Me: Natalie is a proud mommy! She gave birth to Andrew on April 6th.
6lbs 4oz. Full head of brown hair with blond highlights!
Tawni: I CANT BELIEVE IT! FIRST NATALIE...THEN JENN...YOU AND I, WE
HAVE EACH OTHER
Me: Shall we adopt?
Tawni: LETS :) WHICH COUNTRY DO YOU PREFER?
Me: This is so fun! How about England. I love British accents!
Tawni: AMEN!
Me: I'll pick up the shower invites
Tawni: Yes...I'll order the stripper...oh wait...wrong
shower...Aw...who the hell cares :)
Me: In that case, can we have the shower next Friday night?
Tawni: Seriously :)
Saturday, April 7, 2007
Thursday, April 5, 2007
Held Back in Kindergarten
I have been training for a marathon. I tore my left arch and have now downgraded to a half-marathon.
Today was my second visit with my podiatrist...a young, witty, cute, single podiatrist.
I arrive at his office and he opens the door. My eyes widen, "Wow, he is much cuter than I remembered!" He has me come into the room while he finishes his last patient's report. We chat and catch up on each other's weekend. I tease him that he really is exchanging on IM and not working on his last patient's record. We exchange more banter, in an effort to pry into each other's lives. I tell him about a party that I went to last week at The Box. He tells me about the screening he is attending tonight at the Soho House. He inches closer to me on his wheelie chair and reaches out with his latex-laden hands.
"Alright, lets take a look at your feet. Oh, can you get my ex-girlfriend a job?"
I laugh, "You want ME to get your ex-girlfriend a job? Why are you still trying to employ your ex?"
He laughs with my feet in hand and tells me they are good friends. She is in fashion. He asks for my contact info to help her out. I offer him my business card in hopes of an indirect approach to a date.
I tell him my foot is still in pain, despite the stretches and icing he instructed me to do two weeks ago. He takes a look, applies pressure, and approaches a cabinet. He opens it and out comes the most RIDICULOUS contraption...a MOON BOOT!.
I immediately digress to MO-THE-FIVE-YEAR-OLD.
"WHAT IS THAT? I AM NOT GOING TO WEAR THAT! THAT THING IS UGLY!" I tantrum.
"It is a night splint. Ideally, you should wear it while you sleep."
I roll my eyes and shake my head "no."
"I am only requiring that you wear it two hours a night while you are watching TV or are on the computer."
"OH, NO I AM NOT WEARING THAT! THIS IS RIDICULOUS!" I exert while stomping my fists into the chair.
I immediately think, "I don't have room for that! Where am I going to fit it in my tiny apartment?"
He straps me into the ugly, wannabe, snowboard boot as I sit there shaking my head, as if my whole world has fallen apart.
"Fine!" He takes off the boot, grabs a Sharpie, and draws my employer's fashion label on the back. "Now will you wear it?"
"NO! THIS IS RETARDED!"
He tells me to consider physical therapy.
Tantrum Part Two...
WHAT? PHYSICAL THERAPY?"
"Yes, I don't know if you will want to fit that in."
"PHYSICAL THERAPY? WHAT DOES IT CONSIST OF?" I fume.
He mocks, "It CONSISTS of my girls working on you!"
I thrust my hands in the air, "BASTA! THIS IS SO RETARDED!"
He looks at me with all amusement. Little did he know that he would be a pediatrician today.
I shake my head and pout, looking down at my foot bound in a 45 degree angle by velcro straps, pulling away all my vanity.
"I don't think you need it, but would you like me to ease the pain with a steroid shot?"
Tantrum Part Three...
"NO! I DON'T NEED A SHOT!" I exclaim, exhausted from the drain of my narcissism.
At six months old, I would scream if I saw anyone dressed in all white. Needless to say, I feared needles when I was young. I once bent the needle with my ass from being so tense, and then found pure pleasure in pissing off the nurse by my muscular feat. I told her I didn't want it.
After that incident, I decided I will survive on charm alone. Oh, did I turn it on. It was pure success. I charmed my way out of every shot. "Oh doctor, must you do that? Surely, there must be some medicine you can give me that would do the same thing," Bat the eyelashes. It worked every time.
Obviously, I didn't apply that method today. I charmed, then fitted. Dyslexic.
I pay my copay. He walks out to say goodbye, "It was really good seeing you today. See you at Soho House tonight." Wink.
Yeah, right. I've got a foot to bind for my concubine walk on the moon. My nickname at work is now Heather Mills.
Thanks, doc.
Today was my second visit with my podiatrist...a young, witty, cute, single podiatrist.
I arrive at his office and he opens the door. My eyes widen, "Wow, he is much cuter than I remembered!" He has me come into the room while he finishes his last patient's report. We chat and catch up on each other's weekend. I tease him that he really is exchanging on IM and not working on his last patient's record. We exchange more banter, in an effort to pry into each other's lives. I tell him about a party that I went to last week at The Box. He tells me about the screening he is attending tonight at the Soho House. He inches closer to me on his wheelie chair and reaches out with his latex-laden hands.
"Alright, lets take a look at your feet. Oh, can you get my ex-girlfriend a job?"
I laugh, "You want ME to get your ex-girlfriend a job? Why are you still trying to employ your ex?"
He laughs with my feet in hand and tells me they are good friends. She is in fashion. He asks for my contact info to help her out. I offer him my business card in hopes of an indirect approach to a date.
I tell him my foot is still in pain, despite the stretches and icing he instructed me to do two weeks ago. He takes a look, applies pressure, and approaches a cabinet. He opens it and out comes the most RIDICULOUS contraption...a MOON BOOT!.
I immediately digress to MO-THE-FIVE-YEAR-OLD.
"WHAT IS THAT? I AM NOT GOING TO WEAR THAT! THAT THING IS UGLY!" I tantrum.
"It is a night splint. Ideally, you should wear it while you sleep."
I roll my eyes and shake my head "no."
"I am only requiring that you wear it two hours a night while you are watching TV or are on the computer."
"OH, NO I AM NOT WEARING THAT! THIS IS RIDICULOUS!" I exert while stomping my fists into the chair.
I immediately think, "I don't have room for that! Where am I going to fit it in my tiny apartment?"
He straps me into the ugly, wannabe, snowboard boot as I sit there shaking my head, as if my whole world has fallen apart.
"Fine!" He takes off the boot, grabs a Sharpie, and draws my employer's fashion label on the back. "Now will you wear it?"
"NO! THIS IS RETARDED!"
He tells me to consider physical therapy.
Tantrum Part Two...
WHAT? PHYSICAL THERAPY?"
"Yes, I don't know if you will want to fit that in."
"PHYSICAL THERAPY? WHAT DOES IT CONSIST OF?" I fume.
He mocks, "It CONSISTS of my girls working on you!"
I thrust my hands in the air, "BASTA! THIS IS SO RETARDED!"
He looks at me with all amusement. Little did he know that he would be a pediatrician today.
I shake my head and pout, looking down at my foot bound in a 45 degree angle by velcro straps, pulling away all my vanity.
"I don't think you need it, but would you like me to ease the pain with a steroid shot?"
Tantrum Part Three...
"NO! I DON'T NEED A SHOT!" I exclaim, exhausted from the drain of my narcissism.
At six months old, I would scream if I saw anyone dressed in all white. Needless to say, I feared needles when I was young. I once bent the needle with my ass from being so tense, and then found pure pleasure in pissing off the nurse by my muscular feat. I told her I didn't want it.
After that incident, I decided I will survive on charm alone. Oh, did I turn it on. It was pure success. I charmed my way out of every shot. "Oh doctor, must you do that? Surely, there must be some medicine you can give me that would do the same thing," Bat the eyelashes. It worked every time.
Obviously, I didn't apply that method today. I charmed, then fitted. Dyslexic.
I pay my copay. He walks out to say goodbye, "It was really good seeing you today. See you at Soho House tonight." Wink.
Yeah, right. I've got a foot to bind for my concubine walk on the moon. My nickname at work is now Heather Mills.
Thanks, doc.
Sunday, April 1, 2007
Thank you Bobbi Brown!
Saturday night: A time warp text conversation. A relationship that missed its fruition. Tears. Uncountable vodka sodas.
Sunday morning: Press the snooze button. I make the decision this morning to not put on makeup to buy me more doze time. I reluctantly slither out of bed like a sloth.
First stop: refrigerator. Cold water.
Second stop: bathroom. Mirror...uh, oh.
Gotta throw out the sans makeup idea. There could be a chance I meet a boy today.
As I camouflage my love-forsaken, vampire face, I realize eyeliner does not prefer puffy lids.
On the train to meet my cousin, concentrating on my lack of sleep, I see two boys run into my car. One is your chill, surfer type and the other is simply, beautiful.
Double take. I close my eyes, too drained to attract the eye contact.
I open my eyes a few seconds later. They are coming my way. They sit right in front of me. I turn coy. The chill surfer type reaches into a plastic bag, pulls out a Quaker s'mores granola bar and postcard, and hands it to me. Score. My window for eye contact just opened! I graciously thank him and smile at him and Beautiful. I look down at the card and read it is an invite to Journeys church for Easter. Journeys has stuffed my mailbox with endless invitations to rejoice in their "alternative" Christian celebrations. Needless to say, I have rudely declined the mass mailer without an r.s.v.p...Never found alternative Christianity sexy enough to warrant my presence.
Boy, did they hire the right focus group to shift their marketing approach to arouse my attention!
So, Beautiful, after the awkward silence following the s'mores exchange, says to me, "Those are great shoes." Score. My window to finally charm with conversation just opened! Giggles and sharing of New York bios ensue. I know that my stop is coming up very soon, leaving no time for the choreography of storing a number into the Razor. I hand Beautiful my business card. He looks at me and says he would like to see me at the Journeys Easter alterna-bration. My stop. "So nice to meet you. Please come on Sunday, I would really love to see you there".
I point at my card in his hand, "Email me". Smile and wink.
Blasphemy! What would the retired Sisters that reared my Catholic education think of me going to another place of worship, solely to entertain visions of being manhandled?
I've entered a whole new realm in dating.
Sorry, Father, for I have sinned.
Sunday morning: Press the snooze button. I make the decision this morning to not put on makeup to buy me more doze time. I reluctantly slither out of bed like a sloth.
First stop: refrigerator. Cold water.
Second stop: bathroom. Mirror...uh, oh.
Gotta throw out the sans makeup idea. There could be a chance I meet a boy today.
As I camouflage my love-forsaken, vampire face, I realize eyeliner does not prefer puffy lids.
On the train to meet my cousin, concentrating on my lack of sleep, I see two boys run into my car. One is your chill, surfer type and the other is simply, beautiful.
Double take. I close my eyes, too drained to attract the eye contact.
I open my eyes a few seconds later. They are coming my way. They sit right in front of me. I turn coy. The chill surfer type reaches into a plastic bag, pulls out a Quaker s'mores granola bar and postcard, and hands it to me. Score. My window for eye contact just opened! I graciously thank him and smile at him and Beautiful. I look down at the card and read it is an invite to Journeys church for Easter. Journeys has stuffed my mailbox with endless invitations to rejoice in their "alternative" Christian celebrations. Needless to say, I have rudely declined the mass mailer without an r.s.v.p...Never found alternative Christianity sexy enough to warrant my presence.
Boy, did they hire the right focus group to shift their marketing approach to arouse my attention!
So, Beautiful, after the awkward silence following the s'mores exchange, says to me, "Those are great shoes." Score. My window to finally charm with conversation just opened! Giggles and sharing of New York bios ensue. I know that my stop is coming up very soon, leaving no time for the choreography of storing a number into the Razor. I hand Beautiful my business card. He looks at me and says he would like to see me at the Journeys Easter alterna-bration. My stop. "So nice to meet you. Please come on Sunday, I would really love to see you there".
I point at my card in his hand, "Email me". Smile and wink.
Blasphemy! What would the retired Sisters that reared my Catholic education think of me going to another place of worship, solely to entertain visions of being manhandled?
I've entered a whole new realm in dating.
Sorry, Father, for I have sinned.
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