1. Thank you, as always, for your fantastic advice, this time, regarding the crib thing. What made it especially fantastic is that your comments were pretty much UNANIMOUS, which just makes things that much easier. So: crib until she attempts to leave it herself/asks for a bed. Got it.
2. Last week, I had the pleasure of having drinks and dinner (cheese, nuts and pickled vegetables is dinner, right?) with Holly and Deb, which was exactly as lovely as you would imagine. And while you're imagining, please factor in that (a) Deb brought us SOMETHING SHE BAKED. Delicious figgy challah,, warm and fresh from her oven, COULD YOU DIE? (Well, not so much "die," as want to "eat it." I'm hair-splitting, I suppose.); and (b) our bartender looked, acted and dressed exactly like Justin Timberlake, which just lent an air of delightful absurdity to the evening.
3. Hipster Ariel is killing me softly. LOVE.
4. You know what else is killing me, but like, for real? This scene from a commercial for a local storage facility. Every time, I'm surprised by it, somehow, and the horror hits me anew. EVERY TIME.
5. Tomorrow, I have my first physical in what is, by my count, FIVE YEARS. I think. I've been to see medical professionals for, like, strep tests, exciting pleurisy adventures, and appointments related to childbirth/That General Area of Things, but I have not gone for a head-to-toe, scarypants physical in eons. I've been putting it off for ages (obviously) because I am like a child. So, I've been telling myself that I read Esquire -- in which Dr. Oz writes many articles -- so I FEEL like I've been in good hands. Eat nuts! Salmon! Drink red wine! Work out! ON IT, DR. OZ. I decided, though, that 2011 is the year I become Responsible About The Kind of Stuff, fear of tongue depressors be damned. This appointment has been looming for over a month, which is juuuuust the right amount of time to have completely made myself Rip Torn-level crazy.