Dear Jake from The Bachelor,
Sigh. Another Bachelor, another let down.

While I didn’t exactly love baby voiced, dance-around-the-room-like-a-ballerina Tenley, I certainly would have preferred you choosing her over the sausage girl. What kind of name is Vienna, anyway?

I don’t know how to tell you this, but you took an opportunity that most men dream of, and instead of choosing a beautiful and intelligent lady (ahem, like Ali), you went and picked the stripper. No one proposes to the stripper, Jake. You looky, sure…but you don’t marry.

I’m sure you won’t be On The Wings of Love for long, though, so good luck finding someone who will want to date you after that gosh awful personality and needs-a-root-job Vienna has pawed you for a while.
Love,
M

Have you ever seen a displaced hubcap propped up against a sign, or hydrant?

I always think about what a nice gesture it was for someone to see the stray hubcap and prop it up so its rightful owner could possibly find it. Because, let’s face it, riding around like this is embarrassing.

Recent BlackBerry messages with Ben have left me wondering, what have I done to him? I feel as though he’s taking on my personality…

From last week
Ben: There was a baby at lunch and I hated it.
Me: You are my destiny.

Today
Me: My track ball is broken. I can’t handle it.
Ben: Your phone sucks.
Me: Your mom.
Ben: Maturity. Look into it.

Confession: Anne Hathaway has replaced Reese Witherspoon as my celebrity girl crush. (Sorry, Reese, we had a good run, but that name just doesn’t do it for me anymore.)

Here’s Annie H. looking stunning in a sapphire blue Marchesa cocktail number at the premiere of Valentine’s Day. While I would prefer that the dress be a bit longer (as sitting in it would be problematic), I still think it’s fabulous – feathers and all. She also deserves snaps for following the whole, “pale is the new tan” rule. (I struggle with it myself, but Ms. Hathaway makes me want to throw out my self-tanning lotions and bust out some red lipstick.)

Well played, Anne. You’ve come a long way since The Princess Diaries.

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.