the sweet smell of relief

in accepting the sad reality that nothing exciting is ever going to happen to me, i've decided that it's time to start appreciating the little things...

for example, the apparent fact that drunk dialing takes on a whole new meaning once you're married. the other day i got a late night phone call (by which i mean 10PM, but for us that's late) from one of my more established, married friends (who had obviously thrown back a few) to the tune of, "will you pleeeeeeease come to costa rica with me someday? i really want to go and you know that blankety-blank [husband] won't ever come to costa rica with me. pleeeeeease???" so while i probably shouldn't hold my breath for marriage to a clown or an indian neurologist (side rant: is that really my idea of exciting?), i can at least be comforted by the fact that when my richer and more successful friend gets tanked she fantasizes about backpacking in central america... with me.

then there's the following saga: on the way to work the other day i heard this mysterious squeaking that sounded like it was coming from under the passenger seat of my car. the squeaking didn't line up with the other sounds my car was making and my extremely rodent-phobic self had the fleeting (but panic-stricken) thought of, "dear god please don't let there be a mouse in my car." i managed to get this thought out of my head ("how could a mouse have jumped up into my car") and forgot about it. until... a few days (weeks?) later i was driving to work (again) and was suddenly overwhelmed by an absolutely foul stench. "dear god," i thought, "please don't let there be a dead mouse in my car." i couldn't even bring myself to look, and decided that i'd rather live in denial. "maybe i can just never lose anything ever again and therefore never have to go looking under the seats in my car." come to find out a couple of days later that said foul stench plagued the ENTIRE city of chicago that day and that numerous people had called in with "it smells like something died" complaints. the source of the smell remains a mystery, but i'm fairly confidant that it wasn't emanating from my car.

so while i may not have won the lottery or been chosen to compete on the amazing race (another fantasy of my above-mentioned drunk dialing friend), and while i still can't pull off the pointy- toed-faux-crocodile- shoes-with-designer-jeans-and- slutty-camisole look, i can take pleasure in having convinced my blogmate that she NEEDED the strapless pink party dress... and that i can go back to losing stuff.