SOLD My Soul for no sense

Here I am in my cotton old navy whale print pajamas, eating a bowl of vanilla yogurt topped with vanilla crunch cereal. It's 8:31am and I really should be preparing for my final job interview which is at 10:00am. Instead, I'm so erked in getting my "save the dates" out via mail, that I can't sit straight. Focus. Focus. Focus.

Uh huh, there's some jackasss that made it trendy to send out "save-the-date" notices in the form of cute tiny theme decorated cards. A prelude to the wedding invitation; a pre-invite, if you will. Puke-arama.

This coming from the same person that put the finger on the trigger on men on Valentine's Day: greeting card, chocolate, bouquet of flowers and dinner. In result, forcing me to put out.


I embrace this "save-the-date" invite; this additional gimmick. It makes me all warm and gooey inside almost nautious, my palms sweaty, kinda like being at the dentist.

I never thought I'd conform to the norm, until planning this wedding (or the lack thereof). I will probably wander the earth in search for my gleaming cajones. When I do find my cajones, I will part the Red Sea with them and I will lead my people to the promise land.