At 10:30 this morning, I grabbed the last table at Starbucks and sat with my very first Chai Latte. Both girls were in school (my little one for just 2.5 hours) and I had crammed in several errands—the Post Office, Target and Home Expo—then decided to treat myself to a half hour with a warm drink. I brought along materials to work on an assignment for a writing class that I’m taking.

For a brief moment I started to stress out (I’m good at that) about various things, particularly about not having enough time before I had to leave to pick up S. Then a few things happened.

I started my work and realized that I LOVE my new pen, a Pilot Dr. Grip Center of Gravity (“Balanced Axis!” “Turbo charged ink!”) that I got at Costco.

The woman next to me complimented me on my hair. She seemed really into it.

The Chai latte was quite good. Might be my new thing.

I noticed a young woman with glasses doing some serious studying for a class, a middle aged man with a laptop and work files spread out, concerned about whatever was on the screen, and an employee with a green apron changing the trash. That is, people doing un-fun stuff that they HAD to do vs. me, having a busy day, but of my own design.

Then two guys walked in together and sat by the window. “Tell me about yourself,” the older guy said to the younger one. Gah! Does it get any worse that being interviewed at Starbucks, selling yourself amidst all the people within earshot? I hope he gets the job, or at least someone buys him a cookie for trying.

Is it strange that I just made a list of things to talk to my husband about when he comes home tonight? It’s been a busy day and we didn’t talk on the phone as usual, so I have lots of little things to tell that could get lost in the dinner-with-children and post-dinner, pre-bedtime madness.

None of it’s earth shattering but I just work better when things are written down vs. floating around out there in space, uncontained. So in the midst of the evening’s activities I’ll be trying to report: that I refilled his prescription for him, that my mom and new husband want to visit us soon, that the contractor working on our bathroom remodel will be here tomorrow at 8am to work for four hours, that I heard some more (reliable) gossip about which elementary school in our district is going to be closed (30% chance it’s ours!), that the mirror contractor was an asshole today, but we have a small chance of having the bathroom done before the birthday party we’re throwing for J’s kindergarten girlfriends on the 29th, and oh, I have some cash that he’ll have to remind me to give him tonight since I didn't get it earlier in the week like I usually do, and by the way how was your day, honey?

I’m also the kind of person who makes packing lists for trips, pencils in daily to-do lists in my planner, and prepares notes before placing business calls. So I guess it’s no surprise that I write everything else down too. Even a post-it note to prompt a conversation with my own husband.

At 3:47 on Friday afternoon, I’ve been trying to write something all day but time is slipping away. I’ve been busy reading the same story repeatedly to my preschooler, watching Care Bear movies with both girls (they begged me and then narrated every scene to me with such zeal that I had to stay in the room), and now I’m even eating a mini-bag of Clifford the Big Red Dog cinnamon graham snacks. This is what I signed up for and I really like hanging out with the kidlets—believe me, it’s better than being at the office—but a mixed drink is calling my name.

Fortunately, I won’t have to wait too long. Tomorrow night I’m taking my husband to the city for his birthday. He’s a music lover and recently added classical music to his listening repertoire. Of course, he also appreciates good food. So here’s what we’re doing:

While my sister baby-sits, K. and I will first have dinner at Indigo Restaurant, which is new to us (the Pork Osso Bucco sounds good). Then we'll walk over to the San Francisco symphony to enjoy a Mozart/Schoenberg/Beethoven performance. We have left loge seats with this view:




We’ll also stay overnight at The Orchard Hotel, getting up in the morning at our leisure (which is still on the early side because by now we’re wired that way) and having breakfast somewhere in Union Square.

So I guess I can stop feeling sorry for myself and go get the girls a snack. Then I’ll fold laundry and clean up the house. Cause I’m getting out soon, baby!

You may have noticed that I’ve been posting less often. I have good reasons though. Every freaking member of my immediate family is having a birthday, we’re remodeling a bathroom and I have deadlines for a writing class. Plus, OMG you guys, Rainbow died last night! So I have to clean the aquarium again today in preparation of getting a new fish. *sigh*

But let’s not dwell on important or sad things. Instead, check out the latest Google searchs that led people to my blog. I bet these folks are really pleased to find me to help them out.

why does spring water that has trickled through mountains for centuries go out of date next year Good question. Anyone?

dr wayne dyer bullshit I’m sure this hostile person—who doesn’t love Wayne’s message?—found great success with those search terms.

housewife hookers Virginia Is there a club? Is it a large group??

what brand of cologne does simon lebon use I continue to get questions about Simon. I don’t know what he smells like but I’m sure it’s good.

Happiness is a good wife Agreed.

dealing with indiscreet tactless behaviors The insensitive people that I know are pretty open with their tactlessness, so I’m not sure I can help with this.

babysitter knocked unconscious That was totally not us.

weather related sinus pressure blog That’s me. The human weathervane.

hoop earrings promiscuous I pretty much always wear hoops, so…

madame pee pee I did use the word “pee pee” here once, so I deserve that.

Keep ‘em coming, I could use a laugh.

Do fish sleep? Because this morning, our new betta fish, Rainbow, sure looked dead. He lay on the turquoise and navy gravel under the long vertical filter tube, behind the plants. J. and I watched him, her with mild interest; me, starting to panic. He was so still. I couldn’t perceive any rhythmic puckering of his tiny lips—was he breathing at all?

I called K. into the room and with complete sensitivity he concluded that Rainbow was probably dead. “No, no,” I said as if he were being silly, giving him a look that conveyed he better not say that again in front of J. “I’m sure he’s napping or something,” I said. “I’ve seen him being mellow in the plants before.” Then I snuck off to the computer in the next room and did a Google search.

The very first site provided the answer that I wanted to hear, so I looked no further. (How’s that for solid research?) “Guys!” I called into the other room. “Fish do sleep, kind of. They rest under logs at night or hide in reefs. Some kinds remain motionless.”

Minutes later Rainbow began swimming around, showing off his fancy fins, back to his old tricks. Thank God, because I bought him based on advice that bettas are much hardier than goldfish, so the damn thing better live for a long while. At least until J.’s next birthday. (Sorry, Rainbow, I do love ya, buddy.)

*Bonus Learning: Don't polish your nails after drinking a large glass of ice water, especially if you have a weak bladder. Because you're going to have to wait awhile...