Vacations are like finals...

The week before is always the most horrendous experience ever. I power shopped for 4 hours tonight, trying on at least 15 swimsuits. Only to come home and find that my existing suit looks better than any of the others I found. UGH!!! I also found some dresses at Target, of all places, but they'll only be OK if I can find my "special" underwear. And, by "special," I mean the sucking in, up to my bra line kind. Not the date kind.

I also tried on at least 15 tops and 10 skirts at another store. I had the sales lady at my disposal for an hour. She heard emergency and hawaii and thought it'd probably be a good chance at a decent commission. The gamble paid off for her. Only one skirt but at least 6 tops.

I have no idea how much laundry needs to be done, I have a billion things to do at work tomorrow, I need an eyebrow wax, I have to get Huxley to the kennel 10 miles north of town, partially on gravel, in this snowstorm, and I have no idea what I'm packing, or when. I have until 3:30 a.m. Saturday morning to take care of business. We'll see... It does stress me out less to know that this is a big part of who I am and I always manage to make things work. I mean, come one, did anyone, including myself, expect me to be packed and ready to go more than 2 hours before the plane left? I am me, and I accept my limitations.

To make the day weird, I got a phone call from an ex-boyfriend, the plumber. The most normal relationship I've ever had. Probably because I knew I wasn't going to marry him so his flaws didn't really bother me. We talked for an hour and he kept bringing up how much he liked dating me and what a good girlfriend I was. He even brought up how I'd been the best girlfriend re: buying him gifts, etc. Then we openly discussed the man neclace issue and the fact that he went to WEEZER without me. Still bitter. I honestly couldn't remember if it was Cake or Weezer but, when he disclosed it was Weezer, I was angry all over again. He thought the man neclace was the last straw. I pointed out that the dam broke around the time of the Weezer incident, about a week prior.

At the end of the conversation, he asked if I had a layover in Minneapolis and told me he really wanted to take me out for a drink. That's more than I can say for the Sheriff, so I guess he wins. Plus, he's a sure thing, if that's what I'm in the mood for. I warned him that I'd be crabby and tired during the layover, after a long, long flight and he reminded me that I was like that the entire time we dated. Touche.

Huxley hasn't caused any exploding tails or hysterical hair loss amongst my pussy posse today. It's the first time that's happened since, well, ever. Of course, the night's not over yet. Not for me, the raging insomniac. I called up my doc and made her give me the sleep meds that make me fat, but not insane, for the Hawaiian vacation. I mean, I'm going to gain weight while I'm there anyway, what's an extra boost going to hurt. It's a vacation-only thing, though. Then, I'm off to trying new meds that I can't locate within a 100 mile radius of the Magic City.