Self-destruction . . . I get a lot of magazines. Most of them are research materials – i.e. Palm Beach Illustrated so I know what the rich folks are doing and buying in Palm Beach for my Finley series. But then there’s this dichotomy – I get fashion magazines so Finley can wear the latest trends, then I get food and travel magazines for me. The problem is, if you eat the food, you won’t fit in the fashions. It’s like the minute you tell yourself to diet, suddenly you’re hungry all the time.
I like to cook more than I like to chase trends, so I actually get more use out of the cooking mags. That may explain why my ass needs its own zip code. Sitting in a chair all day does not promote healthy exercise. So what do I do? Get an elliptical machine. Here it sits in my office, currently my camera bag is hanging off the handles and the machine needs to be dusted.
One of my New Year’s resolutions was to be more social. I’ve kind of turned into a hermit. Unless you call a trip to the grocery store an outing. I haven’t done too well with that one either. I have great intentions, it just seems like every time I decide to go somewhere or involve myself in something another thing comes up and plans change. Part of that is having a teenager. With a boyfriend. I’m not sure I like that combo.
Don’t get me wrong, the boy is sweet and polite and exactly who you’d want your kid to be around. He’s well grounded and thankfully goes to a different high school. That still doesn’t quell the urge to dust her for fingerprints when she returns from an outing with Mr. Wonderful. But the traveling to and fro is already getting old. Mr. Wonderful gets his license soon. I think that may be worse. I’m not sure I want my baby in a car with a new driver.
Then again, my baby is 2 months away from getting her learner’s permit, so I guess I’m going to have to have some therapy to deal with that. Part of me is thrilled at this move toward autonomy. The other part of me wants to encase her in a bubble so no harm can come her way. Yep, definitely therapy time.
There should be a handbook on the subject of first crushes. I told my daughter the only thing I couldn’t protect her from was a broken heart. It’s bound to happen, usually more than once. And Facebook makes it worse. Currently her status reads ‘married,’ surprise to me. And his avi is a picture of the two of them. How sad that I have to scan my daughter’s Facebook page to learn of her nuptials. How wonderful that I can search her Facebook page. Sorry teenagers, but you need to learn to say it and forget it, write it and regret it. You put way too much damning information about yourselves out there for the world to see. Social media can be wonderful or it can be your worst enemy. Or apparently it can be a place to get married at 15.
I guess there is good and bad in everything. Facebook just makes it easier to see those things.