Movie Time

I'm not sure that I'm in my right mind, I've pulled back from the crazies lately (partly because I quit my one job, and making decisions feels good) but I can still see them lingering, like a shadow in the periphery. I'm trying my best to focus on happy things, I even went to far as to explain to a woman that a week of rain and flooding is a good thing because it keeps the grass green, she said miserable too many times, and it was bringing me down.

Today I decided that after some super unsuccessful window shopping I'd grab a movie to watch and just enjoy the day. I watched Something Borrowed, that was a mistake. Movies are supposed to have happy endings, or at least American movies are, everyone is supposed to end up with the right person and the bad guys are supposed to end up alone. It didn't happen. Where is my catharsis? I need to know that the best friend who was in love ends up happy. Where is his justice? Yeah, he goes to London, and that would make me happy but he doesn't get his girl not even after being super patient.

I must move on. I must trust that the actor had a scheduling conflict because that best friend was better than the other guy who came across as the "bad guy" even when everyone was doing stupid things.

Maybe the problem with movies is that somehow every movie ends with you, the viewer, connected to a character. That's supposed to happen, you're supposed to relate to someone, but I always relate the the one who doesn't win. I'm Ben Affleck in The Company Men, I'm Annie in Bridesmaids, I'm Ethan in Something Borrowed (even the "I kind of love you, kind of" thing, I did that in London too, and I was also told "darn, too bad"). I don't care to be these characters, and yes, they do find something like peace or happiness, but they are defeated versions of themselves by the end of the movie and I'm hoping for something other than defeat.

Maybe Logan is right , I have to write a book. I have to create something out of the defeat I'm feeling. Or I have to accept it.
You don't need to know who Logan is, he's important in terms of this idea but becoming less and less important in the big picture. It's sad how friends fade.-

I'm a Mom!

Yesterday, via the mail, I became a mother. I know, it's rather unexpected, I wasn't pregnant (I thought), I don't know who the father is, I'm even unsure of my child's race.

But Similac made me a mom and a mom I shall be.

I sent announcement texts to my closest confidants. Some were not so pleased. Kristen called me a whore, Melissa didn't see the pic so she was a bit confused and everyone else just accepted my new status as a mother. I guess I'll have a belated shower sooner or later, as soon as someone plans one, look, I'm a new mom, I don't have the time for party planning!

Just because I don't know who the father of my probably Indian baby is, I have asked my friend Logan to be his godfather. Logan has obliged given one one condition: that I name my child Shadow 3, after my late dog Shadow and Kat's late dog Max or Shadow 2. I can't have my poor child growing up without a male role model, especially because I think my child might be a boy because it is wearing blue.

I do love Shadow 3. I hope you will too. Please don't judge me and my single mother status. I didn't ask for this, it just kind of happened.

Boots Sweet, Boots Sweet the Wonderful Candy You Wear on Your Feet

I have never quite understood the power of a boot. People love them. I have only been wearing these magic shoes for 14 months and they have changed my life. I love them. They're warm and cozy and they make my naked legs less naked, and somehow add a touch of sex appeal to an outfit even without adding a stupid 17 inch platformed heel.

As it begins to be consistently cold I am compelled to wear my boots more, for obvious reasons, my feet stay warm and dry and the truck drivers, strange homeless-looking outlet shoppers and occasional lesbian flock to me in droves with kind complements that both perplex me and make me smile (and turn a nice shade of purple). Take today, the truck driver who drops off our shipment told me I looked too nice and smelled too nice to be working shipment, he also told me he liked my boots and fishnets (Logan did warn me, they are a bit whorish).

Maybe if I go out into real public places, ones that aren't filled with women and bargain shoppers, in my fantastic boots I'll win the lust, and in turn the heart, of a man who is not wearing a sports jersey or complaining that his job driving places and dropping things off is too hard. I don't need much just a bit of intelligence and understanding for I will have to take my boots off at some point and this poor man will be left with feet!