Crazy isn't Sexy.

My goodness, time passes quickly. A few crises come down the pikes and all of a sudden, almost a month is gone. The pros? We're less than a month out from the weddingmoon...the cons? Uh. OMG HOLY COW WE ARE LESS THAN A MONTH OUT FROM THE WEDDINGMOON!!!

Other than that, what's doing? Too much. The weekend lurking just ahead promises not one, but two bridal showers. One's work related with some of my desert library family; the other is a little more wild, with dirty mad libs, Twister (the game, not the movie), and copious amounts of alcohol. I have developed an alarming and wallet-depleting addiction to scrapbooking (TOTALLY did not see that one coming), and I get to see Peter Gabriel in concert next week at the Hollywood Bowl. Fun abounds.

This last weekend, however, was not so much with the fun. Last Saturday was rather sluggish, and I spent most of the day laying about on the couch, not cleaning or doing laundry or anything productive, simply filled with a dissatisfied sense of ennui. Himself came home from work and my mood didn't improve. After a couple of hours of wheedling and nagging, he pretty much just hauled my ass out, put me in the car, and started driving to a quaint little restaurant deeper down in the desert. As soon we began to drive, I stuck my head out the window, took in the early evening air, and felt better. My mood only improved after we got to the restaurant and found ourselves seated in a lovely courtyard with twinkly fairy lights and a nice, strong gin gimlet. As is usually the case, I began to reflect.

It occurred to me that I tend to wait for my life to be perfect--my laundry to be folded, my kitchen sink to be scrubbed, my errands to be run--before I allow myself to live my life, enjoy simple pleasures, try to be present in the moment. But that evening, amidst the gently happy crowds, the evening darkness closing in, Jason's bighearted smile, and the feeling of utter relaxation, it occurred to me--this time, this particular moment, this was life. Nothing else. And it was perfection.

There's this chick that I know back in Indiana. She's...how do I say...a little bit not all there. Actually mentally ill. Functional, more or less, but mentally ill. And to add insult to injury, she's not at all intelligent, and also dishonest and manipulative (added to her general lack of functioning brain power, this generally means she gets caught in her copious lies on a fairly regular basis). All around, not a particularly pleasant person to know unless you get off on that kind of manipulation and melodramatic nonsense. But I'll say this: the chick knows how to live in the moment.

(Of course, that might be because she's genetically incapable of thinking beyond the next three minutes, so the present moment always looks pretty good). But I'm trying to be magnanimous here.

So anyway, back to the pleasant Saturday evening...for some reason, Crazypants and her ability to embrace the moment popped into my head at that time, and the best thing that I realized that evening in my gin-induced reflections: Even the crazies have something to teach us.

I just hope I don't have to become crazy to learn! Ultimate moral of the day: crazy isn't sexy.

But then again, neither is falling-over drunk.