Learning opportunities and counting down and eighties and yay!

Jordan is sound asleep and for the moment I'm all alone in the sunny quiet.

It's kind of perfect.

My in-laws just left. We had a very nice visit, with only a few dicey moments.

Like, the day McChrystal got fired - because you know, if you work for as huge an asshole he did, you shouldn't be expected to keep your mouth shut. Because everybody knows what an asshole our current president is.

Learning opportunity: You can choose to be stabby or you can act like you have to pee. And then you can go upstairs and check your email for 10-15 minutes. Nobody is going to ask you if you were constipated when you return.

There was a lot of wine. I started pouring pretty much the minute I got home. It just softened all the pointy edges. I didn't hesitate to keep it pouring.

Learning opportunity: Alcohol is a nice little product in almost every social situation. And the more of it the better in the stressful ones.

Nick leaves this evening for a quick overnight trip. While of course I'm going to miss him, I am so excited to eat dinner all by myself and not make any conversation. Seriously, I'm going to have pasta with maybe a little olive oil and salt and steamed broccoli and maybe read a magazine.

No butter. No cheese. No flour. No cream. No bacon. No ice cream.

None of those are bad on their own or even in some kind of remote moderation. But all together in the same meal, every meal, makes me twitch.

Learning opportunity (ahem, husband): When you can see your arteries hardening and your stomach expanding, it's time to detox.

Also, when you have a pending high school reunion, the last thing you want to be doing is gaining five pounds. No. You want to be as skinny as possible.

Because, you guys, my high school reunion is next weekend!

I've been emailing with two of my dear high school friends, one of whom I haven't seen in a kabillion years, who are coming to stay with us the end of next week. I am so excited!

In fact, now that I think about it, I might subject you to a number of potential reunion outfits - dresses, shoes, accessories, the works. It's not national security decisions, but rather, the kind of frivolity I completely love.

If you're up for it, of course.

Actually, even if you're not. Cause I'm Billy Jean and I'm mad as hell. I'm a woman with a story to tell...OK, I'm not really. I'm Chaka Khan, let me rock you...

Which also reminds me. I need to make 80s playlists! I might solicit your opinions on that as well.

Seriously, you all, I cannot fucking wait.