I Guess I Can Cross This One Off My List

So the good new is, according to USA Today, my brilliance is not the reason I'm still single.

In an Op/Ed article entitled Do Smart Girls Finish Last In Love?, Laura Vanderkam explores the decline of the "success penalty"--the phenomenon whereby women who are well educated, have well paying jobs, and are generally successful in their careers, have lower rates of marriage than their "lower achieving sisters." Or as the article quipped, "Men don't make passes at girls who wear glasses."

According to this article, the old adage simply isn't true any more. Women 28-55 who earn more than $55,000 a year are just as likely to be married as other women who work full time. High achieving men want a spouse who are as smart as they are, in fact, a women's success makes her more desirable as a wife. High achieving women are getting married, just later in life.

Yet the article warns that there is "reason to worry." High achieving women marrying later in life also means that they have children later in life. "...this country needs the bright kids bright mom raise," writes Vanderkam, "...it's too bad for society that successful people aren't so successful in the Darwinian sense."

Vanderkam argues that young women have bought into the myth that it's impossible to have it all, so they have chosen to pursue their educations and careers first, and pursue families later in life. But she is hopeful that within a generation, women can "demand that suitors, schools and employers work on a different timetable when it comes to families, too."

The article left me with a lingering sense of doubt and discomfort. I felt like I'd been given yet another assignment to "have it all." Don't buy into the "myth," girls. You can have it all. You deserve to have it all. In fact, you should demand it.

Erm... well, I'm not completely confident that "we can't have it all" is such a myth. I only need to live my life to realize that I cannot have it all. I can barely have the things I currently juggle: 12 hour work days, daily chores, doing my laundry, spending time with friends I love. There's only a limited number of hours in the day. I have to spend some of those hours doing the usual stuff of life--commuting to work, making meals, taking showers, sleeping. The rest of my time, I have to make a choice. Work the extra two hours, or go home so that I can have a decent dinner at a decent hour? Go to coffee with a girl friend, or clean the kitchen? Sometimes I choose to build relationships, sometimes, honestly, I choose to do laundry.

Maybe women are getting married and having children later because we just know better. We know better than to ask for someone's heart and then never have any time for it. We know better than to let our careers define us, but we also know that success at work gets us approval that is hard to find elsewhere in our lives. We know better than to assume that the men in our lives are so shallow and so insecure that they would avoid a woman simply because she was better educated or made more money than he did. And we certainly know better than to believe that the reason why we are single is because we are successful.

And maybe it's because we are smart women that we realize it takes time and effort to build a relationship that leads to marriage, and that our children deserve to have our attention and care. It takes a smart woman to recognize her limits, know exactly what she can afford to give and what she needs to hold close. It takes a smart woman to know that juggling work and family life is not fun at all. Balls in the air may look spectacular, but we're about as likely to catch the ball as to miss it. Smart women know that to miss one of those rubber balls is alright at a children's party, but to let the ball drop on a relationship, a marriage, our children? That's monumental.

So no, I'm not planning to demand that my schools, my workplaces, and my suitors work around my time table. I don't want to have it all, all at once. I'm a smart woman. I know that in order to fully enjoy the numerous seasons of life, I need to give each one my full attention.

Dude...

A faux-hawk does not distract from the fact that you have a receding hairline.

From Wikipedia:

The faux-hawk or fauxhawk is a haircut similar to the Mohawk hairstyle. Hair on the top of the head is combed to resemble a small fan Mohawk. The hair on the sides of the head is not shaved, though it might be shorter.

Yes, I saw That Guy at Starbucks this morning. You know the one--in his thirties, urban, quite cute, starting to lose his hair. What a pity. That Guy could have been That Cute Guy --if only he would just embrace his balding.

But someone, somewhere has convinced this young man that a faux-hawk is the remedy to hide balding. So here he is. Standing in a Starbucks, ordering coffee, with a shock of hair standing about 3 inches high, and 3 inches back from where a faux-hawk should have started.

Oh dear...

Friend, taking what's left of your hair and making it into the "hot new style" really doesn't help the fact that you're balding. It just makes it that much sadder. Get a crew cut. Trust me on this one.

Form Letter To Single Wedding Guests

Please select where appropriate and enclose with invitation.

Dear Singleton:

Due to the rising costs of our wedding we

a. Regret that we cannot accommodate you bringing a date
b. Expect that you finish everything on your plate
c. Hope that you will bring leftover rolls home in your purse

As per your request, however, we have seated you with

a. The Only Other Singleton in attendance
b. Your friends so that you may mock the DJ together
c. Uncle Bob who will stare at your chest and make you feel strange and/or strangely flattered

For your convenience, we have provided an open bar so that you may

a. Get The Only Other Singleton drunk on our dime
b. Flirt with the cute but ambiguously gay bartender uninhibited
c. Drink to forget that we are having sex tonight whereas you are not

We apologize that

a. The DJ will inevitably play both The Electric Slide and The Chicken Dance
b. The Only Other Singleton will be a bad dancer
c. One of our relatives will try to grind with you

Dessert and coffee will be served in the other room so that you may

a. Have an excuse to leave the room when the bride throws the bouquet
b. Have an easy escape after the awkward dance/conversation/eye contact with The Only Other Singleton
c. Eat your emotions unobserved

Please know that we appreciate your coming to this celebration since this day has everything to do with us and very little to do with you. We are honored that, despite the fact that weddings are notoriously absurd and awkward for Singletons, you have chosen to share in our joyous moment.

Yours sincerely,
The Bride And The Groom

If There Are No Single Men, Is It OK To Show Up With Bushy Eyebrows?

Tomorrow, I'm going to a wedding of a dear friend.

It's been about 10 months since I've had an occasion to put on a formal dress and dancing shoes, so I'm thinking it might be fun to get some professional grooming services done, put on a cute little dress, and party.

Ever since I passed the age of 25, I seem to have developed an innate ability to sprout facial hair quicker than I ever have before. I've always been a little hairy. As a little kid, I had unusually dark upper lip hair. So much so that at eight years of age, a doctor who was examining me for my cold remarked, "Wow, you have a mustache." (He also then said I was fat--I think he just had very bad bedside manner)

I never really cared about my facial hair until I turned about 20--and realized that I could actually do something about it.

Enter facial hair removal cream--which no matter how gentle the box says it is, still burns like acid. Then came eyebrow waxing--warm wax, the strip and the dreaded rip. Also one of those things that, no matter what the lady at the salon tells you, hurts.

Most recently, I was convinced to get my eyebrows threaded. According to Wikipedia:

"Eyebrow threading is the process of shaping the eyebrows using a thread. It is commonly practiced by women in India and the Middle East. They use a pure cotton thread. They generally twist the hair and threading pulls out a whole row of hair, as opposed to tweezing where only one single hair is pulled out. Threading is often preferred to tweezing because of the naturally straight lines of hair removed by the thread. It is pulled out from the follicle. Some women focus particularly on the area between the eyebrows, thus interrupting so-called "unibrows" Threading is also used on the upper lip and face."

One Sunday afternoon, I walked into a little salon down the street from where I lived. I was going to see a Chris Isaak concert that night and wanted to get my eyebrows waxed. This little place was the only one that was open on a Sunday. The salon, as it turned out, was owned by a slight, Indian woman who was fascinated by my purple hair. When I said I wanted my eyebrows waxed she said, "Threaded?"

"No," I said, "Waxed."

"No, no," she replied, "Threading is better. I thread. Waxing, it pull your skin, make it loose. Threading is better."

"Ah...will it hurt?" I asked.

"Of course it hurts," she said, "There is no beauty without pain."

It was refreshing, actually, to hear this little Indian woman tell it like it is. So I got my eyebrows and face threaded that afternoon. And yes, ladies and gentlemen, it hurt. Imagine a million tiny little ants biting your face. That would be about right. It hurt so much I teared up--three times. She had to stop and wipe my tears away.

It looked good though. So good that I'm thinking about getting it done again tomorrow before I go to this wedding.

Being single, being still somewhat young, and being extremely absurd, there's always a miniscule part of me that thinks I might meet a single guy at a wedding. It's a time when everyone is all dressed up, feeling warm and fuzzy from watching two people in love join together in an eternal union, and as a bonus, there's alcohol floating around. Honestly, it's sort of prime...

Besides, meeting a man at a wedding happens in the movies all the time--and we all know what happens in the movies must mimic real life.

Except, I got a glimpse of the guest list, and there's only going to be one single man there. Literally. One. Say it with me, "ONE."

I look at stats all day with my job, so let me tell you this: one is not a very good stat.

But of course, none of this really matters. Afterall, I'm not going to this wedding to meet men. I'm going to this wedding because I love my friend dearly. Because I want to celebrate her union with the man God has prepared for her. Because it's important to bear witness to what the Creator has brought together.

But I do have a question--since there's not really going to be single, available men around, is it OK to show up with bushy eyebrows? That way, I don't have to have the pain and I'll be about $20 richer. That's like 2 weeks worth of Grande Americanos...

Just a thought.

Snow

SNOW?????

It's only October and it's snowing already. Not little flakes either, but big, fat, heavy ones.

This is so wrong.

Wee Flirting And Is This Microwave Safe?

My Office Adventure Buddy suggested that I make a WeeMee for my Cross Country Office Crush and send it to him in an e-mail.

Cross Country Office Crush, as his name suggests, lives on the other side of the country. He does work in an office. An office, in fact, that is part of my company. And I do have a nominal, recreational crush on the man. On paper, we both work for the same client. In practice, I hardly ever get a chance to work with him. I've met him twice--both times he seemed a little shy. Either that or I really frightened him.

But I think there's a little fun in the guy yet. The very few times we've exchanged non-work related Instant Messages, we've talked about... er... mini bars, hookers, and erm... amateur adult movie making. Hmm... that didn't sound very good, did it? They were perfectly innocent conversations, I promise.

Tonight, I finally tried to make The Crush a WeeMee. The slightly funny, slightly sad thing was that I had to pull out a group photo with The Crush in it to refresh my memory of what he looks like. These days, I can barely remember what I look like, much less a man I last saw over two months ago.

I did finish the WeeMee though, and added a light, fun message in the e-mail. But when I hit send, I got an error page! I was incredulous, an error page?

I hit send again and the same thing... error page. Arghs. Thwarted. Or maybe it was The Almighty trying to tell me it's probably a very bad idea to send flirty messages, no matter how innocent, via inter-office e-mail. Maybe this is one of those things that needs to go on the Good In Theory, Bad In Practice list.

On a totally different note...I spend a lot of time these days checking to see if my dishware is microwave safe.

Very important: Starbucks travel mugs are not microwave safe. Tupperware is microwave safe, metal bakeware is not.

I guess I'm not the only person around that wants to know what's microwave safe.

Microwavecam.com is a site owned by a few guys who have dismantled a microwave and wired it with a camera to see what happens with stuff in a microwave. The site contains videos of a variety of things being microwaved--from CDs, to condiments, to grapes, to Peeps. Their Peeps clip was featured on the Home Page of Yahoo! recently. It sent so many visitors to Microwavecam.com that the site crashed. Talk about absurd and amazing.

Alright, I know that everyone's dying to know what happens when you microwave Peeps. So, here it is: Peeps In A Microwave

Absurd Adventures In... Er... Measurement

What a day.

Today, it was all about who had the biggest ones. My theory is that if you have to measure, you're probably going to lose.

Annoying event #1--Got yelled at for something that was neither my fault nor my responsibility. The yelling was over an issue of protocol and who was in charge. Talk about getting out the measuring tape.

Annoying event #2--Got an e-mail today that was dripping with arrogance. I suspect the e-mail was written especially to let me know how smart and informed the sender was. The sender certainly had their measuring tape out and ready to go.

I would have replied, except I couldn't find an emoticon that accurately expresses, "My, aren't we full of ourselves?" Or maybe there is one, and I just don't know about it. Because, unlike the e-mail sender, I don't know everything there is to know about everything.

So I put away my measuring tape--I resisted the urge to craft a biting reply.

Alright, I lied. Because I'm essentially quite wicked, I did forward the e-mail on to a friend. Purely for mockery purposes.

So I measured, just a little.

Adventures With Avocado

I saw a television ad today for Applebee's staring Tyler Florence. Me, and thousands of women across the United States (I took an informal poll) agree--Tyler Florence is easy on the eyes. The fact that he cooks, just a bonus.

Which reminded me....

Last summer, I had an adventure involving Tyler Florence, a sharp object, and avocados.

Tyler Florence was in the Merchandise Mart giving a cooking demonstration and signing his new cookbook. A group of women in the office and I played hooky for an hour to go watch him cook.

We were all excited to go, but ironically, when we got there, none of us dared to go to the front of the room where Tyler was. We sort of all just hung around the back, giggling like junior high girls. Suddenly, I was twelve again, wanting the cute, popular boy just to notice me.

I guess I wasn't alone in this, because all of the other women in the room were hanging back. Tyler's handlers finally had to round us all up with an encouraging, "Go ahead, go up there, he really likes it when people do."

So I did. As he started another demonstration dish, I somehow ended up front and center in the room. The demonstration theme was Mexican--Tyler made a cold tomato soup, salsa, and then guacamole.

Apparently, and I did not know this at the time, there's a method to cutting avocado. Well, that's what Tyler told us anyway. You're supposed to hold the avocado in the palm of your hand and, with a knife, make a cut in the avocado until the blade lands in the seed. And then you bring the blade around the avocado, essentially slicing the thing in half. Then you remove the knife, twist one half of the avocado and end up with one half of avocado with a seed and another without. To remove the seed, you embed the blade in the seed, twist gently and lift.

Tyler deftly demonstrates this, making it seem so simple. Meanwhile, I'm staring at this demonstration, fascinated. Who knew that's the way to slice avocados? I'm not 100% sure, but I think my mouth may have been hanging open at one point--I was that absorbed.

And then Tyler goes, "Who wants to give this a try?"

We all look at one another. An awkward silence ensues.

He looks around the room and goes, "How about you?"

I look to see who he's talking about and he says again, "How about you?"

And, because I am an eloquent, intelligent, young woman, I reply, "Who, me?"

"Yeah, " he says, "Come on up."

"OK," I say, much too enthusiastically. Meanwhile, my head is racing. Tyler Florence just picked me. ME! Oh please, oh please, oh please don't let me humiliate myself.

And then I was up there with Tyler Florence, warm and friendly, beside me. Tyler hands me an avocado and a knife. I look at the fruit, I look at the knife, and everything he has just said about avocados flies out of my head.

"Be careful not to cut yourself," Tyler says helpfully. Thanks, I think, you're sweet, but you just made me more nervous. And the thought is followed immediately by, I need a grip. I'm a mature, normal, intelligent woman. I can slice an avocado for crying out loud!

I take the knife and, quite literally, take a stab. The blade slides in gently. I bring it around the fruit. And, to my surprise, it works. I have two avocado halves. I breathe again. I don't slice my fingers open and bleed all over the counter. I don't blither mindlessly to Tyler Florence. I think, when I was done, I actually got a round of applause.

I admit, I was oddly flattered that afternoon. I know my worth is not based on whether any man, semi-celebrity or not, chooses me. I know that celebrities are "just like one of us." I know that Tyler Florence doesn't really know who I am, so his choice is not a reflection of what he thinks for me at all. I logically know all this, but because I'm still about 12 years old inside, I kept chanting in my head, He picked me, he picked me, he picked me. I win, I win, I win.

Yeah, I know... kinda goofy.

That weekend, I bought a bunch of avocados and made guacamole. While trying to slice the avocados open, the knife slipped, I sliced my hand, and bled all over my kitchen counter.

A Picture of Tyler and Me And The Avocados. See, I didn't make this up at all:

Amazing Adventures With Hair Dye

Yes, it is that time. I am finally doing it. I will be dyeing my purple hair back to its natural color--black.

Why? Because it's time. Because the purple was cool and funky about 4 weeks ago, when it was actually purple. Now, it's a sad pink and my roots are showing.

And also because it costs $120 to get it back to purple and only $3.00 to restore it back to black.

It's been 2 years since I've had natural hair color. A part of me knows that it's time to give my hair a break, time to look like the adult I am, time to present a professional face to the many business associates I come in contact with on a daily basis.

But part of me mourns the loss of this vivacious companion I've had with me for the past two years. My hair has caused quite a few adventures, both big and small.

My hair has started many conversations with strangers. City folk, who usually keep to themselves, are suddenly extremely friendly when you have colored hair. I have been stopped on the street, in bathrooms, on the train, in airports, at Starbucks. Most of the time, it's someone who compliments me on the color. Once, however, a woman in the ladies room said, "Now that is an interesting choice. You know, lots of people are going to tell you it's cute, but I'm not going to lie. It's... Interesting."

I also get asked for help from strangers a lot. Once, at the airport, a 12 year old girl asked if I could stay with her until her uncle showed up to pick her up. I sometimes wonder if people assume folks with colored hair can't possibly be child kidnappers or serial killers.

My hair has driven men wild. Men, who had seen me daily and never given me the time of day were suddenly full of hellos and smiles when I turned up with blood red hair. "What'd you do last night, " one of them asked, "Go clubbing?" I think he was hoping that I said yes. Which is strange, since he was as straight-laced as they come.

My hair has also been the cause of much wistfulness for youth past. Numerous older women often say to me, "I wish I were young enough to do that." Or, "If I were 20 years younger..."

My colored hair went with me on a road trip to Minneapolis to see Chris Isaak in concert. It was a standing room only show, and we stood in line for 4 hours on the coldest day in Minneapolis that year. My colored hair was there as I danced in the front row, caring nothing about how I looked but knowing that I was finally being the vivacious, bold woman that I was made to be. That night, my colored hair and I got invited to drinks with a man--the first time in all my 28 years.

Most of all, I think my colored hair has taught me a life lesson about being seen. Sometimes, I catch myself going about my day in an interpersonal cave. I'm determined to get what I need done for the day. I walk around, eyes pinned on the ground, never making eye contact. I don't try to make new friends and certainly don't talk to people on the el. In fact, the less of me that gets seen, the better.

When you have colored hair, you get over the fear of being watched really fast. You're going to get looked at, no matter where you are and no matter what you're doing, even if it's something as simple as riding the train to work. Once I realized that what other people see or think about me really doesn't affect me in any tangible, practical manner, it was like the world became lighter. I walked taller. I made eye contact. I even smiled at strangers. The world is always going to have an opinion of me. I have just stopped caring what that opinion is.

Yesterday, on the el, I saw a lady with purple hair get on the train. I got to admit, I looked. And then looked again. I didn't stop her and try to make conversation, but I did smile, and wish for youth past. And then, I did have an opinon of her. Granted, it was a positive opinion, but there I was, just like the world that I was supposed to care so little about.

And then, I laughed and thought to myself, "Welcome to the dark side."

Perfection

My sister had her baby last night. It's a little girl. No news on the name yet, but mother and baby are doing great.

They WERE here!

Cyber stalking part two.

Chris Issak (the entity, not the man) has a blog. As far as I can tell, it's hosted by Blogger and then cross posts to his MySpace page and the Chris Isaak Official Website. It's nothing fancy, and Chris, known for his dis-interest in too much technology, doesn't actually post.

But his drummer, Kenney Dale Johnson does post on the blog, and tells hilarious stories about his various adventures on tour. Mostly about him meeting other bands who are touring in the same cities--which leads me to think that bands must run around in a select group of hotels or something.

I check the blog daily, just to see if there's anything new and fun from Kenney. And today's post talks about... you guessed it, their 3 days in Chicago.

Check it out here: http://chrisisaak.blogspot.com/

Good In Theory, Bad In Practice

Turns out summer was just kidding about sticking around. It's about 50 degrees today. Appropriately, Wee Cafe Girl has put on her winter wear and moved to, well, a coffeeshop.

I got an e-mail this morning with a Chris Isaak sighting. For those of you who don't know, Chris Isaak is my one celebrity obsession. I have been a fan since I was about 15 years old. Back then, it was all about his smoldering good looks. Now, 14 years later, it's really about the essence of his music.

It's easy to assume that his body of work consists only of songs about unrequited love and heartache. Granted, a lot of his songs are the saddest songs you'd ever hear. But there's also a lot of references in there to musical greats--a hint of Elvis, a touch of Jerry Lee Lewis, a taste of country, and a good old helping of rock and roll.

And then there's a wry sense of humor about his music. Who else would write the lyric, "Circus tents all got blown down/All the freaks are running around" or "Of course you're sleepy baby/ You've been up all night." And, my personal favorite, "Here we go, round and round/State your case, and then sit down/Tell me something I don't know/I don't love you anymore."

Oh yeah, and it helps that the man is hot. See him live in concert, have him raise that one eyebrow and grin at you, look into his piercing blue eyes, and you'll keep coming back every year. In fact, you might even travel to other cities to see him...

Anyway, this morning I got an e-mail from a friend who had a colleague who had a Chris Isaak sighting at The Four Seasons in Chicago. My friend's colleague saw Chris Isaak walk through the lobby.

I was skeptical at first. Afterall, Chris Isaak isn't easy to recognize once he's off stage. I've seen him sans the sparkley suit, and he looks like a guy. Granted, a very good looking guy, but not one that stands out as a celebrity. Except, the colleague said Chris Isaak was with a woman who had a little dog. Now, there's no mistaking that combination. Chris Issak's manager is a woman. And she does have a little dog named Rodney. (See, I told you I was a fan.)

Thus began my dilemma for the day. Do I take a long lunch and try to head over to The Four Seasons to see if I can catch a glimpse of Chris Isaak in the lobby? How long would it take to get to The Four Seasons from work? Do I want to pay for a cab ride there and back? Would I actually get to see Chris Isaak? And, of course, my favorite question of all--what exactly does one do after one has seen and gotten the attention of a celebrity?

It was then I realized that celebrity stalking clearly falls into the category of "Good In Theory, Bad In Practice."

By nature, I'm a pretty fun and imaginative person. I try, as best I can, to be spontaneous, to see life as an adventure, to step out of what is comfortable, and take risks. But I am also a wise person. And, over the years, I have formulated a list of things that are Good In Theory, Bad In Practice.

For example:

Speed Dating
Good In Theory--Meet many people in a short period of time. Don't have to spend much time with each one. If conversation bombs, move on. No need for friends to call to say your cat/fish/dog/grandmother died just to bail you out of a bad date.

Bad In Practice--Meet many people in a short period of time. Don't have to spend much time with each one. If conversation bombs, no opportunity to salvage, must move on. People you meet can still reject you, only now they do it by filling out a form on their computers indicating they don't want to see you again. And there's no free meal out of it either.

Making Pancakes Naked
Good In Theory--Live life a little. Take risks. Seems like something fun and sexy that happens in the movies.

Bad In Practice--Pancake batter sticky. Sizzling butter no fun on bare skin. Naked pancake making only happens in porn movies.

Going To Drinks With Bassist From A Rock Band
Good In Theory--Very flattering to be asked by someone almost famous. Makes one feel sexy and desirable. Seemingly innocent activity--afterall, it's only a hotel bar, not a sleazy backwater joint. And Bassist says the whole band will be there.

Bad In Practice--Quite dangerous to be drinking with someone almost famous. Hotel lobby not so far from hotel room. Still feeling sexy and desirable until realize that Bassist is in his sixties. Quickly become suspicious when Bassist is the only person that shows. Very suspicious when there are two other girls there. Not very attractive ones at that. Slightly insulted afterwards.

And so...

Stalking Chris Isaak In Chicago
Good In Theory--Clearly qualifies as Absurd and Amazing Adventure. Get another Chris Isaak fix to last me till next summer. Maybe Chris Isaak will finally realize am woman of his dreams and whisk me away with him. Or maybe will just get another autograph and perhaps a hug. Fun story for the friends regardless.

Bad In Practice--Have to skip work to hang out in hotel lobby. Bare the embarrassment of being watched by hotel security, or worse of being identified by Issak's people as "one of those fans." Seeing man and freezing. Saying something stupid. Feeling stupid. Having man sign my shirt--my new, dress shirt. Walking back to the office with a ruined shirt. Wasting hours with no sighting at all.

So I didn't go down to The Four Seasons Hotel today. I didn't think the possibility of seeing Chris Isaak in the flesh quite outweighed the risk of getting my ass fired for missing work, especially since I was on a project with a deadline. Afterall, it'll be really hard to have more Absurd And Amazing Adventures in the unemployment line. And it'll be even harder to support my pricey Starbucks addiction.

That's not to say I didn't go home and scour fan message boards for clues as to why Chris Isaak would be in Chicago. Turns out he's here for 3 days, playing a private show for Lexus with Sheyrl Crow. Then he's off to New Jersey, and Paris (which I knew about), then Hawaii (2 concerts), followed by Australia and New Zealand (also all concerts).

Hey, cyber stalking is still allowed.

Summer lingers on...

Last night, it thundered and hailed.

Like two little kids, my room mate and I crouched by the large window in our living room, watching as pea-sized hail fell from the sky and pelted our window sill. It rained for hours.

It was 80 degrees and muggy today, although it's already October. Summer seems to want to hold on just a few moments longer, linger for just a few more days. The weather is mirroring my own reluctance to let summer go. Oh please, oh please, I want to beg, just let me play for a few more weeks. Let me wear my little dresses, run around in my flip flops, take long walks by the lake, watch the water as it glistens in the morning light. And, as if God has heard my cry, it continues to be warm and muggy, even though the leaves are turning and falling to the ground.
I'm not fully sure what was so magical about this past summer that I'm having such a hard time shifting gears into the Fall. This summer actually wasn't all that exciting. I worked 12 hour days a lot, spent many days in the office. In fact, I think I saw the inside of the office much more than I saw the beach.

I think it's just the idea of summer I love so much. Everything is relaxed. No one is on a schedule. The days are long, giving the impression that you have all the time in the world to do whatever you want. Spontenaeity flourishes in the summer.

Does anyone else out there miss summer already?