I’m up eeeeeaaaaarrrrrlllllyyyyy on a Sunday morning after consuming good food and Coronas (Coronae?) – good times, good times. I’m taking a break from finishing this story. It has to be postmarked by October 1st, and I do NOT want to leave anything to chance, So the goal is to have it in the mail tomorrow.
Finge got his mohawk yesterday. He looks SOOOOOOO cute. I’ve said that like 19 times, and I’ve been told that your mom gushing over your mohawk takes away from the cool factor. Being a woman in the barber shop is always such a funny feeling. I can’t explain it. Everybody there is really nice, he’s geen going there for a while, so they know me. I just feel as though I’m trespassing into “Man World.”
Birthdays are on the horizing. Finge turns ten (jeez) and I turn 32 (wtf?). I’ve got a lot of good qualities; cute and clever party planning is not exactly my forte. I’ve pretty much settled on a venue for myself. However, WHYYYYYYYYYYY will Finge’s party cost damn near the same as mine.
I also need to find a personal trainer, because I plan on dropping 15 pounds by my birthday and, ahem, a more by my reunion. it’s one thing for classmates to see me, uh, plush, on the streets; reunion is different. I’m already down four (if I didn’t undo my hard work) Plus, I’m doing the breast cancer walk in a few weeks, and though I don’t expect to hear “Eye of the Tiger” playing whle I’m walking (not a run), but I don’t want to be four steps from death when I’m finished.
Yesterday was so comedic, from beginning to end, I’m convinced that my life is an elaborate practical joke, and there’s a cash prize at the end. Honestly, if the cash prize is big enough, I can’t say I would be mad. People around me are still sort of losing their shit, meaning that I can’t lose mine. It’s actually gotten to the point that losing my shit doesn’t interest me, because it’s not at all profitable. Nothing comes from me turning into an emotional pile of mush. All the things that I thought I would never stop crying over (or thought I would begin to cry over) I really don’t have any tears left for any of that. There’s something serene about knowing that, come hell or high water, you are going to reach your goal.
2009, Imma be published bitches.