He so gets me

I want to express my heartfelt gratitude to all of you who e-mailed me privately to inquire if all was o.k in my world. I was/am truly touched. But, the reality is no. No, no, no. G-d, I'm finding it more and more arduous to eek through each waking day. It's as if there is an anchor around my neck pulling me deeper and deeper into the abyss. A deep dark hole. Working later and later. No time for girls. No time for fh. No time for friends and no time for me. Folded laundry stacked up from the week before or gasp the week before that. Trying to figure out a way to get my fat ever so bulging ass back into the gym and wondering where the hell the gross make me vomitt midriff that I'm now sporting so effortlessly came from. Constant state of amnesia wondering what it was I was doing a minute ago or worse what I was saying. Not to mention the guilt I have not spending every waking minute with my girls. I'm on a treadmill (not that kind either--if I was I'd weigh a mere 100 pounds!) from the minute my tired ass hits the floor in the morning until my fried foggy head slips into a coma at night long after 1:00am dreaming of a better way. I'm searching desperately for the perfect family-work situation. If nothing else for my own sanity. And to add to the angst the housing market is in the toilet and our buyer's know more than we the professionals do. Great, everyones an expert. I didn't realize Ben Bernanke had been replaced. Hell I would have applied for the job with some of the experts looming out there! Everyone has a damn "crystal" ball or know a friend of a friend of a friend who knows something! Damn no-it-all smarty pants. Note to anyone out there looking for a home. Don't piss the sales people off. We could turn on you like Linda Blair without warning hissing and head spinning and spewing venom. The pressure is consuming. We're getting it from all sides. Our employer and the potential buyers who unfortunately don't get it. Just to be perfectly clear, we do know what's going on in the real eastate market---it's our profession! We read too you know. Trust me, I can tell you about your market and yes yours and yours too. It's what we do for a living, so please stop insulting our intellegene. Without warning we may poke your eyeballs out. With one of our condescending smiles! I sport the famous airline smile. *wink* You've been warned. Damn, I feel much better.

Ok, that said, he so gets me. He knows me so well. He knew all "mama" his girl needed was a spoonful of "The Boss" to make my loins wet put a smile on my face. An endorphin rush. Yes, my baby surprised me with girls college fund tickets to see Bruce Springsteen at the Verizon Center. We are total stalkers groupies and have been known to jump on a plane on a whim to rock with him wherever they are jamming. It was the first time since my "annual" celebration that we had been out alone. Alone. A real date. No children. No diapers to change, only my own wet panties. No dinner to worry about preparing. No interruptions. Just us. I couldn't stop smiling. We held hands. We laughed. We danced. Damn, it felt good. Everyone was there including Patti, the first lady of rock n-roll. It was a breathlessly magical show. Typical of "The Boss", he and Patti and their son Evan spent the day at Walter Reid Hospital visiting wounded soldiers and yes, brought them to the show! They don't get any finer than "The Boss" in my opinion. Euphoric. He rates right up there with Bono in my book!
Thank you honey pot for a great evening. Everything about it was purrrr-fect. Well. with exception of that squirrely creepy guy who sat next to me (alone) and chewed on his fist on his fingers all night. Disgusting. He might as well have been picking his nose! But he managed to keep his hands out of his mouth when Bruce appeared. Thank g-d! Then there were all these old people. Hush. They were much, much older than me. Really. Baby you still rock my world. I love you sweetie. Thank you for a truly fabulous evening.