My bag came today! And, in the SAME UPS delivery (which arrived during a HAIL STORM I kid you not) I also got my copy of The Handbag: An Illustrated History. And I got down on my knees and thanked the lord, because he is good, and he understands my love of the handbag.
Amen.
On Saturday, I have a lunch date with the uber fantastic Shana. I am excited about this for two reasons; on is that Shana is just so damn fun to be around and I know that I will wind up laughing until I pee my sides hurt, but the OTHER reason is that in her previous life Shana was a Makeup Girl and she’s going to take me to Sephora and make me look 20 years younger!
Is that asking too much? Nah.
I have been staring at my laptop since 8:00 am. I have written four hundred e-mails (hello, AisleDash bloggers! I suspect you all hate me because I will! not! stop! with the e-mails! so sorry) and three actual blog posts (oh you can’t see any of them because they’re not for today — so sorry). I have read a full day’s worth of posts about weddings and the environment (you can read them too! right here!) and page after page of instructions about How To Lead a WIN Blog (sadly, it STILL does not involve walking first in the line into happy hour).
Moral: work is haaaaard. Oh, no, wait, that’s not it at all. Is it? I forget now.
The upside of all this working, working, working, is that I get to mull really interesting things, like the connection between age and self esteem, and then people PAY me for my thoughts! Or at least give me a place to dump them so that they don’t take up too much space in my brain, space I need to keep track of things like who has soccer practice on what night and when the phone bill is due. Last week I wrote a piece at BlogHer about plastic surgery packages aimed at mothers; today I have a new column up at mamazine.com, about turning 40.
I have one wrinkle, over my lip, that is making me insane these days. I find myself, at night, staring at it in the mirror, applying extra face cream to that spot, in the hope that maybe it will go away. I know that it comes from gritting my teeth in frustration and stress, when the kids are wild or my husband is late or I am overwhelmed by work. I am currently carrying around the number of a highly recommended dermatologist, one who will NOT shoot me full of Botox but WILL prescribe something topical, something that might decrease the wee wrinkle, the one no one else can see.
Go ahead, call me shallow. At this point, I’m too tired to care.
I’ve spent the last two days subbing in Charlie’s class at school. Every time I sub I wind up complaining about it to Chris, who says, “THEN JUST SAY NO.” It’s probably a good thing she lives so far away because if she were closer, she would get in the car and drive to my house and smack me.
And I would totally deserve it.
In four to seven business days, this bag will arrive on my doorstep.
By my calculations, that means that by next Friday (at the LATEST) I will be schlepping Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and wadded up Kleenex and my gigantic Filofax around in my brand new J. Crew Somerset tote.
And also my iBook, because I have a new job! That may require the schlepping of the iBook!
Which OF COURSE means I need a new bag. A new SILK bag. Duh.
Hello! Did you think I was dead? I’m not! Thank goodness.
Where have I been? Oh, you know, here and there and in Albuquerque . . . the usual.
My brother and his family were at my parents’ house over the weekend, and when I told my mother that the boys didn’t have soccer (because GOD FORBID anything conflict with the OU/Texas football game) she said, “Why don’t you come home?”
And I said, “Well, uh, because, see . . . I don’t know. Why don’t I come home?!?” And so I did.
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