I Am The Winner

Genny is thirteen months old today. That is so young in comparison to most of my stuff. But she is definitely looking like a little girl now rather than a baby.

We took a ride to Connecticut today, so that I wouldn’t have to spend an entire day alone with her and so that I would be guaranteed two naps from her, even if it meant I didn’t get to nap at all, since I’d be driving when she was sleeping. So, she did z-out in the van both there and back.

We had a life insurance salesman over tonight. Nick had to decide on insurance now that he’s not at the old job anymore. Every time Mr. Insurance Man was about to say something about what would happen if Nick died, he would preface it with, “Heaven forbid something should happen to you, but…”

I have so many projects looming. I know I mentioned this before, but it warrants being visited again. I need to figure out for sure about the Mommy and Me class and I need to prepare for my new yoga clients tomorrow, and I need to study for Saturday’s GRE and I need to work on my essay and I need—a bunch of other stuff, too.

I had a run-in with a limo driver this morning getting onto the Whitestone Bridge. There was a twenty-minute backup to cross the bridge because of construction. I waited patiently like most normal, law-abiding individuals, but there have to be those morons who think they’re so much more important than everybody else that they don’t have to wait in line.

So, I’m almost to the point where the roads completely fork and where people try to zip up the wrong lane and sneak in at the last minute, so butthead limo-man and his bigger butt-headed businessman passenger try to edge in front of me and I honk and lock up the space so they can’t get in. Very unyogic of me. They’re both laughing and I’m fuming, but as I passed them by, my heart racing like an alarm clock about to buzz, I felt like I had won. And then I felt awful and sad and angry and all those things, but at least I had prevailed. Sure, the calm guy behind me let them cut in, but whatever.

Who am I kidding? There was a tiny part of me thinking maybe they felt bad afterward for mocking me (they waved to me hysterically as I inched them out of the lane), but I know they weren’t sensitive to their own idiothood. They are not sitting at home right now feeling guilty and amending their ways, saying, “Next time, I’ll wait in line like everyone else.”

Nope, they’re both probably chuckling about that bitchy woman in the gray minivan who had to be a bull-dyke and not let the burly he-men jut into her space. Well, whatever. I won.