Let's Talk About It. (Some More)

So I like to talk about things. Except when I’m mad or my feelings are hurt. In that situation, you better prepare for a silent treatment like you’ve never felt before. Passive aggression at it’s finest.

Today’s topics. Discuss amongst yourselves.

Which reminds me, why has SNL gotten so terribly unfunny? Do people like Sheri O’Teri, Kris Farley, and Mike Myers just not exist anymore? Think the fact that we use computers and smart phones pretty much from birth has depleted our ability to interact and be funny?

This morning in Richmond, it rained from approximately 5:40 am to 6:50 am. My run, the only 50 consecutive minutes of the day I was outdoors, lasted from 5:34 am to 6:28. Why? Why?

People who have phone conversations in public bathrooms. Yes, I seriously question this at least 3 times each week. It’s that moment when I hesitate to flush the toilet because I’m afraid of interrupting that always gets me. I mean, seriously. Is the person on the other end just completely ok with it?

Makeup. It’s a love/hate thing. I love that when I wake up to dark circles, red marks, and wrinkles (I’m ageing!) I have tools at hand to make some of these things less noticeable. I lack true talent and patient in this department, but I have enough good girlfriends who have at least taught me which spackle to buy and which mascara helps draw attention away from the pronounced lack of skill in applying concealer/eyeliner/fancy makeup products I don’t own. (PS- Why doesn’t spell check recognize the word ‘concealer’? We’ve added twerking to the dictionary, but standard computer software hasn’t caught up on this not-so-recent, essential woman product?) The hate part is the time it takes every. Single. Day. So repetitive. Always the same. I sometimes think about all the extra sleep I’d get in a year if I eliminated the 7-13 minutes it takes me to apply makeup. Then I catch sight of myself without mascara and hop to it.

Cars. Deeply, deeply unsatisfying use of money. I mean, is there anything more demoralizing than realizing you absolutely cannot wait any longer to replace the tires on your car and that it takes you 9 full days of work to earn that much money? Takes a little piece of my soul every time.

How do parents do this? At least once a week (typically Thursday, because that’s when we have yoga, which ends at 7:30, which puts me home at 7:47, 13 minutes before I (try very hard to) leave the house for work.) I screech into work with my ½ dozen bags of essentials, feeling flustered, and wondering what I can possibly have done with the 4 hours since I got out of bed. I have gotten progressively slower about being able to get out of the house in the morning and I’m mystified as to why. Perhaps it’s the addition of wrinkles to my face that call for more makeup time (see above), maybe it’s the affection I’ve developed for the Today show as I’ve matured. I don’t want to point towards my disinclination to get out of my bathrobe and put on actual clothes, because that sounds lazy. Ok, so maybe it’s not so mysterious. All I know is, I have very clear memories of snoozing in the top bunk of my college dorm room and my friend standing in the doorway, using her loud mom voice: “Leigh, it’s 7:53. We have to leave NOW.” Skipped the ladder, got some pants on- ready for action. Bio class across campus by 8am. Heaven help me (and everyone around me) when I have children to add to that morning routine.

Good talk. I feel better.