After work yesterday, I went to a hotel and picked up a bag of 40 mini-bottles of body lotion. My mother is good at scoring free stuff for the nursing home, and sometimes I am a pawn in her games (last week we went Goodwill-shopping for “old lady prom dresses.” If you think those dresses are ugly, try picturing them on 90-year-old women). But that’s not even the most extreme “My Family Is Nuts” moment of yesterday, since I also got a CD in the mail from my brother. He included a note that said “this is a best of CD, but you have to guess best of what!” and a list of artists — not song titles, just artists. The sick part is that with one glance at the list (which included both Aerosmith and Expose), I knew it was a “Best of Diane Warren” CD (Diane Warren being the songwriter behind such supercheese hits as “I Don’t Wanna Miss a Thing” and “I’ll Never Get Over You Getting Over Me,” among many others). I’ve already cranked “If I Could Turn Back Time” and sang along, Jack-McFarland-immitating-Cher-style (“turn back ti-i-i-ome”), half a dozen times. My family is nuts; I am glad I belong to them.
Yesterday was a great day. I shortened the work portion of the day thanks to a headache, which was cured by putting on a skirt, going out for coffee and shopping for used books. There’s a chance my headache was a symptom of “It’s Seventy Degrees Outside and I Have Sixty Hours of Sick Time To Use Before The End of the Month” disease. I also moved outdoor furniture from my basement to my deck (me, pink skirt, rolling a wooden table up a hill) because I’ve decided to spend as much time outside as possible. I didn’t realize it under all that snow, but I live in a little bit of paradise — but not for too much longer. I’m probably never going to have it this good again, so I best enjoy it while I can. I don’t want to be the kind of old woman who sings “If I Could Turn Back Time” and means it.