I'm having one of those days where I want to hold a baby and sniff its head and have it lie there sleeping on my chest. And then return it to its parents after 15 minutes or so.
One of those days filled with little annoyances and small (well, medium sized) disappointments that just start to weigh on you a bit. Forgotten soon enough, I suppose, but here with me today.
And I'm reading this book about finding husband after 35 using techniques learned at Harvard Biz School, which is hysterically funny, sad, frightening and intriguing all at once. Apparently if I follow her plan I should have a husband in 12-18 months. Except that her Program (yes, its referred to as "The Program") involves setting aside 10-20% of your income to go towards your "marketing," making telemarketing calls to every single person you remotely know to see if they know any single people, finding a "mentor" who has 2 hours a week to spare helping you with The Program, and then devising a series of tests for your man once you find him just to make sure he really is the right one. One of the tests she suggests is asking him to help one of your friends move. Seriously.
In the spirit of that book I took myself to a Spanish wine and cheese pairing class last week, since, you know, that's where single men hang out. Actually, it's where lesbians and other single straight women looking for single men hang out. But the food was amazing, the wine was fantastic and I got a tour of a cheese cave (which doesn't really look like a cave.) And the cheese monger had dreamy eyes.
If you are lucky I'll share some of my adventures in this realm from time to time, just so you don't get bored on my journey to forearm balance and handstand.
There are thunderstorm warnings tonight. Maybe a nice storm and the change in barometric pressure will blow these bahs out of here.