What I do instead of what I should do.

It was a great week. One of those you see coming from your perch at the end of Sunday night, grimacing, then with resolve, ripping off your forever21 crap blouse to reveal an imaginary SUPAWOMAN thing emblazoned on your chest, as you decide to give the upcoming overbooked week THE smackdown, and laugh in the face of your Google calendar...


You know that one?


And then, you know how you proceed to do none of the things you told yourself you would? And you look at your supawoman emblazoning wadded up on the floor next to bubble wrap, a golf tee, three pennies, a colored pencil, a bunch of burned CDs, some cords and a broken picture frame. Because you are on week 6 of being "in the middle of moving."


Kind of like how you decide to start eating healthy and the first thing you do is go get a frozen custard the size of, like, me when I was born?


To quote my Facebook status today: "Pick up Moses from daycare. Get yanked around like rag doll. Feel dainty. Go straight to Petsmart. Get yanked through Petsmart. Drag Moses to COLLAR aisle. Pull pinch collar off shelf. Moses sees. Moses becomes very well behaved. Go from feeling dainty to feeling like the DOMINATOR. Then snuck him into my apartment./The End."


I am used to being around CCI dogs who don't even know how to bark or take craps unless you beg them to. So I'm using CCI standard commands on Modus and wondering what the hell's the matter with him. Oops.


Having sleepovers with my dog and going to Neilsen's frozen custard love-handles-in-cream-form...just one more creative way I find my way out of productivity. Oh that and telling anyone that will listen, about my boyfriend. Like, I think people might wonder if I'm in denial about him being dead. I mean I might need to start prefacing things with "Ok I know it sounds like I don't know my boyfriend's dead, because of how I talk about him. But I do. In case you start to worry about three minutes into this." You know what, it's weird, but you can't understand it until you're in my shoes, and you probably never will be. That said: It's been eight (8) months now. And the blueberries in Walmart make it feel like my ribcage is on fire, my eyelids feel suddenly heavy and not worth holding up, and I remember getting the call, as if the crash were last week.


But at least this isn't another blog about politics...


It's a blog about me being a big girl, in her big girl job and big girl apartment, walking around the city with her big big dog.


And it balances out sometimes.

The Regirlfriend was here.

In other news, I booked my flight to Vegas for Magye's Bachelorette party. She is my BFF from Kindergarten, just finished up Med School at UCLA (she's no dummy), and is finally getting hitched. I'm a bridesmaid and couldn't be more stoked.


Oh, and this happened in my car when my brother and his wife & kids came to Utah.





Car games wear you out.