Things I should be doing instead of hanging out here on a Saturday morning:
No really, there is a lot of cleaning to be done up in here.
Seriously, I've been wandering around the apartment telling myself, "Just pick a room. Any room."
Get my car's new emissions sticker, seeing as it expired back in May.
Get the oil changed while I'm at it.
Which according to Jiffy Lube reminding sticker, maybe should have been done, oh I dunno, 2,500 miles ago?
(seriously, maybe I should start with just getting all my laundry off the couch. I can do that much, right?)
Find out where my friend lives so I can get to her house for her garden party.
Find out when garden party starts.
Figure out how far Marblehead is from Boston.
Figure out if I can even go as I am going to see Jim Gaffigan tonight and that is being held in opposite direction of Boston.
If my 20/10 eyes don't deceive me, I should probably make another bikini wax appt.
Dry my hair before it takes on Rastafarian proportions.
However and instead, I will ruminate about the following:
1. That it's cute that my dad sends me text messages about how my house deal is going, adding "Love, Dad". My dad sends me text messages, people.
Which reminds me, I should probably tell him I'm going to be showing up at his place in Chicago on Thursday, hoping he'll let me crash there til Sunday, because, uh, well...yeah, let's hope he remembered that I said I was coming for the weekend "at the end of July" for the "conference" I'm attending which is 1 mile from his sweet pad. Otherwise, I just may very well be fucked.
(mental note to add to Saturday's To Do list: Call Dad)
2. The realization that texting my friend Matt (after a night of hanging out/drinking w/ him) the clever phrase "P.S. Your mom" around 1 a.m. is not as funny as you thought, though at the time you thought it was comic genius.
3. My new pretty friend, Hollow Squirrel ...
...whom (who?) I met for the first time on Monday and with my local assistance, managed to get her out of hanging with fellow conference attending co-workers who, unlike me, did not know where the Sephora was.
This is my secret way of telling you I took my new girlfriend to Sephora and people, my God, [/whispers] it was MAGIC. Sephora is a woman's Disneyland. "Disneyland for Broads" they should call it.
However and as such, Sephora is definitely a place that requires a "wingwoman" because to be without adequate, skillful supervision, there runs many dangerous perils, such as not benefiting from, say, a verbal soap opera slap, "PUT THE BODY GLITTER BACK, IT MAKES YOU LOOK LIKE A TRAGIC WHORE", ipso facto finding one's self with a shell shocking $300 Visa charge at the register for stuff you don't even want right before you're supposed to be drop some serious bank on a HOUSE in ONE MONTH, JEN-NIF-ER.
(in all seriousness, I put back some Benefit under eye concealer as she thought my expression was that of "placating Sephora rep" based on her observation of my head nod "confirming" the "difference I saw" and in doing so, helped me get out of there for only 60 bucks. A miracle, I can assure you.)
But it wasn't all wine & lipgloss. We got into our first fight right on the very fancy Newbury St.
(still have a few of her hair extensions on my dresser to prove it.)
Apparently lady is not down with me referring to the daily appendage I wear on my shoulder as a pocketbook.
"A 'pocketbook'? That's not a pocketbook," she snitted, "THIS [takes out wallet] is a pocketbook."
Uh, no. That, dear simpleton, is a WALLET.
The thing you keep all your stuff in? Pocketbook. POCKET-BOOOOOOOK.
Were it not for the fact that she has a cute kid waiting for her at home, I probably would have cut her.
Maybe it's a Massachusetts thing? Who knows. But it's always been a pocketbook to me. Not a bag, handbag, or purse. Pocketbook.
Deal with it.
Above: Her superior "that's not a pocketbook" face. Don't you just want to bean her with a complimentary piece of warm bread? No? Just me then?
So, aside from her unwillingness to acquiesce to my quaint "handbag" colloquialism, she was really nice (and she bought dinner, and also, I ate some of her food because I am awesome), and also talks super fast like me (which is good) and does this thing of saying random shit just to see if you're paying attention (to wit, at one point she randomly suggested I bring back the bridal hat.)
So, I hope you had a good time, HS. Sorry the last words you had to hear from me as you drove off in the cab were "POCK- ET. BOOOOOK." in a Captain Caveman voice. But you're wrong and I am right and you will bend to my will on this one.
4. How sort of horrified I was when I walked into the bedroom wearing my 2 towel-post shower get up only to be chastised by Mike:
"Will ya STOP USING MY GOLF CLUBS' TOWEL ALREADY?! I KEEP THROWING IT ON MY CHAIR SO I CAN REMEMBER TO BRING IT OUT TO MY CAR and YOU KEEP. USING. IT."
"I use that to clean off my clubs."
Uh, my bad? And also, "thought it was small."
5. I have waited too long and now my hair now has dreadlocks.
6. Yeah seriously, that bikini wax appt. isn't going to make itself.
7. It is 1:30 in the afternoon and I'm still wearing a towel.