I came home from boot camp the other morning and my cute boy was bustling about in running shorts and the coffee table was pushed to the side of the room.
“Were you doing some kind of workout?” I asked him.
And he says, “I was practicing my dancing.”
David has recently decided that he would like to take up break dancing and got himself instructional video, which came with two free beanie hats. Sometimes he wears those to get in the mood while he’s practicing his dancing.
He told me a little bit about what he’d worked on today and I said that I thought it was awfully early to be getting up for such things (we were having this conversation at 7 am.)
His response? “I could wake up and think, ‘ho hum, it’s off to work for me’ or I could wake up and I can dance!”
This particular day did happen to be my birthday and I was already feeling a bit sobsome because of it, but I got a special welling when I heard that. I get to be with a guy who actually feels those made-up emotions, like “joy” and “glee.”
It humbles me.
I’ve got this nephew. Two of them, really. But one is a little older and therefore a bit more interesting.
This kid seems to spend most of his waking hours in a state of either suspicion, surliness, or outright grumpiness.
Just about every picture I take of him, he’s basically sending me “fuck you, auntie” telegraphic messages.
And then I realized, that there are bunches of pictures of me looking like that, too. So I guess I can’t really begrudge the stinker.
And then there’s my brother, who’s trying to fill that oh-so-in-demand niche in the modeling world for Angry Man.
So the scowl runs deep. I think that’s part of what makes us all so awesome, though. Because scowling shows everyone else that that you’re angry and probably unpleasant to talk to, so they bug you less.
I love this video.
It made me tear up.
And it made me give them $10.
Beautiful design. Powerful messaging.
I am thirty-three years old today. Thirty-three.
Which is like saying that I’m now Hoozle Puddit. What does that even mean? And how did it happen?
But it happened, and I’m 33 now. I cried a little this morning. I’m not even sure I could articulate why. It all just feels so beyond my control. And it feels so incredibly meaningful and meaningless at the same time.
So to make 33 feel like something, I want to commit to 3 things that I will do this year.
By end of the day, September 24, 2011, I will:
1. Have no credit card debt. None. $0.
2. Lose *some* weight. I don’t want to commit to a specific amount. But it will be something. Ideally, it will be enough so that I’m not technically overweight, let alone obese. But let’s just call it something.
3. I will not pull a single grey or white hair out of my head.
That is all.
I love this collection of color images from around the country pre-Pearl Harbor.
The dark blur of people on the sidewalks is so neat. And I’m a sucker for old-timey cars.
Another old timey car! And the Golden Gate bridge!
How great is this? The kids stand out so much against the monochrome blah of their home. I love their bare footedness. And the sweetness of the group huddled together.
I love clothes. Love them. Which is a darned shame for three reasons that I will list here. One reason for the folly will be discussed more fully.
1. I should be using all of my money to pay off my credit cards.
2. I am too lazy to create proper outfits. Most days, it’s jeans and a vaguely interesting shirt, but I can’t manage decent accessories or shoes.
3. I have a ginormous bosom (in addition to be generally rather plump) and it is quite challenging to find clothes that will properly span my form.
In particular, I have a penchant for vintage-y styled things, best suited for the more willowy types. To hell, though with what’s best suited! I will continually try to cram my more pillowy type into clothes that make me swoon.
Anything with buttons down the front is a sure sign of despair, since the best case scenario is that I’ll get an unflattering gap and pull across the chest.
See an example here:
To be fair, I was much, much thinner in this picture than I am now. Probably about 30 pounds thinner. But you can STILL see a bit of a gap in the boob area.
And yet. And yet! I find myself pining after this dress, even though it $179 and even though I have a feeling it would not even begin to close over my prow, let alone let me imagine that I can get away with wearing it with a few unseemly tugs.
How cute is this? Little blue polka dots! Oh, how I want! And look how cute the real Maggie looks in it.
I angst about my birthday for so many different reasons. Of course, I dread the whole aging aspect. But the really silly thing that I worry about is presents. I just got home and there’s a box from Amazon for me at the door. I didn’t order anything recently. And it’s my birthday in 4 days. I deduce, therefore, that this is a present.
Except I have issues. And I don’t know what’s in that box. What if I don’t like it? What if I am nonplussed? I am a jerk and often I am nonplussed by presents. Worse, sometimes I find emoting to be tricky and even if I really like the present, I have a hard time saying so.
In a perfect Maggie world, I could tuck presents into my cheeks like an overside hamster and then scurry off to a sly, secret place, open them in solitary, and then never speak of them again.
Perhaps someone needs to give me a running wheel…