Um. I was going to write a post that started out with “I hate packing so incredibly much it’s not even funny and also my whole life I wanted to be that girl who could just throw a toothbrush in her bag and haul ass out the door unemcumbered and I am SO not that girl and so packing is not only a vile experience in its own right but it is also a reminder that I have failed at becoming the imaginary girl I always wanted to be and also did I mention I can’t help but notice I am not married to JFK Jr and I do not live in Tribeca and I do not spend my rent money on shoes and also I forgot I am not Carrie Bradshaw.” Then I realized that part of the problem of having had this blog for almost four freaking years is that I am pretty sure I have already written that EXACT blog post.
So um, I hate packing, blah blah blah JFK Jr blah.
Also, this might seem like a superficial question, but welcome to my world people. Is it inappropriate to wear knee length black boots to a funeral? With a wrap dress, if you must know. It would be very helpful if many of you answered this question and if the answers were all “No, that doesn’t seem inappropriate at all, as long as you don’t wear fishnet tights, black boots are fine!” because otherwise I will have no choice but to wear some too small nylons and hobble around in a pair of stupidly purchased very high heels and why I don’t seem to own any black shoes I can walk in I have no idea, but I think I may have just argued my way into buying some new shoes, which is awesome. Anyhoo, the black boots are the only thing that keep me from feeling ridiculously fat and lumpy in my stupid wrap dress and btw I would like to mention that ma child is now 1 year and 09 days old and that is 09 days longer than the deal we made 1 year and 09 days ago when I told him I would breastfeed him until he was one year old even if it killed me which it darn near did and you would think he could hold up his side of the bargain and learn to use a freaking sippy cup already. Do you know how undignified it is to try to breastfeed a wiggly little bread snapper while wearing a wrap dress and knee length boots?
And I would like to add that I am not sure which one it is, but I have decided either my fubared circadian rhythms or my lackage of weaning of my child are to blame for the fact that I am always freaking starving and therefore cannot seem to lose any weight. I have grand ambitions but come 5:30 they go out the window when I am confronted with the raging beast that is my appetite. Considering that I am now heavier than I was when I pushed said child out into the world and that I am headed to Detroit to be scrutinized by the very people who make me more self conscious than any other people on this earth, I am not too thrilled about this state of affairs. On the plus side I decided to abandon the hilariously impossible idea of packing light and we are now each bringing our own ginormous suitcase and I am totally going to pack a bottle of vodka and a cocktail shaker. I’m like James Bond over here people, minus the heart defibrillator. Also, I’m pretty sure 007 never had to nurse any plus one year olds while wearing a wrap dress.
Also, do you think this is a sign that my brain has turned to mush? When my child wakes up from his nap, the first thing he does to alert me that he’d like to be fetched is to throw his pacifier over the side of the crib onto the floor. I, of course, ignore this in favor of writing psychotic rants on the internet relating to knee length boots, but I also find it so adorable I can hardly stand it. What a clever little thing that bread snapper is.
Please wish me luck in the land of we never turn the television off lest we be forced to make adult conversation or do something other than stew in the juices of Comedy Central.
And please advise as per boots.