ammogirl

So, one of the only good things about monthly hormonal surges is not having to sleep for an entire week.  I don’t know what it is, but I have been tossing and turning since Thursday, yet I still feel/function fine.  In fact, although I didn’t actually have to wake up until 4:30 am this fine Sunday morning to get ready to fly to the UK, I found myself with eyes open at 3:15, realizing there was sort of a lot of stuff I could be doing, other than laying in bed staring into the dark.  So here I am.

I really just wanted to have one last morning to savor good coffee, before I am regulated to crappy industrial coffee from the chow hall, lightened up with crappy industrial powdered creamer, and sipped from a crappy small styrofoam cup.  I’m sort of irrationally stressed about that coffee.  Also, I hate styrofoam cups, they give me the chills when my lips/tongue touch them.  And they’re bad for the environment, but really, they’re just like nails on chalkboard to me.  Agh!  chills just writing about it!  Stress!  I would take my own cup, but!  We are flying Ryanair, a European (…okay.  WTF?  Isn’t the basic rule ‘a’ before consonants, ‘an’ before vowels?  Yeah?  Try saying ‘AN European’ outloud.  Mmhmm) forerunner to the ‘charge for everything’ flying the US is going to now, and you can only check in ONE bag weighing 15kg or less.  Which includes the weight of the bag.  I have toiletry needs, people, and I can’t let a mug get in the way of my heavy-ass jar of anti-wrinkle cream.

Every time we go on these inspections, I have the same problem.  Of course, this problem confounds my all-male traveling group, who like to extoll the benefits of using the complimentary hotel shit for, oh, EVERYTHING, and don’t pack anything from their bathroom beyond shaving cream and a razor.  And other things, I’m sure, but look: shampoo, conditioner, body wash, soap (the one hotel item I have deemed okay to use), lotion, all my one million face creams (…that sounds gross), hair product, hair dryer, hair straightener, brush, and finally, makeup.  Of which there is not a lot, but still necessary.  I’m always trying to weasel my way into the available weight I KNOW remains in their bags.

You will notice I did not say ‘razor and shaving cream’, because I am still irrationally in love with my Epil, and will never touch a razor again.  Even when the hair on my legs DOES grow back, it’s so sparse and thin and soft that I don’t know it’s there until I change into PT shorts at work and see it.  It’s a common thing to hear from me every two weeks or so that I need to epil, after which I spend the next hour really aware of my legs.

Anyway.

I am going to a Madonna concert next month with Leila and another friend, Kathy.  I know, wtf.  I don’t go to concerts.  Seriously, my last one was…omg, twelve years ago?  I don’t know.  It’s the crowds thing.  Also, I’m not all that into Madonna circa anything past 1989.  But she’s coming to Frankfurt, and Leila suggested it, and I figured since I’m really trying to work on this having female friends thing, it would be a fun thing.  In preparation, I downloaded her new album onto my iPod, and then quickly realized that it sucks.  However, if you think about it, Madonna debuted when I was in seventh grade, for god’s sake.  Suckage or not, I’ve been listening to her the entirety of my music-listening days.  I owe it to Madge to throw some money her way, I suppose.

Alright!  I have to go now.

Tschuss!