Sleep-a-sutra

I managed just fine in my twin-sized dorm room bed. It was cozy, in fact, and comfortably housed more than one of us on the rare occassion that a girlfriend was too drunk to walk home alone. (We slept head to foot, don't get crazy now.)

When I got my own apartment, I graduated to a full-sized futon, then my very own queen-sized bed. A real luxury, coming from humble army-cot beginnings.

When I met K, he had the holy grail of beds. A KING. With high count thread sheets and EVERYTHING. (He's a diva for bedding, which is obviously the only reason I stay with him.)

When K works away from home, I have the whole bed to myself. I enjoy the freedom to starfish myself in the middle (if I don't have 3 cats taking up prime real estate on the bed.)

Obviously, while away in his hotel bed, he has adopted the starfish as well. Because lately, THIS has been happening:

Yes. K sleeps like a percent sign, DIAGONALLY across the bed. With his head on MY pillow. Leaving me to curl up in a tiny corner of the bed, laying straight as a pin, because I can't even turn over without falling off of the bed.

What's even better? He is one of those people who sleeps like a rock. You cannot. Wake him. EVER. I've tried everything: gentle nudges, poking him, smothering him with a Carebear... NOTHING WORKS.

One night, I got up to go to the bathroom, gave up and came back to bed on the other side of him, because there was more room.

I love to cuddle, but at this rate--I think I had more room in that army cot of a dorm room bed.

Creepy Baby Overshare

Most of my new mommy friends are extremely tactful in their sharing of new baby photos, and I love seeing their cute faces to discover whether he/she looks more like mommy or daddy.

Hil tweeted this frightening photo of her baby.

But we all have those friends who share 10,000 photos of their babies a day... eating, spitting, sleeping... which is about 9,999 too many.

Thank God for the "hide" feature.

Like Hilary Duff, for example.

Hil, I love you. And your new baby is cute. But THIS picture is just plain creepy. ------->

I'm sure that once I have a child of my own, I will want to share photos of him/her with the whole world. God knows I tweet seventy bajillion photos of my cats. But I think Facebook may benefit from establishing a Quality Control department to filter out especially creepy photos. For the child's own good, of course. Because something tells me that when he grows up, he's not going to be thrilled when Mom breaks this treasure out to share with his very first girlfriend.

If I were a lesbian

If I were a lesbian, there are a series of women that I would leave my husband for.

(I don't know why I'm hypothetically married in this make-believe sapphic encounter, but go with me.)

But they'd have to be stupid hot. I'd be one of the pickiest lesbians ever. Maybe because I AM a girl, and I know what I like. Anyways, here's my list.

Kelly Clarkson has an awesome voice, and I also love that she's not a skinny-minnie, much like myself. Not to mention her first album was the anthem to my recovery from first true heartbreak. I'd totally switch teams for her.

Zooey Deschanel is hot, funny, and wears cute clothes. So we could totally have one closet and both wear the same outfits. (Double bonus!)

Kat Von D - She might be a bit moody (understandable after dating Jesse James), but she's hot too, and being with her would definitely up my street cred. I might have to dye my hair blue or something to keep up with her tatted up style though.

Gabrielle Union - She looked really good in a suit in Ne-Yo's video for Miss Independent. Plus she's sassy. And hot. And she made out with LLCoolJ in Deliver Us From Eva, so it would be like I'm making out with LLCoolJ by the law of deductive argument. Right?

Let's see, who else...

OH. Game changer. Khloe Kardashian! I think she's totally hot, she's got some junk in the trunk (like me) and she'd bring me out of my hetero shell. (I'd be new at this whole lesbian thing, and in need of guidance, okay?!)

So, people, let's hear your lists. Come onnn, I know I can't be the only one!

Choose Your Own Adventure

There is nothing like the fear of change. It's an illusion, really, because everything is changing all the time. We just don't notice, or take the subtleties in stride.

But a big change, one that could change the course of your life, those are scary.

Like the moment I packed up my earthly belongings and moved away from my parents for the first time to go to college.
Or the moment I decided to go backpacking in Europe with a group of strangers.
Or the moment I found out I got the internship at Cosmo, and moved to New York.

The changes you CHOOSE to make are possibly the scariest. Because you hold the power in your hands, you're looking down two roads, unsure of which path to take. You imagine what the outcome will be for each option, but it's blurry in your mind and you have to squint through the fog to see if indeed, the change will improve your life.

And the truth is there are no wrong answers. Just different life paths. Like a choose your own adventure of the very scariest kind.

There's nothing like the feeling of being ALIVE during these transitory times. So contrary to the quiet stalemate of indecision, it feeds your soul, keeps you awake at night, fills you with excitement.

I'm nervous, anxious, excited, hopeful, wishing, grinning, and so incredibly thankful. All wrapped up in moments of throat lumps and heart thumps.

It's vague for a reason, but I won't hold it for long. (Promise.)

How will it all turn out?

I peed in my suitcase.

"Guess what I did last night?"
"What?"
"Peed in my suitcase."

After work Wednesday, me, K, Seestar and brother in law, Johnny Bananas, hopped into my sister's car to begin the grueling 12 hour drive to the mitten state, for JB and Seestar's engagement party--and also to scope out wedding venues for the happy couple.

I managed to make it there and back without taking a driving shift, mainly because I am lazy, and also because I was very busy knitting a scarf in the backseat. (Don't judge me.)

Ring Pops, fo sho!

The party was an epic success, and we all got stupid drunk and ate ring pops until the wee morning hours.

...so successful, in fact, that my brother in law apparently awoke in the middle of the night to use the bathroom, and mistook his suitcase for a toilet.

Naturally, my sister lept out of bed to do major damage control when she heard the sound of peeing, repeating "NONONONONONONO stop stop STOP," to which Johnny Bananas replied:

"I'm GOING."

Did I mention we were staying at his mom's house, and we woke her and his stepdad in the ruckus of our return from the bar?

Thank god my second mother in law is the coolest on the planet and we all woke up the next morning to laugh about JB's pee-filled suitcase.

Three loads of laundry later, we were back on the road to NY. I can't WAIT for Johnny Bananas' bachelor party. They better all wear Depends.

Inertia

It seems like EVERY person in my life is going through a major transitional period. They are either engaged, pregnant, just had a baby, just got married, are buying a house, or are switching jobs--starting exciting new careers.

I... am doing none of the above.

And I feel a little like I'm standing in the ocean, my feet cemented into a layer of wet sand, watching the world change around me while I stand still.

It's not that I want to trade lives with any of them, and I'm genuinely happy for each one for the blessings they have. It's just that it makes me realize that nothing in this world is ever going to stop changing, even for a second. Even when I think it will always be exactly like it is. Even when I HOPE it will.

It won't be. It can't.

And I suppose that's a good thing, because we can't just stay the same forever. We need to change, and grow... to evolve.

Some periods in your life are full of change, and others are a bit more stationary. I guess when you're in your late twenties, it's natural to look around, check out what everybody else is doing, and take inventory of your own life.

But I feel a bit overwhelmed by everything changing at once. Like I need to run and catch up with everybody else. (For what? To DO what? Is life a race?) I guess it's left me wondering what path I'm on, in life, in my career.

And how is it all going to turn out?

Shit Girls Don't Say: Baby's First Bikini Wax

Where the hell is Skipper? (Image: www.ry.com.au/ontrend/brazilian-waxing-bare-all-down-under/)

I felt like a hooker on her first day of work. I picked out my outfit the night before, stressed about how to do my hair, and showered twice yesterday.

My appointment was last night at 7pm, which meant I had to sweat it out (literally) all day long. I was so nervous all day I could barely focus.

After all, what could be more nerve-wracking then a stranger approaching your nether-regions with hot wax?

It was a no-pants-dance of epic proportions, worse than a gyno appointment. Because I mean, doctors HAVE to be professional. This was one of my peers. A lady, who no doubt had seen more va-jay-jays than she'd like to admit, and knew what was weird and what wasn't.

She instructed me to strip and lie on the table covered with a sheet, which I did, feeling a little like I was about to undergo an alien experiment.

Suddenly, insecurity flooded over me and I felt 12 again. What if mine wasn't NORMAL? What did she really think? Did she appreciate that I had spritzed a little Japanese Cherry Blossom down my trousers?

She was very professional, and quick, which I appreciated. And I giggled and yelped through the entire procedure with as much maturity as I could muster, lying sprawled out nekked in front of a stranger.

She has me on a strict 4-week schedule now, which I'm sure is some kind of horrible corporal punishment. And as soon as I'm able to put my pants back on without wincing, I'll let you know how I feel about the results.