Therapy

I've been slackin' off pretty hard in the blogging department. Here are some potential excuses. I was still full from my lunch triathlon, stressed out by work (it can happen), de-energized by the dollar-a-day plan, or too busy with the following activities:

On Thursday, I slept the entire day. Well, from 9 am to 3:45pm when I got up and found an e-mail from my friend, Bee, asking if we were still going hiking. We sort of have a hiking routine worked out, but we stick to it maybe one week out of the month. I can think of a total of 2 hikes we have taken. So naturally, waking up in the 90 degree weather and being a little unexplainably melancholy, I was not too eager in my response. She suggested we stretch our legs at the mall's sidewalk sale instead. I agreed and suggested DQ as well. Luckily you can still get a cone for a dollar there. I wasn't feeling too dilly-bar-y after my last experience. Anyway, I know this is how half the world thinks that girls are, and I hate to confirm their manly suspicions, but shopping with Bee was the perfect cheer-up session. We talked about what we will wear when we are old old and what these con-found-ed youngsters are wearing (or not wearing) these days. We enforced a shirts-only shopping rule because of our respective fat days. Bee said, whilst we ate our DQ, that you should wear striped pants on fat days, and I said, in between cone licks, not if your striped pants are too tight.

In the end, we decided on matching shoes. This is where the entire man universe and a few ladies who balk at being stereotyped produce a collective eyeroll. Matching sparkling shoes. Bee said "Shoes are the perfect pick-me-up". Retail therapy. I know. I never thought I'd say it either. Seriously though, doesn't it kind of make you happy to look at them? And when's the last time you were too fat for your shoes? On the way out, we met some band members on the Warped Tour. I felt bad for rushing by them, but we were in a hurry. At least I could've had them sign our shoes.

Here are some other highly recommended forms of therapy:

Visit Rocket and his very own handsomest man on the planet at the meat market.

Bake mass quantities of cookies for a Zimbabwe-fundraising bakesale with your friend who is kind enough to assist and volunteer their kitchen.

Watch Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory (the oldie) in a schoolyard at night and witness a falling star (which is apparently just space garbage, but don't let that keep you from making a wish).

Witness Cuchillo and his impersonation of One-Eyed Whisman (aka Rocky the Rockhound). Then draw a picture of it later at work. Then wonder what the heck is up with his arm and ask yourself if you should not take some courses in human anatomy.

Thanks to my friends and their therapy.