Sometimes I can’t believe how much my life has changed in the past few years. New baby, new house, new life partner … Side note. Mavrick’s real name is one of those names that could be a boy or a girl name, and I use that to mess with people. I call him my life partner instead of my boyfriend. Then people think I’m a lesbian. Then they meet Mavrick. Then their eyebrows shoot off their heads. Makes me chuckle.
Anyhoodle, this all hit me last night as I was driving in my new Jeep, listening to NPR radio, on my way to get a running stroller I found on craigslist, to take back to my house I just bought in the suburbs. Dear god, I thought (I thought it IRONICALLY, being that I am an atheist) dear god, what have I become? And god said, “A grown up. Now stop texting when you drive.”
So I bought my running stroller, and spent the rest of the evening in an existential crisis. I used to never ever run. Ever. The ice cubes would fall out of my glass. I would have to put out my cigarette. There were a thousand reasons I didn’t run. Now, I love it. I run almost every chance I get. I run so goddamned much I went out and purchased a stroller especially FOR running, so I can take Mavbling. The stroller has two cup holders, and my first thought was NOT hey, cool. I can totally put a road soda there! (Road soda, to go cup, sign of a total alcoholic – whatever you want to call it.) No, my first thought was WOW, LOOK WHERE I CAN PUT MY WATER.
And NPR? Really? Why don’t I just walk around with granola bars stapled to the bleeding heart I wear on my sleeve? I was honestly thisclose to joining and becoming a member of NPR. And I still might. And you can bet your sweet ass I will proudly display that bumper sticker. Right on my running stroller. So when I run by you, with water in one cup holder and a double foam soy latte in the other, you will know exactly what you’re dealing with: a woman who has clearly lost her mind.
Now I’m thinking that getting my breasts done might not be the most socially responsible thing to do. Think of all of the disfigured orphan babies I can help with that money. Think of jr’s college fund. Think of the hungry people of the world.
Then I get in the shower and catch a side view of the flesh colored flapjacks that used to be my boobs. Fuck the kids. I’m getting my tits done. Whew. Thank god. The Old Me is still there.
I’m going to celebrate by drinking an entire bottle of Spice Route pinotage tonight while I write a blog post about my first plastic surgery consultation. Which happened this morning. Dear god. What have I gotten myself into?
Peace and Flapjacks,