Last week I had an incredibly vivid dream in which I stood in front of the mirror in what used to be my bedroom, in my parents' house, and discovered a giant pimple on my forehead, right in between my eyes. On Sunday, a giant pimple made its presence known, on my forehead, RIGHT IN BETWEEN MY EYES. Now, I am not ready to claim Prophecy! or Soothsayer! quite yet, but don't you think that's weird!? Luckily, I was prepared and killed that pimple dead, before it ever reached the surface, but I will be paying close attention to my dreams from now on.
And speaking of dreams, is anyone else prone to nightmares? Because I have dreams whose plots I could sell to Jerry Bruckheimer, I swear. Crashing planes, aliens, missing family members, destruction, floods, torment, heartache, more crashing planes. I think I'm a pretty happy person, but my dreams beg to differ. Kent just rolls his eyes at me when I tell him I had a bad dream. What else is new, he says.
I signed up to run a 10K in June. I have never run any organized race, ever ever ever. I have done 10k walks a million times, but running is new. Well, new-ish...I have on-and-off been a "recreational" runner, meaning I have always been okay with skipping a workout to watch a new episode of Buffy or Project Runway. Or to have drinks with a friend, or just sit on my ass doing nothing. But people, I really - REALLY - want to try this whole marathon thing, so I'm working on getting in better shape. I have a very sporty family, and I am tired of being the lazy one. If my brother M can do a triathlon and two marathons a year and my mother can finish a marathon and rock climb and swim and save the world, shouldn't I be able to run a measly little 10K? And then a marathon? I sure think so. Er, hope so...
And if running has the side effect of give me a kick-ass body, then so be it! Brit and I have decided that this will be the Summer of Parties and Strappy Tops, so we've got our social calendars out and are penciling in some festivities, and a kick-ass body would really be fun to take to all the celebrations. Much better than just a bottle of wine, no?
I certainly love the idea of sweaty, balmy nights on a rooftop somewhere, with a cocktail and a sundress. Ah, summer, when will you drag your sorry ass this way? I am ready for some lazy, hazy days. Interestingly enough, all winter long, when the temperature hovered around 20 degrees, we froze with minimal heat in our apartment. I slept in sweats under a sweater wrapped in a blanket. Really. And now, as spring tiptoes in and the days are mostly in the 50's, the heat is blasting. All the time. I am sweating in my apartment, and my hair won't dry when I try to get ready in the morning because the dank little closet that is our bathroom has no windows and one giant radiator and I could steam my husband's suits in there if I wanted to. Thanks, stupid old apartment building...thanks.
M and his fianc�e have set a date for their wedding, and it will take place in March, in lovely San Diego. I told Kent the date had been finalized, and that V asked me to be one of her bridesmaids. He snarked that maybe he'd stay in New York so as not to interfere in my flirting with the groomsmen (see: Texas, undying love of; and also: Groomsmen, pretending to be single with). The groomsmen, two of whom are my brothers?, I asked him. Whatever, you know what I mean, he said, teasing me, I'm sure there will be some single guys in the wedding party...But Kent doesn't realize that the only single guys in M's wedding party will be the same ones who are forever frozen in my mind as The Little Shits Who Ran Screaming Through Our House And Got Into My Underwear Drawer When I Was A Teenager. Yes, I know they are now grown men (ha!!!), but still, my little brother's friends will always be my little brother's friends. And they were little shits, each and every one of them.
We were talking about M's wedding over dinner last night, celebrating Kent's last exam of the school year (his final final?). We came home and Kent looked around and said, I think I'm going to go out, actually...Out? Out where? I asked him. Oh, there's some party at some club...
And even though it was 9:30 at night on a TUESDAY, and even though I think clubs are L-A-M-E, I couldn't really say anything, considering my refrain these past two weeks has WAAHHHHH AM YOUNG AND WANT TO HAVE MORE FUN WAAAHHH. So I sent Kent off in a cab to Avalon (barf!) and curled up with wine and Veronica Mars, which turned out to be a very good decision indeed. Watching Veronica Mars alone, with wine and sweat pants, is maybe the greatest thing ever. It is so great that I wasn't even annoyed when Kent came home at THREE O'CLOCK IN THE MORNING, waking me up from what little sleep I was able to grab with the living room light on (because I may be a bitch, but am not inconsiderate and would hate to come home to a dark apartment, so kept the light on for poor husband). I was more annoyed this morning when I had to get up at 6:00, only three hours after Kent stumbled home, but really -- stretchy pants, Veronica Mars and a nice Chianti go a long way in terms of goodwill.
[Editorial aside: I just got the following email from my husband: "good morning baby... how are you?? i'm sorry again i got home so late last night. it was a just awful place. but it was nice to see the guys one last time before the summer started. i just wish they had held it at a regular bar." Were I one to say I Told You So, I might make a comment about the general suckiness of clubs, especially on a Tuesday night. But I think I will just let it go...]
And speaking of nice Chianti, did I tell you that I am going on vacation? On SATURDAY!!? Well, I am! Kent and I are going to Italy for the week, and I can't freaking wait. I will be eating and shopping and eating and shopping and pretending that I am Monica Belucci for six days. CANNOT FREAKING WAIT. And yes, I know that I don't really look like Monica Belucci, but shhhh, don't tell me. I plan on driving the Italian men wild with my beauty and don't need any pesky reality getting in my way!
The trip is kind of an early 30th birthday present, because for those of you playing along at home, I turn 30 THIS MONTH. As in, at this time next month, I will BE thirty. Thirty. THIRTY. I keep saying it over and over again, getting used to it. I'm okay, however. At least I think I am. The weddings and parties and running and vacation are all keeping me busy. As is the dangerous new habit I have cultivated: planning imaginary outfits for imaginary events whenever I have even a moment idle. The dangerous bit is how specific my imagination has become. It is calling for certain brands and hemlines. I has ordered me to shop for accessories at Marni and a knit halter at Missoni when we are in Milan. It also thinks I need more Statement Jewelry.
Work has been weird this week. Somebody had a baby, somebody died, somebody is pregnant, it was someone's birthday. I can't wait to get away.
My friend Em just bought a beautiful house, and Pastry just got married and I feel restless. Maybe it's Spring Fever, but I can't sit still, can't spend too much time at home. I've been going out more frequently than I have in ages and ages and I haven't browsed the real estate sites in weeks. Really, I haven't! I feel claustrophobic and just want to go out and be out and see things and do things and stay the heck away from my couch (except when Veronica Mars is on). I don't think this is a Turning 30 thing, but who knows...I just want to keep moving. I'm a Gemini, and we like the change. (My husband, the Virgo? No so much.)
In the spirit of change, I bought hot rollers. Because maybe - just maybe - they will be the greatest discovery ever for my hair. So far, they are doing nothing for me - NOTHING! I get curls that instantly turn into giant puffs. I want sexy movie star waves. Am not quite there yet. But, my hair is still too short for it to really count, I figure. Come August, when the humidity is 6256%, I will be a total movie star vixen with curls. (And by the way, I have naturally curly hair. Really curly hair. But the curls, they are not good. I want smooth, pretty waves. That is not what nature intended for me.)
Do you guys know the Liz Phair song, "Cinco de Mayo?" No? Well, download it or go buy Whip Smart because tomorrow is the day of all days to have a margarita and blast that song. Feel free to also blast May Queen and Fuck & Run and 6'1" because I also love those songs and Liz Phair is excellent when blasted loudly, and with tequila.
I will leave you with the lyrics, and also a few pictures of me and my bestest. Ciao mi amores!
First, Me and Brit:
And second, me with Em and Beck:
Cinco de mayo, blowout, denial
It wasn't fun this time, letting you go
What if I never, a bullet forever,
Held out my hand to you?
We wouldn't have known beautiful flow
Absolute measure, I ain't no pleasure hound
Bus out of control, ploughing the road
Out on a bender
Just Alice falling down a deepening hole
I'd never been to Rome until you smiled
You're about as old and piled
Used to pray for snow
Now I just wonder
What spell I was under
Thinking you thought of me as something to hold
I'd never been to Rome until you smiled
You're about as old and piled
Cinco de mayo, burn-out Ohio
It wasn't me this time letting you go
--Liz Phair
Catch you on the flip side, kiddies!
