I’m too busy to write a long, rambling post about all the crap that happened to me this morning. Suffice it to say that it involved missing a bus and being twenty minutes late to an appointment. What I really wanted to do was wish my dear husband a happy anniversary–eleven years, baby!–and, you know, fish for well wishes and congratulations from the rest of you because that’s the kind of attention whore I am. That’s all.

We will be celebrating our eleventh anniversary in style this evening, as it is my tap recital (where I will be dressed as a vintage attention whore). Wish me luck, or a broken leg, or whatever it is we show business people do. I’m looking forward to this recital because I worked very hard for it, and I’m just hoping that I don’t goof it up because that would make me mad. The good news is that if I do goof it up, it won’t be that noticeable, as I spend most of my time onstage in the back row. The bad news is that there is one part at the very beginning when I’m in front, and I have to go into this pose after executing a turn, and roughly half of the time I lose my balance on that pose. In the world of dance, this is known as a “problem.” So hopefully I will keep my balance tonight, but if I don’t, at least everyone will have a few laughs at my expense and I will therefore have brought joy to the audience, which is really what I strive for, as an attention whore. Believe it or not.

Tomorrow my daughters and I are making the long-a** drive up into Washington to see my sister, my other two sisters, my brother, and my father. Two of my sisters live in Washington. My brother, who lives in Maryland, is coming out to Washington to meet a girl. My other sister is flying in from Missouri, and my father’s flying in from California. And I’m driving for four-and-a-half hours, maybe five or six, depending on whether or not I get entangled in Seattle’s rush hour, which I believe starts at 2 p.m. and lasts until roughly 7 p.m. If I leave here by nine, I should make it. Unless I run into some inexplicable traffic jam in Tacoma again. Suckitude. It’s only because I love my family of origin so much that I make such sacrifices. Yes, I am making a really big deal out of it because I know my sister’s reading this.

I actually don’t think I’d mind the drive so much, if it were just me. I like driving by myself. I can listen to whatever music I want, stop to go to the bathroom if I have to–and more importantly, not when I don’t have to–and I never ask myself, “How much longer until we get there?” Okay, sometimes I do, but it’s rhetorical, and only in Tacoma. And it’s more like, “How much longer can this possibly take???” But at least I can enjoy the solitude. Driving with children in the car is a joyless enterprise. On the plus side, I won’t have Elvis. On the minus side, I will still have Girlfriend, and there’s just no good way to travel with a two-year-old. I will be spending the whole time worrying that she’s going to sleep too much in the car and won’t sleep that evening, when I really, really want her to. Or I will be spending the whole time cursing because she’s not sleeping in the car, and worrying that she’s just going to crash at around 5 p.m. and wake up at 8 p.m., which is a whole other hell. I can only hope that Sugar Daddy knows where all the parts to the portable DVD player are, so I can electronic-babysit her all the way to Seattle. It’d be just like staying home, only with better restraints! (I’m kidding.)

Well, I have packing to do. You all enjoy your respective weekends. Ciao!

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