It's My Journal & I'll Blog If I Want To
May 06, 2005
A collection of half-finished and half-assed thoughts that are all I have time for today, what with the job and the creating life and the miracle of it all.
On Tuesday night, Jason and I went to one of our favorite restaurants just for the sheer hell of it. (Also because we were having a bit of a face-off about who's turn it was to cook that night.)
(Hint: It is never my turn.)
Anyway, towards the end of the meal, a girl came up out of nowhere and said to Jason, "I just wanted to tell you how much I love your website."
I immediately acted supremely retarded and kind of let out a shriek, because DUDE, he just got RECOGNIZED. Like a ROCK STAR. As we were explaining to the girl that no, he's never been just randomly recognized like that, a girl at the NEXT TABLE suddenly turned to Jason and said, "Wait, you're D.C. Foodies?"
Surreal, y'all. He's totally famous, which means tons of people in my neighborhood know exactly what's giving me heartburn this week.
(Hey, remember the "gah gah gah" divider thing I used to use all the time? If so, you've been reading way too long.)
In other Jason News, he sent flowers to my office yesterday. This is nothing new. The man spoils me terribly and loves to send flowers for no reason at all. It's so bad my coworkers barely even comment (through bitter, gritted teeth) about them anymore because they just know it's not my birthday or anniversary or Flag Day or anything.
Regardless, I love getting flowers and always take time to parade them around the hallways for just a few minutes more than is really necessary.
But then I read the card for these particular flowers.
Happy Mother's Day, babe!
OH MY GOD. AND ALSO, AWWWW.
The note went on to say how excited he is about the baby and finding out the sex on Monday and also, that he loves loves loves me.
I cannot lie. I totally cried. Who knew you COULD top getting sent flowers for no reason?
My office is no longer stocking the hot chocolate mix with the mini-marshmallows in it. This makes me very sad.
The baby is kicking now. No more little fluttery popping sensations. We've moved on to full-on thumps and jabs. They're strong enough to feel throughout the day now too, which means if I'm ever just staring off into space at work I get a nice reminder to pay attention and work, Ma, because I want to go to Harvard and probably already need braces.
My boobs are very big. I am very pleased about this. So is Jason.
My nails are very long and too pretty for me to bite down to stubs. And so strong I snapped an emery board while trying to file them. I am very pleased about this as well. So are Jason and the pets, who all enjoy a good back scratch now and then.
I need to break up with my therapist today. It's a long story, but mostly, it's not her, it's me. I've changed, moved on and want different things in life. Like an extra $110 a week that is not being spent on therapy.
If you were a carry-out lunch place, why in God's name would you sell the bottles of Pellegrino with the non-twist-off caps? Do I look like the type of person who still carries a bottle opener around on her keychain? That I carry around just in case I fancy a nice cold PELLEGRINO?
I do, however, look like the type of person who would seriously injure herself back at the office while trying to pry the damn cap off with a pair of scissors. Shit.
If you ever recognize me on the street? You probably just want to stay the hell away. For your own safety.