Warning: I am feeling feisty tonight. Maybe it's because after months confined to this house, today I finally resumed my Tuesday Nights Out. Although abbreviated and accompanied by a 3 week old to the grocery store, it was still more activity and freedom I've had since Christmas. Maybe it's because I'm 37 now. Maybe because for the first time in ages, I got to choose the car media, and instead of one of Amy's speech DVD's, (not that I don't love to hear her repeat, "le cow" when the language gets mysteriously changed) I chose satellite radio so I could sing at the top of my lungs (badly) "Cracklin' Rosie," The Fray, and Nancy Sinatra within a span of seconds. Whatever the reason, I beg you to bear with me and my foul language, random musings and general saltiness.
Well, I am more than a little pissed. I have been looking forward to this hair appointment for weeks, and it got canceled. And the even worse part is that I have to wait another 10 days for another one. My hair is the longest it's ever been down to my ass and with these grey streaks running down either side, and I do not exaggerate when I say I look exactly like Lily Munster. Not Mortisha Addams, mind you. Lily Munster.
So feeling feisty and a little macabre, I went shopping for some clothes. I need something for Friday that meets the "tropical casual" label Floridians are so fond of using on their invitations while 3 weeks postpartum. And yes, I do mean to brag and I really don't care who knows it, but I fit into a single digit dress, beyotch.
Back at Publix, I was reminded of an idiotic post I made a few months back about not ingesting any other liquid besides water and milk. That plan is officially over, my friends. If it is not caffeinated or alcoholic, there is no room in my diet for it right now. Essentials, people.
So as I loaded the cart with Coke, coffee and beer, I had this conversation at least 17 times--4 in the produce aisle alone:
"Oh what an adorable baby! How old?"
"My, and look at all that hair!"
"Yes, she has eyes and ears, too." (I really never know how to respond to the whole hair observation thing.)
"Is she your first?"
"No, my fourth."
Audible gasp followed by long pause.
"I thought you looked tired."
What the f*** is that? These are complete strangers. How do they know my tired face from my coked up face? How do they know those bags under my eyes aren't from a recent WWE Diva match? How do they know it's not just bad mascara? Or bad lighting? Or from after the scrap I got into with the last idiot who said that. I mean, seriously, what the f***?
Okay, I feel better. I think I need to show this much verve in my new video blogging venture which I will share with you as soon as I show this much verve in my new video blogging venture.