No Mas Drogas

I've written about this before, but for another perspective, please read Jennifer Graf Groneberg's take on What to Say & Do If Your Friend's Baby has Special Needs.

I like her. She's smart. And she has pretty hair.
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I've stopped taking the Vicodin. It makes me toooo loopy. I've got an infant. I can't sit in bed "tripping" all day long. Nope. That's it and that's all. My doctor seems to think that PT would be good for me and that I should be back to, ahem, normal within 8 weeks.

Like we need another therapy in this house. Geesh.

Maybe by PT, she really means "massage therapy." Yeah, maybe that's it. I'll keep telling myself that up until the day I'm rolling around on somebody's floor or strung up in some contraption.

A girl can dream.
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Wanna know another thing I dreamt about? Buying a $260 carseat for $42.99. Stupid Target and their stupid price mistakes. I just got the email that told me that wasn't going to happen after all, which I kinda thought would happen but still.

Do you think maybe some of the suits at corporate are just sitting around, having drinks, and laughing it up at how they got thousands of regular folk all riled up about a bargain and then snatched it back? One day I will work my way up to that ladder and let you know. I bet I'm right.
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I watch some crappy TV, honestly I do. I mean, I have a season pass for TRHoATL. With that in mind, First Class All the Way? Bravo? Seriously? Booooo.

To balance that out, I am loving Tim Gunn's Guide to Style. I flove (yes, flove) TG, so I don't know why I haven't checked it out before now. I really like it. Adding in a designer really makes it stand out from other shows in that category.

Now someone go nominate me. I need help. I dress like a lazy painter. Who just woke up. And realized that there was no clean laundry. And then borrowed clothes from a thinner neighbor with the same priorities so everything's wrinkled and and a little too tight and just not pretty at all.

This morning I looked in my closet, saw my shoes, and for the first time said to myself, "Maybe shoe shopping wouldn't be such a bad thing."

For me, that's huge.

It's the first step you know.

I. Have. A. Fashion. Problem.

Now what?
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I probably just ruined all credibility with this post, but I really did stop taking the Vicodin.

Good thing. I have a Parent-Teacher Conference to attend. Hopefully Playette has stopped pulling hair.