Working for the Weekend

T and I were out until 1 AM Saturday morning. Listening to an Elvis impersonator. No polyester jumpsuits, but three costume changes, which I thought was pretty impressive. Three chances to resurrect the pompadour hairstyle that tended to collapse under the strain of the spotlights and frantic pelvis shaking. But I digress.

The point of the story is I have been tired and out of it all weekend. I would like nothing more than to pull the covers over my head and hibernate until Wednesday, but alas, I am gainfully employed and saddled with "adult responsibilities." Two of which include laundry and getting the week's groceries.

I like getting groceries, but I don't understand one thing- the food I put in my cart on Sunday afternoon is almost never the food I want to eat during the week. I get home from working all day, open the gaping maw of the freezer, and wait for inspiration to strike, not sure what I'm hoping to see, but you can be damn sure whatever it is, it isn't waiting for me there. The sad truth is the decisions I am committed to on Sunday become what I am stuck with on a Tuesday.

Along with a heaping dose of CBS (crybaby syndrome, for those not familiar with this ailment), I seem to have a huge case of "Is this it?"itis. I feel like I'm perpetually in standby- I've spent so much time waiting to get better, waiting to finish college, waiting for the deployment to end, waiting to feel normal again, waiting, waiting, waiting for something to happen, that I don't know how to really enjoy the present. I fear life really is in the space between and I'll end up missing it all.

And so tomorrow morning I'll get up and go to work and pretend that what I'm doing means something to someone, that I'm really doing it for something other than a paystub, that I'm doing more than just waiting for the next weekend. It seems a crime that the one thing I spend the most time doing- 8 hours a day, 5 days a week- is the one thing in my life I could walk away from and never look back.

Fee, Fi, Fo, Fum

A guy at work told me he thinks I'm getting taller.

I think it's his backwards way of saying I've lost weight.

I like to think it's because he's shrinking.

But I guess it's all in the way you look at things.

CODE NAME: Auntie

I became an auntie for the second time on Thursday and yet again, no one threw me a shower.

Just kidding, of course.

Well, sort of.

I have to admit registering for things for my wedding got into my skin in a bad way- T and I still periodically find ourselves checking the front porch for packages from Bed, Bath, and Beyond.
There's an almost carnal thrill to going around a store with a price gun, but it seems to me that baby registries would be the grand carnivale of shopping experiences. Not only are you picking out your own gifts, but you can justify your choices by saying they're for someone else. It's the capitalist equivalent of a plenary indulgence.

All kidding aside, I'm very happy to have another little niece to love and spoil with impunity.

Picture Game

Kim tagged me and Kara, Kara already posted hers and I caved under peer pressure....

Here were the rules...

***Rules***

1. Go to your Picture Folder on your computer or wherever you store your pictures.

2. Go to the 6th Folder and then pick the 6th Picture.

3. Post it on your blog and tell the story that goes with the picture.

4. Tag 5 other glorious peoples to do the same thing and leave a comment on their blog telling them about it.

And here's the story--

It was about 5:30 PM Wednesday, May 8, 2008- I was waiting very impatiently for my husband to finally come home from an eleven-month deployment in Kuwait. It was the longest day of the longest eleven months of my life. We were married the previous September while he was on leave- I guess you could say I'm a modern-day war bride. I know as a military wife I signed on for possible future deployments- I just hope I can be as strong for my sweetie as he is for me. Hoo-ah.