But until then...until I, uh, get a life?...here's this:
1. I accidentally stumbled upon my therapist's Facebook page the other day. Like, I was googling the number of her office and her fucking Facebook was HIT NUMBER ONE. No joke.
What did I do, you ask? Well, SHIT! OF COURSE I clicked it! And OF COURSE she didn't have anything set to private! And the whole thing has left me feeling totally dirty, like I just found my parent's porn stash. (Perhaps this is why I'm in therapy?)
And so now, when I see her on Thursday, I'm going to be all fidgety and blushy and probably farty (nerves...and the cookies). And she'll press me for dialogue the way she cracked me about my mother and I'll be all, "well, ummm..." and she'll be all "this is a safe place" and I'll be like, "..." and she'll be "..." because she's patient like that and finally, I'll be all, I SAW THAT PICTURE OF YOU ON A HARLEY CAPTIONED THAT YOU LOVE LESBIANS, AND DOES YOUR HUSBAND KNOW ABOUT THIS?! and she'll be all, "I think that's enough for today..."
2. My three-year old has developed an imaginary friend, and while this totally feels like a parenting WIN, I must also admit that his friends are named after cartoon characters from television. Specifically, he plays with "Mike" from Monster's Inc.
This feels like a parenting FAIL. Especially when I add that the fact that his other imaginary friends are the trio that makes up Team Umizoomi.
Seriously though, that song is CATCHY.
3. The other day, Peter Facinelli was in town again. I don't know why he keeps coming to our local malls, but he does, and I'm hoping he got that cease and desist order from my lawyer-cat because my husband likes to get rowdy when boyfriends come to town.
Anyway, a few days before this happened, my neighbor, the one who got me hooked on this crack-laced teen-literature, texted me:
Her: OMG, I just caught the last second of a commercial on the radio. I think Dr. Cullen is coming to town again. Can you get details? WE NEED TO GO!!!! (<--)
Me: DUDE. I'M ON IT.
Now, remember...this is the neighbor who nearly cried when I told her after-the-fact that he was here a few months back. She ran over to my doorstep, kid-in-tow, ready to speed over to catch a glimpse of the pale, oddly-Italian-faced vampire.
This time, I tried to match her excitement. You know, so she wouldn't feel badly. (Shut up. Sometimes I'm fucking nice, ok?)
Me: [Later...] He'll be here Sunday! I have a sitter. What time do you want to leave?
Her: [NEXT DAY.] Oh, you want to go? Well, the thing is...I don't know. I mean, I would for you, but I dunno if I'd feel too silly.
Me: [Clicking with furor] Oh, right. YES, TOTALLY WAY SILLY.
It's not like I'd planned my whole weekend around it, donned my awesome slap-bracelet, and endured the ridicule of my husband and cats for the past few days.
Like I said. I need to get out of the house.