I still haven’t gotten over Monday.

I mean, can you imagine the shock and utter AWE that I found myself in yesterday morning, Tuesday, when I opened up the New York Times to NOT find any of my family members portrayed? I mean REALLY. In fact, much to my dismay — there wasn’t even a word that hinted towards us.. And I know… WHATEVER, just GET OVER YOURSELF ALREADY. While I’m sitting here all, WHAT DO YOU MEAN?!?…. Blah blah blah… But look, people. I’m sitting here — on the brink of being a Mom of TWO — as if ONE wasn’t enough.

I’m also slipping down the slope of becoming completely obsessed with blueberries, MIA Boots (thanks to Not Martha) and Sammy Hagar — not necessarily in this order. Also, why are Potluck meals so lucky? Is it because you make them ahead of time, and if so, why not just call them glorified casseroles? Because the 70′s completely robbed word CASSEROLE of all sophistication — or is it simply all to blame on Campbell’s Mushroom Soup, ew? Don’t the 50′s mean anything to anyone anymore? I mean, aside from completely confusing Abercrombie & Fitch into thinking that we want our 8 year-old girls to look like 16 year-olds. And while it remains equally confusing on where to draw the line with men being polite — Do you thank him for opening the door for you, or do you beat the shit out of him? — Not unlike yanking a Potluck out for defrost… a game time call, and not always a good one.

Clearly, I don’t have the answers. Monday seems to have such a grip on me that I’ve stopped making sense…

Not to mention, Monday might only happen to me ONCE in this lifetime, kind of like (but not really) what’s happening with these dogs here:

In any case, I’ll move on from Monday… eventually. Until then, try this cake, buy me these boots, and don’t believe a word Sammy Hagar says… I know. But at least it isn’t uninteresting…

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