SO, I think I'm having a mid life crisis... I cut bangs, got extensions in my hair, and have invested in a relationship with a stationary bike and a new pair of Nikes. Hey, it's cheaper than a Porsche. I took a 'power walk' this week. I planned on doing something physical every day, but I'm really really good at telling myself that I just can't... The neighbor's house is under construction (and has been for three years. Honest to God, three years, and I can still see the studs). The workmen are up all over that thing, and they can see me on my stationary bike that's on the upper deck of our house. I would be working up a sweat while being observed by sweaty construction guys who know me as 'the barbie' (this is according to our Nanny Vilma, who you will all get to know through my blog, though they've never seen me up close. I'm 42; not a terrible 42, but not Barbie, or even the 'realistic friend' Skipper either.) It's not that I don't want to exercise, I do. But if I actually applied the energy I use to rationalize why I can't get out on that bike to actually exercising, I would have the ass of a stripper (sorry, exotic dancer, I don't want to offend). Instead, I sit in my home office, chewing on average one piece of Dubble Bubble every three minutes (the flavor lasts about half that time), and I look at pictures of AMAZING sofas on 1st Dibs (I'm obsessed with Percival Lafer right now), and tell myself: Tomorrow. Tomorrow I will face the workmen and show them what the stomach of a REAL woman looks like, the kind that's had two kids and hasn't seen a washboard since summer camp in Missouri. But hey, at least my hair looks fan-fucking-tastic.