Every morning, around 8:15am, I feel as if I could win the Daytona 500. I weave in and out of traffic like nobody’s business. I live pretty close to where I work, in a downtown area, so my speed never really gets past 45mph – but still – I think I do Tony Stewart proud.

The point of this post, however, is not for me to brag about my driving skills. It’s to talk about why people like me, who are always running behind and can’t seem to make it anywhere early, are they way that we are. What is it about me that makes me a last minute person?

I have heard theories that say people who are late get a thrill out of the scurry to get where they are going. An adrenaline rush, if you will. This is not the case with me. The only thing I feel is stressed. I have also heard people say that “late comers” are selfish people who think that their time is more valuable than everyone else’s. This is also not the case with me. I really don’t feel like my time is more valuable than my dog’s time, so that isn’t it.

Needing other possible reasons why I am the way that I am, I went in search of more information. What I found was an interesting article that talks about chronically late people. The article references a book, called “Never Be Late Again: 7 Cures for the Punctually Challenged” which places late people into seven categories. The categories are:

• The rationalizer – has a hard time acknowledging responsibility for lateness and tends to blame outside circumstances.
• The producer – wants to squeeze as much into every minute as possible; they are always busy.
• The deadliner – subconsciously enjoys the last-minute sprint to the finish line; they feel more alive when running out of time.
• The indulger – exercises less self-control; tends to procrastinate.
• The rebel – resists authority and everyday rules; might run late as a form of control.
• The absent-minded professor – is easily distracted, forgetful and caught up in their own introspection.
• The evader – feels anxiety about his or her environment and tries to control it; their own needs or routine come before being on time.

Yikes, I think I’m a combination of “the producer” and “the indulger.” In the past few weeks, I have done much better about being on time, but I’d like to be able to do it without the weaving in an out of traffic and the saying of prayers for green lights. Perhaps I will mosey over to Amazon and purchase that book.

This past weekend, I got together with three of my best girlfriends on the planet. We met in college, back when we all lived in Charleston (and swore we would never leave) and when sorority/fraternity mixers and lazy beach days were our big priorities.

Today, we all live in different cities/states, and all of us being in the same place at the same time is quite a challenge. But on this particular Saturday, we were. And, it was just as I remember it being. We shopped, we laughed, we ate, we drank, we watched movies together (including our favorite, Almost Famous), we got ready together and we even slept two-to-a-bed like the old days.

Driving home on Sunday I realized how far we have all come. We’ve had our ups and downs (collectively and individually). We’ve accomplished things and failed at things. We’ve supported each other – even when it didn’t always seem like we did. We’ve gone from tan lines and fake IDs to laugh lines and not getting ID’ed. Those women…well, I love them more than they know.

“Later that day I got to thinking about relationships. There are those that open you up to something new and exotic, those that are old and familiar, those that bring up lots of questions, those that bring you somewhere unexpected, those that bring you far from where you started, and those that bring you back.”

-Carrie Bradshaw, Sex and The City

Thanks to Facebook, my blood pressure went up yesterday morning. It occurred when someone commented on a status update about The Bachelor. The status update said: Blank thinks Tenley will be the last one standing! The comment that got me all fired up was: “I just can’t believe the Bachelor, hot as he is, would take a divorced woman and all her baggage. She’s obviously still messed up over it.”

To borrow a line from Shane Mason of Gowns and Crowns…shut the front door.

Let’s talk about baggage for a moment, shall we? It comes in all shapes, sizes, colors and materials. Some baggage is so small that we can easily take it with us on our journeys. Some is so large and heavy that we have to ask friends or family to take a few items for us.

The way I see it, everyone has baggage. Some of us have Louis Vuitton, and some of us have Kmart, but at the end of the day…it’s all baggage.

Side note: If I’m expected to go out with an ugly guy who is a loser because I’m a divorced woman (with baggage), then I am certainly defying the odds. Miracle worker in the flesh, y’all, because (and I don’t usually brag, but) my man is a looker – with everything in the world going for him.

TAIL SNAP.

• Does anyone else feel like they need more than 24 hours in a day?
• Does anyone else get tired of seeing Verizon commercials?
• Does anyone else think that Vienna on The Bachelor needs to invest in some better hair extensions? (If you’re gonna do fake hair, honey…don’t skimp.)
• Does anyone else have no clue how much a gallon of milk costs?
• Does anyone else glance in a street window to make sure their butt doesn’t look big?
• Does anyone else have a disdain for defense attorneys? (I know we need them, but still. I don’t have to like them.)
• Does anyone else decide that on some winter mornings shaving is pointless?
• Does anyone else wonder when Olympic gold medalist Hannah Kearney will look back at this photo and wish she had re-thought those pig tails?
• Does anyone else get as competitive as I do about team USA?
• Does anyone else ever accidentally answer their personal phone with their work phone greeting?
• Does anyone else eat as much peanut butter as I do?

Snow came to my fair city (and most of the state) on Friday afternoon around 4:00, and continued through the night. I felt like a kid when I woke up on Saturday morning…and acted like one, too, along with Benjamin (and, of course, William Wallace). Snow ball fights, snow angels and a snowman? Yes, please.

Last night, I almost jumped outta my skin around 10:00 when I heard the sound of someone coming down the stairs in my house. Only no one was there.

I think I’ve ticked my house off.

On Monday night, a friend called me to tell me she was having an awful day. She asked if I wanted to go to dinner, and sighed when I said I couldn’t because I had pork chops defrosting. I promptly told her she was welcome to one, but that I wasn’t sure what accompaniments I would have. Being the intuitive and smart gal she is, she knew what I meant by that: I’m pretty low on veggies, and I’m a meat girl, so you might be in trouble.

Fifteen minutes later, she showed up and proceeded to take over my kitchen. Roasted asparagus, baked spaghetti squash, stir-fried cabbage and pork chops were prepped and prepared in no time. Just as we were about to sit down to eat, I realized and said out loud, “Wow. I’ve done nothing. All I did was open the wine.”

Poor thing. She had a bad day and then had to cook me dinner. I’d be willing to bet she’ll call another friend next time.

You may recall that last April, I bought an old house. You may also recall that my dad thought I was crazy for wanting said old house, and should instead purchase something newly constructed. I promptly ignored him, and have been living blissfully in my charming old home.

Feelings of blissfulness…they rarely last.

Don’t get me wrong, I still adore my home. It’s just that, well, lately I’ve realized that the honeymoon is over, so to speak. At first, I could see nothing wrong with my “new” house. Everything was perfect, even if it wasn’t. I could see no flaws in my 1921 craftsman. But then, little by little, I began noticing things.

The first time I noticed a “flaw” was while taking a bath in one of my clawfoot tubs on a lazy Sunday afternoon. I looked up, and saw missing paint near my ceiling. Then, after putting away Christmas decorations, I saw a crack in the plaster on the staircase. Both times I thought to myself, “When did that happen? Surely it wasn’t like that when I moved in.” And, just last week, I noticed that some wood on my front porch is warped. (After which I began running around like a crazy person after the rain to dry the porch off with towels.)

It became clear to me, though, that the honeymoon was indeed over when I turned on the sink in the downstairs bathroom and water ran onto the floor. And clearer still when Ben shut the door to the linen closet and had to get out the tools to get the door back open.

I was seriously starting to lose my patience with her quirkiness when I remembered how I felt when I first saw her. Even at first glance, I knew I was home. So, I’ve decided to cut her a little slack. After all, homes – just like relationships – have to be maintained so that we stay happy in them. There is always room for improvement.

Do you remember back in early 1990-something when Glamour Shots were all the rage? I do, and I’m still quite bitter about my mom not taking me to the Augusta Mall for my chance at big hair and thick makeup. Even now, when we all make fun of Glamour Shots, I secretly wish that I had one to look back on (a la my dear friend Carey Anne, whose hair was so big it barely fit in the photo).

When people at school passed out their wallet sized photos, I really just wanted to rip them up in front of their faces. I know that sounds harsh, but I desperately wanted to hand out my own head cocked, hands on a popped collar, with a sailor cap and a big smile on photo. I felt like my mom just didn’t get it. Did she have something against 11 year olds looking 45? Was she too good for sequins and blurry photos? I guess so.

A co-worker told me that Glamour Shots was still in business, so I went to their website. Gone are the cowboy hats and gloves – much to my chagrin. They are having a model search, though. Perhaps my friend Carey Anne can enter and win “most improved” Glamour Shot. (They don’t offer that, but they should.)