I've been told I occasionally have the temperament of a Chihuahua, so it comes as no surprise that I'm still freaking out about my husband's job in Newport Beach. Did he or didn't he get it? If we get a call it's a good thing; a letter in the mail, a bad thing. So now, on top of covertly avoiding my perverted 42-year-old neighbor who looks like Peter Griffin from Family Guy and "just happens" to always check his mail at the same time as me no matter the hour, I'm also avoiding our mailbox. I'm beyond tempted to call the firm anonymously and yell: "Look I understand you hot-shot lawyers are busy or so you make it seem, but convene already and make a decision about my husband!!! Jesus Christ, you people make me SICK. " But alas, that tactic would only work in my fantasy world. In reality? Epic fail. I'm in purgatory and can do nothing more than pick incessantly at my lips and finger nail polish, which is what I do when I'm nervous. I suppose it's better than chain-smoking or doing crack, but I've been buying a lot more Burt's Bee's Lip Balm and nail polish lately...
Anyway, my sister emailed me yesterday from Santiago, Chile, where she and my mom arrived earlier this week. My dad is flying down next week to meet up with them in Santiago, where they will commence their Hollywood blockbuster of a road trip. Two words: Flipping jealous.While they're out gallivanting around the Andes, imbibing on spirits and having a jolly time frolicking across the hallowed grounds of Machu Picchu, I'll be sitting here in my husband's polar bear pajama pants fretting about someone else's job and cleaning cat vomit out of my carpet. Oh how the mighty do fall.
On a brighter note I submitted my first humor piece to The New Yorker on Monday. The chances of getting it published -- heck, much less looked at -- are probably even more dismal than running into a shirtless Matthew McConaughey and his rippling biceps in Malibu (sigh), but it never hurts to throw my hat in the ring and see what I can hook right? Let's see if I can win the lottery. Mama wants a new Buick.
Oh and the other day I went out to happy hour with my husband and friend, and I learned that two half-price pitchers of Sangria between three people who haven't eaten dinner yet always makes a Monday night delightful. Not only that, it makes watching my DVR-ed episodes of "The Rachel Zoe Project" thatmuch funnier. Thank you Sangria, and thank you Rachel Zoe.
Writer, wife, and mom to two baby girls. As of 2013 I'm no longer brunette (blond ambition!) nor on a budget. I love shoes, wine, Palm Springs, and Barry Gibb. As always, I'm still looking for my lost shaker of salt.
Email me at brunetteonabudget [at] gmail [dot] com.