Boogers and Bruises

Unless you've been holed up for the past week you can probably tell that the seasons are kind of changing. I mean, unless you live in a place where you don't have seasons. Or you just live somewhere other than this general area. Like the general east coast region. Okay fine, I'VE noticed that it's starting to feel like fall. Jeez, tough crowd. With great change comes great responsibility. Like the responsibility to dress in layers. I don't know if any of you have been following this blog long enough to know about my "problem" with dressing appropriately for weather. You see, I just can't seem to get it right. That being said, I always get sick when the seasons change. This isn't so bad because I so rarely get sick otherwise, but it's irritating because somehow it still manages to surprise me. I mean, here I am, 10:45 on a Saturday night, locked into yet another babysitting job (something's gotta fund this cross country move, folks, and it's not going to be going out and drinking vodka tonics), huddled under a teeny-tiny fleece blanket, wearing a tank top, groping at my lymph nodes, pondering my increasingly pressurized dome-piece, and resisting the urge to shiver. And I can't stop blowing my nose. It's stupid.

Also, I bruise really easily. I'd upload a picture of my thighs but I don't want anyone filing claims of assault and battery, when really there's no one to blame but me, myself, and potassium-deprived I. It looks like someone took a miniature pogo stick and bounced around just above both my knees. This is just the result of carrying a few boxes stacked atop one another the other day, but man does it look bad. It forced me to wear pants today, which was probably a good thing considering I was ill-equipped for the chilly weather as it was, but regardless, no thanks. I don't want to walk around with strangers wondering if I have hemophelia or an abusive, drunk boyfriend.

*I just re-read the last paragraph and realized that I made it sound like I frequently go out into the world sans pants. Obviously this is true. Me and my itsy bitsy white girl ass roam the streets wearing tank tops and little mermaid panties. Truth be told, I meant a dress. Which is pretty clear at this point, but just in case I've got any naive, gullable readers out there.

I hope I didn't offend anyone by not writing a 9/11 commemorative blog post or anything, but to be honest, it's my Mom's birthday today and I try and keep the mood light for that reason. It's also Eileen's birthday, over at Eileen Eats, and she's basically like my surrogate, peer, mother, not to mention one of the smartest, most beautiful, most conscientious, worldly, and inspiring people I know. So, while I obviously recognize the reflection that must take place each year on this day as an American and especially a New Yorker, I've chosen to take September 11th back for these two, and celebrate their birthdays instead.

Mom (and Dad), 1993

Me and Eileen, April 2010

Happy Birthday!

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to retreat back under the confines of this miniscule blanket. Ciao

A