All over the damn place. April 26, 2007

Someone please take away my credit card.
 
In the past 24 hours, I have purchased three dresses. These three dresses, in fact:

   
 

 
My spring wardrobe is still packed away: half in the back of the spare closet in my apartment and the other half at my parents’ home in New Jersey. The immediate unavailability of my warm weather clothes translates in my brain to: I don’t have any warm weather clothes! Must stock up! (I am amazing at deluding myself, really.) 
 
Combined with a light week at work and a recent deposit into my account and, well, you have the three dresses above. And a pair of jeans. And a pair of shoes. Ok, TWO pairs of shoes. Hey, my doorman calls me the Queen of Packages; I’m just trying to live up to my title. (Tangent: Is it totally crazy that when I purchased each dress, I thought to myself: “maybe I’ll get engaged in this dress!” Silly, as I will probably get engaged while wearing stained sweatpants, my “New Jersey: Only the strong survive” tee-shirt and flip-flops. Also, a chipped manicure because that is JUST MY LUCK. Still, a great excuse to continue to buy cute dresses if I do say so myself.)  
 
When I haven’t been shopping online at work (glimpse.com is a new obsession; you’re welcome/I’m sorry), I’ve been on the New York Magazine website reading about other people’s sex lives. 
 
Yeah, you read that right. Just in time for spring fever, New York has put out a “Sex and Love” issue, heavy on the sex. Included are detailed sex diaries of various New Yorkers and the voyeur in me is all “awesome!” and also maybe “wow, these people are way freakier than I am. I mean WAY.”
 
I feel vanilla in comparison, but in a good way. I don’t need a polyamorous relationship (complete with “Polly” parties, to meet other poylamorous folk) or to be handcuffed and spanked (hi, googlers of “handcuffed & spanked”…this is not what you’re looking for, move along). M and I are happy and consistent and enthusiastic and not at all bored. Still, it fascinates me (maybe more than it should) to get a peek into what a typical week (in terms of sex) is like for people I share a city with. Does it fascinate anyone else? No? I’m the lone freak here? Damn it.  
 
Moving on, just yesterday a former colleague returned to the office with her new baby in tow. And I could not let go of that thing. Seriously. She was in a post-feeding coma and so she just laid her tiny, good-smelling baby head on my shoulder and wrapped her tiny baby hands around my pinky and I swear I could feel my ovaries start to hum. As if they were, like, REVVING UP.  “I want one of those,” I told everyone: co-workers, friends, M (who smiled and said, “let’s think of the very expensive diamond I’m about to buy as our baby. At least for a few more years.”)  
 
I read enough mommy (and daddy: www.sweet-juniper.com) blogs to know that it’s not all unicorns and rainbows. I know there is a lot of poop. More poop than I’m probably comfortable with. Also, endless screaming and late-night feedings and post-partum depression and Cheerios in your hair and all that shit but that’s why they make them so damn cute while they’re SNUGGLING ON YOUR SHOULDER AND GRIPPING YOUR PINKY AS IF YOU ARE THE MOST IMPORTANT THING IN THE WORLD TO THEM.  
 
Sigh. I need some coffee. And some lessons on how to write a coherent post. Clearly.