My New Favorite Thing

... is Amos singing Mr. Cellophane in Chicago. Best. Musical moment. EVER.

D took me to see Chicago last night for my birthday. He also surprised me this morning with tulips on my desk at work, which is wonderful except that it draws attention to the fact that it is my birthday and that I have turned, ahem, 31.

I woke up this morning and when D said "Happy birthday" I said "Oh my god, only four more years..." Leave it to the PMS to make me think of fertility as my first thought in the morning.

I'm still grumpy, and I'd like not to be given that there are lovely pink tulips next to me. I must admit that they help. Also helpful is a high school student group filming what seems to be a ninja/knight dance-off short on the roof of the building next to us. Needless to say we've been watching all morning. I will miss this sort of impromptu entertainment when I no longer live in NYC.

I was so grumpy last night that I nearly exploded when I discovered that D put the extra toilet paper not in the bathroom, but rather in his clothes closet, and even worse, on a shelf that I cannot reach. Who does that, especially when we're down to nearly the last ply!?! I should not have to climb on a chair to get toilet paper in emergency situations, especially when we have a designated spot in the bathroom for extra toilet paper.

Yes, grumpy. I really can't believe I've turned 31. Pressure, folks. Biological pressure. I'm not digging this. I feel this minor panic, like "FIGURE SHIT OUT THIS MINUTE" because, seriously, time is running out. Last night I said "You know what sucks about having kids? You never get to be alone." My grumpiness makes me want to crawl into a hole and not be spoken to, interacted with, or looked upon. I kept thinking "Imagine having PMS like this and having a child. I will be a horrible mother." D said the right thing with "Probably when you have kids you don't want to be alone, and you want to be with the kid all the time." Probably. Maybe PMS gets better once your hormones have gone all crazy during pregnancy.

I don't know.

Here I am complaining about being old, and my only complaint about Chicago was that Bebe Neuworth is too old to play Roxy. She looks amazing and she did a great job, but the wrong casting. This is a progressive move but it just didn't work. Oh, I am vile today.

I just have to keep thinking of Mr. Cellophane.