Friday Confessional 6.3.11

Ahhh the joy of a short work-week is that it's already Friday!  I can't say I was happy about the crazy high heat and humidity this week, but I'm super pleased that today is GORGEOUS here in NJ - blue skies, slight breeze, the smell of hay being made in the air.  So it's time to link up with Mamarazzi to confess whatever naughty things you did this week.  It's good for your soul!

I confess...I had the best weekend last week, mainly because we didn't DO much of anything.  I'm happy we didn't go away.  Perhaps it makes me antisocial that I'm glad we didn't spend a weekend stuffed in a crowded house tripping all over each other, but I'm glad for the things we DID do....like catch an 11 am movie on Sunday to see The Hangover: 2.

I confess...I ate more than half a tomato pie last Friday night.  That's right, I consumed at least five slices of Trenton Tomato Pie goodness at DeLorenzos.  It is the best "pizza" I've ever had...except it's not pizza, it's tomato pie, and the crust is so light and crispy that it is akin to eating like 2 or 3 pieces of regular normal pizza...and I get mine with "extra sauce"...mmmmmmmm!



I confess...I LOVE having a summer intern.  It is so wonderful to have someone do the less glamorous stuff for me so I can focus on writing reports and the like.  It is quite excellent to have someone to do the copying and filing for me...and to be SO eager to do it!  YAY for the intern.

I confess...however, that sometimes my intern makes me feel old.  Not intentionally, just by the fact that she is 23, and when she talks about high school, I am reminded that it has been 15(!) years since I graduated.  I do not feel that old.

I confess...I feel good when the young intern compliments me on my clothes though.  She asked me where I shop, and that make me feel pretty good, she's a pretty fashionable young lady, so at least I'm not dressed like an old lady!

I confess...I did some retail therapy this week and got some super cute little outfits for summer that are work appropriate when worn with something like a cardigan, and regular life adorable when worn with flip flops.  I am quite in love with the Ann Taylor Outlet if we're being honest.  Pavlov suspects that I have "a problem" but I personally don't see a problem with wearing clothing that is 1. cute, 2. comfortable, and 3. a little forgiving with weight changes.

I confess...I honest to goodness had to use every ounce of restraint NOT to punch Pavlov in the face the other night.  Allow me to set the scene to prove I am not completely psychotic (or the evil bitch he proclaimed me to be when I told him about it)...I was exhausted. 

The heat index for the day was 105 degrees with something like 70% humidity.  Our house is old and doesn't have central AC, so we have window units.  I turned the unit on in our bedroom early enough to cool down the room for when I went to bed.  I was soooooo tired from a really long day and had to get up super early the next day for blood work (which I HATE) and decided to go to bed early to read a little and then go to sleep.  He decides to come to bed too, turns the AC down (making it warmer), directs the fan onto himself, and promptly begins to snore...loudly...in my ear.  I toss and turn.  I turn the AC back to a cooler setting...but I am sweating my ass off in bed, wide awake at 3:30 am, at which point he says in his sleep "I'm COLD" and then rolls over on top of me, with his leg thrown over my leg and his arm across my upper body, his head is thisclosetomyfuckingear and he was snoring like a goddamn lumberjack.  I kept trying to roll him off me and he got me in a bear hug.  It took everything I had not to punch him in his big, fat, snoring head.  I escaped from out from under him and went to splash my face in the bathroom with cold water to resist my inner-beasts bloodlust.  I then contemplated sleeping in the ungodly hot guest room for a hot second...I eventually fell mostly asleep (after elbowing him in the side until he rolled back onto HIS side of the bed), but probably got a combined 2 hours of shut eye.  The next morning the alarm went off, he bounded out of bed all happy and WELL rested, he then looked at me and told me "you look like shit."  Asshat.   He's lucky I didn't hit him for that one either.

So there, I admitted to having homicidal rage directed at my husband...what do YOU need to confess?  Link up and let the world know!