bisa

In honor of my best friend Lisa’s impending arrival back in the lovely yet freezing crap-hole that is Minnesota, I have compiled a little list of what makes Lisa so f-ing awesome that she is deserving of such a list.

• Lisa is, unquestionably, the NICEST, kindest, sweetest, most caring person you could ever meet. Seriously, I am not exaggerating. Very rarely does she say anything nasty or ugly about anyone, and when she does it can be assumed that it is certainly deserved, and even more, it is highly likely that it has been squeezed out of her by her very gossipy and ill-tempered friend. (Who, me? No way.)
• This chick has some serious balls, or the feminine equivalent of them anyway. Just a few months after graduation from college, she moved down to Costa Rica, by herself, all alone, knowing no-one, to work and live. Who does that? Certainly not me, the woman who bought a house less than five miles from the home she grew up in and the high school at which she received her education. And not only did Lisa make a huge leap of faith by moving to a new country all on her own, but she made a life for herself down there. She became a teacher, she made some amazing life-long friends, fell in love, and became the godmother to a gorgeous little Tico baby.
• As you can imagine, everyone loves her. She is genuine, sincere, and a great listener. She is one of those people who asks you questions, and actually cares about listening to what you have to say.
• She is beautiful, gorgeous actually, and is always smiling. Her smile and her joyful exuberance are absolutely contagious, and there is never a shortage of laughter when she’s around.
• She is so missed when she’s not around. I feel so lucky to be able to have her back home in just a few short days, and I know that Beronica, Freddy, little Daniel, and especially Alvaro will miss her just as much as so many of us have over the past few years.
• She always makes everything look so easy. Her appearance is both simple and striking at the same time, she speaks Spanish so beautifully and fluently you’d think she had been speaking it since birth, she can navigate the crazy streets of San Jose and avoid potholes like a pro, and I believe she has aced every fricken test she has ever taken since around 1st grade.
• She is the definition of a “best friend”. She has always been there for me when I needed her, she has always listened with a compassionate ear, she has never judged me, she has never acted selfishly (as I know I so often do), and she knows more about me than pretty much anyone in this world knows. We’ve laughed together and cried together, grew up together, done each other’s hair, borrowed each other’s clothes, and asked each other’s advice. I trust her completely, and love her as a sister.

Have a safe flight Lis, I love you, and see you soon!

Just typing, not thinking

I’m bored, hungry, lazy, and exhausted. I’m obviously loads of fun today, don’t you wish you were hanging out with me?

I hate coming back to work after a long weekend, hate it, hate it, hate it. This morning I oh-so-very-much wished I could just stay in bed all day instead of trekking out into the cold for my icy, snowy commute.

Also, I really don’t want to go to that aerobics class tonight, but if I skip it, it will be week number 4 (in a row) of laziness, further ingraining in my guilt-ridden conscience the fact that this class was one big waste of money that could have been spent on much more enjoyable things, like, for example, another big black witchy cauldron.

I am very badly in need of a foil and cut, the lengths of my roots are utterly embarrassing. I called and left a message this morning to see if my lady might be able to do it on Friday, since I have the day off. Cross your fingers for me. I am contemplating doing something different with my color, I’m quite sick of being a blonde actually, but my mind always goes back to my experiment with non-permanent brown hair dye back in the dorms, freshman year. It really wasn’t flattering, but neither was any of the clothing I wore freshman year, or the way I styled my hair, or the extra 5-10 pounds I was carrying, or really my personality as a whole, so I’m thinking I shouldn’t use that experience at that moment of my life as any sort of barometer of what might work today. I like to think I have come a long way since then, although I still can’t escape the rather unfortunate contortions of my face that appear every time I attempt to look sexy or cool on the dance floor.

Wow, I really had no thematic goals when I started writing this and I have done absolutely nothing in the previous paragraphs (if you can call them that) to hide that fact from you, my dear readers. Whatever, if I accomplished anything it has been to amuse myself for 20 minutes or so during this drab Tuesday at the office. Chow.

Chi-Town

Well, I meant to write earlier this week but the days and time just got away from me, so here I am, it’s Wednesday, and I’m going to tell you about my weekend.

So, Thursday morning (yes, almost a week ago), my mom, my husband, and I embarked on a little road trip to the fabulous Windy City. I love Chicago, so any excuse for a little mini-vaca there is a good excuse, especially when it involves seeing (and hearing) my ultra-talented little brother sing in a concert for his school. He is currently in his second year studying in the Music Conservatory at the Chicago School of Performing Arts.

We got off to a rather slow start Thursday morning when we stopped over at my parents’ house to pick up my mother and the car. We had decided to drive my Dad’s Toyota Prius hybrid car, taking advantage of some kick-ass gas-mileage. The only issue I have with those crazy hybrid cars comes from my inexperience with them. Instead of starting the car by sticking the key in and turning it, all you have to do is have the key on you somewhere and press the start button. Yes, there’s a button. Well, I still have no idea what I did, but somehow I locked up the transmission and the little bugger wouldn’t start. I must have pressed that button, as well as the P (for Parking) button, 15 times, which probably didn’t help the matter at all. (You’re not even supposed to press the P button, so that shows you how screwed up I was.) In the mean time, my mom was in the backseat breathing like a crazy woman, so when Dan finally got the car started (after a call to my dad at work), we had to wait another 15 minutes for the windshield to defrost.

It was smooth sailing from there on out, unless you count the fact that I locked up the transmission again when we stopped for gas 45 minutes later. Whatever.

So you know how it’s common to bring snacks on road trips (you know, Doritos, Oreos, peanut M&M’s)? Well my mom, she is not common. She brought with her a HUGE Target bag with the following contents: two monstrous Sam’s Club size bags of lime tortilla chips (already opened), a jar of pineapple salsa, bowls from her kitchen, and a 24 oz can of pecans, almonds, and cashews. So weird.

Chicago was wonderful, as usual, and I so very much wish Dan and I could drop everything and move there tomorrow. I absolutely love the idea of living in the city, and I know I would have no trouble making it my home. I guess for now I’ll just have to get the most out of each and every minute of my sporadic visits, but I’m not letting go of my dream to live in the city quite yet.

Thursday night when we got there we checked into the hotel and did some walking around Grant Park, which is pretty much right across the street from Nathan’s college, and then went for a leisurely coffee, passing the time until the concert. The concert was wonderful, as expected, and Nathan was one of the four men with solos, which of course makes his mother and sister even more proud. His talent continues to astound me every time I see him perform, I still can’t believe my little brother is going to be an opera singer.

Off topic. Nathan told me his friend said I’m hot, is it wrong that I took that as even more of a compliment because of the fact that he is gay? I think it goes back to that whole theory (well, not sure if I should call it a theory because it is a total FACT) that women are often more concerned with impressing other women than men. I have this mentality that gay men (yes I know I’m generalizing) have pretty good taste, so I hold their opinions of how I look at a much higher level of importance than, say, my husbands friend Brandon. Just as I couldn’t care less about what Dan thinks of my new shoes, but I would give serious consideration to anything my friend Betsy might have to say about them.

Back on topic. Nathan “fit us in” for a late dinner after the concert, as he had plans to see Harry Potter at Midnight with a few of his friends. Yea, we had to remind him that we didn’t just drive seven hours to see him sing in his hour and a half concert, we were hoping to maybe spend a little time with him as well. He’s definitely the typical self-absorbed 19 year-old college punk, I can’t knock it though, I have TOTALLY been there. ;) A few years ago I took self-absorbed to a whole new level.

Anyways, we went to the beautiful Grand Lux Cafe down on the Magnificent Mile and were seated in a booth by the window with a great view overlooking Michigan Avenue. My mom’s comment of “Oh, I thought this came with REAL lettuce” to the poor guy who dared to bring out her lettuce wraps with iceberg lettuce, (though that’s generally how they’re served), did manage to bring down the group a bit, but only momentarily.

The next morning we went for breakfast at this dive-y diner called Beef ‘n Brandy, only about four blocks from my brother’s dorm and our hotel. It was the kind of place where you can get a decent breakfast for $2.99, enjoy a bottomless cup of weak black coffee, and listen to old ladies gossip in the booth next to you, the table across from them piled high with their tacky hats and crazy poofy coats. It was the perfect way to start out the day in Chicago.

After breakfast Dan and I got time to ourselves to do some shopping while my mom sat in on my brother’s voice lesson. I ended up finding the coat I have been looking for since the beginning of fall at Filene’s Basement for $100, down from $250.00. So even though Christmas is coming up and there is no reason why I should be spending money on myself, I bought it anyways. I haven’t worn it yet because Dan suggested having his grandma give it to me for Christmas, which would subside some of my shopper’s guilt. I should probably start working on my surprised face now.

Nathan had to go into work for a few hours so the three of us spent the afternoon at the Art Institute of Chicago, roaming the European painting and sculpture galleries for most of it. I have to say, seeing the original paintings that I have studied in textbooks throughout middle school and high school is just so humbling and awe-inspiring, especially the French Impressionist stuff – Monet, Renoir, Pissaro. Absolutely incredible. That place is monstrous, by the way, we were there for almost four hours and didn’t see half of the collection. Definitely somewhere I’d like to return to, when I have more time.

When my brother got off work we met up with him and decided to check out Millennium Park. We watched people skate on the ice rink, walked around the Lurie Garden, and I took lots of pictures of the Jay Pritzker Pavilion, which is just incredible. It was nice to just be a part of Chicago on a Friday night; the city is so vibrant and alive, even in the cold winter. My brother took us to Hackney’s for dinner, a very small and quaint pub with a kind of “neighborhood” feel to it. Definite “two thumbs up” goes to the management who, at pretty much the end of our meal, came over and very graciously asked us if we would be willing to move to the table in the corner so they could accommodate a big group coming in shortly. It was like we had won the lottery; they offered us another round of drinks on the house and free deserts, and all we had to do was move to a table 5 feet away that was way better than the one we were at. I think my response was, “Well, Yeaaah!” I’m certainly not one to pass up free stuff! The key lime pie, by the way, was delicious, though I could only stuff a few bites (bummed off my mom) into my already horribly full stomach.

Saturday was our last day, and we weren’t staying long, so we got up pretty early, checked out of the hotel, had a quick bagel and coffee, and headed out to do the ultimate Chicago touristy thing, we paid $12 a piece to go up on the Sears Tower Skydeck. I admit, it was cool to see the entire city from up there, and we had a really good time, so it was worth it. (Definitely just a “one-time-thing” though.) After that, we were pretty much out of there; we said our goodbyes and got on the road. We went a bit out of the way so we could stop in Aurora, a suburb about 45 minutes out of the city, and visit my cousin and her husband, whose baby girl Alexis (their first) was born just a few weeks ago. Our little visit turned into four and a half hours and take-out Chinese, so we didn’t really leave the Chicago suburbs until after 6:30 PM. Blech. So the drive home, well it sucked really really bad, but we made it, and we were fast asleep in our cozy bed by 2:00 AM.

So that is that - - our trip to Chicago, in way more detail than I’m sure anyone would care to know! It was a great time, and I’m all ready to do it again (except, of course, for the driving part, I can’t stress any more how much that really really sucked on the way home).

4 8 15 16 23 42

So I know most people that read this don’t watch Lost, but I have to express my intense anger with the show’s producers, who it seems are simply “winging it” when it comes to their development of major plot lines. I am now convinced that these pricks seriously have no idea what they’re doing and where they’re going with this show, and now that they’ve got us all by our balls they’re laughing all the way to the bank with their big fat paychecks. I found the following excerpt of the most recent edition of the Ask Ausiello column on tvguide.com to be the most infuriating, but basically his whole interview with Lost producers Damon Lindelof and Carlton Cuse pissed me off.

Will we get any clarification about the numbers this
season?

Damon: Carlton might want to punch me for actually going on record and saying this, but I think that that question will never, ever be answered. I couldn't possibly imagine [how we would answer that question]. We will see more ramifications of the numbers and more usage of the numbers, but it boggles my mind when people ask me, "What do the numbers mean?"

Excuse me, but what? How can he even have the audacity to say that it “boggles” his mind that people want to know what the numbers mean. Ok, how about the fact that the fricken numbers have been the central mystery of the show since last season? Not only are they a huge part of Hurley’s back story and are the supposed reason why crazy French-lady Danielle and her team ended up on the island to begin with, but this season the same sequence of numbers ends up on the hatch and is the code that must be put into the doomsday computer every 108 (which is actually the sum of the numbers) minutes to keep the world from imploding. I could go on for days talking about the references to the numbers in the show (Flight 815 anyone?) because yes I am that big of a geek, but also because the show’s producers have given us these little nuggets all along. Now they’re going to tell us there’s no actual point to all these references, we are supposed to chock it up to a series of coincidences?

Wrorrrr! Someone seriously needs to sic the Lostzilla and those f-ing polar bears on J.J. Abrams and his crew of smirky ass-hole writers and producers.

Good Sh#%

When I like something, I really really like something, to the point of life-altering obsession. So I thought I’d share with you a list of a few of these things that I have become quite smitten with as of late. Mock if you must...

1. The new Strawberry Yogurt Burst Cheerios. These little buggers absolutely deserve the number one spot because they are the most delicious little morsels of sustenance that I have quite possibly ever put into my mouth. I know I’m kind of late on this, I’ve seen them being hailed all over internet land for quite some time now, but I finally bought a box on a whim during one of Dan’s and my lingering trips through Target. I couldn’t imagine how they could be as good as people swore they were, but I was wrong. Oh was I wrong. So wrong. They are heaven in a box. I implore you to buy yourself a box, and leave the bowl in the cupboard, the spoon in the drawer, and the milk in the refrigerator because all you need is a couch on which to plant your little bottom and the delicious box of goodness that in no way should be saved for breakfast only. Eat them as a snack, or desert, or better yet, for dinner! Believe me, I have.
2. My treadmill. I’ve abandoned it for months now, but this past week I finally got back on the mother and started running again. I don’t understand why it’s so easy to forget how AMAZING running makes you feel, but I’m thankful I am finally back into it. And many thanks to my darling husband who gave me that final kick in the ass to get back in the game when he started up again a few weeks ago and made me feel incredibly guilty about not doing the same.
3. Peanut Butter. I am in a total peanut butter phase these days, and I’m still not really sure what triggered it. I would be happy eating peanut butter sandwiches for all meals, and seriously, screw the jelly, who needs it? I crave the stuff, and when I’m putting in on my bread, I have a horrible time resisting the urge to stick my finger in there and go to town sans bread. Only once has my willpower failed, and in an attempt to save what little dignity I still had, I got myself a spoon instead of sticking my germ-ridden fingers in the little jar. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, and I swear to God, I’m not pregnant, so don’t even think it.
4. Fitted cowl-necked sweaters. I am obsessed with sweaters these days, I love how cozy they are, how pretty and soft they make me feel, and I am especially digging the cowl-necked sweaters. They have the turtle-neck neckline I love, without the choking and gag-inducing affect that a turtle-neck actually has on me. I have had a really bad gag reflex for as long as I can remember; case in point, I threw up on my dentist on a few occasions when I was younger, I can’t even hold a pencil in between my teeth for more than 3 seconds without feeling like I am being choked within an inch of my life, and sometimes during a messy and slow commute home I actually take off the turtle-neck shirt I’m wearing from under my coat while driving because I just can’t stand to be in it any longer. So, as you can imagine, cowl-necked sweaters are my saving grace, and I adore them.
5. TV. I know, I am such a loser, but I haven’t really been into very many TV shows since the days of Dawson’s Creek, Felicity, and “Must See TV” on Thursday nights. Now, all of a sudden, I’ve found myself crazy obsessed with way too many TV shows at once. Here’s my couch-potato schedule:

• Sunday: Desperate Housewives & Grey's Anatomy
• Monday: How I Met Your Mother (have you seen this show, it is soooo hilarious, our dear old Doogie is insane) & Related
• Tuesday: Commander in Chief
• Wednesday: Hello… Lost!
• Thursday: The OC (last week’s episode really sucked though, anyone else agree?) and Without a Trace

Sick?

Yesterday ended up being a much different day than I could have imagined when I climbed out of bed at 5:30 AM.

So I got to work just before 7:00 and immediately started feeling like crap. It was sort of an arbitrary crap, because I’m not sick or anything, I just felt… yucky. I had a raging headache, and was feeling tired and unmotivated and bored and cranky and fat. So into my head popped the idea of leaving work “sick”, and once it’s in there, there’s really no turning back. I sat for ten minutes staring at an email to my boss saying I was going home sick, debating whether or not I should hit the send button. Well I did, and by 8:00 I was back in my car headed home, calling my husband to let him know. He, of course, ridiculed me for a bit, but we decided to meet for lunch later on before noon. I drove home in a happy daze, my head full of ideas of what I could do with my day. My headache had mysteriously vanished.

It was strange listening to the radio morning shows on the way home from work, I have to say that was a first. Even more strange was that I heard my aunt call in to the station to weigh in on their discussion on marriage and money, and how couples deal with the whole “how much can you spend on yourself?” dilemma. She was talking about her handbag fetish, and how she can easily drop a few hundred on a new purse, but he will call and get her permission before making a $20 purchase for some sort of tool he needs. It’s not that she makes him ask for her permission, he just does. I think it’s safe to say, my poor uncle is officially whipped.

Anyways, so back to my day-o-laziness. When I got home I snuggled with my very surprised and excited pup on the couch for a few hours, tried to get a little nap in, put on some comfy jeans, and headed back out to pick up Dan. It was so nice to see him and I felt horribly guilty about the fact that I was playing hooky and he had to go back to work after lunch. When we were driving back to his office, we went right by a movie theatre, and I immediately knew what I wanted to do with my afternoon.

So for the first time in my life (if you don’t count the movie I saw in our hotel in Vegas last winter) I went to a movie theatre all by myself. I’ve wanted to see In Her Shoes since the fricken day it came out, and the fact that it was noon and they had a 12:15 showing was like God telling me to go for it. My solo-movie-going experience ended up being kind of bizarre actually. First, after purchasing my ticket, I went to the snack counter, because you just have to go to the snack counter when you go to a movie. Since I had just eaten lunch (I could literally still taste it), I wouldn’t allow myself to get my usual “popcorn, light butter”, so I thought I would just get a drink. Yes, I decided, one nice big Diet Coke with lots of ice and a straw was exactly what I wanted. So without looking at prices or options, I asked for a large Diet Coke, and I took note of the weird look that the hippie counter boy gave me as he went about fulfilling my order. I was given the reason for the weird look when he handed me the most enormous plastic cup I have ever seen and told me it would be $4.25. I had just bought 64 ounces of nutri-sweet and caffeine, all for myself. It was almost too big to carry with one hand! When he asked me how many straws I wanted, I sheepishly told him, “just one”, and ran off to the bathroom to flush my bladder in preparation of 2 hours alone, in the dark, with 64 ounces of Diet coke.

I was surprised to find the restroom completely pitch black. Despite my efforts to press the button on the wall that wasn’t really a button and jump around to initiate what I assumed were motion lights, it stayed dark. It actually kind of freaked me out, so I got the hell out of there and practically ran into the guy standing out in front of the men’s restroom. I come to find out the lights are off in there as well, and he has recruited another hippie boy to get them back on. Ten minutes later, I’m still standing there, sipping on my 64 ounces of Diet coke, talking to the three guys now waiting to use the restroom, watching as hippie movie theatre boy runs back and forth in a frantic fury. At this point my need to go to the bathroom had intensified, due to the aforementioned sipping of my monstrous soda. Finally, the guy fetched a couple flashlights and told us to go for it so we didn’t miss the beginning of our movies. I have to say, I was a little freaked out in there in the dark, but I forged through the fear.

So I’m finally sitting in the theatre, accompanied only by about 6 retirees (the only people seeing romantic comedies at 12:15 PM on a Wednesday), and the little commercial/TV thing has finished and told us the movie would be starting momentarily. Cut to another ten minutes later, we’re still sitting there staring at the frozen screen. Hippie guy finally runs in and apologizes, says he’s been dealing with the bathrooms, and at last the movie is up and running. My bladder prep wasn’t exactly successful, and I ended up going to the bathroom three times during the movie, not even making a dent in the 64 ounces of cancer in my cup holder.

The movie ended up being great, by the way, they stayed so true to the book, which I loved, and Toni Collette was just wonderful. Go see it. Really, really good.

In summary, my day yesterday was, in one word, awesome. It was so great to just take a day off in the middle of the week and just do whatever I wanted. It’s definitely something I shouldn’t get used to, but I can’t say I’m feeling very guilty about it. One thing I do feel guilty about, however, is skipping Belly Dancing last night. Bad. Bad, bad, bad.