the procrastinating girl

Blue Tooth-less

Much to my chagrin, I was recently forced to give up my beloved Subaru.  The backseat was too tight, ironic as it was a mid-sized SUV and I only have two children who are widely-acknowledged to be quite small.  But out it went.  In came our new Mazda CX-9 boasting all kinds of new automotive toys.  Now, I am not one of those McLosers who walk around never removing their wireless earpieces, but I do enjoy my car talk time.  So when I heard the Mazda came with Bluetooth, I was twitchy.  No more earbud?  I could just talk into the ether and be heard?  Oh life, how I love thee!  Before driving out of the dealership, the salesman entered in my phone's address book and I was set.  Dial Mom.  And there she was.  How is it we don't yet have a Club Med on Mars?  Because the next morning when I hopped into my car boasting a mileage of five, my address book was gone.  Vanished.  Paging Miss Marple.  So now every time I try and make a call I have a contentious conversation with the lilting voice of the Bluetooth woman who tells me my 'options'.  The truth is I have only one.  Deal with my address book so my car stops calling China instead of Chappaqua.

Spacial Relations

In case you haven't noticed, or especially if you have, I've been on a self-imposed hiatus of late.  Actually, exile is more to the point.  With Zoe's school last year a healthy driving distance from our house, which, to be fair, isn't close to anything, I spent most of 2010 criss-crossing the county.  Unable to make it back home during the day, every morning I had to pack as if I were moving to Japan.  With that much rubber to burn and environmentalists to piss off (my brother and father are at the top of the list), one would hope some positive self-reflection would emerge as I bopped my head to the great existentialist Katy Perry and inadvertently tailgated cop cars.  As tank after tank emptied, I realized how much I missed my home, particularly my office.  My space is far more cluttered than the rest of my house and with some items that are decidedly un-office-like.  I don't typically don a blue polka dot toddler-sized raincoat to write.  But I do enjoy my gifted AMY O paperweight.  I guess it's the raincoat and the paperweight combined that make this room so quintessentially me.  Not to rest on that, the raincoat and its brethren are due to exit the premises.  I will get to it.  And I will get back to this.