If all goes as it should, in twenty-four hours I will be making the delightful acquaintance of my nephew's nibbly parts. My sister has been hard at work fattening up his cheeks and thighs and other scrumptious edibles because I made it clear I was not flying halfway across the country for a skinny baby. She's gone all mother of the year, too, because even his toes are getting plump. As it should be.
This week has been kind of an ass-kicking as far as hectic schedules go, so I haven't exactly packed for my trip. Did I mention my plane leaves at 9 tonight? I've decided that if today goes anything like yesterday, and worse comes to worse (i.e. I run out of the house with my suitcase as it is now, containing one BlackBerry charger, a pair of baby socks with monkey faces on them, two sets of decorative baby hangers, a pair of black tights, and a digital camera), I'll just borrow some clothes from one of my sisters. Or my brother. I'll be in no position to be selective. In high school, borrowing clothes between the sisters used to come with a one dollar lending fee (totally not kidding). I'm hoping to get that waived due to extenuating circumstances. Like having baby on the brain. Kind of makes it hard to think about anything else. With few notable exceptions, which we will discuss at length soon. Yeah, it's as good as you think it is.
When I finally crawled into bed on Friday night, it was actually Saturday morning and I'd been awake for exactly 24 hours and 8 minutes. When the last time I stayed out until 5:00 in the morning was, I can't tell you (it probably had something to do with vodka, Sarah Brown, and a very expensive cab ride from Brooklyn, but that's just a guess) because I parted with my rock star ways many moons ago. At some point during the evening on Friday, though - somewhere between Total Scrabble Domination and breaking out the third bottle of wine - I decided to stop fixating on a reasonable bed time and the increasingly diminished likelihood of making an early morning run, and just go all in. Meaning, I stopped looking at my watch. I stopped rearranging my mental day planner. Cold turkey. And people, I don't know if you're aware, but I can be a little bit...Type A. That's the warm and fuzzy sociological way of saying I'm totes uptight. I'm always mentally making and remaking plans, compiling to do lists, schedules and whatnot because I simply cannot help it. Blame my mother. Sure, it means I am in bed every night by 9:30 like a good little nun, but boy do I get stuff done. I earn gold stars. And I really like gold stars.
But Friday, the fire was going and I found myself merrily knocking over (another) glass of water onto the hardwood floor and realizing I didn't so much care that Saturday was going to be a wasted day without a single accomplishment, and yes, I WOULD like another glass of wine, please. And the next thing you know, someone announces that it's half past four and I laughed and gave myself three gold stars. Because it turns out, when I go all in, I go all in.
And shortly thereafter, I am reminded of what a hangover feels like.
Ari: All of my shoe/feet complaints have taught you nothing?! Did they at least have the decency to look great?My feet are killing me. Obviously a lot has been going on and I have tons to dish about, but right now the only thing I can concentrate on is the throbbing pain in my poor tootsies. My new position is very... social - an aspect of the job which delights me exceedingly; it just happens to mean less time sitting at my desk admiring my new shoes and more time actually piloting around in them. I know. Hard knock life. Two days in and I'm looking into getting a one of those senior citizen scooters. You know, like a Rascal. Because in two more days, the damage just might be permanent. Bright side: if both of my big toes fall off, I'll get to buy smaller shoes. Closed-toed, naturally, but think of all the options!
Heather: Have we MET? Of course they did. I got them at Target.
Ari: That's my girl!
This morning, my high school Spanish teacher and Facebook friend Phoebe (Gracious! I'm an alliterative genius!) determined that I need "a big hunka man" in my life - specifically, in my bed. Because I'm 30 years old and afraid of thunder. Judge away, I don't care, because that shit scares me senseless. And according to Phoebe, a big hunka man lying next to me in bed would go a long, long way to easing my terror. Seeing as calling for the cat and hiding under my pillow doesn't seem to work, I'm totally on board with The Big Hunka. Especially if when not on thunderstorm duty, he was ammenable to rubbin' some feet. In return, I'd pay handsomely in baked goods and kissin'.
Before I put it off any longer, let me sum up the Blind Date/Friend Date for you: the Date was personable, funny, and attractive in the way which I prefer above all others - nothing lacking, nothing overwhelming. Real. Solid. The Friend, she was pretty much AWESOME and along with her fiance and the Date, we gabbed our faces off for about 5 1/2 hours before realizing hey, staying out til 1:30 on a school night is sort of asking for an ass kicking, and wrapped it up. Now, the Date is either playing it really (really) cool, or was not all that interested after hearing my tale of Kevin the Five-Year-Old Who Thought He Was a Tyranosaurus Rex (I snort a LOT when I tell that one), because I haven't hear a peep. And the Friend, well, we still spend a good five hours a week gabbing our fingers off over email, so that was a solid win.
In other news, tomorrow is the Really Big Shoe. I'm off in the morning to San Antonio for a final interview and I have every hope that the love will be mutual and I'll be back in the workforce lickedy split. Perhaps I didn't realize how much I need to work in order to feel...normal and happy, because as hard as I've tried to maintain a schedule, be productive, set goals and whatnot, I have missed working tremendously. Yeah, the house is clean, the laundry's done, but it just doesn't kick out the same kind of satisfaction I get from doing a job I'm really, really good at. And this particular job, well, the idea of going to work every day with the people I have met makes me pretty excited. So, here's to hopin'. Actually, here's to a little more than hope, because I already canceled the other interview I had this week. Balls to the wall, people.
*** UPDATE ***
New nephew, new president, new job. This is about as good as it gets. I start Monday! P.S. the job is not in San Antonio - that's just where the final interview was held.
I was just about to start in on The Blind Date Thing, but lo, the apartment folks are here to do a property inspection and I feel a little weird about sitting around, sans proper foundation garment (ahem) while they study baseboards and window sills. So, as the kids say, BRB. I'm gonna take a walk. The tale of excitement continues upon my return.
