I am so popular

Last week was a busy one. I had a good, long conversation about family and what it means to be heading for 40 and whether God exists with one friend, and visited a teeny craft market in Union Square with another. I lifted a four-year-old up on my shoulders so she could put a star on top of a Christmas tree. I shopped for, and finally bought, an MOH dress. Walnut helped. She was very understanding of how much I hated my hips that day. And I hated them a lot. (The dress, BTW, is an iridescent sort of burnished gold taffeta, strapless, with a wee train.)

Sunday I had crepes with the four-year-old from Friday, who had just braved a flu shot. Then I went downtown to pick up the dress. Then I ate sweet potato, chick peas, and jasmine rice at Walnut's, and wondered again at how much life I feel I've already lived, and how incredibly short it seems at the same time. I guess I'm worried I'm not moving forward fast enough. Like since I'm not getting married I need to do something else equally momentous, drive some stake in the ground that says this is who I am as an adult. But I have absolutely no clue what that stake looks like. And I really wish there was someone to hold the stake steady for me.

Anyhoo. It is what it is. And of course it's not all bad. This, for instance, exists (NSFW):

Guntram Müller's MüllerCize It! (part 1) from Thomas Lennon