I have lived in New Jersey for nearly 17 years now, and there’s one thing, one constant, that never ceases to amaze me. If I”m driving normally, it’s completely unacceptable. If I put on my turn signal and changes lanes, 38 angry drivers descend on me, honking and flipping me off. The worse I drive, the better they like it. I could pass someone on the right shoulder of a narrow road, on two wheels, backward, and they’d be all “Dude. That was awesome.”
I went to my friend Erika’s bridal shower this weekend and the hostess organized a game called “I never…” Everyone got a tiny cup with 10 M&Ms in it, and each took a turn saying something she’d never done before. Anyone in the group who had done it had to eat an M&M. No prizes for guessing who ran out of M&Ms first. *ahem*
It snowed for the past three days here. By the third day I needed a few groceries and the store isn’t too far from here, so I thought, “Hey, I”ll walk.” I put on my snow boots and ran jubilantly out into the street, into this world of unspoiled white wonder – and immediately fell right on my butt, slid in a circle in kind of a Sit ‘n Spin way, then fell the rest of the way onto my back.
And what was I thinking as I slid along the pavement, fake Uggs in the air and hemp shopping bags splayed around me? Not “Wow, I hope I didn’t break my leg” or even “It would be great if I don’t get run over right now.” No, it was “Oh man. Did anyone see that?” Because after all, what’s more important? That I not injure myself seriously, or that the neighbors not be able to imitate me for the amusement of their dinner guests?
It’s snowing here. I want a snow day tomorrow so bad that I’m literally sitting by the window getting pissed at people who are driving by at a normal speed, which is, uh… everybody. “No! STOP THAT! It’s SLICK! Slick, I tell you! For the love of God, SLOW DOWN before you plow right into that quarter-inch snowbank!”
I’m spending the day finally getting my home office organized. The first thing I did was gather up all my rejection slips and put them into a file folder labeled “Correspondence from the short-sighted.” Go me!
I bought a pink cashmere twinset this weekend. I’m still not sure why. Twinsets are like eggrolls to me. I think they look good when other people have them. I think I want one. Then I get one and get duck sauce all over it, decide I don’t like it and end up giving it to someone else.
I was chatting this afternoon with a man I have known casually for a few months. He was leaning against the wall, smiling down at me, all warmth and humor and dimply smiles. Just before he walked away, he pressed his card into my palm and said, “Let me know if you ever want to chat or anything.”
Assuming he was hitting on me, I smiled and blushed a little. And when he was gone, I glanced at the card and saw that he’s a psychiatrist. And THAT, my friends, is the story of my life.
The husband comes back from his business trip tonight. I guess it’s just as well. When he’s gone I find myself having full-blown conversations with the cat. Plus when he’s home I actually cook dinner instead of just serving, you know, gin.
I just saw someone using this, like … PHONE thing, except it was hanging on the WALL outside this restaurant. And I was like… whoa, dude. Who you talking to? 1993?
The husband has split for awhile, so that means a couple of key things:
1. I can watch a marathon of Nora Ephron movies without any disparaging remarks in the background
2. I can finally keep the apartment at a comfortable 86 degrees, instead of his preferred thermostat setting, which is “meat locker.”