Happy day after Valentine’s Day! Or, as normal people call it, Wednesday. (no, I will not call it “hump day”.)
Rather than blab on about the horrors of VD (I’m sure there are plenty others out there who already did that, referring to the holiday AND to the scary medical conditions) I’m going to take a different approach to the day of love (or the day after, but who’s counting) to write a love letter of sorts to my friends. Two in particular: my bridesmaids. Continue reading
I saw my husband this weekend, the first time in a month — the longest period of time we have been separated since we started dating eight years ago. (Of course, now we’re actually separated, and not just by distance. So, there’s that … ) Continue reading
My husband moved out of our apartment this weekend — definitely a “down” in terms of the ups and downs one experiences with marriage. As I reorganize my now spacious apartment to suit one person (and two cats), I try not to dwell on the why / what went wrong, and instead focus on looking ahead – whatever the future may hold. Continue reading
I am not proud to admit this, but I am having a self-pity day. And that drives me absolutely insane. I am not the kind of person who will accept this kind of behavior/mood from anyone, and especially not from myself. Is there anything more annoying?
When I attempt to show friends and family who wallow in their
pathetic “poor me” attitudes that I am (ahem) understanding, I always tell them to go ahead and take a day to feel sorry for yourself. ONE day. Then put on your big boy or girl panties and go figure your shit out.
Well, apparently today is my day. So humor me. Save the tough love for tomorrow.
There is a new reason why I am living a “Life After Normal.” My husband and I are separated. Continue reading
I don’t know when it happened. I don’t know how it happened. I was not aware that the evolution was slowly, but surely, in progress. Sure, I have changed a lot over the past few years, but I thought I was improving with age??
Apparently not. For whatever reason, I recently became painfully aware of the contents of my
lingerie underwear drawer. Not that it used to rival the Agent Provocateur catalog or anything, but somehow, it now holds the most boring, safe and un-sexy undergarments in existence. Bye bye lace; hello cotton. Push up? More like push down and flatten.
God I’m depressed. Today, cotton t-shirt bras and boy shorts; tomorrow, grannie panties (“control briefs,” according to the picture) and Playtex bras.