Saturday, September 5, 2015


I should be asleep right now. Or at least trying to be asleep. As it is I haven’t yet washed my face or taken out my contacts or downed my sleeping vitamins or taken my antidepressant. Oh, wait–are you so new around here that you didn’t know that I knock back some Wellbutrin XL every night? Even though I’m a yoga teacher and I’m supposed to keep my body pure and devoid of—gasp—chemicals? Yeah, bitches, I take a drug despite eating righter than I let on, doing boatloads of yoga, and even teaching that mind/body nonsense. I’m quite proud of it too. Proud because it’s damned responsible self care to down those lil’ white pills daily. Harp on me about it. I want you to. Because I will take down your self-righteous and potentially undereducated ass. (Huh, didn’t know ’til just now that I am feeling really feisty.)

Anyhow, I ain't sleeping but I should be. My hair needs to be washed, I haven't packed yet, and early tomorrow Jim and I are boarding an airplane, since, unlike the paranoid and pretentious disaster of a human being I was married to during my genius years, James isn’t afraid to fly. The handsome mister and I are heading to Los Angeles for a couple days. Day one is for hanging with Internet Jessica, Internet Jeff, and The Boy. And Day two is for going to a taping of So You Think You Can Dance. Because Jim is really damned in love with me and knows how to make magic. While I'm not the fangirl type, I love Cat Deely with all my heart. I shall not seek to, like, interact with her, seeing as I’m afraid of everything. But I get to witness my fave show go down. More than enough.

Instead of even trying to snooze I’m enjoying the sound of cute Jim snore and Sophie sleep-moan, listening to Chopped, and thinking these thoughts—

• You can’t wear heels or open-toed shoes to SYTYCD. So it was very nice of Jim to rush me to the Rack tonight for some pointy-toed flats that will work with my orange dress.

• All my problems could be solved if I’d just internally rotate my hips. That’s how insignificant my problems are.

• Everyone has a mirror face. Turns out mine is the same as my disappointed face.

• I love animals. I wish them long, healthy, happy, happy lives. 'Cept when they interrupt my sleep; then I feel differently. At 6AM some months ago a bird was pecking at the eaves outside our room. Jim was already up and downstairs, so I texted him, There is a bird outside our window. Please go kill it. I can’t be held responsible for the things I wrote when Woody Woodpecker stole my sleep. 

• Sponge Bob is not, in fact, a kitchen sponge that got chucked in the sea as debris and came alive. He is a sea sponge that just looks suspiciously like dish-washing sponges. Cameron teaches me the important things.

• I do not talk in my sleep. Except this one time Jim told me I said, “You can’t play with that in here. You have to take it outside.” So when he sleep-talks he says he loves me and that he’s proud to be my husband. He’s even said, “You’re just so delicious.” (What?) But when I talk in my sleep I reveal my full crossover into stepmotherhood in a house where fireworks are standard, waterfights common, raw eggs used for revenge, and where, for fun, we put children in human-sized hamster balls—in which, guys, they could, like, die if we don’t let them out (so I made sure that when they got those for Christmas they got pocket knives too).

• A couple weeks ago I decided that since I took six years of French in high school and college it's ridiculous that I don't speak any French. I'm therefore fixing that. My first few lessons made sure that I know how to say “I understand a little French not very well” and “Do you want to come have a drink at my house?”

• The Tory Birch fragrance smells like CK One. It smells like 1994.

• When your secondary degree is in writing don’t ever use the casual phrase, “I could write a book on—” such as, “I could write a book on how no housekeeper in the world is worse at making beds than ours is.” Because people will say, “Okay, do it.”


Bonus: a couple more shots from the family shoot we did with Ash a few months ago—

I call this one “I Swear He Likes Me Back”:

And this one “Frame that Shit Stat”:

No comments: