PSA: AJ

To those of you who are fans of AJ from alt.fashion, here's a public service announcement. I've heard from her. She's fine. Jackson, MS is a zoo, but she and her loved ones are well.

--P.

What a difference a day makes

I realize with the catastrophic events that have been happening due South of here, it's a bit much for me to whine. But I will, anyway.

After all, less than a week ago, I was lounging at my ease on the sunny, yet not-too-hot New Hampshire seacoast, reading trashy novels and sucking down steamed lobster dunked in melted butter.

Now I'm in Illinois. I'm on Phase 1 of the South Beach Diet, because surprise! lobster has calories. My kids have gone back to school, so that whole species of torture has come roaring back to life. I've had two volunteer committee meetings already and there are three eight-inch high stacks of mail and various hand-outs on my desk (which was whistle-clean when I left for NH). The phone is ringing off the hook. The horror of overseeing my children's homework has already started.

I am really not ready for this.

On top of that, I went to the endodontist today to finish up a root canal, and while the experience was not the most painful I've ever had, I've spent the past few hours slurping down mug after mug of tea and wondering morosely why, when he was supposed to be working my tooth, did my endodontist see fit to leave my gums apparently novocaine-free, whereas my nose, upper lip, left cheek, and left eye were completely numbed to the point where I had to hide from the world because when I talked, I looked like a stroke victim.

And once more, he offered me no drugs. Bastid. And there is NO BOOZE on Phase 1 of South Beach.

Joke says his new car makes him feel as though he went to bed with Bo Derek and woke up with Bo Diddly. He was referring to a car he bought, but as Joke's car runneth (or runneth not, as the case may be) so runneth my life. I feel as though I answered a personal ad with a picture of Gary Cooper playing Beau Geste. But when my date showed up to pick me up, it was Beau Bridges playing himself.

--P.

The Atlantic Ocean, Lake Michigan, and the Red Sea

We made it. I didn't post about it last night because my DSL was acting up. (Pause, then add in Martin Short-as-Ed Grimley-voice) "Isn't that always the way?"

But we actually drove from New Castle, NH--an actual island in the Atlantic Ocean--to Arcadia, Illinois--on the shores of Lake Michigan--in one day. We left NH at 5:00 a.m., (4:00 a.m. Central Time) and arrived in Arcadia at 9:30 p.m., after dropping the boy off at his slumber party in nearby Newtopia. A total of seventeen and a half hours of driving, not counting very, very brief stops to refuel us and/or the car.

And it wasn't that bad. The kids were actually amazingly well-behaved. The driving wasn't that bad. We didn't hit any traffic and we experienced a bare minimum of road construction.

I am so totally impressed with my husband. All those remarks about him being completely insane or on crack? Just hot air. He is a genius.

And in other news, I'm not PMSing any more.

--P.

Is it a Red Sox cap or a martyr's crown?

We're leaving New Hampshire (wanh!) tomorrow morning at 5:00 a.m. That's Ack Emma, people. Not my best time of day.

This is so we can drive to Chicago in one day--which if you don't stop to eat, put gas in the car, or pee--takes 16 hours.

OK, now, let's be real. That was the plan as devised by That Stud Muffin I Married. The man with a plan. The guy with the maps, AAA guides, and the GPS. Mr. Type-A-About-Travel himself.

But I am his sneaky wife, and I figured that IF by any chance we got a later start than 5:00 in the morning OR hit traffic OR got really tired, THEN we could crash at some hotel ... so I secretly packed a small bag with some overnight stuff for me and the kids.

(But the Stud Muffin was on his own as regards clean underwear and a toothbrush. If he wants to drive all day and night without stopping, that's his bidnis--but he'll get all hairy and smelly and have moss on his teeth, that's all. That will show HIM.)

But then the phone rang. The slumber party that my son was going to on Saturday night? Has been rescheduled for Friday night. Tomorrow night. Which means that we really, actually, in sooth HAVE to make it to Chicago in one day, for real, no shiznit.

Fuck.

So I'm off to bed now. And it's well before midnight--easily the earliest I've gone to bed this entire vacation. I'll be getting up at about 3:30 to put on my martyr mommy crown I mean my Red Sox baseball cap (not to mention the rest of my clothes) and then start driving and driving and driving.

Talk to you soon from the land where the Sox are White.

--P.

There is nothing like the sight of navy blue sausages to make a girl lose her appetite

I was getting dressed after my shower today, and already regretting the "dinner" I ate last night when That Stud Muffin I Married was off in NYC and I was alone with the kids: a few heapin' handfuls of crackers, a Diet Coke, and then after the kids went to bed, two, count' em, two bowls of ice cream: Brigham's The Curse Reversed (vanilla with chocolate covered peanuts and fudge swirl) and The Big Dig (vanilla with caramel swirls and chocolate chunks.)

You know, the usual woman-with-no-witnesses-around-dieting-backlash-cornucopia-of-crap. Carbs, chocolate, salt--BRING IT ON, baby, because we are suffering from advanced PMS--i.e., Poppy Meltdown Status.

So today I was trying to squeeze into my jeans. And it was so. not. happening. As I tugged at them, I was thinking regretfully of the recent night I spent eating pizza and drinking beer and willing my jeans to stretch. Well, they've been washed and dried, and while they don't remember the pizza, apparently my body does. And I'm tugging at the zipper in fucking VAIN and nothing's happening. They will not zip.

Then I thought to check the label. Sure enough, these were my husband's jeans. And I stopped freaking out. See, he's not that big of a guy. He's no longer wearing the 29" waist he was sporting when we met, but he hasn't gotten THAT big. And let's face it; his hips and thighs are never going to be able to compete with mine.

So I pulled his jeans off and pulled mine on. And while I'm not happy with the final effect, I can at least leave the house without getting arrested.

Unless you're a PETA member whose main concern is the health and welfare of the local camel population. Because it does look like I'm trying to illegally smuggle one of their toes, or at the very least, carry one as a concealed weapon. If you know what I mean, and I think you do.

--P.

So where the hell is Darcy?

You're Elizabeth Bennett of Pride and Prejudice by
Jane Austen!


Which Classic Female Literary Character Are you?
brought to you by Quizilla


p.s. Stolen from Jasmine. Thanks, Jasmine!

And some have tight jeans thrust upon them

So a few weeks of eating lobster dunked in butter and sucking down Margaritas every chance I get have definitely taken their toll. I brought all fat clothes when we left Chicago, but they're starting to bite me anyway. Hard.

Today I mostly lounged around. What do I mean, "mostly?" I sat around like a god-damned slug all day reading The Amber Spyglass and playing Snood Solitaire. About 4:00 I decided that I'd better do something constructive, so I hung up curtains. Except I thought I bought three pairs and I only bought three panels, which means another trip to Linens 'n' Things is in order. But after an hour on the stepstool with the Philips head screwdriver and the measuring tape, I figured I was due for a shower.

After the shower I went to put on a pair of jeans because it's quite chilly here; maybe 70 degrees and getting colder.

Well, the jeans were THISTIGHT and I had to shoehorn myself into them and wrestle with the zipper for a while ... and while I have to admit that the rear view was definitely improved (as under normal circumstances my ass is as flat as a wallet with no money in it) the view from the front was horrifying. Not to mention the view from the side.

So I did the only thing I could do. I called Domino's and ordered a couple of pizzas and some Buffalo wings. And then I sat down and ate pizza and drank beer. See, I know these jeans, and the only thing that's going to make them get looser is if I stuff down a few slices of pizza and drink enough beer to force my entire lower body outward, at which point the denim will loosen up.

Oh, right. Like you have anything better to suggest.

--P.