hot coffee girl

I asked for some ideas. And...Oh!...I got some alright.

I will give it a shot.

Shoes...not really a shoe girl. Oh, don't get me wrong...I can maneuver some pretty treacherous situations in stilettos. And I love all manner of things that make me my true height of 5'10" (I have always been under-tall)...but I may be missing that gene that makes me crave Jimmy Choo's latest strappy sandals. I never really understood that part of Carrie's character in "Sex and the City" on a personal level. My redeeming girly fetish? I have about a gazillion purses. I love them. I name some of them. (I picked up this really great one at Banyan Tree a while back that I named Holly for Audrey's character in "Breakfast at Tiffany's". She's been travelling to work with me all week and I love her.) But I have no Prada heels in my closet. Please don't revoke my girl card, I beg you.

Avi, of course, wanted me to talk about why he is so awesome. Well. That's so obvious I almost feel bad re-stating it. The first thing that leaps to mind are his milkshake moves. I am sorry. I just crack the hell up every time I see this. It can bring a little bit of sunshine to even the darkest hour. A huge thanks to CP for her role in bringing this hidden talent to the masses.

So, now that we have that out of the way... 

I will surely be addressing some of the other topics tomorrow. Miss Ann-anal sex and lower bowels, really? Gah. You are original. Plus, I am wearing the very pink semi-sparkly PJ's that you sent. And they are so friggin cute and comfy I could die...so you are forgiven.  Now I am going to baby-talk to my dog.

This is my 200th post and I can't think of a frigging thing to write.

If you are tired of looking at stale shit (and my picture below), then come up with something better, whiners.

I will pick the most interesting topic and promise to get up very early tomorrow to write about it so you have something to read while you're pretending to work.

Go on...enable my lazy bitchedness. 

As Snog would say, if you don't think this is the cutest little dress, then you and I would not be friends. I will let you know how it fared on the First Day this evening...

Turns out not where but who you're with that really matters"
-Dave Matthews Band

The martinis were strong, the beers were cold, and the friendship was warm. There were balloons and flowers and things covered in pink wrapping paper. But as I looked around the table, I felt most blessed by the people that were sitting there.

I am not sure if the Japanese proverb, “When the character of a man is not clear to you, look at his friends,” is true…but if it is, I have done something right.

I have amazing friends.

Some were new faces…people I have met only in the last year, but that I suspect will be part of my life for years to come. Some were family, and soon to be family. Some know stories about me from way back. One wakes up with me every morning and still smiles.

I looked around at all of these beautiful, funny, talented, smart, wonderfully kind people with me last night and thought…

“Damn. If I hung out with more losers, I would certainly look more appealing.”

(Thank you all so much for a wonderful Birthday. I couldn’t have asked for more.)

So, what’s the story here?

Two writers on my blogroll go private in one day (meaning posts can be read by members only), several of my girlfriends are having serious relationship trouble (one is likely moving in with The Boy and I this weekend), another is packing up the children and leaving her husband with a note to explain. It seems that everyone has been suffering to various extents from Blogger’s Block. When I set the iPod to “Shuffle”, she spit out Mark Cohn followed by DJ Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince. Joe  hasn’t written a haiku in weeks. This morning, on my way to The Pitts, my hands broke out into a rash that caused small blisters in some spots.

It’s not a full moon. Despite the proliferation of Reality TV, Rome isn’t burning at a faster pace than normal. There is still too much snow on the ground for it to be Spring Fever.

What the hell is going on?